#and the appraisal isn’t done yet it’s tomorrow

[emeraldcreeper]

God I hate how long house buying takes just want to unpack my shit again without going and I’ll have to pack this back up in 11 months, it’ll be so nice

[thatbritishactor]

Adventures in Success (part 10)

Adventures in Success (part 10)

Paring : Ben Barnes x Reader

Summary:  Ben’s agent is retiring and the firm wants you to represent him. It’s going to be hard for you not to mix work with feelings.

Warning: None, language (cursing).

Words: 3,300

Type :  Fluff

Part 1     Part 2       Part 3       Part 4       Part 5      Part 6    Part 7   Part 8  Part 9

I.

You’ve been officially dating for two months, but it feels like you’ve been together for longer. You’ve met all of Ben’s close friends, and you’ve introduced him to a few of yours. You’ve had to deal with feelings of betrayal on their part: how dare you keep your relationship a secret for so long? You’ve been scolded and met with incomprehension, but as soon as they met him, they were instantly enthralled by him. Ben knows how to win people over: his effortless charm, wits and kindness conquer everyone around him.

You still spend most of your time at his place, finding it unbearable to be away from him. Thankfully, he seeks your company as much as you seek his, and time flies by when you’re together. It’s taken a toll on your work, you’re not as dedicated as before, and your boss is starting to notice. Before, your job came before everything else. You worked an average of fifty hours a week, dividing your time between script reading, meeting your actors, callings producers and casting directors.

Today, Ben comes before your work, even before your friends. You know that some of it isn’t healthy, and that you shouldn’t prioritize your relationship over everything else. But you can’t resist him, and you’re at your happiest when you’re with him. He seems to struggle as well, avoiding castings, not reading as many scripts as he used to. Whenever you start to get anxious about it, you quickly dismiss it, one glance at Ben is enough to dissolve all your fears. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and you intend to hold onto and fight for your relationship with everything you’ve got.

By the end of November, Ben has to leave for London, and the heart ache induced by your imminent separation keeps growing. You’ve spent the better part of a year wanting him so badly it hurt you, and now that you finally have him, you can’t imagine how you’re going to be able to go back to a life without him.

Your feelings for him scare you, for they seem to get stronger every day. You thought that you were already done for when you weren’t even dating him, but it’s getting even worse. Somehow, waking up next to him every day is even better than what you had ever imagined. Although, you know that this is the easy bit: the honeymoon phase. The part where you love everything about the person you’re newly dating and can’t imagine ever picking a fight with them. You know that someday, his flaws will get to you, and that you’ll find him annoying. But today, you just can’t imagine that you’ll ever come to hate anything about him.

Sure, he’s a distracted person. He forgets things, he daydreams a lot, and he’s a people pleaser. Something inside him pushes him to accommodate everyone around him, and you can see that it might trigger your insecurities someday. But for now, you simply adore him, and you want to indulge in those feelings as much as possible. You’re incredibly nervous about the upcoming separation: Ben has to be in London for at least four months, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it. You’ve come up with a plan though, but you haven’t told him, wanting to surprise him.

The night before his departure, you’re lying in bed with him, tightly pressed against his chest. He places soft kisses on your forehead, and you can feel the regular pounding of his heart, lulling you to sleep.

You’re tired and your eyes close by themselves, but you refuse to drift away, because when you’ll wake up, you’ll have to take him to the airport, and you’ll be apart -again- for months. You’ve realized that apart from your anxiety, it’s the separations that pose the biggest threat to your relationship. But this man is so worth it, you think, his fingers slowly caressing your bare back; you’d do anything for him.

“Do you want me to turn off the light?” he murmurs, and you sigh, closing your eyes and rubbing your nose on his chest.

“No… I don’t want to sleep” you lie, and Ben chuckles.

“I can see you’re totally falling asleep, love” he says, and your heart misses a bit at the term of endearment. You haven’t told him you love him yet, although the words are demanding to escape your lips. You haven’t loved anyone the way that you love him, and your feelings for him are so obvious, it’s embarrassing. Something’s keeping you from uttering the words though: the fear that it’d scare him away. You’ve been together for two months, it’s too soon. You’re so deathly afraid of losing him, you don’t completely allow yourself to surrender to your feelings yet.

Ben calls you love though, and sweetheart, sometimes dear, and it’s the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard, making you melt into a puddle every time. You wonder if he wants to tell you he loves you too, but you dismiss the thought, distracted by Ben moving against you.

“All right, I’m shutting the light” he says, and you lift your head to protest.

“Nooooo” you whine, and he laughs, his arms holding you impossibly closer to him.

“What is it?” he asks, “I can see that you’re incredibly sleepy.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep, because I don’t want to be tomorrow” you reply, and you bury your face against his chest to hide your face. He sighs and rubs his cheek on your hair, and you raise your head to meet his dark eyes.

“I know, me neither” he admits, and you can hear the longing in his voice.

“It sucks” you reply, and he gently pushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“Tell me about it” he replies, pensive.

You let go of him and lean back, and he slowly lets you go, looking curious.

“At least you’re going to meet Phoebe Waller Bridge” you say, trying to change the subject, resting your head on your hand.  “I’m so jealous” you add.

Ben smiles, his eyes soft, and your heart clenches in your chest. He’s eerily beautiful, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to that. He takes your breath away twenty times a day, and you still can’t believe that you’re the lucky woman who gets to be with him.

“Want me to ask her stuff?” he asks, his beautiful black eyes appraising you.

“I’d have to write it down” you joke “I have so many questions for her”.

“Go ahead” he replies, sliding a hand through his hair. “I’ll ask her.” He says with a smirk on his lips.

“You’d do that for me?” you mock in a high voice, putting a hand on your chest and dramatically batting your eyelashes.

Ben lets out a laugh “Anything for the one I love”, he replies, and you instantly stop breathing. Ben doesn’t seem phased at all, getting back to slowly caressing your arm, his eyes following the movements of his fingers, while your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat. When the silence thickens, he glances back at you, frowning.

“Is everything all right?” he asks, seeming worried.

You blink stupidly, a lump in your throat.

“Y… yeah” you reply, lowering your eyes, your heart beating fast in your chest.

“C’mon, I know you by now” he sighs “I know when something’s bothering you” and there is that smile again, the one that could make snow melt.

“You’ve just said you loved me” you mutter, putting a hand over your eyes, unable to meet his gaze. He laughs again, before placing a hand on the side of your face, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you for a year now, don’t tell me this comes as a surprise” he says in an incredulous voice, and you close your eyes, unable to handle the storm of emotions overwhelming you.

When you open them again, he’s still gazing at you, the softest expression on his face, and you lean in to kiss him.

“I love you too” you whisper against his lips, and his hands cup your face before they slide in your hair. You roll on your back, his weight on top of you, your heart seeming to burst in your chest.

II.

