#and gave myself the excuse that i left my tact in the OR

[wolfeyedwitch]

😆😆😆 same!

I had surgery last week and going into it, I was taking as many mental notes as I could. Like how the IV felt going in, how the hospital smelled and sounded, just absolutely everything. I remember thinking "oh I don't know if I'm going to remember this part" as I was wheeled into the OR and transferred to the operating table.

I do remember! I remember the anesthesia tech saying "so this will smell like a beach ball, just breathe deeply and think about a beach vacation" before putting a mask over my face. I remember them saying "and this is the medication that will actually put you to sleep" before injecting it into the IV. It felt really strange going into my bloodstream, very warm and prickly but in a pleasant kind of way?

And then I was in the recovery room. Good times!

I think whump writing has changed my brain chemistry. I almost passed out today and my biggest thought was "take notes about how this feels, it will make for good details in writing!"

[galaxyhux624]

coda to my fic miles to go, aka part three of blueprints 'verse. originally requested by an anon and posted at some point in august 2021

--

June 2018

New Orleans was celebrating its three hundredth anniversary, which was good, because Steve needed an excuse for why he was going.

Of course, absolutely zero percent of the Avengers actually believed him, but still. He made a big deal about it and they were all of them too tactful to point out the obvious. As he shouldered his carry-on and got ready to head out to JFK International Natasha stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Steve,” she said, quietly. Then she looked at his face, and she stopped talking. She stepped back. After a moment she said only,

“You be careful, okay?” and he gave her a curt nod before going downstairs. One of Tony’s drivers was waiting at the entrance with a car, supplied by Jarvis. Steve slipped into the backseat and tapped on the divider separating him from the front, and the car started off.

--

The flight itself was smooth, just over five hours, but Steve himself was a jangle of nerves and by the time they landed at Louis Armstrong he had nearly talked himself out of the whole endeavor. What the fuck was he doing? He had no idea what he hoped to gain from this, this completely inane and fruitless quest. It wasn’t like he could expect Bucky to drop everything the second he saw Steve, step away from Rumlow and say something like, Oh, I see. Yes, I made a mistake two years ago. Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll come home now. That wasn’t going to happen, and Steve wasn’t sure what the fuck else he was doing here.

Whatever he saw, it was just going to hurt. The only reason he even knew Bucky and Rumlow were still here was because he had the trackers placed in Rumlow’s phone and because SHIELD would be notified (and in turn notify Steve) if Rumlow moved. Not to mention Steve had never made it totally clear to Rumlow if there were any restrictions on him going to any other states aside from Virginia and New York (there weren’t, but Rumlow had no reason to know that).

— well, that and the fact that Steve had spoken to Bucky every three weeks, like clockwork, since he’d left. Bucky had kept that end of the deal as faithfully as he’d ever done anything. Their whole lives Bucky had been like that. Faithful, loyal, dependable, determined. Traits Hydra had taken and twisted and warped for their own use and their own liking and fuck, fuck Rumlow, fuck him for manipulating Bucky, for convincing him he wasn’t complicit in the role Hydra had played, for convincing him that he (Rumlow) was the least evil thing that had come out of the seventy years of hell Hydra had put Bucky through and as such Bucky could and should trust him and remain with him.

It was Stockholm syndrome, plain and simple. There was no way around it. Steve had spent a while after Bucky left trying to figure out if there were any laws against a victim going back to their abuser, especially in a case like this, but there weren’t, and Steve had taken to sending Bucky texts every few days: you ok, buck? or, need anything? until Bucky had finally texted him back a string of exasperated-looking emojis followed by: stop worrying am fine, ps still have a metal arm so i can take care of myself u kno, and then a heart (blue), and Steve had forced himself to back off.

(If backing off could still be considered as such when it constituted Steve continuing to call or expect Bucky’s call every twenty-one days, listening frantically for codes every time Rumlow’s phone rang [whatever codes were hidden in make sure you bring Progresso next time, my partner can’t eat that store brand shit] and just generally… really not backing off at all.)

In any case he didn’t know why he was here/what he was going to do. But the taxi driver was waiting for him outside the airport and it was suffocatingly hot, so Steve put his carry-on into the back, slid in after it, gave the driver the hotel address, and closed his eyes.

--

He called Bucky once he was settled in his room, staring out at the city skyline in the distance. Bucky answered after four rings, sounding like he’d just woken up (it was almost four in the afternoon; what the hell were they doing) and a little confused (it was only two weeks since they’d last spoken; okay, it was only ten days since they’d last spoken, what the hell, Steve had never been great at math):

“Steve?”

In the background, a muffled grunt.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve smiled, making sure it showed in his voice. It wasn’t hard to smile when he heard Bucky talk, anyway. He’d missed that voice so much. Even after four years of having him back it was still something of a novelty to hear it again. “I know it’s early for me to call — ”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Is uh, is everything — ”

“Everything’s fine,” Steve said. He bit his lip, leaning against the wall. “I just — I was thinking about you.”

Bucky didn’t answer for a few seconds. In the background, Steve heard rustling, and then a voice, muffled, low. Bucky’s response was a little muted, like he was covering the speaker with his hand, but Steve heard it anyway: — be a minute, don’t know what’s going on. Then he was back:

“Oh. Well, hi.”

“Hi.” Steve swallowed. He really hadn’t thought this through as well as he should have. He hadn’t really thought it was the greatest idea in the world, but Bucky never went to New York, because Rumlow couldn’t go. Bucky hadn’t seen Steve or any of the others in two years and Steve missed him, he missed his face. Sometimes they did video calls but it wasn’t often and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Steve wanted —

— fuck. He wanted to see Bucky, and he knew that it wasn’t possible, because Bucky couldn’t know he was here. But he wanted it. He knew Bucky wasn’t going to suddenly wake up from his insane nightmare and realize his mistake and come home. He knew that. But —

“Are you doing anything special today?” Steve asked, before his thoughts could continue to spiral. “I know it’s the 300th anniversary of the city this year, so I just wondered — ”

“Uh-uh,” Bucky said. He sounded like he was moving. Steve heard a door, and then a light shift in the ambient sounds around him. “No, we don’t — we don’t like going out much.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. Don’t ask him don’t ask him don’t ask — “Does he keep you inside?” He winced when he heard it come out of his mouth, but there it was. Stale, hanging in the air. Sick and weak and possessive.

Bucky sighed.

“Steve… you know he doesn’t. We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. I’m just — ”

“I know you’re worried, Stevie. Wish you wouldn’t be, though. ’s been over two years, pal, and you know I’m fine here. We’re both fine here.”

Something caught in the back of Steve’s throat. He had to cover his mouth for a second to keep from screaming what he really wanted into the phone, which was, Why can’t you be fine in Manhattan with me? Why can’t I be enough for you again like I was? When the urge subsided he said,

“I know, and I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just — it’s still hard. For me.”

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “I know.” He shifted a little; whatever he was sitting on creaked. He asked,

“Well, what are you doing? Some kinda big saving the world thing going on?”

“No — ” Steve swallowed again. He really, really hadn’t thought this through. “It’s been pretty quiet on that end recently. Just… hanging out. Thought — ” fuck, he was going to lie, he hated lying — “thought about walking around Central Park later, maybe.”

“Oh, right.” Bucky was almost smiling, or something. “I miss that place.”

Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it —

“You could come back and visit, you know.”

“Yeah, but the Com- but Rumlow can’t,” Bucky said. Steve winced; he knew, he’d always known Bucky called Rumlow by his old title, like they were still out in the field together, like Rumlow still had that fucking hold over him, and Bucky always tried not to say it when they were talking, but he slipped, because it was habit for him, because they lived together, because Bucky wanted to be here, he wanted to be with Rumlow, that fucking manipulative bastard, the liar, the piece of shit who had ruined Steve’s life, who had ruined Bucky’s life, and Bucky had just run back to him like a beaten dog returning to the hand that fed it scraps after it dropped the cane —

“I just don’t underst— ”

“Steve. C'mon. We’ve talked about this a hundred times, pal. I don’t wanna go to Manhattan by myself. I don’t wanna go without Rumlow. Okay? I really, really wish you’d quit asking.”

The thing caught in the back of Steve’s throat again. He thought he knew what Natasha had wanted to say to him right before he’d left the tower. Don’t try and coerce Bucky into coming back. He knows it’s what you want and it’s unfair to him because it isn’t what he wants. He’s never going to see you like you want him to again and if he saw you physically he wouldn’t change his mind, because he lived with you for almost two years and he had to manipulate you into letting him go. You need to respect his wishes now.

Steve knew — he knew he was finding it

(impossible)

hard to believe that Bucky could make his own decisions, and that they were rational, competent, well thought-out decisions. He knew the ugly bare simple truth of why he was here: he wanted to drag Bucky back home. Whether he wanted to go or not. It wasn’t fair Steve had gone in the fucking ice, killed himself for Bucky, come back, dragged himself through three years of hell in the twenty-first century, gone through Rumlow’s betrayal, the collapse of his entire life with SHIELD, gotten Bucky back, and then lost him again to the same fucker who had sat back with a cigarette and his legs crossed and let Bucky get raped over and over again, fucking gotten him ready for it like an animal dressed for the slaughter —

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice, crackling a little over the phone. Steve hadn’t said anything in almost a minute, and he hurried to wipe his eyes and force that smile back on his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. That’s — it’s not my business. I know I’m overstepping. I’m — it won’t happen again.”

“All right.” Bucky sighed, very softly. Then he said, “Look, Stevie, I gotta go — ”

“Sure, pal.” Steve closed his eyes. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Bye, Stevie.” Then he hung up, and Steve fell back on his unmade bed, and he stared at the ceiling, and he didn’t cry, and he didn’t cry, and he didn’t cry.

--

He had the hotel room booked for three days. He lasted until about six in the evening before deciding what the hell, it was summertime, and he was in New Orleans. It would stay light out until after eight and there was no reason for him to stay in the room just because he’d shamed himself trying to make that phone call. It was a big city and he didn’t have to stay within any strict boundaries, he could go anywhere he wanted. He slipped on some sunglasses and a baseball cap before heading out. For the heat. Not to disguise himself. For the heat.

In the lobby he picked up a tourist guide. It mentioned a few places but the only one that sounded familiar to Steve from his conversations with Bucky was Café du Monde. It didn’t mean anything he was going somewhere Bucky mentioned regularly. He liked trying out things based off recommendations, that was all. He had multiple albums of Marvin Gaye’s now and he would’ve never gotten into that music if it hadn’t been for Sam, after all. Lots of people liked coffee. Steve liked coffee. It was fine.

He walked until he reached the Quarter, then headed down Decatur. There were a lot of signs out advertising the three hundredth anniversary of the city. The whole street was suffused in the same cloying, nauseating heat from the airport, though this close to the river it was (slightly) lessened. No one looked twice at him which was good; again, not that he was trying to hide, but he wanted to get to the café without being hounded for his autograph. By the time he reached it there was a line; the evening rush, he supposed. Across the street there was a cathedral with a clock chiming the quarter-hour; fifteen minutes to seven. Steve walked into Jackson Square and sat on a bench, watching the rumbling constant mass of people, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to see if the line was easing up at the café (it wasn’t). At some point he looked back and saw the cathedral doors opening, letting out parishioners from the late afternoon Mass. The last time Steve had been inside a church, the whole Mass had been in Latin, and he was curious to see what it would look like now. So he straightened up, sparing one final glance at the café, and walked to the church. Whatever he’d been telling himself about why he was here before he was positive Bucky and Rumlow wouldn’t be in the cathedral. Bucky had been only slightly more Catholic than Steve, and Steve highly doubted Rumlow had any type of religious affiliations at all. As he walked inside he tugged off his hat; pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. The last of the parishioners were leaving and Steve held the door leading from the church proper into the foyer, then stepped inside — and stopped.

Middle row. Midway up the pews. Even from a distance, even from the back, Steve could tell it was Bucky. The metal arm was bare and glistening in the dim light. His hair was down except for a small, thin braid on the left. He had his head bowed. He was sitting with his right shoulder pressed tightly to —

To —

Steve felt every ounce of energy leave his body in a sudden, dizzying rush. He sat almost without thinking in the pew nearest him, then changed his mind, moved up. He knew how to be stealthy and how to stay invisible when he needed, but it was hard to remember his training in here, where everything was cavernous and echoed and there was so, so much space, and Bucky was sitting there with him, with Rumlow, with that fucking asshole, and how dare he be in a church. How could someone like Rumlow set foot in God’s house without bursting into flames? What the fuck kind of fucking disrespect, Steve should rush out, go in through the back, get the priest —

He was hidden neatly behind a pillar, hardly breathing. His hearing was serum-enhanced even without the aid of the massive echoey chamber they were in, so it wasn’t difficult at all for him to hear the conversation:

“You okay?” Bucky. The mechanisms of his arm whirring softly. He’d straightened and was looking at Rumlow, only at Rumlow. He wore a soft-looking reddish shirt Steve had never seen, and jeans.

Rumlow shrugged. He was staring straight ahead, slight line of tension in his jaw. “‘s just… weird,” he muttered. “Just… being in here. Feels weird.”

Steve saw Bucky’s hand creep between their thighs. He must have curled their fingers together because Rumlow glanced over at him, and Steve’s heart shattered on the fucking floor at the expression on his face. It was raw and clean and there was absolutely no hatred or malice and Steve shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be looking at them, he shouldn’t —

— Rumlow didn’t deserve Bucky, he didn’t deserve to look at Bucky like that, he hadn’t grown up with him, he hadn’t served in the war with him, he —

“We don’t have to keep coming back,” Bucky was saying, soft. “It’s what I told you a month ago — ”

But Rumlow was shaking his head. “I don’t mind it so much during the week,” he said. “When it’s not crowded ‘n it’s just a half-hour. It’s okay.”

Bucky smiled at him. His smile was so breathtaking. Steve’s heart wrenched further. Fuck, Rumlow didn’t deserve to be smiled at like that, least of all by Bucky. Bucky should have driven a knife into his throat years ago; yanked it out and let Rumlow bleed out onto the ground, his jugular pulsing steadily, throbbing, slowly subsiding, and Bucky just standing there watching the life leave his eyes while Rumlow twitched uselessly and glared at him and finally stilled.

Instead, here and now, Bucky leaned over and kissed Rumlow’s cheek. Steve closed his eyes. When he opened them again Bucky and Rumlow had straightened up and left the pew. They were heading down the aisle, and Steve turned helplessly to watch. Rumlow leaned in as they neared the foyer and whispered something in Bucky’s ear. It was too low for even Steve to catch, but it made Bucky snort. He whispered back,

“Da, Komandir,”

and Steve jumped to his feet. He moved fast (Sam would’ve been jealous) back to the hotel. He packed what little he’d unpacked. He checked out early —

“Sorry, something’s come up,”

— and was on the red-eye back to Manhattan by ten p.m. And although alcohol didn’t do shit to affect him anymore, he ordered three whiskey and Cokes and knocked them back, one after the other, as the plane hummed on steadily through the dark sky.

[blazingparker]

What’s Up, Danger?

**so this is the fic that the lovely @snowstark allowed me to run by them to make sure it made sense to other people and not just my own brain. i really, really hope you enjoy it!

read it on ao3!

Summary: When Peter Parker gets bitten by a radioactive spider in his college’s lab, he doesn’t expect anything that comes next. Not becoming Spider-Man, not being hunted down by the Avengers, and definitely not a secret friendship with Tony Stark.

--

“So, let me get this straight. You want us to hunt down the one superhero in New York City that’s not mooching off my bank account, force him to tell us who he is, and then try and get him to join the team?” Tony could not believe what he was hearing. He sat back in his seat at the head of the table and stared straight ahead at Nick Fury.

“We don’t know that he’s a superhero,” Fury drawled, relaxing in his chair at the other end of the table. “He could be more evil than we know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the guy plucking kittens out of trees and helping lost old Dominican ladies with directions is a supervillain in the making,” Tony deadpanned, clearly not impressed.

“Tony, orders are orders.” God, Steve was infuriating.

“Tell me, do you ever question anything or are you a walking lapdog?” Tony and Steve glared at each other until Natasha cleared her throat, breaking the tension in the room.

“Look, we’ll bring him in.” At Tony’s look of indignance, she raised a hand. “There’s no reason to go out there guns blazing, though. He hasn’t done anything to warrant that. If we show up looking ready to fight, he’ll avoid us. We will handle this professionally. With tact.” On the last word she stared pointedly at Tony, who pretended not to notice.

“So long as this ends with us knowing who’s behind the mask, I don’t care how you get it done,” Fury said as he stood. “I’ll let Pierce know you’re on board. That should get the prick off my back for a while.” With that, he left the room to the six Avengers sitting around the table.

“What is it with you and going along with whatever SHIELD wants?” Tony barked out, and Steve crossed his arms.

“SHIELD knows what’s best to keep this world safe. We should trust them to give us missions that are important and best left unquestioned.”

“Yeah, I don’t think telling us to beat up the guy who saved the owner of that deli that got blown up last week qualifies.” Tony huffed out an irritated sigh.

“Look, let’s just try and approach him one-on-one,” Natasha suggested. “That way no one feels threatened. Maybe one of us can form a relationship with the guy, get him to trust us.” When no one voiced an objection, she continued. “Tony, you can go first since you’re so protective of the guy.”

“Protective?! I am not-” Natasha left the room before Tony could finish.

---

The first thing Tony noticed when observing Spider-Man was that the guy had absolutely no self-preservation instincts. He literally flung himself off the top of a building, whooping and hollering all the way down until he almost made a little spider puddle on the ground before finally shooting out a web and swinging away. The guy ran into a burning building without a second thought and came back out with a kid in his arms.

That last incident was how Tony finally had the chance to speak with him. By tracking him with JARVIS, he saw that Spider-Man had stopped at a local playground. It looked like he was taking a breather, and was even more likely given the guy had just inhaled massive amounts of smoke. He suited up and flew over to the spot, clearly catching Spider-Man by surprise.

“Hey there, Spider-Man. Or should I call you Danger-Man, since you seem to have a knack for running right towards it?” Tony landed a respectable distance from where Spider-Man was perched on top of the jungle gym.

“What can I do for you?” Okay, so Spider-Man was young. His voice told Tony that much.

“Look, I’m not gonna lie to you. Nick Fury sent me. Us. The Avengers. But it’s just me for now.” Already, Spider-Man had visibly tensed. If Tony could see his eyes behind those pathetic goggles, he’d bet good money that they had narrowed considerably.

“What do you want.” Spider-Man said, his tone conveying it was a demand that Tony tell him now, not a question anymore.

“We want to know who you are. What makes you tick. What made you put on that god awful excuse for a suit and run into a burning building today.”

“Not all of us are billionaires, Stark. Some of us have to work with what we’ve got, and I haven’t really got much.” Tony’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile at that and he huffed out a laugh. Spider-Man’s quips were infamous, and now he could see why. The guy was good.

“Look,” Tony allowed his faceplate to flip up. Maybe that would help relax the agitated vigilante in front of him. Being able to look at his eyes had to be better than a titanium-alloy mask. “For the record, I was against this plan. I told Mr. Eyepatch up there that we should leave you alone.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Spider-Man sounded a little surprised at that admission.

“I got outvoted. The Avengers are a democracy, apparently. Cap’s a real bitch about it. I preferred the authoritarian model.” Tony sniffed, glancing away before looking back at Spider-Man when he chuckled quietly.

“Good to know you really are the big happy family that they show on the news,” Spider-Man shot back. Tony couldn’t help a real grin from forming that time.

“Oh yeah, big time. Ever seen Annie? It’s like that. Except Annie is actually the entire team and I’m Daddy Warbucks for all of them.” After a moment of shared laughter, things grew quiet again. Tony took a step forward, counting it as a win when Spider-Man didn’t scramble to get away.

“I’ll leave you alone from now on, since that’s clearly what you want. On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Spider-Man sounded wary but intrigued.

“Gimme your number.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Just because I’m gonna leave you alone doesn’t mean the others will. If they pull some stupid shit while trying to convince you to tell them who you are, I wanna know. Give me your number.”

“How would I call you if you have my number?”

“I’ll call you first.” Tony was surprised to find he actually truly did mean it. Spider-Man just stared at him for a second before rattling off a phone number and disappearing into the night.

This definitely wasn’t ideal. Tony knew that. But at least this way he had a way of knowing if the team went too far in their attempts to complete the mission.

Grinning, Tony plugged the number into his phone before hesitating over the space left for the contact’s name. He didn’t know Spider-Man’s identity, and definitely couldn’t plug in Spider-Man in case anyone ever saw. Remembering his very first quip to the vigilante, his thumbs flew over the screen.

Danger.

---

Over the course of the next few weeks, Tony and Spider-Man struck up a routine. After each encounter with the Avengers, Spider-Man would give him a call and let him know how it went down. Luckily, things hadn’t gotten violent yet.

Tony was also finding himself...attached. To this masked vigilante from Queens. Something that made absolutely no sense and was probably going to end in disaster for them both. This guy clearly wanted nothing to do with the Avengers - no matter how friendly the two of them had become.

A ringtone disrupted Tony from his thoughts and he grabbed his phone, smiling a little when he read the screen.

Incoming call from: Danger

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked as he answered, pushing back from the lab table he was stationed at and walking to the window.

“Are you ever not going to answer the phone that way?” An exasperated voice came from the other end of the line. Tony grinned. He’d taken to always answering with the same “what’s up, danger?” First, it had been because he didn’t want anyone to walk in and hear him greeting Spider-Man. But slowly, it was becoming an inside joke with the two of them.

“Not a chance. But c’mon, gimme the rundown,” Tony said, gazing out over the New York City skyline as though he might see Spider-Man if he looked hard enough.

“Cap and Widow came this time. Gave me the same rundown, telling me they were running out of options and didn’t want to have to resort to other measures,” Spider-Man informed him. His voice dipped lower on the last few words in an imitation of Steve’s voice. Tony’s blood ran cold at that, and he quickly sat down on the nearest chair.