It’s become a ritual now: you play the music from Bo Burnham’s Inside in the morning while you’re both getting ready, and the two of you sing along to the soundtrack, knowing each song by heart. You’ve made the coffee and helped him finish packing his suitcase, something he’s told you before he struggles with. Being an organized, neat person, you secretly love packing and tidying things up, so you’re thrilled to help him. Ben has joked about you being perfect for each other, your orderliness completing his messiness, and you’ve laughed, pretending to be chill about it, ignoring your accelerated heartbeat and the warmth spreading in your chest. He could ask you to marry him right then and there, and you’d accept immediately. You’re so done for, you think to yourself, rolling your eyes as you watch him slide his backpack on, wearing his usual cap and sunglasses.

You sing in the car, and he teases you when the song “Sexting” comes on, taking you back to the time you got drunk and sent it to him. You were embarrassed at first, blushing and hiding your face away, before owning it and deciding that it was unintentional sure, but a badass move nevertheless.

The ride to the airport goes fast, and you hold hands while you walk through LAX. You’re less skittish than before about public displays of affection, thinking that if the world must find out about your relationship, so be it. You’ve lost so much time before because of your insecurities, you’ve promised to yourself that you wouldn’t let anything get in the way from now on. Ben registers his bags, and you arrive at the security gates when he turns over and holds you tightly in his arms. You hug him back, feeling like your heart is getting crushed with a hammer, struggling with yourself not to cry.

“It’s four months”, you say against his chest, “We can do this”. He nods and cups your face with both hands, staring into your eyes.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land?” he asks, looking uncertain.

“Yes, please” you reply, oddly out of breath. You stare into his deep obsidian eyes, your hands resting at his hips, and he leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes, surrendering to the soft feelings of his lips moving against yours, silently wishing for time to stand still.

“All right, I have to go” he whispers against your lips, and you smile, nodding.

“I love you” you breathe, looking back into his eyes, and he grins, making your heart drop in your chest. How is it possible for a person to be that beautiful? This should be illegal, you think to yourself, frowning.

“I love you too, sweetheart” he replies, and he kisses you one more time before he lets go of you, squeezes your hand, and turns over to go through the gates.

You stand there for a few minutes, your heart pounding hard in your chest, the sounds of the airport muffled around you before you find the strength to go home.

III.

“You wanna do what?” Rebecca asks, looking puzzled.

“I’ve been in touch with actresses in London for a few weeks now, and I think that I should go meet them to try and win them over” you explain, straightening your back against your chair.

You’ve asked for a meeting with your boss this morning, eager to submit your plan to her. You’ve been thinking about it for a while, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t accept the fact that Ben’s departure for London had been the incentive.

Although your agency is always looking for new talent, and you’re currently managing some of the hottest British talents in Hollywood, you know that they’d trust your judgement.

“Which actresses?” Rebecca asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Michaela Coel and Daisy Edgar Jones” you reply without breaking eye contact.

Rebecca arches her eyebrows, seeming impressed, before she purses her lips and turns a bit to glance out of the window.

“Honey, you know that you’re one of our most successful agents” she starts, and you brace yourself, knowing that a “but” is imminent.

“But I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed distracted lately” she adds, looking back at you.

You look away, crossing your legs, feeling uneasy. Yes. You can’t deny that.

“I know, I’m sorry” you reply honestly, knowing that lying wouldn’t take you anywhere.

“You know that I try and pay no mind to gossip” Rebecca says, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips “But I couldn’t help but notice that ever since you dropped the Barnes account, you’ve been a little… elsewhere”, and she looks into your eyes, a kind expression on her face. You try not to blush, a warm feeling spreading over your chest, and you decide not to reply anything.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled for you” she says, still smiling “And Andrew was more than happy to take over as his agent.” You nod, not knowing where this is going.

Rebecca takes a breath and straightens her back before she leans against her desk, joining her hands.

“You were working too much before, anyway” she says, “But I’m wondering if taking new actors would be the right fit for you right now”.

“Oh.” You reply, taken aback. “I see.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d never say no to new clients, especially the ones you’ve approached. Promising, promising new talent, these two.” She says pensively, looking away.

“I know that I’ve been distracted lately” you start, wanting to be sincere “But I’m genuinely excited to meet them, and I know that I’d be the right fit for them”.

Rebecca glances back at you: “Are you sure? You already have a lot on your plate” she replies, seeming skeptical.

“Perhaps I just need fresh accounts” you venture, “Something new and exciting”.  

She stares at you for a moment, searching your expression.

“You know what” she starts “Go to London, try and broach them, and if you succeed, we’ll find a way to make this work” she proposes.

“Deal” you say, offering her your hand, and she shakes it.

“You’re going to London” she says gleefully.

“I’m going to London” you reply, smiling widely.

IV.

Ben was more than thrilled when you announced that you’d meet him in a month, impressed by your scheme. He told you that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for him, and you had blushed and put your face in your hands, shaking your head.

“You don’t think that it’s stalky or creepy?” you had asked, watering your plants while you were talking to him on the phone.

“I mean, it totally is” Ben had laughed “But if it means that I get to see you, I don’t care” he added, and you hummed in agreement, distracted by the fact that you’d soon be in his arms, where you seemed to belong now.

December went fast, and you were glad that Ben was his family to celebrate Christmas. You’d fly two days before New Years Eve, and you’d meet Michaela on January second, and Daisy the next day. You’d spend a total of seven days with Ben, and you couldn’t wait.

You arrive Sunday morning in London, feeling tired and jetlagged, but seeing Ben’s face at the arrival gates fills you with more joy than you have ever experienced before. He joins you in quick strides and grips you tight, exhaling loudly and snaking his arms around your waist; raising you in the air like he had done months ago, before you had admitted your feelings to each other. You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him passionately, you heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

“God, I’ve missed you” he says against your lips, putting you back gently on the ground, his hands moving from your hips to your face.

“Tell me about it” you reply, out of breath, staring into his beautiful eyes.

“Ready to explore the city?” he asks, smiling widely.  “Or do you want to go back to my place and get some sleep?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

You think for a split second, blushing a bit “I mean… We’ll have time to chill later” you reply, “Let’s do some sightseeing” and you smile widely.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and he puts a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking down at you tenderly.

“I’m up for anything as long as I’m with you” you say, shrugging, and you know that the answer is beyond cheesy, but you’re unable to restrain yourself. He chuckles and gently pokes your nose with his, and you distinctively feel butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“First, an English breakfast” he says, and you wince, dreading the British food “Then, let’s be tourists” he says, and he kisses you gently. You sigh, melting under his touch. He’s worth enduring British food, for sure.

Ben takes you to the Naval Royal College in Greenwich, wanting to show you the Painted Hall. It’s known as the British Sistine Chapel, and he plays the tourist guide again, like he had done in Venice. You hold hands throughout the whole visit, stealing kisses and being amazed at his extensive knowledge of art history.

“Did you research all this to impress me again?” you ask, teasing him. Ben rolls his eyes, smiling.

“Of course, I did, what’d you expect?” he replies, kissing your cheek, and you giggle, endeared.

He shows you the Millennium Bridge, asking if you want to go inside St Paul’s cathedral, but you’re starting to feel a bit tired from all the walking and the flight.

“All right, one more place I want to show you, and then you’ll take a nap” he suggests, and you nod, reaching for his hand to hold. You walk for fifteen minutes when you reach a pretty street, and you enter what seems to be a park with a church in it. You frown, perplexed, when you finally see why he’d want to take you there. The church is in ruins, vegetation growing everywhere. It looks beautiful and romantic, and you understand why Ben wanted you to see it so badly. You walk among the ruins, gasping at the shady trees and the quietness of the place. It doesn’t seem like you’re in the heart of the busy city, the place looks magical with the sun setting in the distance.

“Oh, this is so pretty” you whisper, and Ben takes you to a bench for you to sit. He throws an arm around your shoulder, and he places a kiss on your temple.

“This place reminds me of you” he says quietly, and you look at him, surprised.

“How so?” you ask. He seems to ponder for a while before he replies.

“It makes me feel safe, quiet, like nothing else exists.” And his voice is soft, making your stomach clench. You blush, feeling overwhelmed. What did you do to deserve him again? This is crazy, you think to yourself, looking away, feeling crushed with too many emotions.

“What is it?” he asks, still gazing at you.

“I’m just tired” you reply, and you put your head on his shoulder, breathing deeply and closing your eyes.

“What’s our plan for New Year’s?” you ask, opening your eyes. Ben has teased you before that he had a plan but wanted to surprise you. You feel him chuckle and look up at him.

“I was thinking… It might be time for you to meet my parents” he says easily, and your heart stops in your chest. You look at him, your breath shallow, and Ben laughs at your expression, seeming satisfied with himself.

“It’ll be alright, Love” he says, caressing your hair. “I promise.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Heyyyy heyyyyy!!!! Look who’s updating after two months ?? It’s meeee.

Hope you like this part, it’s just pure fluff. I want them to be happy and to explore the next step of their relationship.

Tell me your thoughts and feelings about this ? It might inspire me to write part 11 !!

Byeee <3

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[luckhound]

— heavy burdens.

pairing.  kaeya/gender neutral reader

genre.  angst

description.  on an important anniversary, kaeya gets drunk off his ass, bonds with a fellow captain, and realizes some burdens can’t ever be set back down.

warnings.  spoilers for kaeya and diluc’s character stories. mentions of alcohol and a character (kaeya) being under the influence.

note.  four months later and i’ve finally finished this fic after writing it on and off for that whole time mskfjdks a big thank you to sierra, miya, and grace for reading over the previous drafts of this and giving me their honest thoughts, love you ladies <3

He hadn’t expected to get shitfaced when he had first stepped foot in the tavern. Honest.

His plan for the evening was as follows: Go to Angel’s Share, chat with patrons, share some laughs, learn some secrets, and see where the night goes. Only the information he gleaned would tell how it ended; with him stumbling back to his quarters for a night’s rest, or ruminating on how to dismantle schemes that enemies of Mondstadt were concocting in the shadows.

So, the usual. Nothing too noteworthy.

Then he happened to overhear a conversation on the way there.

The two civilians spoke in low, somber tones about how it has been exactly one year since Master Crepus’s death and his son Diluc’s subsequent departure from Mondstadt. How terrible, they mused as they shook their heads, that the new winery master hasn’t been heard from since. He must still be in mourning over his father.

Kaeya nearly stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Was today really the one-year anniversary of Master Crepus’s death? How had it managed to slip his mind? He’s been busy lately with a promising lead, true, but to think that he would forget...

Which, long story cut ruthlessly short, leads him to where he is now. Tuning out his tumultuous thoughts with the help of alcohol and secrets.

Upon entering the tavern to raucous cheers, he had flitted from table to table like the social butterfly he's purported to be. The usual suspects greeted him with varying levels of warmth, inviting him to sit and keep them company. Stable hands and bandits alike shared a drink with him, words spilling from their lips like the fine wine they supped on.

After some time, though, he grew tired of their monotonous days and banal gripes. So he retreated to the bar counter. As he nursed a Death After Noon, he kept an ear out, listening carefully even as he chatted with Charles between customers.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything juicy yet. So and so is complaining about his wife, while someone else is haranguing her boss, and another is celebrating their birthday. Dull and uninteresting.

Can you blame him for getting so deep in his cups? There’s nothing else to do on such a slow night.

“So this is where you decided to hide out. Colour me surprised.”

Kaeya notes the shadow falling over the counter moments before a familiar drawl reaches his ears. He tilts his head up, blinking furiously when his vision blurs. The drinks he's downed thus far—how many has it been? He lost count after five, how unlike him—have certainly reached his bloodstream.

You stand beside his stool, your lips thinned into an unimpressed line. Despite how inebriated he is, the relevant information he has on you flashes through his mind. A Knight of Favonius. Captain of the Intelligence Team. Once a company grade officer, then sergeant, lieutenant, before ascending to captain upon the retirement of your superior.

As admired as he is by most of Mondstadt, you’re among the minority who are far from his biggest fans. For good reason, he supposes. During your first meeting, he had congratulated you on your promotion, before going on to flippantly insult your old captain. You’ve hated him ever since.

Which is why he’s puzzled by you approaching him first—outside of headquarters, at that. Such a phenomenon is rare, like catching a crystalfly in your hands.

“Captain! Fancy seeing you here,” he greets, adopting a jovial tone. Then your words register in his addled mind. “‘Hide out’, you said? Whatever would I do that for?”

You prop a hand on your hip. “You didn’t make an appearance at the meeting today. Needless to say, the Dandelion Knight isn’t too impressed with you at the moment.” You appraise him, looking underwhelmed by what you see. Ouch. “Strange. You don’t seem terribly ill to me.”

Ah. That. Kaeya had wanted to investigate some curious rumours he’d heard around the city, so he made up a flimsy excuse to dodge the captain’s meeting held this morning. Grand Master Varka likely hadn’t batted an eye over it, but not Jean. She’ll have concerns.

He hums noncommittally. The thought of annoying his oldest ally never fails to bring a smirk to his lips, but he isn’t quite in the mood right now. “Is that so. You must be here to sternly tell me to clean up my act then.”

You scoff. “Surely you don’t need a second babysitter. No, I’m off-duty, so I’m here for the same reason everyone else is: to drink.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifts his tankard as if to toast to you, but the sudden momentum causes him to sway dangerously in his seat.

“Careful!” Eyes widening in alarm, you reach out to steady him. “Geez, Alberich. How many drinks have you had?”

The palm of your hand is warm where it sits on his shoulder; he can tell that even with his furs in the way. He almost leans into the touch but catches himself at the last second. How mortifying. He can just picture your horrified reaction to him drunkenly nuzzling up against you.

Almost falling off his seat in a crowded tavern, instinctively seeking out your slightest touch... He needs to get a hold of himself. Or find a way to halt the conversation here, so he can resume drinking by his lonesome.

“Not nearly enough,” he answers airily, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. You drop your hand to your side; he makes a point to not stare at it as you do. “Where’s your entourage? I’m surprised they aren't following dutifully behind you.”

“They’re my subordinates, not my entourage.” You shift awkwardly. “And they aren’t here. It may surprise you, but they have lives outside of the Intelligence Team. They can enjoy one evening without their captain breathing down their necks.”