Why was he so afraid for Spider-Man all of a sudden? They were just pals. The guy was a vigilante that clearly had enhanced strength and other powers and could take care of himself.

“What the hell does that mean?” Tony asked, clenching his jaw.

“I didn’t exactly stick around to find out,” Spider-Man said with a laugh. “You could ask him though.”

“And risk him finding out exactly how I knew of this threat? Not a chance. Then things would just get worse,” Tony explained with a sigh.

“You really don’t need to be so worried. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not worried.” The words came out just a little bit too fast, and Spider-Man chuckled.

“Sure, Tones.” The nickname sent..something through Tony. Not affection. It was not affection. Nothing like that. “Anyway, I gotta hang up. Got readings to get done.”

“So you’re in college!” Tony cried triumphantly, waving a hand in the air to try and tell JARVIS to add that to the file he had on Spider-Man. When there was silence on the other end of the line, he sobered up a bit. “I’m not gonna look into it. Promise.”

Another beat of silence.

“Alright. Talk to you later, Tony.”

---

The next time Tony’s phone rang, he was eating dinner with Natasha and Rhodey after being dragged out of his lab. When he saw Danger flash across the screen, he quickly excused himself and walked out of hearing range.

“What’s up, Danger?”

“Would you tell Hawkeye over there to quit it with the arrow-fest?” Tony’s eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline and he clutched the phone a little tighter. He could hear Spider-Man’s breath coming fast, like he’d just finished swinging. He probably had.

“The what?” He asked, voice edging on a growl.

“He and Thor showed up, tried to ask me again. When I made it clear I wasn’t interested in joining the Brady Bunch and tried to leave, he took a shot at me. Without my danger sense, I definitely would’ve been hit.” Another interesting fact about Spider-Man, but Tony couldn’t pay attention to that now.

“He-fuck, I’m so sorry. That was never-I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Tony ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“It’s fine, Tony. You didn’t take the shot at me,” Spider-Man insisted. “I can handle a few pissed-off Avengers. Really.” After a moment of Tony trying to come up with a response, the vigilante spoke again with a softer voice. “Tony, I’m okay. It’s not your fault. I’m not hurt, I’m safe at home.”

Somehow, the knot that had been growing in Tony’s chest eased at hearing Spider-Man was safe at home. He nodded before realizing he was on the phone and that response wouldn’t really work. “Alright, as long as you’re safe.” Where the hell did that come from? “I-I hate to cut this short but I walked out on Rhodey and Nat and-”

“-and if you’re gone too long, the jig is up. No worries, I get it. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Tony couldn’t stop a smile at the understanding in the man’s voice.

“Talk tomorrow.”

---

After that phone call, Spider-Man’s run-ins with the Avengers got increasingly volatile. While Clint had admitted to losing his cool when he shot the arrow and acknowledged it had been a mistake, they’d lost whatever trust they’d built up with Spider-Man.

Well, the others had. Not Tony.

Each encounter had more biting remarks than the last, and their duration was getting shorter and shorter. The Avengers had even tried catching up to him multiple times in one night. All that resulted in was an exhausted, irritated Spider-Man - Tony could hear it in his voice when they spoke on the phone.

Tony was working on a new suit in the lab when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was nearly two in the morning. His crooked heart started beating a little faster at that - only one person would call him so late.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked cheerfully as he picked up the phone. The cheer dissipated immediately when he didn’t get a response. All he could hear was labored breathing and a groan of pain. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Hey, Tony,” Spider-Man answered, words slurring together. Tony immediately moved to his closest functional suit, letting JARVIS transfer the call over as he got into it.

“What happened?” Tony tried his best to keep the panic from edging into his voice. The faceplate closed and he could see JARVIS running a tracking program, trying to find out where Spider-Man had last been seen.

“No big deal. ‘S just a guy. He had a big knife. Huge. ‘S not safe for the neighborhood,” Spider-Man answered. Tony felt a chill run through him - Spider-Man had been stabbed ? His danger sense never allowed anyone to land a blow.

“Apparently not so safe for neighborhood Spider-Men either,” he quipped with a shaky voice. “Are you doing okay? Have something to stop the bleeding?”

“Does pavement count?” Even in an injured state, the guy was still churning out one-liners like it was nothing.

“I have located Spider-Man, sir,” JARVIS piped up. “Plotting the fastest course.” Tony whirled around, blasting the nearest window and watching it shatter before shooting out of it at top speed.

“Why didn’t you dodge it?” Tony asked, desperate to keep Spider-Man talking to him until he could get there.

“Danger sense isn’t workin’.” Spider-Man’s voice was significantly quieter at that, like he was ashamed.

“Faster, JARVIS! Why not?” Tony barked the command at his AI but softened his voice for the injured vigilante.

“Tired.” The one-word answer was enough. Even if the Avengers hadn’t struck Spider-Man directly since the incident with Clint, they’d caused this. Their persistence had worn down a decent man to the point where he couldn’t defend himself against the common criminals of Queens. That wasn’t what they were supposed to be about, and Tony felt disgusted just thinking about it.

Luckily, he didn’t have to for much longer. The suit began to descend towards a rooftop in a sketchier area of Queens, and Tony spotted the red and blue jumpsuit the guy insisted on wearing. The faceplate flipped up as he landed and knelt next to the form lying on the ground.

“What’s up, Danger?” Tony asked, trying to tease as he gently pushed away the blood-soaked fabric to get a look at the wound.

“Oh my god, this again? Just leave me to die.” Spider-Man groaned, but didn’t push Tony away. The older man laughed, shaking his head. He then pointed his index and middle fingers at the wound, allowing a healing gel to spray out of the suit and onto the injury. It was a new creation of Tony’s - it would stop the bleeding and keep the wound stable until they reached a medbay and could get real medical attention.

“There we go, Spider-Man. We do need to get you properly fixed up, though. This is a temporary solution.” Tony said, leaning over the man still lying there limply. Slowly, Spider-Man brought a hand up to his head. Tony thought he was feeling for blood, and watched in shock as the hand gripped the hood of his mask and tugged it off.

Of course he’s hot, was the first thing that went through Tony’s mind. Floppy brown hair, soft pink lips, and those big eyes that reminded him of a certain deer from an animated Disney movie. Spider-Man shifted slightly, trying to sit up with a quiet groan, and Tony rushed to support him and help hold him up. Spider-Man looked up at him and gave him a crooked grin.

“It’s Peter,” he said. His name. Tony smiled brightly in return.

“What’s up, Peter?”

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Ch. Fifteen

⚠WARNING: Mention of previous character's death

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You set your phone down and look at Oikawa’s prone body lying next to you.

Once you returned to your apartment Oikawa was 99% asleep - you’re really not sure how he was able to put one foot in front of the other, but he did. You were going to deposit him into your bed but Oikawa was clinging to you like an octopus. So instead you let gravity do the work and you both had fallen backwards onto your comforter and pillows.

Oikawa didn’t even bother moving to get underneath the blankets before he properly fell asleep, mouth open and everything. He remained clutched to your arms, and you were helpless to try and escape from under him.

Ever since they were children, Oikawa always had to cling to someone and he’d be especially clingy when he was upset (which given today wasn’t surprising that you couldn’t pry yourself from his grip.) Since you, Oikawa and Hajime all lived in the same neighborhood since elementary, you had frequent sleepovers at each other’s homes. And sure enough, every time Oikawa would subconsciously choose you or Hajime to cling to while sleeping.

Hajime absolutely hated it but you didn’t mind.

Watching your friend sleep you can't help but give a sad little smile. He looks peaceful and so young in sleep. You know he’s the furthest from innocent right now, and he has a lot of work ahead of him to fully earn your trust back. But you wish that he wasn’t tortured with the troubles that plague you all.

A knock at the door makes you sit up. Oikawa’s face pinches at the motion, and you speak to him. “Mattsun and Makki are here, but you can sleep if you want.”

His reply is a sleepy grumble but he too sits up. You know that despite him only getting a few hours of sleep he won’t want to be left alone in your room. Together, with Oikawa leaning on you, you walk to the door and let in your friends. Mattsun raises his eyebrows at the sight of a clingy and exhausted Oikawa hanging off your frame but you just shrug. Makki seems to take pity on you as he drags Oikawa off and over to the couch, handing his coat off to Mattsun to hang up.

“Thanks for coming over,” you tell Mattsun. “I’m gonna put the kettle on and order some lunch.”

Mattsun nods. “Whatever you need to do.” He gives you a small smile and leaves you in the apartment entrance. You can recognize that he’s giving you space and letting you set the boundaries for the conversation to follow, and you appreciate his tact.

After you order the take out and make tea you enter your living room and see Makki and Mattsun sharing your couch. Oikawa is slumped in your armchair, eyelids drooping as he tries to stay away.

“Oikawa you can go back to sleep if you want.” You offer after setting down the tray with tea. He shakes his head at you as you pass out mugs but doesn’t verbalize.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” You settle on the ground by the coffee table, choosing to face your friends instead of sitting next to them. It’s quiet for a few minutes while everyone relaxes in their seats and sips the jasmine tea you’ve made. There’s a tangible tension in the air, stemming from the second Oikawa opened his mouth at the restaurant last night to this very moment. Mattsun and Makki are waiting for you to initiate, for in their eyes you were ready to tear Oikawa limb from limb yesterday and today you greeted them at the door with your tall friend clinging to you.

Plus there's the whole you loving Hajime thing that should be addressed.

You know that your friends would never, ever push you to discuss it. But they’re probably wondering why they weren’t privy to the info, why Oikawa was, and if you don’t trust them or something. The last thing you want is to make your friends doubt the relationship you have with them, so you’re ready to clear the air and address the elephant in the room.

“I love Hajime.” You say. Everyone looks up from their tea to you. “I’ve been in love with him since the first year of high school, I think.”

Predictably, you’re met with matching sad looks. But even though you knew it was coming, you still can’t squirm uncomfortably at the pity you feel coming from them. This was exactly why you didn’t want anyone to know, especially now.

“Were you ever going to tell him?” Mattsun asks quietly.

You shrug, both at his question and the uneasiness settling in your gut “I didn’t feel like I needed to at the time. We were still in high school, still living life. I was happy with our friendship and I didn’t think anything more.” You smile ruefully. “If anything I think I was more worried about not being friends with him anymore if a confession went south.

“Honestly, I didn’t think that there would be a day that I wouldn’t be able to tell him how I felt. Even if I grew out of those feelings, part of me thought I’d be able to confess some day. I don’t regret our friendship, not when I wanted more. But I do regret not being upfront about my feelings with Hajime. He was my best friend, and I should’ve been able to tell him anything.”

You feel tears prick at your eyes and you look down at your tea. “We all have wonderful memories with Hajime, and I will never ever forget him. But it sucks, because while the memories are wonderful I can’t help but think how much better they could’ve been if I told him how I felt about him.”

You sniff, holding back your tears. You look back up and see Oikawa wiping his eyes and Makki sniffling.

Mattsun is looking at you with a serious expression. “I don’t want to go through hypotheticals or explore ‘what ifs,’ but I don’t think I’m alone in saying that Iwazumi cared for you differently than he did us. And I don’t think it was because you were best friends growing up with Oikawa, because he hated Oikawa.”

“Hey!” Oikawa pipes up from his spot, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Mattsun shifts, clearing his throat. When he speaks again his voice is rough with emotion. “You were precious to him, and his actions reflected how much he cared for you.”

You recognize that Mattsun is not outright saying the L-word but his careful alluding makes you smile tearfully. “I know, and he’s always going to hold a special place in my heart.”

Nobody says anything to that, and the room is blanketed with silence again.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Makki asks quietly, subdued. “Oikawa knew, but me and Issei didn’t.”

You sigh, your chest tight at the wounded look on Makki’s face. “I didn’t mean for Oikawa to find out. And I didn’t want to hide it because I didn’t trust you. But I just didn’t know how to bring it up, especially after Hajime passed away. I just,” you pause, sighing. “We’re all struggling, and I didn’t want you to think differently of me, or I didn’t want you to think that your feelings weren’t valid.”

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s probably the best way you can explain your thoughts. You’re not sure if their feelings are stronger or lesser than yours but you don’t need to know. The varying levels of grief people feel do not need to meet a criteria to be judged. Just because you love Hajime beyond the level of friendship that Oikawa, Mattsun or Makki probably love Hajime doesn’t mean that you “win” the game of grief.

“Y/N,” Mattsun says softly. “We’re your friends, and we want you to come to us with anything. Well, anything you feel comfortable sharing, which I guess in this case you weren’t comfortable with.” Mattsun pauses, it looks like he’s struggling to pick his words. “I do feel pain for you, but mainly because you’ve been dealing with these thoughts alone. I’m sorry if we ever gave you the impression that you couldn’t talk to us.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that, I swear. I just didn’t want to burden you all.”

Mattsun sighs. “I understand, and I don’t want to push you to share anything you don’t want to. But we love Iwaizumi, and if you want to talk about him or need to talk about him, know you can always come to us.”

Makki and Oikawa nod in agreement. You feel your eyes sting again but you smile, because you have the most kind and generous friends you could ask for. Hindsight is 20/20, but your heart does feel lighter knowing that your friends won’t ostracize you or anything because you love Hajime.

“We should’ve known that Oikawa would’ve just confronted Y/N straight on, he’s always been a jerk like that.” Makki says teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.

But instead of squawking in protest or complaining dramatically, Oikawa nods. “Yeah, I’m an asshole.”

Makki’s smile instantly shifts into an uncomfortable frown. “Oikawa, I was just joking -”

“But you’re right.” Oikawa cuts him off firmly. “And I’ve been even worse the past few months. I haven’t been taking care of myself like I should, and I’m sorry taking my frustrations out on you guys.” He takes in a breath. “I’m going to take a break from volleyball so I can make time for my therapy sessions.”

You, Mattsun and Makki all share the same look of surprise. “Oikawa, are you sure?” You can’t help but think back to Oikawa’s reason for not wanting to quit volleyball, and part of you feels guilty for suggesting he take away the strong connection he had to Hajime.

But Oikawa gives you a weak smile. “If Iwa-chan were here, he would call me a dumbass for not taking care of myself.”

“Yeah, he’d probably call you a dumbass and throw a volleyball at your head.” Makki adds. Oikawa squawks at the tease, making everyone in the room laugh.

You smile as you watch Oikawa snap back at Makki, with Mattsun egging them both on. They fall into a routine they’ve established since high school. The one missing component - Hajime either ignoring Oikawa’s calls for backup or sharing comistering looks with you - is obvious, but it doesn’t hurt as much. Your friends’ presence in your apartment fills you with warmth and comfort, like a warm blanket at the end of a hard day.

A knock at the door disrupts your thoughts and you stand to grab the takeout. Mattsun goes to the kitchen to grab plates and utensils, while Oikawa and Makki continue to squabble in the living room. You and Mattsun return to the living room at the same time, causing Makki and Oikawa to call a truce and grab food. There’s a comfortable silence in your apartment as you all fill your plates and settle. As you dig in, an errant thought comes to your mind.

“Oikawa, how do you know where Osamu lives?”

Oikawa speaks around the noodles shoved in his mouth. “I have a fan who works in the registrar’s office and it wasn’t hard to bribe her to look it up.”

“Yeah, that’s something we haven’t talked about yet.” Makki notes, looking right at you.

You avoid his gaze. “About Oikawa’s fans? Yes, it’s ridiculous how crazy they are.”

“That’s not what I was talking about and you know it.”

You glance up, sighing at the looks of intrigue on Makki and Mattsun’s faces. “I was upset last night, and I left my keys at his place. He let me stay because I was upset. We’re just friends.”

Mattsun purses his lips at you, but Makki has a thoughtful look.

“Well, he’s pretty cute. If Mattsun ever gets tired of me I might have to give him a call.”

“Shut up,” you hiss. You know you’re just playing into his trap, and hell would have to freeze over before Mattsun and Makki broke up but you couldn’t even hold back your distaste at the idea.

The smirk on Makki’s face only grows. “Oh, is Osamu into possessiveness?”

“Excuse me?” You ask darkly.

“He said you were possessive.” Oikawa helpfully supplies with his mouth full of food. You’re about to yell at him for manners when Mattsun speaks up.

“You’re different around him.”

Uh oh, he’s using the same voice he used earlier when talking about Hajime and you. He’s not teasing you.

“Different how?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Different, like how you acted around Iwaizumi.”

His observation is met with silence, Makki glancing at Mattsun nervously and Oikawa gazing directly at you.

“Do you like Osamu-kun?” Oikawa asks.

“Wow, yet again Oikawa is not scared to ask the hard questions!” Your attempts at deflection do not go well, as Mattsun serves you an intense look.

“Do you like him?”

You push back, rolling your eyes. “I think you guys know more than anyone that I’m in no state to be in a relationship right now.”

“That’s not what we’re asking.” Oikawa replies. He’s still staring at you, but it’s not a mean look on his face. Neither Mattsun nor Makki are looking at you meanly either, but all three of your friends’ eyes bore into you. Oikawa speaks up again. “Do you feel differently about Osamu compared to me, Mattsun and Makki?”

Your first instinct is to say no because you do see him as you see your friends. You think of all of the conversations you’ve both had about school and classes. And you think of all the stories you’ve shared about growing up in Sendai and your likes, dislikes.

You would even say that you and Osamu are best friends, given how much you’ve relied on him when it comes to dealing with Iwaizumi. A twinge of guilt twists in your stomach as you worry that maybe you rely on him too much. He has his own burdens to carry.

But at the end of the day, you just know that he’d be there for you. And he’s shown time and time again that he will be there for a late night phone call or a shoulder to cry on.

Even those late night text conversations when you’re too scared to fall asleep. Or how the way he supports is different to Makki, Mattsun and Oikawa.

But why? Why is it different?

Is it because he didn’t know the Y/N you were when you were younger? He didn’t know the Y/N that existed before high school?

He doesn’t know you from before Hajime died. He’s seen this raw, broken-down version of you. And he still wants to talk to you. He still wants to hang out and get coffee and be with you.

And in return, you know this raw, broken-down version of Osamu. Honestly, you could care less if the Osamu you never knew was the richest man in the world, or the smartest man alive. The Osamu now has been shaped and has grown from every experience he’s lived, the good and the bad. And everytime you talk you find out more about him that draws you in more. You’re never going to be satisfied until you find out everything about him. You’re not sure if it’s obsession or infatuation, but every little fact you unearth brings you a joy that you haven’t felt in some time.

You revel in the small expressions he shows around you and your ability to decipher his mood based on those looks. You shine when he focuses on you, his intense gaze indicating that he’s giving you his full attention on you and only you.

You felt safe with the strong arm around your shoulders when you felt like breaking. You felt comforted when he wiped your tears from your face.

You felt loved.

You look up at your friends, amazed.

“Oh my god, I think I like Osamu.”

The boys nod their head at you, none of them surprised by your revelation. You look down at your full plate, appetite long gone. You honestly can’t believe you’ve been so blind. Looking back it was so OBVIOUS that you’ve had feelings for Osamu for a long time.

Another thought crosses your mind, much more displeasing than your realizing your feelings for Osamu. “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship though.”

The boys nod at you again. This time Oikawa isn’t able to hold back his eyes roll. “Well obviously.”

You shrink down, feeling a new level of low. There’s no way you could try to pursue a relationship with Osamu, not now. But what if he wants to? What if he returns your feelings and wants to date you? Or worse, what if he doesn’t accept your feelings and doesn’t want to be your friend anymore?

“Y/N-chan, get out of your head.” Oikawa sing-songs, and it does bring you out of your head. You look at him and frown.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Babe, you don’t have to do anything.” Makki replies.

“But I want to.” You say instantly. “I mean, I think I want to, or I should?”

“But you know that you’re not in the right headspace to pursue a relationship now.” Mattsun reminds you gently. “And making sure you’re healthy enough to give the relationship all that you can is important.”

You nod sadly, agreeing. But your face must display your disappointment, so Oikawa sets his plate down and comes to sit by you.

“Look, just take it day by day. Nothing really has to change, you just have a different outlook on your relationship with Osamu.” He grabs your hand and holds it in both of his. “Instead of looking through a plain window, you’re looking through a stained glass window, right? It’s still Osamu out there, and he’s still the same person you like and want to be with. But now your relationship with him is richer and more vibrant. Even if you can’t act on your feelings now, you still have this new and beautiful view.”

You stare at Oikawa, dumbfounded. Mattsun and Makki look equally surprised at the deep and meaningful comparison Oikawa pulled out of nowhere.

“Wow,” Makki eventually says. “I didn’t know you could be so romantic, Oikawa.”

“Excuse you, I’m very romantic!” Oikawa snaps back indignantly. “Anyway, Y/N-chan, I guarantee that Osamu will be willing to wait. He’ll be patient, especially with you.”

“What would you know about patience?” Makki asks, genuine confusion in his voice.

Oikawa snaps again wordlessly, his tone shrill. You and Mattsun laugh, and the rest of the day is filled with everyone laughing and teasing each other.

At some point you take a second to look at your friends and smile. Your lives are unimaginably hard, and Hajime missing from these get-togethers still makes your heart ache. But with Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki here to soothe the pain, you know you can get through the worst of it.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: Okay, so all the cards on the table - I cried during the entire writing process with this chapter - planning it, drafting it, writing it, finalizing it AND even reviewing it. It’s not the first time I’ve had emotional reactions to my own writing, but it’s the first time it’s been such a visceral reaction. Not only is it so satisfying to see that small character growth from Oikawa, but the character growth from Y/N was oh so satisfying. She is FINALLY opening up to her friends, and they are FINALLY having a conversation that has been MONTHS in the making. She isn’t scared to suppress her feelings anymore, and she FINALLY trusts herself to open up to her friends, despite her subconscious trying to protect her from being vulnerable in front of those she cares about. If you’re reading this now, please know that there is NOTHING wrong with being open and forthcoming about your feelings. The people in your life who love you unconditionally, including me, will THANK you for it. 💖💖💖 Okay, gonna go cry again after writing this A/N LOLOLOL.