He eyes you in amusement. “In that case, you should join me. I would welcome the company.” He finishes off his tankard, then motions to Charles for another drink. The bartender doesn’t even ask which one as he takes the pewter mug. He knows him well by now, after all.

Kaeya expects you to turn him down and find a seat elsewhere. Usually, such an invitation is enough to send you running for the hills. You lean a hip against the counter instead, as if settling in. “If I am not mistaken, you’re needed at headquarters tomorrow. I strongly advise you to call it a night, Captain.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Captain?” He manages a grin at the scowl his reply elicits. “Don’t be. It won’t be the first time I stumble into work hungover. Certainly won’t be the last either.”

“How reassuring,” you say dryly.

“I aim to please.”

He perks up when Charles returns with a full tankard. The delectable taste of Death After Noon still sits on his tongue, warm and heady. He very much wants to experience it again. When he lifts the mug to his mouth, however, he misses the rim. He steadies the tankard before it empties itself onto his lap, but some of the wine drips down his chin, ruining his vest.

Thank goodness he isn’t drinking red wine. Every adult in Mondstadt knows red wine stains are notoriously difficult to clean. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good sip.

“Oh, for Barbatos’s sake.” That’s all the warning he gets before his drink is rudely snatched from his hand. He protests but can only watch helplessly as you bring it to your lips.

Then you proceed to down it.

His brows raise higher and higher the longer your throat bobs. He's never seen you drink with such gusto before. Shouldn’t you be gasping for breath by now? But no, you empty the tankard in a single go, then slam it on the counter (Charles makes a face, but wisely says nothing) and meet his gaze without flinching.

Wow, is all that his intoxicated mind can conjure up at the feat.

“There, all done. Now let’s go. I am walking you back.” Your voice is firm, brooking no argument. How captain-like of you. “Wouldn’t want Mondstadt’s illustrious Cavalry Captain to be found passed out in an alleyway tomorrow.”

On any other day, he’d be mildly irked by your stubbornness. But he did just spill his drink down his front like a newborn babe. No wonder you brought up his rank. In your eyes, his conduct must not befit that of a high-ranking knight. He doesn’t care what assumptions people form about him, never has, but tonight has been a bust anyway. Maybe it's best to call it quits.

Sighing theatrically, he rises to his feet. “All right, I know when I have been beaten. But don’t change your plans on my account. I can head to the barracks by myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” you say, “but letting you walk alone this late in your state would grate at my conscience. So would you stop talking for once, and let me take you home?”

You get what you want. Your words render him silent.

Home, you called the barracks. He supposes you consider that place your home. But is it his, truly?

He thinks of Khaenri’ah, nothing but a distant, bloody memory. He thinks of his father, and how in their final moments together, the man had stared through him like he wasn’t there. He thinks of the Dawn Winery, where he had spent several years causing mayhem. He thinks of Master Crepus, never dad, and a brother who doesn’t exist anymore.

No, the barracks aren’t his home. Maybe he’s never had one to begin with.

When he comes to, Kaeya registers you leading him in the direction of the tavern door, your hand on his shoulder blade. This quickly catches the attention of the patrons. They call out their goodbyes, some raising their tankards and others chuckling good-naturedly.

“Look at that! Our Cavalry Cap’n had too much to drink, eh?”

“What, are you tapping out already, Captain Kaeya?”

“Has to be escorted out by a fellow knight, no less!”

You wave over your shoulder. “Just doing my patriotic duty, that's all.”

Kaeya gives his audience an exaggerated wink (as well as he can with his one uncovered eye) followed by a lazy hand salute. His grin remains fixed in place until the door swings shut. The wooden barrier barely muffles the sounds of conversation and merriment coming from within.

Had it been that loud while he was inside? He hadn’t noticed.

He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because you nudge him in the direction of headquarters. “Come on. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Let’s get to it.”

“Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. I was being sarcastic.”

You nudge him harder, and he snickers under his breath as he walks.

This time of night, the cobblestone streets seem devoid of life. With the exception of Patton, who’s practically asleep standing up, the two of you don’t run into anyone. It's a stark change from how the city usually is, bright and bustling with crowds.

It suits him just fine, though. The crisp night air is sobering him up somewhat, the fog that had settled over his mind thinning. All too soon, he recalls everything he was trying to suppress.

Master Crepus. Diluc. His callousness and cruelty in forgetting them both.

In hindsight, he should have taken his mug back from you instead of just gaping like a fool. Sobriety is such a drag.

“You’re quiet,” you comment. You’re staring at him intently, your expression eerily similar to Timaeus’s when he is observing an alchemical reaction. It’s as if he is a specimen that you are keen on studying under a microscope.

He wants to scowl, to snap at you. “My apologies,” he says instead, as innocent as can be. “Were you waiting for me to strike up a conversation? Hold on a moment, let me think of a good topic...”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. It’s just, usually it’s impossible to get you to stop talking. The times I have seen you...indisposed”—buzzed as a bee, you undoubtedly mean—“that doesn’t change. You talk more, if anything.”

Curiously, your voice softens, an odd cadence colouring it. One he has not heard from you before, not directed at him at least. “I guess I’m just wondering if something is weighing on your mind. Is that what prompted you to drink so much tonight?”

By now, the two of you have walked down the stairway to the Knights of Favonius’s bulletin board. Of course, Hertha isn’t there this late to assign requests and bounties. The pieces of parchment pinned to the board flutter in the breeze. He stares at the sketch of a Ruin Guard, willing his sluggish mind to craft a suitable answer.

After a beat, his eye slides over to you. An impish grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “My, I had no idea that you watched my every move so closely. I’m flattered by the attention.”

Predictably, you sputter. “What even—that is not—you know what, if you want to dodge the question so badly, fine. We can just walk the rest of the way in silence.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Although his words were said to fluster you into changing the subject, as you had correctly deduced, Kaeya means them. You have noticed him far more than he realized. As Captain of the Intelligence Team, it’s your job to be observant and keep tabs on others. He knows that. Still, it’s disconcerting to learn that you’ve had a close eye on him in particular.

He operates from the shadows for a reason; he can’t have you jeopardizing that by shining a light on him. Five months into your new position, and already you have proven yourself to be dangerous.

As you wished for, silence reigns as the two of you turn into an alley and approach two flights of stairs, leading to the center of the city. Kaeya resists pressing a hand against the nearest wall for balance. He had walked down a stairway unaided just moments ago, despite how unsteady he felt. Surely ascending some steps would prove to be easier.

Rather than focus on his feet, he looks up ahead. From his position, he can just barely glimpse the blades of a windmill, ever-turning against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He keeps his gaze there as he climbs, his boots scraping against stone.

He clears the first flight of stairs with little issue. See? Nothing to it.

Halfway up the second, Kaeya stumbles.

His surroundings tilt, blurring as he fumbles for balance. It’s a futile effort. Thanks to how inebriated he is, his limbs are too heavy and uncoordinated. The stone below rushes up to meet him.

Before his face can greet it, however, you catch him.

Your side moulds against his, a hand clasping his hip while the other carefully grasps at his spiked pauldron. His gloved hand covers yours reflexively as his racing heartbeat settles. He feels you stiffen at the touch, but you don't pull away. Neither does he.

For a moment, not a word is spoken between you both. The alley is filled only with the soft sound of breathing.

Then you click your tongue. “So much for heading back by yourself. You can barely keep your feet under you.” Your voice lilts with humour.

He knows this song and dance. It has been ingrained in him after all these months. You snark at him, he snarks back. Rinse and repeat. Although this is the first time he has heard levity in your tone; the first time it has been aimed at him, that is. He almost hadn’t thought you capable of it.

He straightens with a chuckle. “First at the tavern, and now in an alley. I just keep falling for you tonight, don’t I?”

You blink owlishly. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Then a flustered expression crosses your features, before you compose yourself. “You are unbelievable.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips twitch. “You would.”

Kaeya expects you to move away, so the two of you can resume walking, but you don’t. “Not that I mind having your hands on me, but...will you be letting go any time soon?”

“That depends.” A challenging glint appears in your eye. “Can you handle walking on your own? Or do you need me to cradle you the rest of the way to headquarters, like some damsel?”

He guffaws, taken off-guard by the retort. A reply escapes his loosened tongue before he can think better of it, “Archons, that sounded just like him.”

“Like who?”

“My brother.”

In the past, despite being underage, he was sometimes able to charm bartenders at Angel’s Share—new hires unaware of how to deal with him as of yet—into serving him drinks. Diluc would find him eventually, a disapproving twist to his mouth, and put a stop to it.

Back then, Kaeya was a lightweight and had to be supported back to headquarters. Diluc would scowl and roll his eyes the entire way, but there was still a softness in his gaze. His hands were strong, but careful; Kaeya knew that his brother would not let him fall. He could even be persuaded to join in when Kaeya began to sing, their off-key voices disturbing the silence of the night.

Come morning, while Kaeya nursed the inevitable headache and Jean nagged him about violating the Knights of Favonius Handbook, Diluc would snort. “Serves you right,” he’d say, then hand him a draught for curing hangovers.

Now Kaeya must weather the pain alone.

You tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea that you have a brother,” you say softly.

Had, he nearly corrects. But he has told you too much already.

This is why he is so careful when drinking in the company of others. Alcohol is a double-edged sword; as delectable as it is, it also loosens inhibitions. It’s what he relies on when charming information out of allies and adversaries alike, none of them the wiser of what they have given up.

How the tables have turned.

“Well, now you do.” A trace of bitterness enters his tone.

You eye him, quiet, before pulling back. You motion forward with your chin. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll never make it to headquarters at this pace.”

Relieved by the subject change, he listens. He makes a conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other, gaze trained on the remaining steps below. You stay at his side, closer than you were before. He can feel your hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to catch him should he trip once more, but he ignores it.

It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure of it.

The alley opens up to a view of the market district. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to enjoy the reprieve. The two of you turn right, away from the railing overlooking the main square, to climb two more flights of stairs. A left, and more stairways await.

By the time the Knights of Favonius Headquarters looms above you, Kaeya’s legs ache from the walk. He is very much looking forward to retiring to his quarters.

The knights stationed outside stiffen at the sight of you and Kaeya, standing at attention. They perform a salute in perfect unison. Do they rehearse that before every shift? Surely they must.

The guard on the left, with the glasses and unfortunate haircut, chirps, “Good evening, Captains! I hope you are doing well.” He appears wide awake despite the late hour.

At least the one on the right looks appropriately haggard. “Welcome back,” he grunts.

While Kaeya brushes past them with a nod of acknowledgement, eager to head inside, you stop. “Good evening, Athos, Porthos. Your shift ends soon, I hope? It can’t be terribly interesting, standing watch outside headquarters so late.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain!” Athos, as you had referred to him, says. “Guard duty may not be glamorous, but it is still important.”

“Much as I agree with the lad, I can’t bring myself to be so damn cheerful about it,” Porthos sighs, his words tinged with self-deprecation. “Must be ‘cause of these old bones.”

“That’s not true, Sir Porthos. Your bones aren’t that old!” the younger knight argues, prompting the older to shake his head with a chuckle.

“Athos isn’t wrong,” you add. “You are far more sprightly than most knights I know.”

“If that’s true, then Mondstadt is in trouble.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you finally pass by them, climbing the short steps to return to Kaeya's side. He lifts a brow as he pulls on one of the large oak doors, holding it open for you.

It’s almost comical how quickly your smile disappears. Your eyes narrow as you enter inside. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he says breezily, following after you. The door falls closed behind you both with a loud, echoing thud. “Just that I didn’t know you were so chummy with the guards.”

It is blindingly bright inside the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, as if it isn’t nearing midnight. The sconces on the walls are lit up, as is the chandelier hanging in the center of the main hall. The two of you make your way towards the—joy of all joys—staircase. The barracks for knights are located on the second floor, and on the floor above that, separate quarters for the captains.

“I am off-duty right now. It’s not unprofessional for me to speak informally with them.”

His eye widens. “Why, I never said it was unprofessional, Captain.”

You grind your teeth so hard he can practically hear the enamel wearing away. “You implied it.” No, he didn’t. Your distaste for him has you imagining mockery where there is none. As if Kaeya has any room to judge someone for acting unprofessional.

“I did? That’s news to me.” Privately, he marvels at how easily he can agitate you. Him, no one else—he has observed you long enough to know your prickliness is reserved for him alone. Maybe that’s why he annoys you further instead of clearing up the many miscommunications that tend to occur. Not that you’ll believe him, even if he’s being completely honest.

You huff. “How the Dandelion Knight manages to put up with you, I’ll never know,” you mutter.

“How rude, Captain! Jean doesn’t put up with me, she considers me indispensable.”

You cut a look at him. “Yes, I’m sure she thought the same when you failed to show up to today’s meeting.”

“Must you bring that up again? I shudder just thinking of the lecture she’ll have ready for me in the morning. Perhaps my mysterious ailment should plague me for a little while longer...”

“Prolonging the inevitable will do you no favours.” You pause briefly, then add, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. After the meeting, I ran into Inspector Eroch. He was waiting outside and asked after you. He seemed irked when I informed him that you were absent today.”

If Kaeya was not so skilled at masking his reactions, he would’ve perked up at that. He might have even stopped in his tracks or whipped his head around to look at you. But he knows better than to give himself away so obviously. He leisurely climbs the steps, his features revealing only vague interest. “Oh? Somehow I doubt he was upset out of concern for my wellbeing.”

You glance over. “I wouldn’t know. He did not say anything when I asked why he wanted to see you, or if I could pass on a message. He just brushed me off and left.”

“Don’t be hurt by his shameful conduct, Captain. I for one enjoy your company immensely.”

You ignore his thoughtful statement. “I thought that he might have had a prior engagement with you, which you missed due to being terribly ill.”

He shrugs. “If we did, I don’t recall it.”

That earns him another look, longer than the one before. He doesn’t flinch away from it, his expression remaining serene. Privately, he wonders what you know. Are you merely intrigued by what Inspector Eroch might want with him? Or are you more aware than you’re letting on?