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito @babucrow @beidouluvr @kozuken-ma @imarriedachef

[quickdeaths]

"That's good," she said with a small nod, looking over to Anzu still standing impatiently. "Anzu could always use more friends. I hope the two of you get along well." It was not an insincere sentiment. For however much Anzu Tachibana grated upon their nerves, and as loathe as Shinobu was to admit it aloud, she was an important person to them. As well, many of Anzu's other friends were unpleasant for Shinobu to be around, but perhaps if she became close with Sonia, Shinobu would not detest every moment of shared interaction.

Shinobu's own lunch wasn't anything unique or unusual, nor particularly flashy. They'd grabbed a small can of iced coffee, paired with a bowl of oden containing daikon, konjac, an egg, fried tofu, and some small fish cakes. A simple, traditional meal for a simple, traditional person, perhaps. Or perhaps not. "Excuse me," she said as she set her things down upon the counter, motioning to Sonia's as well. "I hope it is no inconvenience, but I will be paying for her items as well."

Of course, for the cashier it was no trouble, and in short order, everything was bagged up and returned to the trio, prompting a departure from the convenience store and setting them off in the direction of the table Shinobu had noticed earlier. "Oh, the bookstore? Well, not the one near campus," Anzu mused, having already cracked open one of her drinks. "There's a kiosk by my theater that I go to for my magazines, usually." She looked to Shinobu, who this time hadn't broken stride to push any distance ahead of them. "And you're probably too busy, aren't you, Shinobu-chan?"

Shinobu gave a small nod. "My training and tournament schedule keeps me busy, with relatively few opportunities for leisure." But... perhaps someday, if Anzu and Sonia wished, she could be coerced into going along. If time permitted, at least. "When there's something I need to purchase, more often than not, I have it delivered." It worked better that way, even if every delivery prompted an interrogation about what frivolous and unnecessary thing she had wasted her money on.

As they crossed the intersection to enter the park, Shinobu could see that the girl hadn't left. It seemed to them increasingly likely that she would come to speak with them before they returned to the academy. Then, it was all she could hope for that the conversation would be brief. Someone waiting to ambush another person during a lunch hour was lacking tact enough, but to overstay their welcome would be a truly obnoxious thing.

"So, with this nickname situation. I am really-" Anzu had begun speaking as soon as they'd sat down, Shinobu on one side, with herself and Sonia on the other, only to be interrupted. "Miss Nevermind," Shinobu started. "I should be clear. If I disliked the nickname you called me by, you would have been informed at one point or another." Why it mattered to Shinobu at all, she wasn't exactly sure, but it was that same feeling she'd encountered at the fundraiser.

Though she wouldn't dwell upon it nor consider it some point of victimization, Shinobu Yaguchi was a girl who was often misunderstood in one way or another, and seldom did she bother to correct the record. What others thought of her was neither something she could control nor something she cared to think too deeply about. What reason did she have to mind? Yet, there was some quality about Sonia Nevermind in particular that spurred them to try and explain the intent behind their words more than usual.

"If you're worried that you've offended me or made me uncomfortable, Miss Nevermind, I ask that you kindly dispense with such a concern." And yet even that seemed not entirely sufficient. "As I said, I should have introduced myself more clearly. I'm afraid I was simply in a foul mood regarding the matter of names due to the manner in which I was referred to on the guest list, as well as the handkerchief I was originally given." And, had she given even her last name to Sonia, it wouldn't have been difficult for Sonia to review after-the-fact and see that she had been listed in that way.

"Ah!" Anzu looked apologetically to Shinobu, freezing mid-bite and then setting down her food, having skewered a few extra pieces onto a toothpick and held it out for Sonia in the interim. "Oh no, I'm really sorry, Shinobu-chan! I should have realized that your dad would put down your old name. I would have tried to get that fixed if I'd thought of it. It might have been too late for the party favor but-" To that, Shinobu waved a hand dismissively, sipping at their canned coffee. "I was representing the Yaguchi Dojo. It was at the Yaguchi Dojo's discretion how I would be listed." "But-" "Anzu." The way Shinobu's voice softened was faint and hard to detect, but uncharacteristic of her all the same. "Please, do not blame yourself; there's nothing you could have done."

Anzu looked to Shinobu, then to Sonia, then back to Shinobu. "Well," she said in a thoughtful tone, uncertainty giving way to acceptance that, if Shinobu really didn't want her to apologize, then she didn't need to. "I'm glad to hear that you found something that wasn't unpleasant to be called, anyway, and that you made a new friend, too." She flashed a smile to Sonia as she offered her another piece of fried, greasy, delicious, citrus-and-soy sauce flavored chicken. "Right?"

They were not friends, and indeed they should not be, but it was too impolite to say directly that someone was not a friend. Besides, Anzu seemed pleased enough at this resolution, and ensuring that Anzu Tachibana was happy was an important, if thankless, part of Shinobu Yaguchi's existence. "Agreed," she nodded, dark eyes lingering on Sonia for a moment longer than intended before returning downwards to her meal. "I was fortunate to have the opportunity to speak with Miss Nevermind."

Sonia shook her head, dismissing her error. It would be a battle, it seemed, of who was in the wrong: Sonia or Shinobu. "No, the fault is my own," She countered as they made their way towards the convenience store. "I should have been more polite and asked directly as opposed to simply bestowing upon you a nickname. I apologize for that."

A battle Sonia felt she'd won, at least before giving Anzu a knowing smile. Their hands still clasped, the request to use first names seemed to be a moot point for both of them. "Very well, Yaguchi-san and Anzu-san it is. Though I'm rather in agreement with you, Anzu-san. Formalities are essential, however the most important quality is one's heart. And friendship is what strengthens one's heart, fo' sho'!" She nodded in agreement at the shorter girl's suggestion: she hadn't wanted to expect to be invited, but Sonia was pleased when the invitation came nonetheless. Shinobu seemed both unsurprised and entirely uninterested in their conversation, so Sonia shrugged and focused her attention on Anzu instead. Unlike Yaguchi-san, she was bubbly, and easy to talk to upon a first meeting. The latter especially was a quality that Shinobu seemed to lack, at least in Sonia's opinion.

Or maybe, the red-haired girl had simply caught her off-guard that rainy evening. Sonia had ensured that things went smoothly, but it was a simple thing to fool others on the outside. It was practically a requirement of the royal family. "I only feel sorry if I made Yaguchi-san uncomfortable then, and just now," She replied regretfully, a small frown on her pink lips. "I could tell you if she is all right with such a story being told, but truly, there isn't much to tell on the subject beyond my own lack of manners."

She wasn't a stranger to being gawked at, but at least now she could only wonder who the girl across the street found so fascinating. For once, someone wasn't entirely fixated on her blonde hair or the fact they'd seen her face within the pages of a tabloid magazine or blog. The girl's gaze darted between Shinobu and over her shoulder, to Anzu and Sonia, in almost equal measure. But she proved far less of an obstacle than Anzu and Shinobu themselves, who seemed to have a routine debate around their habits concerning lunch money. Sonia's own expression turned from eagerness to worry as Shinobu held the door open for them all, Anzu quickly letting go of Sonia's hand in order to start gathering her purchases.

"I'm sure having Anzu-san as a friend will bring much-needed excitement to my life," Sonia assured Shinobu with a smile, "Though considering my classmates, having a prepared lunch assembled for me is the norm in Class 77-B. I doubt Hanamura-san would ever find out I didn't eat it, not with how enthusiastic Owari-san is around food. But certainly, I would not mind in the least purchasing Anzu-san's meal: I actually have coins myself this time! I like how they jingle, though I'm not supposed to carry them myself for that very reason."

They'd been left on their own long enough, at least by Anzu's impatient expression. Sonia gave Shinobu a nod of thanks: she doubted she'd want a big deal made of it, considering her demeanor regarding Anzu's attitude. Instead, Sonia took a small basket for herself and perused the various premade food options: there were stacks upon stacks of various cartons. From onigiri to ramen to bubble tea in cans, the Japanese convenience store was just as exciting and daunting now as the first time she visited. And to her disappointment, her dining companions were far less patient and enthralled by it than she was. With a soft sigh and smile, Sonia made quick work of the aisles, only stopping half a dozen times to marvel at various offerings. This was the Ultimate Princess showing restraint.

The same went for her basket: Sonia had decided on a small bento with a slice of cooked salmon and pickled vegetables, an egg salad sandwich, a bottle of sweetened milk tea, and a melon pan, the latter to be consumed with hot tea after her afternoon classes that day. It would provide a little more variety than the usual biscuits and chocolates she often chose, and she didn't think a slice of cream cake or a fruit sando would keep.

Of course, the excitement regarding the food paled in comparison when Sonia approached the counter. She greeted the cashier with far more enthusiasm than the average shopper, excitedly counting out the bills and coins to cover Anzu's purchases for the day.

"Look, there's extra change and everything!" She murmured quietly to Anzu as half a dozen coins were returned in the plastic receipt holder, voicing her thanks to the cashier at a more audible tone as she waited for her new friend to take her bags so she could unload her own basket. "Truth be told, I hardly ever buy magazines here: not when I can venture to the bookstore to do so! That is even more thrilling, to buy my own magazines, and books, and even the occasional film on disc! Do you two like going there as well?"

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Better Now

A Bla/ck Tap/es podcast sickfic.

I have so many wonderful prompts in my inbox but the only thing I  wanted to write was this wildly self-indulgent and overly long fic that's jam-packed with all my favorite tropes. I blame @matilda3948 for her recent amazing Dr. Strand sickfics for inspiration and @sanquintina for getting me into the podcast in the first place

This is technically Bl/ack Ta/pes fanfic, but you don't need to know anything about the series other than Dr. Strand is a persnickety, serious, stoic, skeptic with a very deep voice and troubled past. 

Set after the end of the series as it stands currently and written in 1st person from the perspective of Strand's unnamed female partner. Could be Alex if you want, could be someone else with whom Strand finally found happiness and contentment. I kept that part generic on purpose.

Richard Strand is many things, but clumsy isn't one of them. So naturally I had to go investigate when early one morning I was startled by the sound of a tea mug shattering on the floor followed by a hastily bitten-off swear word.

In the kitchen I found my husband, the world renowned Dr. Strand, kneeling on the floor mopping up spilled tea. He glanced up with a sniffle as he heard me approach.

"Had it too close to the edge. At least it missed my pants. I think I got all the ceramic bits, but be careful."

His voice was even deeper than usual, low and gravelly from the cold he'd been developing over the past few days. That, paired with his heavy, reddened eyes and generally haggard appearance, gave me concern.

"You look like you hardly slept. How are you feeling?"

"I tossed and turned a bit last night. Couldn't get comfortable."

"Couldn't breathe I think would be more accurate. You were snoring and breathing through your mouth all night."

He sat back on his heels and frowned. "Sorry if I kept you up."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm just worried about you," I added as he winced when he stood, massaging the space between his eyebrows.

He shot me another irritated glance. "I'm fine. I just have a bit of a cold." I couldn't help but notice the weary slump of his shoulders, however. Even his suit looked less crisp than usual. 

I summoned all my wifely tact and tried to make my voice persuasive: "Maybe you should stay home. You don't look like you'll be much use to anyone today."

He made an annoyed sound. "That's very unnecessary. I'm not staying home for a cold."

I looked pointedly out the window where a chilly November rain was pouring down steadily. "You really want to go out into that when you have a perfectly valid excuse not to?"

He too glanced out the window. After a moment he shook his head and cleared his throat, meeting my eyes again. "I'll be fine. It's just a little rain."

He headed toward the door, massaging his forehead once more.

"Don't you want your tea?"

"Oh, right." He whirled around quickly, grabbed the thermos, and headed toward the door again with a wet sniffle. I could only roll my eyes and sigh as the door closed behind him.

Most workdays I left after him and returned before him, and this Thursday was no exception. The rain was still pouring down when I arrived home from work that evening. I decided dinner was going to be vegetable stew and biscuits, not only for his cold, but also because I wanted some rainy November comfort food. Everything was nearly ready when I heard him coming up the steps. He opened the door, bringing with him a chilly gust, and I turned to greet him, but instead my mouth dropped open a bit at the sight of him. 

His hair and clothes were completely soaked with rain, to the point of dripping puddles onto the floor as I watched, and he was visibly shivering, something I'd never seen him do before. Inexplicably, he was also shaking the loose drops off of his soaked umbrella, his expression drawn and miserable. I was noticing how diminished he seemed when suddenly his breath hitched violently:

"HehZIHH'shiew! HrrUUHHZchoo! HehhGIHH'nkkchoo!"

I rushed to his side, relieving him of his umbrella and briefcase and pulling his sodden coat off of him as he slumped down onto the nearby stool. Beneath the coat, his suit was nearly just as wet and cold.

"Oh, Richard, bless you! You're soaked to the skin. Ugh, and your hands are freezing. How did you manage to get so drenched?"

"A w-woman and her ch-children were w-waiting for the b-bus without c-coats. I held my umbrella f-for them until it c-came," he said, his teeth chattering and his lips blue with cold. 

I toweled off his hair and clothes as best as I could before helping him undress. Any other day he would have brushed me off, saying he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. The fact that he allowed me to assist him spoke volumes to how poorly he felt. 

I was behind him, trying to peel off his sodden linen shirt when he lurched forward for another volley of sneezes:

"HrrUUSCHH! HnnxXT! HHGGTchh!"

"Bless you again, poor love. You've made your cold worse going out in this," I gently chastised.

"I'm f-fine," he sniffled, still barely able to speak around his shivering. Yet he leaned back against me wearily as I removed his undershirt and replaced it with a blanket, and I thought I heard the softest hint of a groan.

I used my fingers to comb his disheveled hair, but frowned when I felt his forehead. "You're running a fever. You weren't feverish this morning."

He merely shrugged, wordlessly asking me to continue massaging his scalp, which I did. Slowly his shivers subsided, but he was clearly exhausted, and sniffled wetly every few moments. 

"You look like you could use a hot drink and a warm bed," I said eventually.

"I'd start with a hot shower," came the mumbled reply.

"Hmm… what about a hot bath? I was thinking of taking one myself tonight, and I'm willing to share. No reason to waste the hot water. Dinner will keep for a bit longer."

He turned slightly, giving me a curious look. It wasn't that we had never bathed together before, but it was usually under very different circumstances. However, I happened to know my husband craved physical touch when he wasn't feeling well, though he would never ask for it. I was simply making life easier on both of us by preemptively offering it. 

"I suppose that might be nice," he finally said. "But I'm very tired…."

I kissed his cheek. "No strings attached. Bath only. Then dinner and sleep. No funny business, I promise."

He relaxed slightly. "That's fine then."

"Good. Let me go run the water." I kissed his hair once more, then headed to the bathroom. He joined me there with a cup of tea after a few minutes. While the oversized tub finished filling, he leaned in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck and looking distant and hazy, not to mention sick.

I shimmied off my clothes and slid into the water, gesturing for him to join me. He sluggishly obeyed, hampered in finishing his own undressing by his dripping nose. He set his mug of tea and a handkerchief on the little table beside the tub, then slid into the water in front of me.

His sigh of ecstasy as the hot water surrounded him was exactly what I hoped to hear, and he leaned back against me readily with a satisfied groan.

"Better?" I murmured in his ear.

"Much," came the rumbling reply, followed of course by a sniffle. 

I pressed my lips into his hair again and again. He hardly moved as the heat soaked into him. I let my nails trail all over his skin and gave him a gentle massage, trying to help him relax, a feat he was rarely able to accomplish on his own

"Would you like me to wash your hair?" I murmured after a while.

He gave the barest nod in reply. Wordlessly I did just that, something else he would never consider allowing in any other circumstance.

I kept the soap far from his face, but the fragrance still had its way with him. I had nearly all the suds rinsed out when he suddenly jerked forward and leaned over the edge of the tub.

GihhIIISSHH'UH! Hhigg'CHUH! HihYEHSH'ooo!" He directed the spray as far away from me as he could, grabbing for the handkerchief to catch as much of the mess as possible. He mopped his face with a growl as he slid back into the water, but the spell was broken. He fidgeted against me, sniffling in irritation again and again as I finished rinsing his hair. 

I suppressed a disappointed sigh. "You might feel better if you went and laid down now that you're warmed up. Get yourself a bowl of soup while I finish up here."

He grunted his assent, lifting himself out of the water and quickly toweling off as he began to shiver again right away. He donned his robe, took his tea, and went to get his supper.

The evening came to a quick close after that. Richard ate a small portion of soup, drank two mugs of tea, and refused any medication, but did little else. He wouldn't be described as loquacious on his best day, but he spoke even less than usual. The only noise he made was the occasional soft cough or explosive trio of sneezes and his perpetual sniffles as he attempted his usual evening reading. His eyes never lost their weary, hazy look though, and he was constantly shaking his head or wiping a knuckle under his nose, so I wondered how much he was actually absorbing.