After all, Eroch is the one Kaeya has been secretly investigating for the past year.

Looks like the inspector has caught on. About time. No doubt he wants to figure out just how much Kaeya knows—which is not much, unfortunately. He knows that Eroch has more than just Mondstadt’s best interests in mind; a Fatui spy like him would have just the opposite. But he is unsure what the man is up to, or who he even is.

He does, however, have an inkling. Several, even.

Inspector Eroch had been insistent on covering up the details of Master Crepus’s death. For the good of Mondstadt, he claimed, not wanting the citizenry to lose faith in the Knights of Favonius. Grand Master Varka had ultimately sided with him. It resulted in Diluc resigning his position and leaving the city a year ago.

Kaeya had kept an eye on the inspector after that. He knew there was more to the situation than just preserving Mondstadt’s trust in the Knights, and it had everything to do with the dangerous and evil power Master Crepus had harnessed. It was only a matter of figuring out what. And once he has all of the information...

Well, he knows what Diluc would do, once upon a time. Blazing with righteous fury, he’d take his findings to Grand Master Varka, insisting on Eroch’s arrest and expulsion from the Knights of Favonius. He would see it as retribution for how poorly his father’s death had been handled.

But Kaeya suffers from no delusions. Maybe he looked into Eroch because of Master Crepus. Maybe he wanted some kind of revenge for what happened. Maybe he yearned to atone for his past inaction. None of that means he has any heroic intentions.

If it serves his interests better, he won’t expose the inspector immediately. He will hoard his knowledge instead, keeping his cards close to his chest until it’s the right time to play them.

That is how he has always operated. Master Crepus's death and Diluc's departure have not changed that. For a brief, nonsensical moment, he wishes they had. Then common sense returns to him. A foolhardy sense of justice is of no use to him. He’ll leave that to Diluc.

While he extricates himself from his wayward thoughts, you turn away to clear the last few steps. “If it is important, surely he will try to approach you again,” you say.

“I look forward to it with bated breath.”

You scoff, rightfully skeptical, but don’t respond. Clearly, you are content to leave it at that.

He wonders at how easily you let the subject drop. Had you suspected something, you would have pushed to learn more, wouldn’t you? Now is as opportune a time as any; it’s late, he’s tired and drunk, and the both of you are alone. Does that make you oblivious, or an idiot, or crafty?

Having made it to the third floor, the two of you make your way down the hallway. His quarters are before your own, three doors on the left. He stops in front of his door, reaching into one of many hidden coat pockets to produce his key.

He glances at you. You have yet to leave for own your room. “You don’t have to hover at my side, you know,” he says with a touch of amusement. “I may be tipsy, but I am no longer in any danger of being harassed by ruffians or passing out in the streets. Unless you're secretly harbouring nefarious intentions towards me, Captain.”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” is your unruffled response.

Chuckling under his breath, he unlocks his door and lets it swing open wide. It’s dark inside, faint moonlight shining through the small window above his desk. Coupled with the sconces out in the hallway, however, there is enough light for him to stumble to his bedside without stubbing a single toe. He doesn’t bother to close the door on you; he has nothing to hide.

Kaeya knows what his quarters must look like to a stranger. They’re a mess, as if someone had searched them in a haste and not bothered to clean up afterward. The walls are bare, save for a map of Mondstadt that he’d hung up ages ago. Tomes of all sizes and loose leaves of parchment litter his oak desk, pushed up against a wall. A quill lies abandoned atop a half-finished note with ink drying on its nib. His closet door is cracked open, a discarded boot dissuading anyone from forcing it shut.

Yes, his quarters are a mess. But he knows exactly where everything is. Should someone actually attempt to search his things, he would know immediately. Not that they would find anything particularly damning. He isn’t foolish enough to leave important documents or sensitive information lying about—nothing he is unwilling to part with, anyway.

“Horrifying, but unsurprising,” he hears you mutter to yourself.

Kaeya doesn’t even consider slipping out of his ruined clothes or engaging you in further conversation. Now that he has made it back to his quarters, all he can think about is the sweet embrace of sleep. He sinks into his unmade bed, draping an arm over his face.

You continue to linger in the doorway. “You should change before you fall asleep.”

“Mhm.”

“You'll regret not doing so in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alberich. You stink of booze.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy, Captain. I’m impressed.”

You sigh, long and loud. He waits to hear the door close behind you, only for you to walk up to his bedside. Your steps are slow, hesitant yet purposeful. He stiffens, immediately on-guard, but fights his instincts in order to remain still. What are you planning?

He feels you grip his boot. Metal jingles as you undo the buckle. Then you pry it off.

He lifts his arm to peer up at you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You set his boot on the ground, then move on to the other one. “If you won’t change, you should at least take off your shoes. You’ll dirty your sheets otherwise.”

Oh, you make it so easy for him to twist everything you say into an innuendo. For once he resists the urge. “You forgot something,” he says instead. He wiggles his sock-clad foot at you. Just to see if you will do it.

You grimace, swatting his leg away. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be anywhere near those.”

So you say. But you’re taking his boots off for him out of your own volition. There is no need for you to do any of this. It’s not your duty to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor, or walk him back to headquarters unharmed, or all but tuck him into bed. Yet here you are.

What is it that you want? There have been plenty of opportunities for you to try and take advantage of his drunken state, but you have sidestepped every one. Frustration brews in his sternum.

“Do you do this for everyone who you hate?” he finds himself asking, tone purposely lighthearted.

You pause in your ministrations to stare at him. “What? I don't hate you.” At his disbelieving look, you insist, “I don’t. You have always been a pain to deal with, sure, but I never once felt that way.”

He smiles, unconvinced. “Not even when I insulted your dear old captain?”

“Insulted my... That was months ago, when we first met.” Despite your bewilderment, you take a moment to contemplate his question. “I was upset with you, yes. But now that I’ve had this position for some time...maybe your assessment wasn’t off. When I was lieutenant, I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my captain. They were too set in their ways and scorned most criticism. I respected them, and still do, but I shouldn’t be ignorant of their faults.”

Your gaze meets his once more. “In a way, what you said that day led me to realize that. You weren’t badmouthing my captain; you didn’t have a vendetta or want to get a rise out of me. At least, I don’t think you did. You must have legitimate issues with their leadership, as a captain yourself.”

He watches you shrewdly. Your tone was even, your expression clear. He cannot detect any deception from you. Of course, that means little. Still, perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

A headache, newly formed, pounds at his temple. If he were more sober, he would be better equipped to handle such a revelation. He’ll have to come to a proper conclusion later.

You fiddle with the buckle on his remaining boot. “And what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?”

“You have ample reason to look down on me. Most of the knights know that you aren’t just Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster. Your role is more important than that. Surely you would make a better...” you trail off, your jaw working silently.

Kaeya knows how that sentence ends. Surely you would make a better Captain of the Intelligence Team than me. It doesn’t come as a surprise.

Up until now, he thought he knew you well. You made it no secret you loathed him. You have never said so explicitly, but he has a talent for reading people. It’s a classic case of envy. He has seen it many times before. You compare yourself to him and find yourself wanting. It colours the way you interact with him; your words brusque, your gaze narrowed.