When I suggested we go to bed, he didn't argue though, which was very unlike him. He fell into bed wearily, and it seemed he was asleep even before his head hit the pillow. I silently wished to myself as I drifted to sleep that he would either be recovered in the morning, or else have the sense to stay home if he was worse.

~~~~~~~~~~

Richard's alarm went off at the usual hour the next morning, and he shut it off right away. Normally he was out of bed in moments, but today he lingered, pulling the blankets closer around himself with a little groan.

I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but he continued to shift restlessly. After a moment, I heard him take a wheezy inhale and then break into a coughing fit, wet and hoarse. I turned to look at him again. He was on his back now, with an arm flung over his eyes.

"Aww, love," I murmured. "You ok?"

"I'm not feeling quite like myself," came the mumbled reply.

I reached out to stroke his cheek, letting my hand rest on his neck where I could feel his hugely swollen lymph nodes. He was well and truly sick now, and he needed to stay home from work. However, I couldn't be the one to suggest that, or else he would turn me down immediately and insist he was fine, as he had the day before. It needed to be his idea. I went with a different approach.

I nestled close to his side, kissing his shoulder softly. I could tell he was still feverish even through his clothes. "Busy day today?" I murmured.

He grunted wearily. I couldn't tell if it was affirmative or negative.

"I packed a big bowl of soup for your lunch. I hope it's enough to keep you full through the whole day. And don't forget, I'll meet you at your coworker's reception tonight. Was there anything I needed to bring to that?"

He slowly uncovered his face. "I was… actually considering staying home from work. It shouldn't be busy today, I can afford to miss. And… I'm really not feeling well at all. I'll make our excuses to John about his reception. 

I did a silent victory dance in my head. "Oh, are you sure? I thought you had some important meetings."

"Nothing that can't be rescheduled." He cracked a red eye open, glancing at me suspiciously. "Why? Do you want me to go in?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, kissing him again. "I want you to do what you think is best. If you're not feeling well, you ought to stay home so you don't risk getting other people sick though."

"I suppose." He coughed hoarsely again, rubbing his chest with a grimace. "Yes, I'll stay home today. Let me call Carol and John."

He slowly stood and made his unsteady way to his phone, sniffling and coughing the whole way. The two phone conversations were very brief, for he hardly had to try to make a case for his illness, congested and hoarse as he clearly was. After he finished the calls, he shuffled back to bed immediately, heaping the blankets back over himself with a shuddering cough. I rubbed his back as he got settled.

"Can I get you anything, hon? Water, medicine?"

He shook his head. "Going to try to sleep this off," he mumbled, sleep already (or still?) heavy in his voice.

I knew medicine would almost certainly help his endeavors at sleeping. At minimum it would improve the quality of his sleep. However, I also knew he was stubborn about such things, so I didn't press the issue yet. "Alright." I kissed his hot cheek gently. "Then I'll leave you be for now. Let me know if you need anything. Sleep well."

I made the bed around him, straightening my side and tucking him in, then quietly left. The sound of his deep snores followed me out. So much for me sleeping in today.

He emerged again later that morning. I didn't notice him at first when he did, though. I had my headphones in and was dancing around while dusting. Turning around, I almost bumped into him, scaring us both. I yanked my headphones off right away, taking in his disheveled, sickly, blanket-wrapped appearance.

"You're awake! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come out."

"Clearly," he rasped with the tiniest ghost of a smile. "You stayed home too?"

"It's my normal Friday off."

"Right, right," he sniffled. He then shuffled to the couch, collapsing onto it with a yawn. I went to sit beside him, unable to keep the concern from my face. I felt his forehead again, noting how he wearily leaned into the touch. I was forced to jump back though as he erupted into a volley of thick, chesty coughs. 

I sighed, surveying him with worry. "You're running quite the fever, love. And the cold has obviously settled into your chest now too."

He nodded limply with another sniffle.

"I'm not taking no for an answer this time, I'm giving you medicine and you're going to take it."

He managed to fix me with a condescending look. "Medication for a cold is essentially pointless. It just treats the symptoms."

"You think making yourself more comfortable is pointless?"

He opened his mouth to answer, or so I thought, but instead he lurched forward into a trio of wet, spraying sneezes:

"Heh'YEISSHH'oo! YEEIISH'uuh! Gih'HIH-shoo! --ugh…" The forceful snapping motion of his head when he sneezed looked incredibly painful, so much so that he pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead with a groan in the aftermath.

"Bless you, hon!" I waited a beat as he composed himself. "So… what was it again you were saying about the futility of treating the symptoms?" I asked, admittedly snidely.

He only grunted softly. I couldn't keep the smug look from my face when he met my eyes once more. However, seeing how thoroughly miserable he was reawakened my sympathy immediately. I reached out to caress his hair and cheek yet again.

"How about I make you some tea, yeah? And maybe a bowl of soup?"

"Please," he mumbled.

"Coming right up."

Another round of his thick, exhausting coughs followed me into the kitchen, and I couldn't help but wince in sympathy, even though he couldn't see me.

In a matter of minutes I had his meal ready. When I brought it back out to him, I placed the soup on the table and dropped a handful of pills and a capful of medication beside the bowl with a meaningful look. His only reply was a small frown. I resumed my seat beside him and was about to hand him the steaming mug when an idea occurred to me.

"Is your throat hurting badly?"

He nodded heavily with a little scowl, as if he hated being reminded of it.

"Here, this may help a bit." I raised the mug to the level of his neck, pressing it against his visibly enlarged lymph node.

His eyes widened and he half-jumped back from the initial sensation. 

"Trust me for a sec," I said gently, placing it against the swelling once more.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but allowed it. After a moment though he visibly loosened. Making a sound between a whimper and a groan, he leaned harder against the heat. 

"Better?"

"Mhmmmm," he sighed.

After another moment I switched to the other side of his neck and repeated the process. He angled himself here and there to get the most heat coverage over the tender areas. Finally I slid the mug into his hands, kissing his forehead.

"Thank you," he breathed. "That was… relieving."

"You're very welcome. Now, can I do anything else for you at the moment?" 

"I'm fine. You don't need to fuss."

"I may not have to, but I want to, first because you're my husband and second because I know you're not 'fine.' But if you're going to insist you are, I'm going to go fold some laundry. Holler if you need anything. Or cough loudly if that's easier."

That earned me a Dr. Strand signature, the 'amused huff.' "I will. Thank you again."

"No thanks necessary." He received another kiss to the temple before I stood and headed to the laundry room with a last pointed look at the medicine. It occurred to me as I walked away that I was likely giving him an overabundance of kisses considering how contagious he clearly was, but he was just so darn pitiful.

Twenty minutes later, I returned to check on him, bringing a glass of water as well. The tea mug and soup bowl sat empty on the coffee table, surrounded by a few scattered tissues. The medicine was untouched. The doctor was huddled to one side of the couch with another tissue held loosely in his hand and one pajama-clad leg tucked under him, staring listlessly at the wall. However, at the sound of my footsteps he stirred with a sickly sniffle, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. I smiled in greeting, and though he didn't return the smile, he did brighten a bit upon seeing me.

"What were you contemplating so deeply just now? You looked very lost in thought," I asked, handing him the water, then tidying up his little mess on the coffee table, leaving the pills.

He huffed a humorless laugh, looking self-conscious as he fiddled with the glass. "I was actually imagining how extensive the trial and error process must have been to determine how best to brew tea versus brewing coffee versus, for example, brewing beer. Roasting the ingredients versus drying versus fresh versus ground and boiling versus steeping versus fermenting. The amount of time that must have been necessary to perfect something so simple is rather astounding," he rasped, with many sniffles and throat-clearings thrown in.

I raised an eyebrow at him curiously. Aimless ramblings about random topics were not the norm for my painfully disciplined husband. "It is astounding I guess. I'd never thought about that before. Anyway, how are you feeling after eating?" 

"I'm fine," he said, finally setting down the untouched water, though the nasty cough that immediately followed his statement contradicted him.

This time I audibly sighed. "You do realize that you saying you're fine all the time is very counterproductive to helping me assess your needs? You don't have to be fine, love."

He gave me an odd look. "Conceptually, I know that. But you have to remember, for a long time I *did* have to be 'fine.' I didn't have the option to be otherwise. You, all of this… still feels like a new development or a dream at times. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

I sat on the arm of the couch beside him. He wordlessly leaned in toward me so I could lightly run my fingernails over his scalp. He softly groaned in pleasure.

"I'm not going to waste my breath telling you that I'm not going anywhere and I'm here for you, because you already know that. So I suppose I'll just have to keep showing you." 

I went to press a kiss to his head, but I caught a glimpse of his face and changed my mind when I saw he was about to sneeze.

"Gihh'chuuh! Hehh'choof! Ghnxt'choo!"

The sneezes were brisk and wet and left him breathless. He blew his nose with a wince before he spoke. "Sorry, could you repeat that? I missed most of it," he said, sounding stuffy and a little peeved.

I chuckled and complied, going for the kiss this time. He had no reply, but instead leaned against me wearily as I massaged his neck, yawning deeply. 

"You should rest again, love. Take a nap if you can. It's either that or watch TV, which you'll never do. I'm not sure you should attempt much else."

He wrinkled his nose. "I hate being so unproductive. I don't want to sleep the day away."

"Sleeping when you're sick isn't being unproductive, it's being wise."

"HehhGIH'choo! HEHHH-choo! Hihhh'YESSHH'uuhh!"

I was quite sure he didn't hear most of my statement, since he sneezed right in the middle of it. With a pitiful sound he tended to his nose yet again as I blessed him earnestly. Eventually his watery, heavy lidded eyes met mine. I couldn't help but notice yet again how flushed and disheveled he was and how utterly pathetic he looked, quite the opposite of his usual cool, collected self. 

"Guh. Sorry. What was that?" he asked with a pathetic sniffle, sounding very annoyed now.

"Aww, your nose. You really are sick, huh? Poor guy," I said, continuing to stroke his hair. 

He looked slightly offended. "You were having doubts about that?" 

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "It's just something you say, dear. 

"I'm aware of the colloquialism," he grumped. "But I find it a very odd one. And it's never been directed at me before."

"There's a first time for everything, then."

I was rubbing his back now. He yawned again, grimacing after, I assumed due to the sore throat. I also noticed he was starting to shiver.

"Ok, now seriously, tell me what I need to do to convince you to nap."

"I'm not sure," he said with a chesty cough, nestling deeper into the couch.

"Hmm. I accept that challenge." 

"And what challenge is that?"

"You won't tell me what I can do to help you, and perhaps you don't even know yourself, so I have to figure that out for both of us."

"I don't think there's anything I need though."

"You need to sleep."

He rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff, but I could tell he knew I was right.

I stood and went to put some smooth jazz on the record player in the room. Sitting down again, this time on the couch on the other side of him, I gestured to my lap.

"Come lie down."

"Wait-- lie down… right there?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

"Because you love hair scratches and neck rubs, so I'm making it easier to give them to you. Also you're apparently freezing and need to share some body heat."

He frowned, suppressing his shivers as best he could. Still, I knew he wouldn't be able to resist for long, tired and miserable as he was. Sure enough, after a moment he slowly levered himself down with a resigned sigh. 

I quickly threw a blanket over him, and then began the hair scratches. He made a tiny, appreciative sound. 

"Better?"

"Mm," he grunted.

"Good. But you're sweating, love," I murmured.

"I'm not sure how since I'm freezing," he mumbled with a cough.

"Your fever is higher. I can feel it just by touching you."

He groaned, snuggling deeper against me.

I massaged his neck for a while longer, trying to ease the tension from his muscles. He continued to be restless though, and apparently unable to regulate his body temperature. One moment he would be shaking with chills pulling the blanket closer, and then the next kicking it away from his legs with a moan of discomfort. 

The final straw for me was when he was overcome with yet another hacking coughing fit, curling in on himself miserably, trying to muffle it into his arm, the other hand clutching his chest.

Before he settled again, I leaned forward to grab the untouched pile of medication and glass of water from the coffee table. When he was again lying against me, I wordlessly held it out to him. He of course made a sound of irritation.

"Why are you being so stubborn? You need to sleep, and you can't sleep in the state you're in, at least not well. This will help your headache, fever, sore throat, everything so you can rest. I can tell you're exhausted."

After a final moment of consideration, he held out a reluctant hand. I handed him the items and he swallowed them without comment.

Neither of us spoke again for a long time, and didn't move from our places. I soothingly stroked his hair or rubbed his back, putting myself in a trance almost as much as him. 

I could see the medication talking effect. His restlessness slowly eased along with his coughing. It seemed I could even feel his body temperature decreasing.

"Hnnkkt'CHUH! Hehgg'CHUHH! EHHG'choo!"

Just as I thought he was asleep, his body twitched with a trio of sneezes, the quality of which could only be described as lazy--slow, thick, and dulled. They hardly seemed to stir him from his stupor.

"Bless you. Are you ok?"

" 'm fine," he croaked tiredly. We were both quiet for a while, then he spoke up again. "You know, one of the reasons I keep saying I'm fine is because I can't begin to describe what an improvement it is to be with you while being sick compared to being sick in bed alone. The difference is as drastic as night and day--better doesn't begin to describe it. Asking for anything more than what I already have just by your being here feels selfish."

Richard would never express such sentiments under normal circumstances, and hearing it said so plainly overwhelmed me with emotion. Yet I knew he wouldn't want me to reply in kind. He would prefer to state his piece and let it be. And indeed, I saw his eyes drooping heavier by the second, so I kept my thoughts to myself for now, but leaned over to plant a series of kisses all over his hot face. 

He hardly moved and didn't respond even when I finally stopped, but I couldn't help but notice the tiny smile playing around his lips as he drifted off to sleep.

[ailuronymy]

I doubt you'll remember this, because it happened such a long time ago, but it's been bothering me for years now and I wanted to get some closure on it. Many years ago, when I was 14, pretty new to roleplaying and completely new to Tumblr, I sent you an anonymous ask laughing about ridiculous unrealistic things that people were having their cats do in a roleplay I was in. Building blanket forts, among other things, and being transgender. At this point in my life I thought transgender only meant someone who had undergone gender affirmation surgery, and the idea of cats doing surgery on one another was hilarious to me. I shared it with the hope that other people would find it hilarious too. Instead, you told me that I had said The Wrong Thing and called me a bigot. I was confused, I was horrified, I didn't understand at all, and I more or less fled from tumblr for about two years. It was a formative experience for me.

Hello there. I do actually remember that post, although obviously since you were anon then as well, I didn’t remember you specifically. But I do remember. 

I thought about how to answer this ask for a few days. I’m not sure exactly what it is you’re looking for from me, but I’m going to give you the best reply I can and I hope that’s good enough for the both of us. 

When you wrote in to me, about eight years ago, I was younger than you are now. I was nineteen and I’d only been on tumblr for a bit over a year at that point, I think. I’d never had social media before, of any kind. It was all pretty new to me as an experience too, and I’d never expected this blog to get the attention that it did. I never even imagined that was a possibility. But it happened and I learned how to run a relatively popular ask blog on the job, as it were. 

There’s a lot I regret when I look back on that early era of this blog. The humour and jokes I allowed and sometimes encouraged and said myself here was often not kind, and that’s something I really regret. Eventually, I put an end to that because it just wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted any of us who have fun here to be doing. But I absolutely allowed it to happen for a long time first, and that’s on me. 

Also at that same time, there was a particular way of interacting on tumblr that was very popular. It was a lot of exuberance and hyperbole and insults, and being rude for fun, and overall very over-the-top and often harsh or just plain uncaring that there was someone else at the other end of the message. For everyone who was here in 2012, I think you can probably remember what it was like. It wasn’t a nice mode of communication, but it was popular and got great responses and a lot of people found it fun to read. For a couple of years after I started Ailuronymy, I was absolutely guilty of buying into it and acting this way, until I finally hated it enough to stop. It wasn’t who I wanted to be, in general or on this blog specifically. It felt mean and inauthentic and I wanted to be better. But I did act like that for a long time, and that was a choice I made. 

I’m not saying any of this because I want to make excuses for myself. I’m more aware than anyone else of the problems early on in this blog’s history, and it’s something I regret and wish I could go back to do differently with the knowledge and experience I have now. Unfortunately, I can’t change the past. I can only own up to it and do better going forward. 

I’m sorry for the tone I often used, including to you in that post, and I’m sorry that because of that behaviour, you felt scared and unwelcome here. That’s a failure on my part. I shouldn’t have used the tone I did, or assumed I had to take a defensive, intense stance the way I did. It’s very sad to me to know that because I did that, you were frightened and decided to leave. 

However, I would like to share my context too. Because at the time, I was nineteen years old (which I know probably sounds ancient to younger teens, but it’s not, really), and a bisexual guy (which I still am, obviously), and Ailuronymy was already a place that people (especially queer people) in the fandom were looking to for support and education. Insofar as this blog was developing a niche, that was it. I felt a significant amount of responsibility to champion and defend the people this blog was made for. 

2012 was also a time when the Warriors fandom on tumblr was genuinely very homophobic, and also quite volatile. It was common for people to be very angry (in general, and often at me) for saying that ableism isn’t okay, or that Warriors characters can be trans, or sometimes just “canon naming doesn’t make much sense.” I got quite a lot of hate mail--also sometimes just... confused, angry mail, for this naming system or any of the political things I talked about--and I was doing the best I could with what I had to give. A lot of what I learned during my years of running this blog came from making mistakes, but I always did my best.

The reason I’m bringing this up is because what you actually said was: “these cats can be homosexual, asexual, bisexual, pansexual, and transgender--don’t even ask me how that’s possible. I don’t want to know.” You came to me, a queer man, running a blog that in no small part is about how queerness is allowed to exist in this fandom and is in fact not implausible, during a time when the fandom as a whole was solidly anti-queer, with something like that. Like you said, you shared it with me--and the readers here--because you hoped we would find it hilarious and unrealistic too. 

But I didn’t, because, to me, that’s just what a lot of the fandom already was. It was a hostile environment that regularly argued that queer characters, or people, had no place here. That was the kind of things people on anon fairly often came to yell in my inbox about how I’m wrong, etc. etc., and how I’m bad, etc. etc. 

I reacted defensively, which I wouldn’t do now, because I’m much older, and I have experience and confidence I just didn’t then. At the time, though, what I heard in your ask was “queer characters are absurd and don’t belong here, don’t correct me,” and that is what I reacted to. I’m sure for you, it felt scary and disproportionate, and as I said before, I wish I had handled things differently, and gentler. 

But I don’t disagree with what I said. The points I made weren’t wrong. And my response--although not how I would respond now--was not wrong, even though it hurt you. It genuinely is horrible to know that because of my lack of tact, you were scared. It was also horrible to receive your ask at the time, just like many of the rest. It wasn’t hypothetical to me, because I’m queer. It was about me, and other people I care about very much.

The fact I’m queer is probably news to you, and you were new tumblr and probably didn’t know what was going on in the fandom, and maybe you would have said something different if you knew all this. 

Likewise, though, you were on anon and I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you were fourteen. I didn’t know you were asking in good faith, and not just another one of the homophobic fans thinking you’d found a friend in me, which frankly felt a bit insulting. I didn’t know you were and, again, although I wish I did more back then and was kinder in my approach, I didn’t have insight into your intentions. I also didn’t have the maturity for that not to matter.

That said, even in my very imperfect answer I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I specifically said:

“Before you think I’m victimising you - I’m not. This is not personal right now; currently, this is a mistake on your part, and I understand that mistakes are incredibly easy to make. If, by the end of my post, you get where you went wrong here, then it will be like this ask of yours never happened and I will forget you ever said it. I don’t like to hold any kind of grudge if there’s any way to avoid it, and an acknowledgement of where you went wrong here would completely fix everything about this.”

&

“So what you’re saying when you say that you don’t believe that “homosexual, asexual, bisexual, pansexual, and transgender” cats are possible in the context of Warriors is, basically, that you’re a bigot. I am really sorry to say that, because the chances are - I sincerely hope - that you aren’t. You’re a good person. You’re a good person who said something bigoted by mistake. And if you don’t believe what you’ve said is a mistake yet, let me show you some interesting true facts about our world.“

Because I know how easy it is to make mistakes and how hard it is to get everything right all the time, and know everything, and never do something dumb or hurtful. It’s easy to fuck up. I’ve done it a lot. The answer I gave you back then is just one example.

That what you took from my answer was only fear and confusion isn’t something in my control, however. I hate that that’s what happened, and I regret not being who I am now back then, but even though I did fuck up back then, I still did what I could at the time to mitigate the damage and reassure you that a mistake doesn’t define you. I am sorry it wasn’t enough for you to feel okay coming back. But I can’t say I’m sorry for telling you that coming to me on my blog with that kind of mentality is something I’ll tolerate at all. 

Ultimately, I’m sorry that our experience of each other was not a good one. I’m sorry that your memory of me is someone scary and mean, and that you felt you had to leave this site entirely for two years because of it. I regret that my actions left you with such a negative experience, because that was never my intention, even though the way I handled things with you was very poor. 

I hope you’re able to find the closure you’re looking for and I genuinely wish you all the best. 

[pro-bee]

I wish you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you

[not me using a song lyric on an ELLICK fic when I don’t even know them lmao]

quick fic that was stuck in my head after the drama from last night... which I didn’t even watch.

This is for my boos @indestinatus @delicatefalice @wanna-be-bold and everyone else who are hurting from last night. (Also @coffeedepablo because I know she doesn’t watch for Ellick either but she likes new things to read lmao)

Disclaimer: as I mentioned, I have not watched this show in forever, so I hope I did your Nick justice, guys. Also, I haven’t proofread this.

Spoilers: Season 18 finale

Characters: Nick Torres, Ziva David. Mentions of a certain agent who has gone rogue.

----

“You were wrong, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

To say you could cut the tension with a knife would be a gross understatement. A chainsaw, maybe. But the broody agent has said nary a word all day, the torment plastered all over his face speaking for him. 

“About me and Ellie. When you said— You don’t even know how wrong you were.”

“Agent Torres, I—“ She tries to find the words to convey decades of heartbreak and lessons learned in response, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. No offense, Ziva, but I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

She aches at the sight of his obvious pain, one she knows all too well herself. (From both the inflicting and receiving ends.)

“You know, I thought you were full of crap at first. No— Part of me knew you were right, okay, but the bigger part knew there was a reason not to go there. That it was better to just let it run its course. But then your irritating voice was niggling at me in the back of my head to tell her. To stop being a wuss. And I resisted it, I really did, because I knew what would happen. I knew it. But, I caved. I put it out there. And I couldn’t take it back. And you know what happened?