Not only did he insult your captain, but you consider him more capable than you. Your hatred makes sense. It’s predictable.

Or so he believed, until tonight.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.” Uh-oh. Seems he took too long to respond. You busy yourself with unbuckling his boot, avoiding his eye.

If he were to be honest, there are many ways he could answer you. He thinks you are a better captain than your superior could ever hope to have been. He thinks you are a leader capable of inspiring undying loyalty in your officers. He thinks you have a deep, unflinching love for Mondstadt and its people. He thinks you constantly push yourself to greater heights, to the point it lights a fire in him as well.

He admits to none of those things, in the end.

“Give yourself some credit, Captain,” he murmurs. You glance over in surprise. He meets your gaze. For perhaps the first time in a while, he hopes his words sound sincere—not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does. “I know the officers under your supervision think you’re a good leader. They wouldn’t want anyone else to take your place.” Certainly not someone like me.

Instead of reassuring you, however, his answer seems to do the opposite. You look frustrated. “That isn’t what I...” you trail off. You search his features, silent, before your brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you mean what you just said. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever can.”

He takes care not to allow his features to visibly harden. Of course you would doubt him, the one time he tries to be honest with you. What else did he expect? Maybe you don't hate him, maybe you never have, but that means little. You won’t ever fully trust him. To be fair, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth tastes unbearably bitter. It must be the wine.

“At this point, I’m willing to say just about anything if it’ll mean I can get some shut-eye.” He feels no satisfaction upon seeing your shoulders stiffen. He still manages to grin. “Well, Captain? Any other requests?”

“No,” you say. Then you tug off his boot with a brisk motion.

He stifles a yelp. “Hey, now! No need to be so rough.”

“My sincere apologies.” You set the boot down next to his other one, your lips thinned. “I should go. Wouldn’t want you to lose more sleep than you already have. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, after all.”

Talk about vindictive. Despite his irritation, he has to fight a smile. Knowing you, you’ll see it and take it the wrong way, as you usually do.

Having finished removing his boots, you turn and walk for the door without another word.

He’s struck with the odd urge to stop you. To reach out, take your hand in his, and tug you back. Not because he wants something from you, or needs to tell you something. He wishes you would stay a little longer, that’s all. Wants the silence to be filled by your voice instead of his thoughts.

Now he knows he’s had too much to drink. He’s contemplating such ridiculous things.

Before his addled mind can catch up and he can say something, apologize perhaps, you shut the door behind you. Your footsteps travel down the hallway, slightly hurried. The door to your quarters creaks open then closed.

He’s too late. It’s for the best.

Kaeya lies back and stares up at the ceiling. His vision swims, as if he’s adrift at sea. Closing his eye only makes it worse.

His mind pores over the events of the day. Investigating Eroch, remembering Master Crepus and Diluc, visiting the tavern, running into you. He feels restless, pulled in several directions at once.

With a harsh exhale, he rises to his feet and locks his door. Then he begins his nightly ritual.

His pauldron is first to go. It hits the floor with a dull noise. Then he peels off his gloves and tosses them on the desk. The burns on his hands have long since healed, but he still deals with numbness now and then. Not many know they even exist; he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of a potential weakness. His eyepatch follows closely after.

He removes the Cryo Vision from his belt last. He stares at it, its blue glow washing over his scarred palm and turning his skin a sickly brown hue. If it’s been a year since Master Crepus’s death, it has been about a year since he was gifted a Vision as well. The sight of it has been a hard reminder ever since. Of how he’d won a difficult battle. Of how he’d finally revealed the truth. Of how he can never speak it again.

He tucks the Vision under his pillow, then collapses back into bed. An odd sensation fills him, as it does every time he completes this ritual. It’s like he has taken off every scrap of armour he has and foolishly exposed himself to danger, despite being alone in the stillness of his quarters.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him under.

It never does.

[secretkeeper13]

Quiet

66.  “That was the last time. I’m serious this time.”

My little ficlet for the Hinny Ficfest organized by the lovely and wonderful @clarensjoy!  Thank you so much for organizing it Clare, I can’t wait to read them all (and I’m already regretting having a busy work day tomorrow). This was inspired by a conversation on the Hinny Discord a few weeks ago- thank you to @katie-with-the-tea for telling me I should write it and to @thedistantdusk for reading it through for me.  Also on Ao3.

“It’s so quiet,” Harry murmured.

They sat on a chaise lounger out in the garden, the pair of them sipping wine, watching the sun as it slipped down under the horizon on the warm June night. Ginny sat between his outstretched legs, her back resting against his chest, her hair gleaming red and gold in the fading light from the setting sun.

“It’s nice isn’t it?”

“Mmmh,” he hummed absently, wrapping his arms around her middle.    

It was a rare peaceful night in the Potter house, James having stayed the night at George and Angelina’s, leaving only Albus and Lily, who were exhausted after a day spent at the beach at Shell Cottage. Both were fast asleep by eight, so he and Ginny opened a bottle of wine and headed out to the garden to enjoy the fading summer day.

But if he was honest, as lovely as the quiet moment was, it was a bit unsettling. He’d grown accustomed to the constant noise and commotion- the usual rows between James and Albus, the hubbub from any number of visiting nieces and nephews or Teddy, and the endless chatter from Lily.

“I suppose we may finally be in for some nights like this, now that they’re getting older,” Ginny commented, setting down her glass on the side table and placing her arms atop his, tracing light patterns on his forearms with her fingers.

She was right, he realized, and he suddenly understood why the quiet house caused him unease. Lily had just turned five. James would be off to Hogwarts in two years. They were growing up.

It seemed like yesterday that he’d held them in his arms as babies- James, always active and wriggling, Albus, soft and snuggly, his warm weight solid on his shoulder, Lily, all smiles, coos, and babbles. And he missed it.

“ You’re quiet,” she said softly, her fingers still ghosting across his forearms. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking how much I enjoy sitting with you like this,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on the side of her cheek and then moving his chin to rest atop her head.

It wasn’t a lie. He loved this, having a moment with Ginny all to himself. And he didn’t want to ruin it.

She scoffed. “Nice try. I can tell there’s something on your mind.”

As always, she’d seen straight through him.

He sighed. “Gin, what would you think about another baby?”

She turned her head and fixed him with an appraising look, her brow raised. “I think you shouldn’t think about having another baby.”

“You said that after Albus, and then we had Lily.”

“That was the last time. I’m serious this time.”

He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “Are you sure?” he asked, as he kissed down her neck. “Because I really like making babies with you.”  

“Mmmh,” she sighed, her body relaxing back into his as he hit that spot just below her ear that he knew she particularly enjoyed. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“But I like distracting you,” he said, now kissing onto her collarbone, reminded of those golden hours spent by the lake at Hogwarts doing this when Ginny was meant to be revising.

Suddenly, she pulled away and removed his arms from around her middle. She turned to face him, sitting on her knees in between his legs.

“What’s this really about, Harry?” she said, her tone gentle, as she brushed her hand through his hair. “I’ve been on the potion since Lily, and I thought we both agreed that three was it.”