“She said it back. And it— it gave me hope, you know. It’s so fucking stupid I could— But it did. And do you know how that felt?”

“How?” She can see the rage firing behind the despair in his voice, and already knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

“Fucking fantastic, that’s what. Honest to God fantastic. And before I knew it, it was gone. No, not gone— it ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it into a million pieces. She just— Ziva, she just left.” Because they always leave. That’s the moral of the story. It doesn’t matter how much you love them or they love you, one way or another, they walk out of your life and leave you to pick up the pieces. This is a cycle that will never end. “It’s like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter. I guess I didn’t.” 

“You know that’s not true.” She wishes they were really friends, that she could do and say the things that would bring comfort in moments like these. But they aren’t, so she settles for being his emotional punching bag while he works this out.

“Do I? We had this talk, you know. The Talk. She claimed she felt the same way about me, but obviously not enough to tell me what was going on or give me the damn courtesy to let me know she was leaving. Do you know that? She was going to leave without saying a word, even after everything we— She just left.” The words hang in the air, and she tries not to think about how she too was once the one who just left. Too many years of solitude (and now, therapy) have told her not to revisit this well of misery. Yet seeing the aftermath in front of her opens old wounds she’d never fully believed would ever heal. 

“Torres, I am so sorry. If I had known, I would have—“

He scoffs, and rolls his eyes. “What? Stopped her? You and I both know that wouldn’t happen.”

“I won’t pretend to know how you feel, and I can’t even say I know why she left, because I don’t, but if I can offer some insight from the other side… Sometimes that feeling that drives you to do these things is stronger than even your feelings the people you love. Certainly more than your own well-being. I don’t know what she’s doing, or where she is, but all I can say is… Sometimes you feel like you’re cornered, and the only thing you know how to do is to push everyone else away to keep them safe from you. It is not rational, nor is it healthy, but— sometimes, this thing inside overtakes everything else. I can promise you it really has nothing to do with how she feels for you.”

“I should be enough.” He softens; all he wants is to be enough someday. 

“Yes, you should. But right now, she isn’t even enough for herself. She does not want you involved because that would make her face that.”

The fatigue washes over him, as though the conversation will draw his last breath.

“I’m just… I’m mad. I’m so mad. At her. At myself. At Odette. At you. At… everyone.” 

“I know.”

“I miss her.”

“I know.”

“This sucks.”

“I know.”

They stand there together in the silence for a moment, coming to a place of understanding at their unfortunate reason for kinship at the moment.

“You really don’t know where she is?”

“No. Odette has not involved me in anything since I’ve been home. She wants to keep my family safe.”

Oh, the irony.

He snorts, unleashing the rising bitterness again: “But she has no problem putting Ellie’s in danger?”

“I wish I knew. All I can tell you is if Odette pulled Agent Bishop into this, then there must have been a good reason. But if it got to this point— there must not have been any other choice.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sorry. I never was known for my tact.”

He relents a little, knowing this doesn’t really have anything to do with her. “I think you do okay.”

She offers him a gentle smile in appreciation. “I really wish things had worked out differently.”

“Me too.”

“But Agent Torres? I promise you it was worth it.” He understands the it she’s talking about. “She knows. And you know.”

He stares at the floor, lost in his thoughts, and she wonders what she should do to help at the moment. For all her experience at heartbreak, watching it from the sidelines is a decidedly different experience. 

“Can I buy you a beer?”

“Nah. I’ll take a rain check on that, though. For when I’m a little less mad at you.” She laughs softly, and the corners of his mouth turn up in what may be the first hint of a smile he’s had in months. 

“Deal.”

“And Ziva?”

“Hmm?”

“I can still take you down.” Fake it till you make it, right?

“I will believe that when I see it.” She takes this as her cue to leave. “Night Agent Torres.”

“Night,” he answers over his shoulder as she heads to the elevator. He stands in the darkened bullpen, lost in his thoughts and his turmoil, but somehow, he feels a little better. (And a little bitter.)

Because she knows.

[joachimnapoleon]

May I ask you the question on a rather delicate topic (which bothers me from time to time, when I stumble upon Murat’s mentions in Poniatowski’s biographies etc.)? It is often repeated that they resembled each other in some areas, like their love for parties, dances, horses and women...

So my question will be on that, latter topic.

We all know about Caroline, but what about other women in Joachim’s life? Did he have other significant “love interests”? Was Caroline the first woman he proposed to? Did he... cheat on her???

If you know anything on the topic could you please share it with us? ))) (Because I am very curious why did prince Murat earn such a reputation ;)

Thanks in advance!

Oooh this is going to be a fun one. :)

Murat did acquire quite a reputation for womanizing. Napoleon would say on Saint Helena that Murat "needed women like he needed food." On another occasion (and for some reason Napoleon returned to the subject of Murat's sex life on numerous occasions) he exclaimed "How many mistakes did Murat not commit in order to establish his headquarters in a chateau where there were women! He needed them every day, so I readily tolerated a general having a whore with him, in order to avoid this inconvenience." (From Gourgaud's diary, 3 April 1817.) Apparently Napoleon was quite fixated on this subject because Bertrand records similar remarks from him in an undated note assumed to be from some time in 1820: "Murat supposedly needed a woman each night, but every woman was good to him, and nothing stopped him, whether she had the pox or not." (Vol. 2 of Bertrand's Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, pg 438) Which is likely a reference to one of Murat's more well-known mistresses, Madame Ruga, a lawyer's wife, whom he met (and possibly fell in love with) in Brescia.

But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. We'll get back to Madame Ruga.

Murat's early life is very poorly documented. Some of his early biographers allude vaguely to him womanizing while he was still a student in the seminary, and even claim that he fought a duel over a young woman before abandoning the seminary to become a soldier. Take it all with a grain of salt. The first actual evidence of Murat having an attachment to a woman, lies in his letters referencing a young woman named Mion Bastide, from his hometown. It's hard to tell how deep his feelings for her ran; he repeatedly asks his older brother for news of her--and also what her "intentions" are, and if she is flirting with the young men of La Bastide while he is away on his military duties. Perhaps they had spoken of marriage at some point while he'd been home. Anyway, he eventually got tired of her not responding to him and moved on. While a captain in the chasseurs à cheval, he apparently had an affair with a woman named Eléonore; I haven't come across any details about this, but his attachment to her was strong enough that he kept a pocketwatch with "Joachim Murat, capitaine de chasseurs à cheval: Eléonore to Joachim - do not forget her" inscribed inside; he only relinquished this watch during the 1812 campaign, as a gift to a Cossack.

During the Italian campaign, Murat had affairs with two men's wives; the aforementioned Madame Ruga, and one Madame Ghirardi (more on her shortly). Madame Ruga is described in Desaix's notes as "young, pretty; wife of a lawyer; like all the Milanese, loving pleasures, having suffered from the venom"--"the venom" (le venin) being a tactful way of saying she'd had venereal disease, which she soon passed on to Murat. "Murat is ill," Napoleon writes to Josephine on 22 July 1796; "the goddess of the ball, Mme Ruga, properly gave him une galanterie," which is another lovely old-fashioned euphemism for giving someone VD. Napoleon continues that Murat "is furious; he wants to put his adventure in the gazettes." But in typical Murat fashion, his fury burned out quickly, and he seems to have been quite infatuated with Mme Ruga--he continued the affair, which is probably what spawned Napoleon's later disgusted recollection on Saint Helena. He even temporarily neglected his duties, until Napoleon sent him a mild reprimand, to which Murat replied with indignation. "I have never had any idea which could be the least disfavorable to you," Napoleon responded drily on 21 June 1797, "but I thought that you were more necessary to your division than to your mistress in Brescia." When Murat was sent back to Italy in 1800--months after marrying Caroline--there's a very good likelihood that he resumed his affair with Mme Ruga. At any rate, they maintained contact for some time; she delivered a letter to Eugène de Beauharnais for him in 1805.

Now on to Mme Ghirardi. Apparently he also met this woman, wife of a General Lechi, in Brescia. Eventually Napoleon sent Murat to Rastadt for peace negotiations at the end of the Italian campaign. According to an article in the January 1908 Revue Napoléonienne, this is what happened next:

But Murat's conquest does not intend to let him go. Desperate to hold him back, she follows him. The beauty flees from Brescia, crosses the Alps and falls into Strasbourg; when Murat returns from Rastadt to Paris, she settles there with him and stays in the same hotel, rue des Capucins-Neufs, number 20. The adventure here is complicated by a comic novel. The husband, worthy and notable citizen of Brescia, makes a lot of noise about his misadventure and instantly demands the lost object. He brings his complaint to Milan; he comes as far as Paris to address a mournful petition to the Directory. He begs Barras and his colleagues to set themselves up as defenders of outraged morality: "Put this young woman betrayed by a vile seducer on the path of righteousness and virtue, give a mother to an innocent child; it is an honest husband who asks for this act of justice. He will be able to publish it throughout the Cisalpine and to his fellow citizens who expect it from you." (...) A singular crossover facilitated the outcome. While the husband brought his action in Paris for restitution of wife, Murat, perhaps judging that the follies of youth should not be prolonged, adopted the part of bringing the fugitive back to Brescia and resuming his military career in Italy.

Napoleon writes to Berthier to inform him that Murat is coming back to Italy to return "this heroine of Brescia," take a vacation in Rome, and then rejoin the army. And that is the last we know of Mme Ghirardi and her affair with Murat.

The short answer to your question as to whether Murat cheated on Caroline is, unfortunately, yes.

And, not to make excuses for him, but it's hard to see it turning out otherwise given that Murat was pretty set in his ways by the time of his marriage. He had long since gotten into the habit of flitting from one woman to another, and he was in his early thirties when he finally married. On top of that, his military duties made it inevitable that he would spend long periods far away from Caroline--which he did--and I just don't think he had either the self-control or the interest in remaining faithful after awhile.

(I'm just going to excerpt this next part from a post I did on Murat's relationship with Caroline awhile back, since it fits in perfectly here.) 

They endured a long period of separation very early in their marriage–the first of many, adding up to several total years spent apart between 1800 and their final parting in May of 1815. Murat was sent to take command of a force in Italy in November 1800 while Caroline was pregnant with their first child; they did not see each other again until May of the following year. There are a couple of letters within Murat’s published correspondence that hint that, though he at first attempted to remain faithful to his wife during this interim, he may have given up on the endeavor prior to their reunion. The diplomat Charles Alquier, who befriended Murat in Italy, wrote to him in April 1801, lamenting not being able to spend a few days with him in Florence, teasing that he “would like to witness your gallant successes there and hear you talk about your marital fidelity, without believing it in the slightest.” The following month, after the arrival of Caroline, Alquier teases Murat again along these lines, in a postscript that reads “It was about time that Madame Murat arrived in Florence, or your hard-pressed fidelity was about to escape you.” He had almost certainly resumed his affair with Madame Ruga during this period.

There is a rather fascinating little affair that takes place early in 1806, in which Napoleon and Murat were having a simultaneous affair with a young woman named Éleonore Denuelle de la Plaigne, who was staying with the Murats at Neuilly at the time. Napoleon abruptly put an end to his affair with her when he discovered that she was also sleeping with Murat. Éleonore gave birth to a baby boy at the end of the year, and Napoleon believed the child was probably Murat's--up until he saw the boy in person prior to embarking for Saint Helena. What's particularly fascinating to me about this episode is the fact that Caroline pretty much arranged this affair for her brother--the Bonaparte siblings were so hell-bent on getting Napoleon to divorce Josephine by this point that some of them were acting like glorified pimps, hooking Napoleon up with girls left and right in hopes that he'd eventually produce a baby and prove that he wasn't to blame for the lack of an heir. But the timing of Murat, a man of proven fertility (he had four children by now), swooping in to plant a few seeds of his own at the same time that he undoubtedly knew Napoleon was bedding Éleonore just... let's just say I have theories about this. Suffice to say I think the Murats' sexual dynamic took some interesting twists and turns, and I'm fairly convinced that they each weaponized the other's sexuality on occasion--the Éleonore affair being the first example, and Caroline's affair with Metternich later on being another. This is totally, 100% my own personal theory and there's no way in hell to prove it either way, it's just my own reading of the situation given my current understanding of the personalities involved.

Anyway. The interesting thing about Murat's alleged affairs is that so few of his mistresses have been written of by name, the ones above being the exceptions. I've seen it written that he had a brief fling with the actress Mademoiselle Georges--who also allegedly had a short affair with Napoleon--but it's another one of those things that isn't well-sourced, at least from what I've found so far. As for his mistresses in Naples, I haven't come across the name of a single one. General Guglielmo Pépé only refers to them in the most general terms, remarking that King Joachim considered it dishonorable to refuse to grant a woman a favor "even were she not his mistress," and that he was especially susceptible to the "entreaties of the ladies about the Court". He also recounts Murat telling him once that "The Queen does not much like my giving audience to ladies," to which Pépé rejoined, "I pity the Queen if she notices the gallantries of Your Majesty." But I do find it extremely interesting that there seems to be absolutely no information whatsoever on any of Murat's alleged mistresses in Naples, which makes me wonder if his reputation in that area might be a bit exaggerated and if a lot of his so-called "gallantries" were simple flirtations. He never stopped being a massive flirt or enjoying having women's eyes on him. "He was very vain," Madame Fusil, an actress who met him in 1812, wrote of him, "and he liked women to watch out for him." 

I hope I didn't forget anything! And thanks for the ask! ^_^

[nyxdelanuit]

Hey my little constellations, I've been chatting with @beatific-drabbles and @mammonrights all day, and may have accidentally wrote a lil something. We were talking about reunion hugs and throughout the day I wrote this mess in our chat. It's not proofread or edited or anything, but I thought I'd share.

Pairing: Mammon x Reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, a lil angst, mostly fluff

You had hoped he would have been honest with you before you left. Maybe he just hadn't been honest with himself. It had been obvious to everyone around you that the two of you were head over heels for each other, but Mammon denied their accusations at every turn. Now you sat in your bed, late into the night years later, reminiscing on the fading memories of his hand stuck to yours as you ran through the fun house.

You had tried to move on. A string of unsatisfying relationships and grasps at the connection you and Mammon shared only made you feel more hollow. Did he even remember you anymore? Did he stay awake missing you too?

You tried, like usual, to put those memories away with the rising of the sun. Devildom daydreams had no place in the light of day, that was how you survived all this time without them. But the light glinting off white hair gave you pause, long enough for its owner to recognize you.

It wasn't Mammon, of course it wasn't. But Solomon was a decent replacement. He treated you to coffee as you caught up, seeing through your happy facade to the melancholy that plagued your every waking moment. Even in sleep, the only brother to visit was Belphie, assuring you they all missed you and leaving you with pleasant dreams without them.

"Do you want to go back?" The question was teasing, but you couldn't help the break in your voice as you answered.

"More than anything."

Solomon was surprisingly helpful, the two of you had never been terribly close. Yet now he was helping you pack, the bag slung over his shoulder full of all he'd need to help you go back. Once you had deemed yourself ready, your world exploded into white, fading to the foyer you had so desperately missed.

Lucifer stood before you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, but the smile on his face let you know he wasn't surprised.

"A letter every once in a while would have been appreciated." You tried to stutter out something- an excuse, a greeting, an apology- but he quieted you with a motion of his hand. "It's good to have you back."

The next few hours were spent getting resituated in your room. Lucifer had easily slipped away from RAD with the excuse of doing something for Diavolo. He wasn't lying, of course, Diavolo had welcomed you back willingly when you had Solomon ask. With Barbatos at his side, you knew better than to try to keep secrets from him.

Now you stood nervously in the music room as the brothers arrived home. One by one, Lucifer called them to meet you, letting you have a moment of privacy with each before the house erupted into chaos.

He let Belphie in first, the sleepy smile something that had grown into a comfort over the years.

"I knew you'd come back. You kept trying to dream of us." You let out a watery chuckle as he wrapped you up in his arms. "Maybe now you'll actually sleep. I'll drag you off to take naps with me if you don't." The threat wasn't hollow, but also wasn't unwelcome. There was so much you wanted to say to him. Belphie had been the one to keep you sane, granting you sleep on sleepless nights and making sure it was only good dreams that came to you. He understood though, when your mouth opened and shut. You had time now, and he wasn't the one on your mind. With a gentle squeeze as farewell, he stepped away. The click of the door echoed behind him.

Next came Beel, the twins never too far apart. He didn't need words, the gentle arms lifting you up to squeeze you delicately spoke volumes. He shuffled you around until he was sure you were comfortable in his hold, never once letting your feet drop to the floor as he drank in your presence. As nice as seeing Belphie again was, it grounded you more to see Beel again. The feeling of your hands patting his hair and the tensing of his arms as he held you close, but not tight enough to hurt you like you knew he could. He remembered, even after all this time.

You could have stayed like that all night, and there had been nights where you did. Nights when Mammon's denial hurt too much or Beel's nightmares made him feel like he needed your weight by his side. But he knew, just as Belphie did, that he wasn't the one your attention was focused on.

"I'll bring you some food later. I stocked up on your favorites, just in case."

Another click, another moment of silence separating you

Asmo was next through the door, his squeel splitting through the silence before he launched himself at you. He wasn't shy about the tears glimmering in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head in your chest.

"I've missed you so, it's been so dull without you." You chuckled as you returned his embrace.

"I've missed you too, almost as much as my skin has missed your pampering." He gasped, pulling back to you stare at your face, delicate, soft fingers caressing your neglected skin.

"This is terrible. You must let me fix this. Twice a week, my room, we'll have a spa night." You grinned at his pleading eyes.

"Of course, Asmo. I'll be there." With your promise, he finally relinquished his hold. A soft kiss was placed to your cheek before he left. Just a few more now.

You hadn't even heard Satan come in, only noticing him leaning against the the doorway with a grin.

"I knew there must have been something going on with how Lucifer has been hounding us all night, but I never assumed it would be you." You rolled your eyes, opening your arms to him.

His legs took him quickly to you, long strides closing the space before his firm hug enveloped you. He pulled away faster than the others, hands smoothing down your arms as he took you in.

"You'll be staying for a while, won't you?" You nodded your agreement, forever if you could... "Good, we have much to talk about. I wouldn't want to keep you too long, I'm sure you're eager to see the others." The mischievous grin made you roll your eyes.

"I haven't been home for a day, and you're already teasing me?" He didn't continue his teasing, instead smiling at you.

"Home?" He asked, hoping you'd clarify.

"Yeah, home." That was answer enough for him, and he left, the soft smile not leaving his face.

You weren't sure if you were ready for Levi when he came in, keeping his distance. The two of you shuffled awkwardly, neither reaching out.

"You didn't call. Or text. Or hop on Mononoke Land."

"I know... I'm sorry." You lowered your gaze to the ground, not wanting to see the anger you were sure you'd see in his eyes.

"You were supposed to be my Henry..." Your heart hurts at the sniffles you hear after his statement. "Was I not good enough?" Your head snaps up at that, seeing Levi roughly wiping away tears with his sleeves.

"No Levi, never that. I was just scared you guys forgot about me." You took a tentative step towards him, but he quickly comes to you, falling to cry into your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around his shuddering frame. You let him cry and wrap his arms around you, clinging to you desperately as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Once his sobs die down, he speaks again, voice hoarse. "You have a lot to catch up on." You laugh, noticing how rough your voice was too.

"Guess I'll be spending a lot of time in your room then." He nods, squeezing you once more before stepping back.

"I'll hold you to that, so don't skip out on me."

You wanted a moment to get tourself together before you saw him. To straighten out your clothes, to rub the remnants of tears from your face before your first twenty minutes of being reunited with Mammon became an interrogation of who hurt you.

The door opened with a click, denying you that chance. You turned toward him, all the explanations dying on your tongue.

Lucifer.

He strode toward you, gloved hand wiping away the last remnants of wetness on your cheek.

"You seem surprised."

"I thought Mammon would be next..." You stammered, trying to find the words to convey that you were happy to see him but confused, but his pride stayed in tact with a chuckle.

"I'm not daft. I know how the two of you are together, if I wanted a moment, I needed to steal one before he attaches himself to you for the remainder of the night." You laughed softly, leaning into the gentle warmth that bled through his glove.

"Why not earlier?"

"And have your attention divided between myself and settling back into your place in the devildom? That would not be fair to you, and much less to me. For now, I have your attention all to myself."

"Careful, Luci, you're starting to sound like Mammon." That ever rare blush graced his cheeks as he turned away, clearing his throat.

"You bring many things out of myself and my brothers. Greed, adoration, selflessness. We have you to thank for a taste of who we used to be." It was your turn to blush, the compliment unexpected. Lucifer smiled down at you, dropping his hand from your face once he laid a chaste peck on your forehead.

His arms surrounded you, an unparalleled safety you wouldn't find with anyone else.

"I hope you never grow to regret your choice. And if Mammon were to ever lose your affections, please let me be the first to know." With his emotions laid bare, he turned, quickly fleeing the room, leaving you to your thoughts and anticipation.

You fixed yourself in the mirrors of the music room, worrying the hem of your clothes as the time started to stretch. Anxiety started to thrum through your veins, what if he heard you were back? Did he run? Did he truly not care, were you really just some puny human that glued themselves to his side for a year?

Your thoughts were interrupted as he fell through the doors, pushed by a multitude of hands and cursing the bodies behind the now closed door.

"What do ya think you're doin? I've got shit to do tonight!" His hands pounded on the door, begging Lucifer for an explanation of why he was being punished this time. He hadn't noticed you yet, until you took a step forward.

Your small step echoed through the room, causing Mammon to stop and collect himself to his full height. He turned to you slowly, catching your eyes in his gaze. It felt like seeing the sun after a long winter, warm, golden, melting you to your very bones, and yet you were frozen to your spot. He drank you in, eyes never leaving your form as he tried to figure out if it was truly you. You and not some taunting daydream, a cruel ghost of words left unsaid and feelings unexplored.

The spell was broken once he took a step toward you, urging you both to rush for each other, meeting in the middle of the room. His hands flew to you, one arm wrapping around your waist to bring you flush against his chest, and the other hand trailing up your neck to bury in your hair, pulling your face into his neck. He sunk slowly to his knees, pulling you down to sit on the floor with him, on him, in his arms.

"I thought I'd never see ya again." His voice was barely more than a breath on your skin, his face hidden from your view.

"I wanted to come back as soon as I left." You ignored the shuddering in your voice, excitement, nervousness, trepidation dripping from your tongue. Nothing had felt more right than he did under your hands, clutching his jacket in your fists, unwilling to let him go again.

"I shoulda asked ya to stay. I shoulda asked ya a lot of things."

"You can ask me now, I'm here." You felt the anticipation in the shaking of his hands against you, in the way he held you as if you were precious. All combining into this sweet tension that you were begging for him to break.

"Stay with me? Be with me? Be my girl? Fuck, let me show ya how much I feel for ya?" You were scared to pull away, to look at his face. Would he still back pedal after all of this, still clam up now that he's finally asked? Yet you needed to know, needed to see the look in his face.

He was red, you had expected that much, but the panic he normally wore was replaced by a gentle desire. A plea for release from his long wait, to finally be something with you. He didn't turn away, didn't avert his gaze as you forgot your words, the shaking in his arms spreading throughout his body.

"Yes, Mammon, yes to all of them, I've only been waiting for you to ask." Your hands released Mammon's jacket in favor of caressing his face, trying to convey all of your love through the simple touch.

"Ya really mean it? You'll be mine? Just mine?" His voice broke as he asked, the emotion to heavy to carry.

"Yes, all yours Mammon."

He kissed you then, the way you both craved for so long. Deep and slow and sweet. Even when his brothers flooded the room, he didn't relinquish your lips, holding your head to his and claiming his place at your side.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 20

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky reveals some of the worst parts of his time with HYDRA. But when he starts to spiral, you're there to catch him.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: References to past sexual abuse/rape, internalized victim-blaming, angst resolved with cuddles

Word Count: 2k

AO3

You’d thought Bucky would be difficult when it came to the bed-sharing situation.

You were wrong. He was impossible.

The rest of the day had gone surprisingly well. Your family had behaved themselves, except for when Uncle Walter had asked how Bucky’s arm had been “burned.” The cover story was he was a war veteran, which was entirely true, just for a different war. He’d been too close to a firebomb and he’d suffered third degree burns.

Bucky seemed to have found that part of the story funny when he’d told it to you. Something about demons and fire and how he actually couldn’t be burned. You hadn’t found it funny at all.

Your mother had shot Uncle Walter a glare at the question, but Bucky had simply smiled and recounted the false tale. He was the perfect gentleman and doting boyfriend; not even your protective family could find fault with him.

And you? Every time he slung his arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head, you died a little more inside.

Perhaps with how smooth everything had been going, you should have expected it to hit a wall that night.

You’d gotten into bed, scooting over to make room for Bucky, but he hadn’t joined you. He wouldn’t even look you in the eye, his shoulders stiff and his posture rigid.

“I’ll take the couch downstairs,” he said when you looked up at him expectantly.

It was not the response you’d been expecting, and your voice was a little too sharp.

“Downstairs? Why?”

Bucky met your eye then, the blue in his eyes going dark. You knew that look.

“Because it’ll be safer for the both of us.”

“Safer?” Your voice nearly cracked as you bolted upright. “What the hell does that mean?”

You thought you’d been through this. You really had. You trusted him, knew he would never hurt you, so why was he still—

Bucky’s gaze seemed to waver, but his voice was steady. Almost flat. “I would be more comfortable sleeping downstairs.”

His response effectively killed your anger. A sharp ache in your chest took its place, leaving you somewhat bewildered.

“Okay,” was all you said. You wouldn’t force Bucky to do anything he didn’t want to, even if… even if it meant you’d spend the night alone.

Bucky paused, hovering as if there was something he wanted to say, but he turned and left without a word.

For the first time, you felt genuinely afraid it wasn’t going to get any better than this. That Bucky would only touch you, be near you, when the bond forced him to.

You didn’t sleep that night, or if you did, it was only for an hour or two. You could barely function the next day, but you warded off the questions from your mother and ignored the looks from your aunt and uncle. You could only imagine what they all thought about Bucky sleeping downstairs.

At around two in the afternoon, when you’d started to doze off while watching TV with your family, you excused yourself and went back upstairs to bed. You could barely keep up the act of being Bucky’s girlfriend, not with so little sleep and the ache in your chest growing with every look Bucky gave you. Every faked touch and every false bit of affection was wearing you down, slowly but inevitably.

You were starting to hate it. You wanted it to be real so badly that it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The last thing you wanted was to be resentful towards Bucky, but your patience was a threadbare strand held over a burning candle.

When you crawled into the guest bed and closed your eyes, the faint afternoon sun caused your old pink curtains to fill the room with a rosy light. When you woke up, the room was dark and you were no longer alone.

You sucked in a sharp breath before recognizing Bucky’s familiar silhouette as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He said nothing, but you refused to speak first, simply waited curled up on your side on top of the covers. When he did finally say something, his voice was low and very quiet.

“Do you know how scared I am?”

You frowned and leaned up on one elbow, trying and failing to see the expression on his face.

“Scared of what?” It felt like one of those moments where if you spoke too loudly, something dark and ominous would hear you, so you spoke as quietly as he did.

“That I’m going to hurt you.” You could hear something rustling, skin on cloth. His tail was on the covers next to you. He had dropped his guise for this. “And you’ll finally see me for what I am.”

You released a heavy breath.

“Bucky…”

“No. Listen to me.”

The bed creaked as he shifted towards you, though he still sat on the edge of the bed, too far for comfort. You wanted to reach out and touch him but refrained.

“I’ve lived a very long life,” he said. “Most of it doing terrible things. It doesn’t really matter that I didn’t have a choice, I still live with those memories and nothing can change that.”

You closed your mouth. This felt different than the other times he’d tried to push you away. This felt like he was trying to do the opposite.

“I’ve taken… so many lives. To the extent that I’ve lost count of the bodies. When HYDRA tried to erase my memories, they told me I was a literal demon. That I possessed the body of a dead soldier and was summoned to serve them. I was their weapon of terror. A ghost their rivals whispered about in fear. Even those within HYDRA didn’t know if I truly existed, and the possibility kept them all in line.”

Bucky released a slow, trembling breath. You remained frozen, unable to do anything but listen as his words grew heavier.

“But even before they broke me, when I was still myself, the demon part of me did… evil things. HYDRA captured an Allied soldier. He was my age, scared, just wanted to go home. He could have been me or… or someone I knew.”

He paused, and in the silence of the room you could hear the click of him dry-swallowing.

“It didn’t matter, because HYDRA had starved me as punishment and threw us in a cell together.”

You knew what he was going to say, and the dread filled you like watching a train heading for a broken track.

“I raped him.”

You could feel the tremble through the bed as Bucky shuttered.

“I couldn’t stop it. I was starving, and even with the pheromones making his body respond, I knew he was afraid. I did it anyway. And then they ordered me to kill him.”

Bucky’s voice had gone flat, emotionless, and that was somehow worse than the shaking.

“That wasn’t the only time. After… after HYDRA killed me, sent me to that demon realm, and then I came back through the portal… I was starving. I lost control, again. And that’s when the wizards found me.”

Your eyes had adjusted enough to the dark for you to see Bucky’s bowed head, the curtain of his hair shielding his face.

“You know the rest.”

Carefully, you reached your hand across the bed and gently touched his human arm. Even through the thick fabric of his jacket you could feel the tremble under your fingers.

“I’m… not going to pretend I know what you’ve experienced, because I don’t know,” you said. “I just want to say I’m sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry you had to suffer. And I’m sorry that because of what was done to you, you feel like you don’t deserve to be happy.”

Bucky said nothing, but from the way his shoulders tensed, he didn’t have to. You’d guessed correctly what all his gruff, prickly behavior meant. How he seemed to care one moment and be aloof the next. Hot and cold. It didn’t have anything to do with you, not really. It was a defense mechanism, and Bucky wasn’t as slick as he thought he was. He couldn’t fool you, not when you were well-practiced in the art of pushing away people yourself.

“I’m telling you right now, and you’re just going to have to trust me on this, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.” You could practically feel him about to argue, so you quickly said, “And not because of the bond, but because I want to be here. I think I have a decent understanding of how dangerous demons are, and I know you would never hurt me on purpose. That’s all we can really ask of anyone, isn’t it?”

When your speech was met with silence, your confidence deflated like a balloon.

“So… yeah. You’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

More of the same silence. You didn’t have any idea if you’d managed to get through to him. You were beginning to wonder if you ever had. Maybe words weren’t enough, and you needed to try a different tact. Anything was better than the heavy, oppressive quiet.

You scooted backwards so you were almost against the wall, tugging on his jacket as you did so.

“Come here,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Come lay down.”

You really hadn’t expected him to listen, so when the mattress dipped next to you and warmth radiated across the small space between you, you almost lost your train of thought entirely. Forcing your attention back on what Bucky needed, because this was about him and not you, you swallowed thickly and met his gaze in the dark.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

He expelled a shaky breath, heavy as if he’d been holding onto it for a long time.

“Yeah. Course. You… you can always touch me—“

Bucky barely got the words out before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him against your chest with a ferocity that surprised even you.

He was larger than you, but you held onto him as if he was precious and fragile. Something you needed to protect from all the bad shit in his past. You rested your chin on top of his head, right on his hair between his horns. It was a little awkward with you both on your sides, but you managed to snake your other arm around the back of his neck. Under your palms and through his jacket, you could feel the hard shell of his compacted wings.

He was warmer than you, and his piney, earthy scent filled you scenes. Something that had been coiled inside you loosened and reached out to him. You wondered if it was the bond, but really, you thought it was just plain ol’ human need.

It took Bucky a longer time to relax than it had for you, but not as long as you would have thought. The tension in his muscles gradually loosened, and his arms which had remained tight at his side cautiously looped around your waist. His nose was pressed against your neck and the puffs of air from his breathing sent goosebumps across your skin.

You pressed even closer, needing more contact, and loosely tangled your legs with his. You faintly smiled against his hair as something hooked under your knee and wrapped around your leg. Bucky might be reluctant to show physical affection, but his tail never was.

The stimulation, feeling so much of Bucky at once in a clear-headed, non-feeding situation… the knowledge that he was letting you hold him like this, after sharing with you what must have been his most painful memories…

A hard lump formed in your throat and your eyes burned. To keep yourself distracted—you were not going to cry—you ran your fingers through Bucky’s hair and focused on the surprisingly soft strands. With his chest pressed so close to yours, you could feel him take each breath, and it was easy to match your breathing to his. Easy and natural, as if this was where you were supposed to be all along.

You continued to pet his hair until your movements became sluggish and your eyelids drifted close. But you didn’t let go of him, even as sleep tugged at you and made your limbs heavy. You didn’t want to miss a moment of this, but you felt comfortable and safe, and it was hard not to relax completely into it.

Bucky’s words, when they finally came, were quiet. So quiet you wondered if they were just a part of your dreams.

“Thank you.”

Next Chapter

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Sweet Summer Sweat

A little gift fic for @underwater0phelia after a conversation on the discord. This is part one - there will be a second part later, when I catch up with all the other writing on my calendar!

Kagome bit her lip, trying to think of a solution as as she walked along behind Inuyasha. The hot afternoon sun was still beating down on them as he led them along a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. She racked her brain, trying to think of a tactful way out of her predicament, but nothing was coming to mind. She was the first to admit she didn’t smell like a rose garden herself after walking all day in the scorching Summer heat, but… there was no way around it. Inuyasha stank. And she had no idea how to tell him.

He didn’t usually smell bad; he didn’t usually seem to sweat very much at all. It wasn’t like being constantly trapped in a room with high school boys her own age after lunch when they all came in off the soccer field – now that stank. Usually he tended to smell like the cedar trees he spent so much time in, with a base muskiness that she actually kind of liked. Okay, she kind of liked it a lot.

But this last week, as the temperature climbed higher than she’d ever experienced in this time period, he’d been sweating just as much as the rest of them. And while her and Sango and Miroku had been sure to bathe and wash their clothes whenever they came across a stream or a pool or even a hot spring, although that wasn’t quite as enjoyable in the summer heat, he hadn’t. Shippou hadn’t either, but his scent didn’t seem to have the same… ripeness… that Inuyasha’s had.

Miroku ambled past her, his attention firmly focused on Sango’s shapely rear, and she halted his progress by reacing out one hand to tug on his sleeve.

“Yes Lady Kagome?” he asked, dragging his eyes away from their intended target with an effort.

“Miroku”, she whispered, keeping one eye on Inuyasha’s ears to make sure they didn’t turn in their direction. “I need your help. We have to tell Inuyasha.”

Miroku answered in a puzzled whisper. “We have to tell Inuyasha what precisely, Lady Kagome?”

“We have to tell him... he needs a bath.”

Miroku held both hands up defensively, taking a step back and shaking his head.

“And why would ‘we’ need to tell him anything of the sort? I value my existence, my Lady, however little of it I have left. It would be irrational in the extreme for me to tempt fate in such a way. And as much as care for you as a friend, my dear Kagome, you’re definitely on your own in this.”

Kagome made a small whimpering sound.

“It’s alright for you. A lot of the time you’re up with Sango and Shippou on Kirara’s back – he’s not carrying you around, up close and personal.”

She usually loved being on Inuyasha’s back. It was one of her favourite things, holding on to his strong shoulders as he leaped above the trees at breakneck speed, his large hands wrapped firmly around her thighs. But at the moment, she really didn’t want to get anywhere near those sweaty clothes of his. It probably wasn’t even his fire rat that stank, because he’d told them often enough that was self cleaning, but getting close to the smell of that under kosode wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat. Not to mention the body odour that seemed to wrap around him like his own personal scent cloud.

Miroku patted her on the shoulder in a commiserating fashion, and bowed his head in prayer. “A blessing upon you, in your time of need. Perhaps it will rain soon?”

Kagome shrugged his hand off her shoulder with a grumbling growl worthy of Inuyasha himself.

“Some friend you are. I just don’t understand how he can’t smell himself. He’s always bragging about his sense of smell; it’s a wonder he doesn’t knock himself over with his own stench!”

“Perhaps it’s a demon thing?” Miroku suggested, his eyes now drawn irresistibly back towards Sango, who had paused at the side of the road for a moment, bending to pick a handful of daisies. “Excuse me Lady Kagome, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

‘A demon thing’, thought Kagome, pondering as she walked along, watching Inuyasha’s ears flick a fly away, and ignoring the sudden familiar sound of a loud slap in the background. ‘Or, maybe a dog thing. Or a boy thing. Maybe all three?’

She remembered helping Ayumi bathe her dog once, finally getting him washed and mostly dried, only to have him escape and roll in the grass as soon as they loosened their hold on him. Ayumi had explained that most dogs didn’t like the scent of shampoo, and liked to smell like ‘themselves’. So perhaps that was it. She just wasn’t sure how much more ‘concentrated Inuyasha’ she could handle. The situation was slightly ridiculous, but she was avoiding him, and she didn’t like it.

“Hey Inuyasha”, she called out, “do you think we’ll be able to take a break soon?” She quickened her steps so that she was walking beside him.

“Why do ya wanna stop so soon?” he asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “It’s not even close to sunset yet.”

As he turned his head towards her, a fresh wave of sweaty body odour was released under her nose, and she held her breath for a second, closing her eyes. Something definitely had to be done. But she wanted to be tactful, and not hurt his feelings. Even though he put up a hard front, she knew just how fragile his self esteem was, and she didn’t want to do anything to damage it, or their closeness.

She forced a laugh, pulling at her own sweaty clothes and then waving her hand in front of her nose in an exaggerated fashion. “Well, I need to wash these and my other clothes, and it would be nice to have a bit of sunlight to get them dry before nightfall. I don’t have anything clean left, and with it being so hot, I’ve got all sweaty. I must smell pretty bad, huh?”

She saw his nose twitch slightly, and he got the strangest look on his face before coughing slightly and turning his face aside, eyes averted. “No, you smell fine to me.”

“Oh, come on. I reek! It’s okay to say it Inuyasha, I don’t mind. The sooner I scrub myself and my clothes the better I’ll smell.”

He huffed out a grumbling sigh.

Kagome bit her lip. “You know, I could wash your clothes for you too. I wouldn’t mind. In fact I’d like to do it for you.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Why would I wanna smell like a bunch’a flowers? I’m half dog youkai Kagome, in case you hadn’t noticed. And that’s how I should smell. Not all girly and shit.”

“Oh.” Damn. There went that plan.

“Besides, if I smell like that soap you use, I won’t be able to properly scent anything else. It’s hard enough as it is, with you-“, he broke off with a cough. “Never mind. If I come across a stream or anythin’ I’ll let ya know alright?” She tugged on his sleeve in concern.

“Wait, what were you going to say Inuyasha? Does the soap and detergent I use bother you?”

He rubbed his nose self consciously. “Uh… not all the time. But at the moment, you’re washing a lot, and it’s just… if you use too much soap, you don’t smell like you anymore. Right now, you smell like you. And it’s…” he coughed again.

“Bad?”

“No! I… I like the way ya smell.”

Kagome grinned shyly at him. “I remember you told me that once before.”

“I… did, didn’t I.” She bumped her shoulder against him, and he bumped her back.

“It’s just that in my time, we’re taught that the smell of sweat is a bad thing, that we need to wash it away or cover it up”, she explained. He grunted, shaking his head.

“People smell for a reason. How does anyone ever find out who they like when they wash their scent away?”

“What do you mean, who they like? Oh, do you mean pheromones?”

Inuyasha grunted again. “I dunno any fancy words for it. But if someone smells good to you, they’re more likely to be a good mate.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Or… so I’m told. Not that I’d know anything about that.”

They both blushed, looking away from each other to the opposite sides of the road. Internally Kagome was squealing in excitement, adding all those comments together. ‘He likes how I smell!’ She wanted to giggle out loud and dance an excited jig on the dusty road, but held herself together.

“What do I smell like to you?” she asked curiously. He made an embarrassed grumbling noise in the back of his throat.

“Kagome…”

“What if I tell you what you smell like to me, will you tell me then?”

His ears twitched, trembling slightly, and he inhaled harshly. And she realised, that this answer was important to him. Very important. She took a deep breath of her own.

“Usually, you smell like cedar. Sort of woodsy, which I guess makes sense, seeing you spend a lot of time in trees. And there’s another smell underneath it. Kind of musky.” She couldn’t help the blush that heated her cheeks then, remembering what it was like to bury her nose into the back of his neck as he ran, tucked underneath a waterfall of hair. “I like that smell”, she said softly, and her eyes lifted to Inuyasha’s. The look he gave her was burning and intense.

“You smell sweet. Like fruit”, he blurted. “Sometimes… you smell like sweet sesame oil. I like that smell too.” The blush on his face was so intense it had even coloured the tips of his quivering ears. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute. You said usually. I don’t smell like that right now?” Kagome’s eyes widened, glancing around for a way to change the subject.

“Ah ha ha! Look at that – I think Shippou needs me!” Kagome said, pointing over to where Shippou was leaping through the long sun bleached grass at the side of the road, chasing grasshoppers and trying to catch one in his little paws.

“Oi. You’re not goin’ anywhere until you tell me what you meant by usually”, he grumbled, his hand tugging down the one she’d used to point towards Shippou with.

“Oh”, she stammered. “Well. You see the thing is…”

“She doesn’t want to tell you that humans don’t enjoy the smell of sweat when it’s a few days old”, piped up Shippou. “Basically, you stink.”

“Wat?!”

“Shippou, that’s not nice!” Kagome protested loudly.

“It’s true though isn’t it?” said Shippou matter of factly, his eyes still focused on the softly waving grass in front of him. “Humans don’t like the smell of stale sweat. I heard some of the village women talking about it when they were washing at the river, trying to get the smell out of their husbands’ under kosode.”

He leapt for the grasshopper he had his eye on, then pouted when it slipped out of his grasp.

“Predator type youkai like Inuyasha don’t care, it makes their scent stronger and warns off potential threats, especially if they have a pack with young pups to look after.” He stood up, dusting off his tiny paws on his hakama.

“How do you know so much runt?” grumbled Inuyasha, crossing his arms defensively, his eyes flicking between Shippou and Kagome.

“Because my Otōsan told me. Kitsune need to know all about humans and other youkai so they can trick ‘em better”, he grinned. “And he told me that when I was older and my scent started changing, that I would need to wash more often to make sure my scent didn’t give me away, especially to youkai bigger’n me.”

Shippou snorted in an exasperated fashion. “Besides, it was easy to tell. Kagome usually walks right next to you and drops hints about being tired so you’ll carry her because she wants to be close to you. But she’s been hanging back next to Miroku.” He made a gagging face.  “That should tell you everything you need to know.”

“Eep.”

Inuyasha’s head swiveled towards Kagome at the sound of her nervous squeak, his eyes narrowing at her embarrassed expression.

“This true wench?”

“Um, which part?” she said in a small voice, trying to avoid his focused gaze and twisting her fingers together.

“The part where I stink”, he said, tapping his foot on the ground. Kagome sighed, her eyes dropping to the ground.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings”, she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Inuyasha huffed out an exasperated sigh.

“So, how long have I stunk to you?”

Kagome shook her head keeping her eyes downwards, and he marched over to her, lifting her face gently with one long clawed finger under her chin.

“I wanna know, so I don’t do it again. Me scarin’ off other youkai don’t mean squat if it also means you don’t wanna be close to me.”

Shippou made another loud gagging noise in the background.

“I think you’ve got somewhere else you need ta be right now runt, unless you wanna get up close and personal with the stink of my fist”, growled Inuyasha, not taking his eyes off Kagome.

“Gotcha.”

Shippou sprinted off through the grass, back towards Sango and Kirara.

“Little twerp.” Kagome giggled, and Inuyasha gave her a lopsided grin as they began walking along the road again, side by side. “So, that offer of clothes washin’ still up for grabs?”

Kagome nodded. “I promise I’ll just use the tiniest bit of soap, just on the bits that smell.” Inuyasha halted mid-stride.

“You’re gonna sniff my clothes?”

“Uh…”

“Fucking hell”, he groaned. “That’s…” Kagome reached out to take his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers.

“You like that idea, huh?”

“Yes”, he said, his voice a strangled whisper. Kagome’s heart began beating faster. Could she do it? Could she say the idea that just popped into her head out loud? Grabbing her courage with both hands, she closed her eyes.

“What if… um. What if I washed the clothes while you were still in them?” she squeaked, opening one eye to peek at him.

“Fuck, that’s… that’s…” His eyes were wide, and his mouth opened, like a fish out of water gasping for air. “Kagome…”. Then he gave her that lopsided grin she loved so much, one fang peeking out over his full bottom lip. She shivered at the heat in his gaze, butterflies churning in her stomach, and then lower. Much lower. Inuyasha sniffed deeply, licking his lips, and she whimpered.

She jumped in surprise as he turned and hollered over his shoulder to Miroku, Sango, Kirara and Shippou.

“Kagome said I stink and I need a bath! Set up camp somewhere around here. We’ll be back later.”

Kagome shrieked as he picked her up and flung her onto his back, sprinting off into the forest towards the unmistakable scent of a hot spring.

“Much later if I have any say in it”, he purred just loud enough for Kagome to hear, and she giggled, tucking her face into his neck.

“Well”, said Miroku in a surprised voice, “that went much better than I expected.” He winked at Sango. “If you ever think that my smell is unpleasant to you dear Sango, please let me know. I’d be happy to take a bath at your leisure.”

“In your dreams Houshi”, Sango grinned, setting off down the road to look for a suitable camp site.

“Both fortunately and unfortunately for me, yes”, sighed Miroku, following along behind her.

[burnxngslash]

More like out-of-control savages that need to keep their filthy hands towards themselves. First of all he could empathize with the lot of them, after all Sonia’s a beautiful and strong woman but he feared that all they would see is the formal, judging her on basic outer beauty..tch, how rude. What gave THEM the right to even look at her that way? With lust in their eyes and a dream in their minds. It was enough to anger the thief but he did his utmost NOT to convey any facial animosity in regards to remaining a gentleman through and through HOWEVER, there really was a pout left on his face. A little grumpy or a little comedic would depend on her take on his expression. 

“Yes them. If it were up to me I’d much rather avoid all of that completely, but- excuse-moi? Did you say women were also attracted to you??”He forgot how brazen the world was these days, definitely a far cry from the way things USED to be within the history books he’s read in his youth but then again he’d have to say at the very least things were so much easier compared to the way the world worked so many years ago. "Ay mon Dieu this is going to be a rather long trip.” He didn’t think that there would be TWO different types of obstacles that prevented him from stealing the prize which was her hear- WAIT NO..why was he jealous? Why did he feel threatened all of a sudden? OH Lupin get your head in the game. 

Then her question directed towards him caught him off guard, could she tell of his conflicting feelings? Shyly he took his gaze away from the moment before returning to face her with a rather humble smile on his face. He’s gotten the time to mentally BUT quickly assess the situation.This was simply Sonia playing around with his notions rather than outright reading his mind regarding these new budding emotions. “I’ll do my best to contain myself, however unlike the lot you’ll meet I will pursue you with tact and grace.”

Now it came to what kind of food they’d enjoy. Sandwiches would be great…though considering the part of the world they were in..they needed to be happy with the slight equivalent of what a sandwich would be for them. “I’m sure we can find something, I did promise you an adventure and we will have quite a few. Big and small starting with a little snack during our little pitstop.”

Continued from here for @scarlxtleaves (I can't edit the previous post because I think it was done with legacy editor and I use beta editor)

"I'm not sure if I'm an efficient ruler yet," Sonia admitted, switching lanes in order to pass a particularly slow truck on the highway. There were speed limits of course, but they were more like guidelines. And the more distance they put between the car and the manor, the greater chance they had of not getting caught. Or at least, not getting caught for a few days, until the group found some way to track them, reach them, and likely be torn between relief and berating the two of them for running off.

Sonia cast a quick, sideways glance to Lupin: considering how he had plan A and contingency plans that often didn't look like contingencies at all, surely he must have considered what would transpire once their holiday getaway ended. Whether they'd seen everything they wished to or they were uncovered early, what did he plan to do? How did he plan to explain it? Or would that task be put squarely on her shoulders? Smoothing over conflict was part of the royal skillset, and while she could do it Sonia still wondered how he'd steer the situation into some sort of resolution.

Preferably better than her own steering, at least where the car was concerned: it was precise and no one was hurt, but with Tokyo well behind them, she could now drive as if she were on a simulated battlefield: carefully weaving with both hands on the wheel and adrenaline in her veins. "I suppose others would be impressed by our fluency in Japanese, but I feel that's almost impolite in a way. Whenever you visit another country where the citizens speak in foreign tongues, it is most appropriate to learn as much as you can so you might communicate more efficiently. Novoselic is a bit of an anomaly: Japanese is the fourth most popular language at home, with French and Italian, and then English, that are spoken more frequently."

But she paused her criticism of tourists to laugh at Lupin's warning. Maybe if she hadn't needed both hands to drive, she could've hid her amusement behind a feminine giggle and a well-placed hand over her mouth. But his advice came years too late, and she was both less-naïve and far more experienced in the exact issue he'd put forth. "I think the term you're searching for is 'gaijin-hunter,' Mr. Lupin!" She told him, as soon as she'd been able to take a breath. "Truthfully, I had a boy stalk me for the greater part of three years in high school, and he was a classmate. And it's not just boys, either: women can be equally interested in, as you put it, 'beautiful foreigners.'"

She grinned as she switched lanes, moving the car into the appropriate exit lane. "Should I look out for you too then, as we obtain food and petrol?" She asked playfully, turning at the light and stopping at a nearby station attached to a FamilyMart. With a 7-Eleven across the street should they need it, it looked like the small town they'd chosen would serve them well. It was only when she'd put the car into park that she'd realized what she'd done: she'd inadvertently called him a beautiful foreigner.

That wasn't exactly a lie.

"Shall we go in and find something to eat?" Sonia asked him in French, quickly getting out of the car. Hopefully she changed the flow of the conversation just as quickly: the last thing she needed to do was make him feel uncomfortable. "I've always seen on television programs that sandwiches are best whilst engaging in long drives, but I've never had the opportunity to indulge in such things." Not when hampers had always been prepared for her, or she ate on the train or plane.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 V

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The court celebrates the harvest.

Note: I’m a goddamn liar and ended up writing this after work and staying up past midnight because I have a problem people. I need help but until then I’m gonna keep posting so here ya go, my lovelies.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

The week of the harvest celebration had come, though time seemed to stand still. Each day dragged on dreading the next. Anxious of what the king should do next, of how the court should roil once more, of your own part in the brewing mess. Even as the waters calmed it did not comfort you. Peace only assured you that chaos was on the horizon.

Rose continued to stew in her anger. You dared to think it was jealousy. While the king persisted in his prolonged stares during rehearsals, your partner did not ease matters as he passed along his master’s messages. Each added to the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that stabbed you each time you looked at the queen. Though you did not encourage it, you felt your part in it just as grievous.

And your father. When you met again, he did not spare a word. His disappointment, his frustration, his anger all spent upon you. Your disobedience had nearly cost him. Never mind that it kept your reputation in tact, that it gave hope to a future betrothal. He didn’t want an earl’s wife, he wanted a king’s mistress. The baubles you refused to accept, the promise of a title greater than his own father’s. You factored little in his desires outside your ability to fulfill them.

The saffron brocade was stiff across your chest, cut much lower than your usual gowns. Each woman was to wear a different shade of autumn for the performance. The king and queen would lead in goldenrod yellow as satins and silks of auburns, scarlets, and moss would swirl in. In imitation of a rush of leaves falling from the barren trees, heralding the change of seasons.

A seamstress knelt at your feet and pinned the skirts. The queen ran a finger along her throat as she considered you. It was the final fitting before the banquet; you were the last of the women to attend their measurements. 

You could barely look Eleanor in the eye. Hearsay was rife as it always was but did she believe the whispers. Did she think the king truly enamoured by you? Did she know of the letters? The gifts he sent along with them? The ones you would not open, that were sent back untouched.

If she did, she did not betray herself. She smiled as she neared and touched the golden border along the top of the bodice. “Tighter around the waist,” She suggested to the tailor. “A half inch lower here.”

You looked down at your chest. You blinked. You really didn’t need less fabric there. As it was, your cleavage was more than noticeable. You bit your lip but did not protest.

“The colour is marvelous,” The queen looked you in the face. “Are you well, my lady?”

“I am but…” You hesitated as the seamstress pinned the bodice. “There are matters we should speak of, your highness.”

“Yes, I think there are,” She nodded and gestured to the seamstress. “If you would excuse us a moment.”

The other woman acquiesced with a bow and quickly retreated. The door closed behind her and left you alone with Eleanor. She smiled and swept away from you to sit on a cushioned bench as the pins in her ashy blonde hair caught the light. She patted the cushion next to her.

“Sit, let us talk of what worries you so.” She cooed.

“Your highness,” You approached reluctantly. “I do not think myself fit for this. I am a poor dancer.”

“You are not so bad,” She said as you sat beside her. “Heavy-footed but not entirely hopeless.”

“Hopeless enough.” You grumbled. “Especially in a place such as this.”

“I know you shall do just fine.” She smiled. “But you do not refer to only the performance, do you, lady?”

“No, no, I do not,” You looked at your lap. “Surely, you’ve heard.”

“There are no secrets at court,” She returned. “I know my husband’s attention has strayed again. I hear Lady Rose and her detest, her complaints of her neglect. And it makes me most happy.”

“But the king…”

“The king does as he wishes. I cannot stop him but I can abide it so long as I am not met with nonchalance and scorn.” She held her head high. “I can stand any mistress but none who would shame me so openly.”

“I...I have refused the king. Every time. I do not wish to involve myself in your marriage. Your highness,  I admire you too much. I would never--”

“You’re a smart girl. I trust you are able enough but this court is perilous. Allies are rare but should be welcomed,” She pulled a loose string from the tail of your hood. “So long as you are...covert, I would have no reason to mind the dalliance.”

“P-pardon? Your highness, I don’t understand--”

“Do with my husband as you please. I know you, my lady. You are loyal and you will not so blatantly degrade me. If I must bear this marriage, I shall bear it with a mite of dignity.”

“I please none of it and yet he does not relent. If you are truly my ally, can you not stop him?”

“He will not relent. He never has and I’ve never been able to stop him. No one has.” She sighed and her long lashes flicked. “I do prefer you to Rose. Oh, I do very much.”

“You…” For a moment you gasped for air. The realization struck you in the chest. “You have maneuvered me thus, haven’t you? Because you knew the king would never tolerate your mistreatment of his mistress and so you thrust me before him.”

“I did not thrust you, my lady,” She smiled. “You were merely well-positioned at a most opportune moment.”

Your mouth was bitter with betrayal. The queen had seemed the only genuine character at court but in a moment, she revealed herself to be just as vile as the rest. Perhaps it was easy to pity a scorned woman but it was little excuse for the disgrace of another. You could not forgive her crime on the grounds of another done to her. You clenched your hands together as you tried not to scowl.

“And you expect me to appease him? To forfeit my virtue to him?” You stared at your skirts.

“I expect you to do as you think necessary,” She said, “But my husband gives little heed to what is necessary. To what it proper. He will take as he pleases, not as you please.”

You looked up at her. Terrified. “And you would not stop him?”

“Cannot.” She shrugged and a glimmer of regret flashed her in eyes. She pitied you. “It is not so bad. You will be taken care of after. A husband will be found, or if that does not please you, a household all your own. I swear it on my honour.”

“Your honour?” You scoffed. “You bartered me to your own husband.”

“A barter you could only dream of,” Her green eyes sharpened. “You don’t know, cannot know, what is like. To be ridiculed daily. To be tied to a man who can never love you, a court that will never accept you as their own.” She shook her head. “I did mislead you, I admit it, but only because I know you to be honest. To be without presumption. You would not bring me further shame because you fear it yourself.”

“Do you not realize that you’ve already brought shame upon me?” You stood and crossed the room. You couldn’t stand to be near her. “You are not a friend to me, my queen. I am...alone.”

Silence. You heard the rustle of her skirts but she did not near you. You turned as she reached the door. She adjusted a pin in her hair as she reached for the handle. She exhaled softly. 

“You will change so that the dress may be altered and you will go. And you will never speak to me as you have again. I am still your queen.”

👑

The day of the harvest arrived. The feast hall was draped in golden and bronze silks as the court gathered along the trestles. The benches did not overflow as dancers hid beneath the canopy just beyond the doors, awaiting their grand entrance to the plucking of lutes and trill of flutes.

You stood quietly, head down, hands clamped together as you recited the steps in your head. You weren’t prepared. No matter how often the master led you through the steps, you’d never be ready. You weren’t a dancer and you were too distracted to retain the simple choreography. 

A shiver went up your spine as a familiar voice met your ears. The space was tight and the performers were close. Steven’s laughter boomed in the small space and you looked up. The king and queen were at the front of the procession, several pairs between you. He was drawn by your movement and grinned at you before you shied away. The queen batted her lashes and took her husband’s hand. Her response was not heard.

“You should not be so nervous,” Lord Barnes intoned. You’d forgotten his presence beside you. “You are not so tragic as you think.”

“Ever gracious but a poor liar, Lord Barnes.” You huffed. “I have noticed how you’ve padded your boots.”

He chuckled. “Of the dozen pairs among us, do you think we would stick out so sorely?”

“I hope not,” You said. “Thought I apologize if I should make fools of both of us.”

“You are much too cynical.” He stepped closer. “You deny yourself even the slightest error. How can one find any pleasure in life with such suffocating restraint?”

“As a lord who would never face consequence for his lack of, I doubt you could understand the caution of a lady.” You returned. 

“Surely not. I could never be so pious. So...boring.” He mused.

You bristled and turned your face away from him. You looked around at the other dancers as they chattered and fidgeted in their impatience. Rose snarled as she caught your eye and shrugged off Lord Alan. You blanched and tucked your chin to your chest.

“I was teasing, my lady,” Barnes leaned in. “You needn’t take it so heavily.”

“I am aware, my lord. I can understand humour, as poorly as it may be presented.” You looked to him pointedly. “I may be plain but I am not simple.”

He laughed again. He glanced around and you followed his gaze to the door. The king peered between the bodies and watched intently. You stiffened and returned your attention to your partner.

“So I’ve noticed.” Barnes said. “As has he.”

“And you, his infiltrator?” You arched a brow. “Do you recount our every word?”

“I might be a loyal companion to the crown but I am no informant. What we speak of remains between us, I swear it.” He assured you. “But I might tell you something...most intimate.”

“So you would?” You prodded.

“I’ve known Steven since we were children. I know him better than any. I know him beyond the courtly disguise he wears.” Barnes faced you and took your hand. He drew you close. “As I stand near to you, he watches, he seethes, because he is quite taken by you.” His voice was low. “And the more you refuse him, the more taken he shall be.” He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “And he has rarely been refused in his life...he will not stand for it long.”

“Is this a warning or another message?” He dropped your hand and stepped back.

The queen’s voice rose above the babble and she clapped her hands. “Lords, Ladies, we are due. Positions, please.” 

She turned and the king raised his hand for her to take. Each couple mirrored them and you took Barnes hand as he stood side by side with you. He looked to his feet and pretended to kick the dust from his toe as he spoke under his breath.

“It is both, my lady,” He whispered. “A king’s requests quickly become commands.”

👑

“May I?” Barnes was beside you before you could flee. 

You’d hoped to cling to the wall until you could manage to sneak away. As late, you’d grown much too conspicuous for that. You turned back to him, caught in your retreat, and sighed. He was not the only to note your attempted escape. Your father sneered from his seat and the king raised his head above the queen’s as they spun along the boards.

“I wouldn’t pain you or your toes further, my lord.” You replied. 

“I can bear it,” He assured you. “And there is no other partner I wish. They’re all rather dull.”

“Dull of foot might be more painful than dull of wit.” You returned and he grinned.

“The wit does outweigh the foot, my lady,” He offered his hand. “Come on.”

Your eyes were drawn back to your father. He tilted his head dangerously. You couldn’t tell if it were to deter you from dancing or from leaving. You forced a smile and took Barnes’ hand. He guided you onto the floor lithely. His feet were swift and kept clear of your own.

“Did I mention how wonderful you look, tonight?” He marveled as you turned in time with the room. “The cut of that dress is quite complimentary.”

You kept your head high and did your best to follow the steps. “Thank you, my lord. That is kind of you to say.”

“Not so drab as that habit you wore before,” He japed. “Was it the queen who recommended the brocade?”

You stared at him. You struggled to piece together the puzzle. Did he operate upon his own resolve? Upon the kings? Or perhaps he was just as much the pet of the queen? Your lips pressed together as you peeked again across the room. Both king and queen watched you as they moved their bodies gracefully to the music.

“The queen did,” You answered evenly. “She was certain to see that all her ladies were attired fittingly for the event.”

You avoided his gaze as he watched you. As you tried to decipher him, he did the same to you. Your foot came down on his but he did not flinch as he smoothly guided you along the floor. The music swirled around you with your skirts as you were led in the jig. Your head spun with the candlelight and crowd of satin and silk.  He squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He smirked as the music eased to the next tune and he bowed to you. 

“My lady,” He said as he led you by your hand. 

As he turned you, you found the king waiting. You searched through the crowd, the queen was already swept up by Lord Samuel. She paid no heed to her husband’s ploy. You wondered if she were not a party to it. Lord Barnes released you and nodded to his king. “Your highness.”

“Would you allow me a dance, my lady?” The king coaxed.

You fought not to dissemble. You glanced around and found your father still watching. He leaned forward as he nodded. His hand was in a fist on the table. You didn’t dare resist. You took the king’s hand and let him lead you to the melody.

“My lady, you are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you,” He said breathily. His eyes did not meet yours as they wandered to the top of your bodice. “I’ve found it most difficult to think of anything but you this night ...truly every night.”

“You flatter me, your highness.”

“I am honest. I bear myself to you.” He said. “And you still refuse my gifts? Still refuse me?”

“You know I cannot--”

“I know you are afraid but you haven’t reason to be. I shall protect you; from the queen, from the court. You shall be mine and I shall make certain you are kept well.” His blue eyes burned down at you. “I only long to give you everything. To give you all of me, all I ask in return is you.”

“You are married--”

“But not in love.”

“You are king and I am an earl’s daughter. Unwed and without betrothal.”

“As king, I can see to your future. I can give you title, a castle, lands…”

“So I shall lower myself to courtesan for you?”

“No, no, never. I shall raise you, my lady. Hold you in the highest esteem.”

“You shall ruin my reputation.”

“Can you not see how I suffer? My lady, you torment me so.”

“Your highness,” You stopped short and he nearly stumbled. “It cannot be. To prolong it will not change the circumstance that divides us. I do not seek infamy, I do not seek controversy, nor will I lower myself to be your mistress.”

“Lower…? I do not ask you--”

“You do. For what shall people say? What do they already whisper?” You rescinded your hand. “Your highness, you have not considered fully what you ask of me. You have not considered me.”

“I--”

“Excuse me, your highness,” You touched your stomach as it knotted. “I think I am unwell.”

He blinked, stunned. He bowed his head and you backed away from him. You readied yourself for his pursuit. For him to stop you. He did not and when he was hidden by the crowd, you turned and scurried to the door.

You didn’t slow until you reached an alcove just along the corridor. You were shaky as you leaned against the stone and caught your breath. Would the king be upset? Surely your father would but you could face his wrath as you had your entire life. You recalled Barnes’ words. Would the king cease to merely ask?

And who could save you? The king had a dozen allies and you had not one. The queen would not stop him, nor would his leal friend. Your father, surely, would find a way to assist him. Your own blood would sell you into scandal. You were so very alone.

A sole scuffed upon the stone and drew you from your reverie. A shadow loomed just around the corner and you tucked yourself into the alcove. You flattened your skirts with your hands and held your breath. The footsteps neared and you didn’t dare to move.

The king’s tall silhouette appeared before you. He walked past the alcove as he looked around. He sighed softly and hung his head. He tapped his toe as he stopped and hooked his thumbs in his belt. You watched, paralysed. 

He let out a disappointed grumble and turned back. The toe of his boot caught the hem of your skirt as it splayed out from your hiding spot and he stopped. He looked over and his eyes met yours in the dim of the lanterns. They pierced you through the shadows and his lips curved.

“My lady,” He greeted, “Why do you run from me?” He stepped forward. “Hide from me?” He lowered himself to his knees as he reached for your hands. “Can’t you see how desperate I am? How I am completely at your mercy?”

“Your highness, please,” You begged as he gripped your hands tightly. “Please, this is indecent.”

“My lady,” He brought your hands to his lips and laid a dozen kisses upon them. “I cannot wait. I’ve never waited so long and it pains me deeply. Every second I am away from you, I cannot think. I cannot live.”

“Your highness,” Your voice was coarse as you tried to escape his hold. “You would tarnish me.”

He released your hands and you tried to brush past him. He caught you around the waist and pulled you against him. He pressed his face to your stomach and kissed the taut brocade. He nuzzled into you and raised his chin to look up at you over your bosom. You caught his shoulders as you struggled with him.

“Please, please…” You could barely speak. You were terrified at his strength, at how easily he held you there. He walked forward on his knees as he pushed you back into the alcove until you met the wall. “Please…”

He dropped his arms and you felt your skirts lift and you sobbed. He lowered his head as he tugged at your skirts and you felt the cool air on your ankles. He bent and you pressed yourself to the wall. You could barely breathe as you watched him. He lowered himself until his lips met your slippers. He kissed both and sat back on his heels.

“Can’t you see, my lady?” He peered up at you. “You have me on my knees?” He bent to kiss them again. “I am yours.” He declared as he sat up once more. “Entirely yours.”

You clasped your hands before your chest. You were trembling. You could not speak as you stared down at him. He let your skirt fall back into place as he stood. His shadow enshrined you as he reached out to touch your cheek.

“Are you afraid, my lady?”

You nodded and turned away from his touch.

“You needn’t be for I shall find a way for us to be together. A proper way.” His fingers trailed down and he dragged his thumb along your lower lip. “I promise you, I will.”

For a moment, he held your face. His hand firmly cradled your chin and he leaned in until his breath was upon your lips. His thumb traced your lips and he closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh and pulled away from you suddenly.

“I will wait,” He said, though he spoke more to himself than you. “I will wait.” He opened his eyes and bowed to you. “My lady.” 

You watched him back away, too stunned to move as his shadow faded down the hall and his footsteps softened to silence. You cowered in the stone alcove until you were certain he was gone. At last, you found your strength and stepped into the amber light of the lanterns. 

Lord Barnes’ foreboding rang in your head; ‘A king’s requests quickly become commands.’

[obx-adventures]

The Fall

Summary: Grace just moved from Figure Eight to the Cut. She never expected to run into her old friend, Kiara, and discover she lives next door to JJ Maybank.

A/N: If you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters, let me know. I also add people to the list who reblog any of the chapters.

Catch up here: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

——

Chapter 5

“You just planning on ignoring me?” Kiara gave Grace a few minutes to collect her thoughts after she got in the van but can’t wait any longer. “Grace, come on, talk to me.”

“Nothing, Kiara. It’s nothing.” Grace’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Look, something obviously happened with your dad yesterday. I get that you don’t want to talk about that. But it doesn’t explain JJ being at your house this morning wearing the same clothes as yesterday or the weird vibe between you two. At least tell me what’s going on between you and him.”

“Kiara, if you want me to be able to get through my shift today, please let this go.” Grace’s grip on her emotions is slowly slipping. She’s not used to having people notice when she’s having a difficult time and it’s making it a lot harder to keep her composure.

“Ok, you don’t have to talk about it. But can I say one thing really quick?” Grace nodded but stayed quiet. “I’ve never seen JJ act like he does when he’s around you. He is horrible at talking about and showing his feelings and being vulnerable, but it doesn’t mean that the feelings aren’t there. My advice for you is to consider his actions as a whole, not just whatever happened between the two you since last night.”

True to her word, Kiara doesn’t say anything else during the trip to The Wreck. Grace silently mulls over everything that has happened between her and JJ. Was Kiara right? Grace didn’t really know JJ before becoming a Pogue so she can’t compare his behavior with her to his behavior with other girls. But if he felt the same about her, why would he reject her last night? She didn’t let him explain this morning, just assuming that he would try to let her down gently.

As they pull into the parking spot at The Wreck, Grace decides to give JJ the benefit of the doubt. Before Kiara can get out of the car, Grace grabs her arm gently to get her attention.

“Thank you, Kiara.”

Kiara is intuitive enough to know that Grace doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so she offers Grace a smile and hugs her quickly. When she lets Grace go, she notices tears glistening in her friend’s eyes and gives her one final squeeze on the shoulders before getting out of the car.

----
“JB? You here?” JJ calls out as he walks into the Chateau.

“Hey, man. Where did you go last night?” John B has been worried about his best friend since he left the Boneyard last night. Normally, that means JJ went home but John B can’t find any new bruises. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean they aren’t there

“Just wanted to make sure Grace got home ok.” John B furrows his brow in confusion. He knew that something was off with the newest member of the Pogues, but JJ has never left a party to check on a girl.

“What was going on with her yesterday? Is she alright?”

“She’s got some family stuff going on. Rafe was a fucking asshole to her and she had enough.”

“Is she ok now?” John B studies JJ from across the room, trying to understand the weird vibe he’s giving off.

“Uh… not really. She’s working now and I’ll see how she is when I pick her up later.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Are you two a thing now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” JJ pushes down his irritation, knowing John B is just fishing for information. He’s made comments about JJ and Grace for the past week or so. JJ has tried to hide his feelings for her better but apparently that hasn’t worked very well.

“Bullshit. I see how you are with each other.” JJ shrugs at John B and refuses to make eye contact. “Are you macking on her?”

“No. You know the rule.” John B rolls his eyes at his friend.

“Fuck the rule. And Grace wasn’t part of that rule. She just became a Pogue a few weeks ago. Don’t use that as an excuse.”

“Shut up, JB. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever you say, man. But you two are clearly into each other. Just man up.”

JJ storms into his room at the Chateau and slams the door. He knows John B is right, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Why would Grace like him? She’s smart and strong and kind while he’s a fuck up who is only good at surfing. His own parents don’t even think he’s worth a damn so there’s no chance she would. He closes his eyes and remembers the way she looked at him last night. When he was holding her before Kie texted, she looked at him the way no one else did. And then when she came back from the bathroom, he thought that maybe she wanted to kiss him too. But she was drunk and sad. People do a lot of things that they think will make them feel better. There’s no way she would want to kiss him sober. Just because she was upset earlier, doesn’t mean she wants him. She was just embarrassed. Right?

He wakes up an hour later to his phone beeping, but he silences it and rolls over. Thirty minutes later, John B and Pope barge into his room.

“JJ, you have to text Kie back.” Pope is frazzled and out of breath.

“Did you run here?” JJ asks, confusion lacing his voice.

“Kie told me to find you ASAP. Grace needs you.”

“What’s wrong?” JJ bolts out of bed and throws on clean clothes.

“Her mom came to The Wreck and was really drunk. She was crying and begging Grace to forgive her. Kie couldn’t figure out what they were talking about, but she thought you would know.”

“Is her mom still there?”

“Yea, Grace went back to the office and locked herself in. I guess her mom is banging on the door and sobbing.”

“Fuck… JB, can I borrow the van?” In response, John B throws JJ the keys. “Thanks, man. And… sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, just go.” JJ pats John B on the shoulder and runs out of the house.

----

 “Grace? Where are you sweetheart?” Grace is hiding under the desk with her hands over her ears when she hears JJ’s voice.

“JJ?” Grace calls out.

“Yea, Kie gave me the key so I can check on you.” A wave of comfort rolls over Grace. Despite their fraught exchanges this morning, Grace is relieved that JJ is here. 
“Is my mom with you?” JJ follows her voice and realizes where it’s coming from.

“No, Kie’s dad got her to calm down and move away. What are you doing under the desk?” JJ sits down next to Grace and gently wipes her tears from her face.

“Just trying to block her out… Kiara called you?”

“Yes and no… she texted me, but I was ignoring my phone. She sent Pope to find me.”

“What did she tell you?” Grace won’t look at his handsome face, too afraid that she’ll see pity in those beautiful eyes.

“That your mom was here, drunk and upset, trying to talk to you.” JJ sees the familiar flush of her cheeks and scolds himself for not being tactful. “Hey, hey, no need to be embarrassed. You should hear some of the stories about my dad… Are you ok?”

Grace shakes her head no and JJ scoots closer to her and wraps her in his arms. He kisses her head as she cries against his chest. After a few minutes, Grace pulls back and wipes her face.

“I’m sorry, JJ…”

“For what?”

“This is the third time you’ve had to deal with my breakdowns since last night. I’m sure you would rather be doing anything else right now.”

“No way. I’m right where I want to be. You’re important to me and I’m here for whatever you need.”

Graces studies JJ’s face, hoping to find sincerity. She does but also sees something else that she can’t name. It’s the same thing she saw last night before Kiara texted him. But what does it mean? As if reading her mind, JJ reaches out and squeezes Grace’s hand.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” JJ helps Grace out from under the desk.

“I’m only half way through my shift.”

“Mr Carrera said you could take the rest of the day. Come on… I have the van and I want to take you somewhere.” Grace nods at JJ and tries to clean herself up a little in the office mirror. “You look beautiful already.”

Grace offers JJ a shy smile and grabs her purse from the locker. When they leave, they use the service door, so Grace doesn’t need to see anyone else on her way out. After she gets into the van, she texts Kiara to thank her for her help and tells her she’ll call her later.

“So… where are we going?”

“This place that Big John used to take me and John B to when we were younger. I still go there sometimes to be alone and get my head on straight again. I think you’ll like it.”

JJ drives them to a part of the island that Grace has never been. She tries to observe the new terrain instead of letting her nerves get the best of her. JJ seems just as nervous, tapping rapidly on the steering wheel as he drives.

“Here we are… Redfield Lighthouse. You ever been here?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t even know this was here. We can go inside?”

“Well… not technically… but I always just sneak up there.” Grace looks anxious but that soon disappears when JJ grabs her hand again. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

They climb the stairs and get to the gallery without running into anyone. JJ drags Grace over to the edge and sits with his legs dangling over the side. Grace is skeptical but JJ pats the area next to him for her to sit down. They sit in silence for a few minutes. Grace is about to speak but she can see that JJ is trying to find the words, so she gives him more time.

“Grace… I wanted to kiss you last night.” Grace flushes pink and JJ chuckles as he brushes over her cheeks with his fingers. “I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since the first time you went out on the Pogue with us.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“You were drunk and the whole thing with your parents is a lot. I didn’t want to risk doing this… us the wrong way.”

“Us?” Grace finally feels a flicker of hope. Maybe JJ does want to be with her.

“Well, I mean, I hope so. I remember the spark I felt when I touched your hand that night before you got out of the van. Then I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I’d catch myself watching you all the time when you were talking to one of the others. You would smile and I could feel my whole body relax. Sometimes I thought I could feel you watching me too. And then the other night… nobody has taken care of me the way you did. I finally felt peace when I fell asleep with you that night.”

“I felt that too. You’ve been my safe harbor during all of this. You’re the only person who has ever really known me…” Grace’s words fill JJ with confidence and hope.

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

Grace bits her bottom lip and nods shyly. JJ moves closer and brings his calloused hands up to cup her cheeks. He leans towards her and brushes his nose against hers. He pauses and stares into her eyes, searching for any reservations. She smiles slightly and moves the rest of the way to meet his lips. The kiss starts off soft and gentle. Grace brings her hands up, resting one in the crook of his neck while the other runs through his hair. He leans further into the kiss and probes along her mouth with his tongue. She obliges, opening her mouth to allow him entry. They get lost in the bliss of a perfect first kiss until they both need air. They rest their foreheads against each other, keeping eye contact as they catch their breath.

Taglist: @agirlwholovescoffee @alexa-playafricabytoto @mendesmaybank @teamnick @laurenyee09 @prejudic3 @teaheeee @shy-1234 @rudyismymanperiod @teaparadiso @ifilwtmfc @bxmaaa @qevon @lemur46

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 77: Three

The ending is in no way significant of anything at all. Definitely.

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Lance comes back in from the gardens with a frosty-furred, very happy wolf cub. Their quarters are still dark, lit only by the crackling fire. “Okay, go find Keith! Come on.”

The cub yawns, walks slow and tired over to the nightstand sniffing Keith’s ignored breakfast curiously. After a varga of play in the frost, Lance is surprised the cub’s got that much left in him.

“Beloved?” Lance gazes at Keith’s curled up form, burrowed into the blankets of their bed. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” It’s not convincing. “I’m just nauseous.”

Keith’s nausea has gotten a lot worse in the last two movements. He’s been skipping breakfast on the regular, and now sometimes lunch. It’s worrying them both that he’s not getting enough nutrients.

Lance frowns, runs fingers through Keith’s hair. “You can tell me if something’s wrong. I can help.”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m just not myself today.”

“Is there really nothing I can do?”

“Just go to breakfast, okay? I’ll be fine... But maybe come visit me later?”

“Of course. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”  That at least earns Lance a small smile. He’ll take it. “What are your plans for this afternoon? Lay here and be sick?”

“Mhm. Maybe play with Wolfy and Bleeps a little bit. Try not to freeze to death.”

“Use your cloak. And mine if you want it.” Lance bends down to kiss his temple. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you so much too- Ugh.” Keith curls tighter around his unhappy insides. “I love you as much as I hate nausea.”

“Trash can’s right here if you need to barf; I’ll send food for you if you want it; I’ll come check on you as soon as I can.” With a kiss to Keith’s cheek, Lance leaves their quarters, hoping he’s not too late to breakfast.

In the dining hall, Lance takes his place, picking food off of platters as servants bring them over to him. As he digs into some flowers with honey, he can’t help but notice his father’s keen eye.

“It’s nice of one of you to join us,” Alfor murmurs. Next to him, Coran rolls his eyes, but says nothing. “Where is Keith?”

“Not feeling well. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

Alfor’s ice-blue eyes narrow. “I see. Did he contract something on Daibazaal?”

Lance slows his chewing rate, appearing thoughtful. “Possibly. He wasn’t examined very thoroughly when we returned, and Tavo only gave him two injections. I assume it’s because he’s Galra, so there are fewer concerns.”

“Really?” Coran finds an actual reason to cut in. “Perhaps you should talk to him about a more thorough exam?”

“If Keith has any concerns, he will consult Tavo or his own physician back on Daibazaal. I don’t need to do that for him.” Lance shoves a frost lily into his mouth, licking the sweet floral nectar from his lips. “I have a lot to do today. There’s legislature regarding our colonies that needs to be updated, and I need to have new machinery sent to Arus, which requires a completely unnecessary amount of paperwork.”

“If that’s your way of asking to be excused, you may go,” Alfor murmurs, gaze searing into his son. Lance has gotten pretty good at lying lately. But not good enough.

“Thank you.” Lance wipes his mouth, sips his water, flies from his seat.

“And do tell Keith I hope he starts feeling better soon.”

Lance’s hesitating footsteps tell Alfor everything he needs to know. He tucks into his own breakfast, not looking at his husband.

“Dear… Don’t you do it.”

“Do what?” Alfor whines. “I haven’t even done anything!”

“Ah, but you were thinking about it!” Coran’s dark eyes glint with amusement. “Remember what we were talking about? About minding your own business?”

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing.”

“...But I want him to know that we will be here for him if he needs us?” Alfor asks, hopeful. Trying.

Coran nods slowly, considering that. “Yes, alright.”

“What, really?” Alfor almost never wins when versus his husband.

“Yes. I think he’d appreciate knowing you want to be there for him. And me of course, but I have to speak with Admiral Sonne on Arus to see what the quiznak is going on. If Lance is this stressed about it, I might have to hop over and knock a few heads together.”

“I hate it when you travel,” Alfor sighs, rising from the table, grunting at the pain in his knees as he straightens his legs. Coran follows suit.

“I know, but it would only be for a few quintants. Maybe a movement or two.”

“That’s so long,” Alfor bemoans.

Coran kisses him, sweet and familiar. “You’ll live, my darling. You always do.”

“Well... If you have to go, I guess you have to go.” Alfor tips forward to rest his head on Coran’s shoulder. Their arms wind into an embrace. “We have some fantastic kids, don’t we?”

“I’m astounded every day.” Coran draws back. “I’d best go contact Arus. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Alfor kisses Coran’s cheek, lets him go. His lips fall into a frown, deepening with every tap of his footsteps as he winds his way through the castle.

Lance jiggles his foot, heaves a sigh as he tries yet again to finish his draft. He’s preoccupied, worried about Keith. Aside from persistent morning sickness, he hasn’t been himself the last few quintants. Subdued, quiet- He’s begun isolating himself again, like he did last time he arrived from Daibazaal-

“Lancel.”

Lance looks up, rising from his chair. “Father. Can I do something for you?”

Alfor waves his hand, dismissing formality, and takes a seat by his son. “I want to talk to you about Keith. And what you’ve decided not to tell me.”

Lance’s hand freezes, releases the stylus. He turns to his father. “I beg your pardon?”

“Keith. And his pregnancy.” In hindsight, Alfor would realize that he could have used a bit more tact.

“What about it?”

“You hid this from me. Without any regard of what it might mean or how it might shift our priorities.”

“You haven’t exactly proven yourself to be trusted with the lives of children,” Lance bites, not missing a beat for even a second.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“That my husband is afraid of you, and what you’ll do to our children!”

Alfor licks his lips, a trait he’s passed to his son. “I regret what I have done to Keith. His fear is understandable. I would apologize, but I don’t think it would mean anything.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Still, I am happy for you. I understand the joy of becoming a father-”

“Father, you didn’t even want children!”

“How can you say that?-”

“Because you waited!” Lance snaps. “You waited until you and Mom absolutely had to have us! I’m not stupid!”

"Watch your mouth!" Alfor barks. "Don't you dare disrespect your mother like that. Or me."

Lance closes his mouth with a snap, shaken by his father's sudden anger.

“Lance, we-” Alfor runs a withering hand through his shaggy hair. “We waited to have you kids because I’m fucking gay! Not because we didn’t want you. I loved your mother, dearly, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to father children with her. And, for the record, it wasn’t easy for her, either.”

Lance averts his gaze, sheepish. He hadn’t thought of that.

“I put my hands on your mother, not loving her or wanting her. And she knew it. And she didn’t want it either. But that is the way it is done. So no one can question it, no one can doubt your blood. We did that, to each other, for you . And your sister. So don’t you so much as insinuate that we did not want you. Understand?”

Lance gulps, nods. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Sometimes, Lance still feels like a boy. It’s rare that Alfor’s ire is so well-deserved, and it’s been a long time since Lance has been on the receiving end. He waits to see if his father is finished.

“Now, I wanted to talk to you because we now find ourselves in a potentially difficult situation. Keith’s health is far from perfect. Add to that the burdens of a fetus and the current political climate, what we have uncovered- we need to think very carefully about how to protect you and your family.”

Lance nods, sits back in his chair. “What about you and dad?”

“Not important. You, Keith, and this child are our future. The lynchpin that holds this society together. Were something to happen to you, it’s unlikely our people could recover. But you know that.”

Lance gulps, forces himself to meet his father’s gaze. “Am I- Am I a bad person? All this stuff is happening and-”

“No. Oh, Lance-” Alfor takes his hand, squeezes it tight. “Lance, you are not a bad anything. The truth is, there’s never a good time to start a family, or have a child. The Galra are not the only people who hold a grudge against us, and tragedies and freak accidents happen every day. Why, as we speak, our ships are shifting an asteroid away from our planet so we aren’t destroyed in a collision.

“Let me ask you something. Did you want this child?”

“Yes.”

“Did Keith want this child?”

“Yes.”

“Then this baby will be far luckier than some, just for that. And from what I’ve seen of you, and seen of Keith, and seen of you both together… This child will be blessed indeed. Far better off than you were.”

“You think so?” Lance asks, eyes stinging.

“I know so.” Alfor smiles, squeezing the hand still in his grip before releasing it. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandfather twice.”

“Hopefully, you’ll be a grandfather at least four times,” Lance laughs, sniffling a little, but willing to be happy with his father now that the tension is over.

“Mnh. I know you must do your duty to Daibazaal. So perhaps I’ll be a grandfather more times than that. Your sister doesn’t want more than two children. It may give you and Keith an opportunity to indulge in a larger family, should you so desire.”

“We do currently. I’m curious to see how Keith will feel after baby number one.”

“Very true. Child-bearing is some freaky shit.”

“Seriously. I don’t envy him. I need to get back to him.” Lance sighs. “But right now I need to finish this draft. I never know how to finish off these missives.”

“Oh, that’s the easy part. Summarize what you need done, how you want it done, why it’s important. Three sentences. Then say something encouraging. And then say, ‘Many thanks, Crown Prince Lancel.’ Simple as that. Wash, rinse, repeat until your paperwork is done.”

“That’s… actually pretty useful. Thanks.” Lance finishes typing, sending it along to Adam to look over before it’s passed along to their Admiral on Arus. “I still have all this…” Lance scrolls demonstratively through his list of tasks. “To complete before thaw, but I need to get back to Keith. He’s not himself today. In a different way than normal.”

“What actually needs to be done with it?”

“It’s all crusty, outdated, discriminatory, no longer applicable, or otherwise in need of a rewrite.”

“Why don’t I get started on it and you and Adam can look over it when it’s done?”

Lance hesitates a moment, tapping his stylus on the table. He’s reluctant to entrust policy to anyone else, even Keith, but he has more than one responsibility now. Alfor can do this paperwork. He can't be a husband to Keith. He nods. “Send them to Adam and myself directly. I’ll let him know to expect it.” Lance stacks his tablets carefully on the table for someone to put away for him later. “Thank you.”

“You’re a good man, Lance.” Alfor rises with his son, smile deeply fond.

“Keith says the same thing.”

“He’s a remarkably smart young man. Now, go take care of your house.” Alfor kisses the top of his son’s head. “I’ll send dinner to your quarters if you don’t show up.”

“Thanks. I love you, Father.”

“I love you, too.”

And he actually believes it.

Keith’s not in their quarters. Yet, strangely,  Wolfy and BleepBloop are, Wolfy by the garden doors, BleepBloop glaring at the cub from the loft ladder. Has Keith actually gone outside?

Lance goes to pull his cloak from the closet, and notices that Keith’s is still hanging there. Cursing, he hurries to fasten the heavy fabric under his chin. He should give it a minute to warm up to his body temperature, but with Keith potentially out in the cold, he doesn’t want to wait. He’ll just have to hope it’s good enough.

On his way out, he snatches up Keith’s cloak.

The good thing about the frost is that he can see a set of footprints. The bad news is that those footprints are fading quickly as the frost creeps back up into the frozen moss. Speeding along, Lance squeezes through the gap in the garden wall, following the tracks into the forest. They’re getting a bit more clear, the dulled colors of the mossy forest floor showing through more clearly.

It dawns on Lance quite suddenly where he’s going, and he breaks into a run.

Panting, breath pluming, he skids to a halt outside the grotto where he learned to swim. His foot slips on an icy patch of frost, and he scrambles for a second before his hip hits the frozen ground.

Ouch.

Whatever.

Inside, Keith’s curled up on the icy pond, bundled in an enormous swathe of black fabric. The only thing Lance can see is a mess of long, black hair tumbling over the ice.

“Beloved?” The bundle twitches, curls tighter. “Beloved are you alright? Are you sick? Are you hurt?” A head shake.

Lance creeps over the frosty ground, sitting down next to his husband, throwing the red cloak over his form. Lance gently reaches out to Keith, brushing up against him, feeling what he feels-

A well of homesickness, deep, hollow, aching. Whimpering, Lance curls around his husband, hurting with him but refusing to let him go despite hot tears dripping down the side of his face.

“You know, I-” Lance gulps. “I know how you feel. A little. Remember that night at Thace and Ulaz’ place? I feel like- like I met myself that night. Like for those few vargas, I knew who I was, and I liked that person. But now… There’s no place for that person here. Here, I’m Crown Prince Lancel, and there I was Lance, and there’s no room for Lance here.

“It’s like I lost a piece of me. And lost a piece of us.”

A deep sigh, and Keith rolls over, cuddling closer in Lance’s arms. “I see him every now and then.” The man dredges up a sad smile, lays a hand to Lance’s cheek, brushes his thumb over red-tinted scales. “He’s never really gone.” A long silence, tender companionship. “I’m sorry.”

“You scared me a little bit.”

“Everything is dead here. And it’s all so quiet. Lying there by myself… All I could do was wish you were there with me. Like when we went home, and you were there all day, every day. I guess I got used to it.

“And I miss the red earth, and the afternoon heat, and the moons. I miss them so much. I-” Keith breaks off on a chirp.

“Hey, hey.” Lance pulls Keith closer, strokes his hair. “You’ll see it again, beloved. We’ll go together.”

It’s a few minutes before either speaks again, preferring instead the comfort of touch.

“Sorry, I think I’m just having a mood swing.”

“Your feelings aren’t invalid just because you’re having a mood swing.” Lance kisses his husband’s forehead. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes, I'm very cold."

Lance rises first, helps Keith to his feet. "I'm going to come up with a better plan for keeping you company. You're being neglected, and you haven't had anything to do lately."

"You know I can advocate for myself, right?"

"You can, but you don't."

"Right." Keith doesn't argue. He even sounds a little guilty. Lance counts it as a win.

“Where did you get that ridiculously huge cloak?”

“It was Shiro’s,” Keith murmurs. “He gave it to me as a gift when he found me. I didn’t have any clothes, so he gave it to me to cover myself with and help me stay warm. It was the first thing anyone gave me in all that time. The first kindness I’d seen.”

“And you left it behind,” Lance concludes. He knows by now that everything Keith brought with him -himself, his blade, and the clothes on his back- were taken from him upon his arrival. They never found his original clothes.

“Yeah. But now I have it again!” Keith grins. “ I was thinking, since it’s so big, we could use some of it to make a blanket for the little one?”

“Aww, Ke-eith! That’s so sweet!”

Keith hums, pleased by his mate’s enthusiasm. “The Galra used to have this philosophy that kindness doesn’t go back around, but forward. If someone does something kind for you, you’re meant to pay kindness to someone else.”

“I like that,” Lance whispers, swinging their hands back and forth between them. “You know, my father has discovered us. He’s… happy for us. I mean actually for us . Out of all the scenarios I imagined, that wasn’t one of them.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along better.” It’s a white lie, one Lance appreciates.

“He seems… excited. Like he’s really looking forward to being a grandfather. I’m really looking forward to getting to know my father, and watching him grow.”

Keith smiles. “You’ve been waiting a long time to have a relationship with Alfor, huh?”

“So long,” Lance breathes. “Obviously, I’d never allow him to do anything to endanger our child, but I really, really hope I never have to face that.”

Keith leans over to bump their shoulders together. “I hope so too.” He smiles. “You’re going to be an awesome father. I hope he gets to see that.”

“Thanks, beloved.”

The winter's silence falls around them, but it's not quite so crushing, so lonely anymore. There's two sets of footsteps, the warmth of a second body.

“Lance?”

“Yes?”

“I actually do miss Daibazaal. And how we were when we were there.”

“Me too. We’ll go again. As soon as we can.” Lance throws his arm around Keith’s shoulders after the squeeze back through the garden wall. “After all, little one’s gonna have to see where their daddy came from, right?”

“Definitely. I want them to be proud of what they are, Lance.”

“Absolutely. Hybrid children are the future. And we get to create that. It’s gonna be beautiful. I can’t wait to see it.”

“I can’t wait to share it with you,” Keith whispers, gazing at his smiling mate.

It’s time for the turning of the age.