He looked down as he tried to collect his thoughts. She waited patiently, as she always did when she could tell her was on the verge of sharing something.

“Do you ever miss having a baby?” he asked, taking her hand and toying with her fingers. “The way they’d fall asleep all cuddled up and heavy on your shoulder, or smile at you for no reason, like you’re the best thing they’ve ever seen? I suppose I’m realizing that we won’t ever have that again.”

Her face softened. “Of course I miss that,” she said, and he could hear the wistfulness in her tone. “Merlin, don’t even get me started on that new baby smell.”

“But Harry,” she continued, her tone firmer, “I don’t miss being pregnant, or awful nights where they’d wake up every hour, or sore nipples, or dirty nappies, or-“

He chuckled. “All right, I get it.”

He looked past her up to the sky. The sun had set and night had begun to fall, a dusky purple descending on the garden. A metaphor for our childbearing years, he thought forlornly.

But Ginny was right. They’d agreed three was it. Really, even if they hadn’t agreed, it was her decision- it was her body, after all. And yet, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let this part of their lives go.

He sighed again. “I just… I worry we may regret it later. Not having another. And would four really be that much more difficult than three? It’s already a madhouse here most days.”

Her eyes twinkled in the dying light. “Harry,” she smirked, “You realize that’s exactly what my parents said, and then they got Fred and George.”  

His eyes widened. Fuck, I hadn’t even considered that.  

Four was one thing. Five was an entirely different story. The image in his mind of one baby, cuddly, smiling, and cooing “Daaa” just the way Lily had was suddenly replaced by two squalling, wailing, colicky newborns, each crying on and off during a sleepless night. His mind jumped to the thought of two toddlers, one trying to boost the other up to climb the shelves in the scullery while teetering precariously on the edge. And then to two six year olds, colliding mid air on brooms while throwing fireworks, as he chased after them on the ground, grey haired and exhausted.

She laughed as she took in his horrified expression.

“You’re re-thinking this whole let’s-have-another-baby proposition now, aren’t you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “After further consideration, I think you’re right. We agreed three was it. We’re done, yeah?”

She smiled at him and leaned in closer, until her face was inches from his.

“Yes,” she whispered, her breath warm on his lips. She kissed him deeply, her fingers threading and wrapping into his hair, and he was lost in her, like always.

When she pulled back, he was still slightly dazed. “I think we should go upstairs now,” he murmured.

“I think that’s your best idea tonight,” she replied, standing up and then extending her hand to him.

“And since we don’t have a baby,” she continued, her brown eyes blazing in the low light, “we won’t be interrupted.”

[socratesofthesocketset]

I am here, and not.

My kid came home from school sick with covid on Monday. Vaxxed, boosted, and still symptomatic. They were actually responsible and when they noticed they were coughing, getting out of breath walking between classes (like 3 mins max, small middle school,) and had full body aches, they went to the nurse. The nurse who was so incompetent she just took their temp, told them they were fine, and sent a SYMPTOMATIC COVID CHILD BACK TO CLASS. They wound up back in the nurses office and getting sent home later in the day because they puked from a med they’re not tolerating. When their dad saw them unable to catch their breath going up stairs at home, he tested them and the rapid test was instantly positive.

I’ve been working all week. Current guidelines say as long as you’re vaxxed and masked it’s fine. We’ve been slammed anyway, so the money is good and it keeps my mind off things. I’ve been rapid testing every day anyway and got a PCR this morning, though I likely won’t have the results before work Monday. Bossman has been really good to me. He offered to pay for rapid tests if I needed them, and slipped a bonus into my paycheck too.

Tuesday we got a text that our landlord wants to refinance the house so we’re going to have a bank appraiser walk through next Tuesday. We let him know we have a covid positive person, but I don’t think they’re delaying anything. I’ve been trying to clean as I can, mostly today. It’s been really hard. I didn’t really stop to think of all the things that I have from things Paul and I did while we were together until I started going through my room. It’s like a time capsule. Or a bomb.

Wednesday my stepdad got an ambulance to the hospital. Not covid, not sure what it is, he’s been wildly hallucinating since Tuesday and last I heard (yesterday afternoon) he’s still in hospital. We don’t have a good relationship anymore, but he’s still been part of my life for almost 25 years. That’s a mixed bag there, I’m not really looking at it too hard right now.

I’m shattered, and not coping anymore. I almost wish I was more shattered when I talked with my therapist on Thursday, but I was still running on...whatever I run on when stressed? Idk, I just keep going until I fall over and I wasn’t at the falling over point yet.

I began this year vowing that it was My year, and My turn to be happy, and it’s just been a dumpster fire from the get go and I am so, so done.

I miss touching people. Last Saturday I spent a lovely day with Paul and he asked me over Tuesday night, but we had to cancel of course. Last Saturday night when I got home, my kid was having bad night with the med he isn’t tolerating and I snuggled them until they fell asleep, and really that’s the last day I touched anyone. It’s all masks and distance and being closed up in my bedroom. It’s shutdown all over again when I’m home, but this time I’m still working.

I don’t know where I’m going with all this. It’s late and I am tired and I guess I just needed to get it out somewhere. Here’s hoping for sleep, and a better tomorrow.

[galaxyofmyown]

I have a hotch x reader request! Could u do a fic where the reader is being yelled at by her parents and hotch defends her pls!

yes i can! and here it is just for you lovely. again, i’m self-indulgent so it’s not gender-neutral but i can change it if you let me know! as much as i love yearning hotch, writing loving boyfriend hotch is such fun. i hope you like it!

aaron hotchner x reader - uneventful dinner scene 

“I’m not going inside.” You say, feet firmly planted on the porch. Aaron grabs your arm and tries to pull you but you remain unmoving as a tree.

“Yes, you are.” He says, pulling harder. He underestimates your stubbornness as usual.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m ringing the doorbell.”

“NO.” You say, but it’s too late. Oh god. You straighten out your dress and make sure your hair looks right.

“Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” You ask your boyfriend, panicked. You can hear footsteps approaching the door.

“(Y/N), you look beautiful. You always look beautiful.” He says, and that calms you down enough that you don’t feel like fainting when your mother opens the door.

“(Y/N), darling!” She says, pulling you in for a brief hug. She hugs you like you’re her distant cousin, not her daughter. Turning her gaze to your boyfriend, she smiles, but it looks difficult for her.

“Agent Hotchner.” She says, clipped while still maintaining her false sweetness. They had met before, briefly, at your father’s office holiday party, but tonight was the official “dinner with the parents” extravaganza.

“Please, call me Aaron.” He responds. She shakes it with a perfectly manicured hand, and, ignoring his statement, gestures for you to come inside.

“Mom, Aaron got you flowers.” You say as you walk to the living room. Aaron hands her the bouquet of pink roses (that you told him to get, knowing they were her favorite). Your mother turns around and appraises the flowers, and you’re at a loss for words. You know, you know they’re her favorite flowers. And yet she still finds a way to be snobby about it.

“Well, that’s very… thoughtful. I suppose I’ll just put these in some water.” She says before veering off to the kitchen. You grab Aaron’s hand and squeeze as hard as you can.

“(Y/N)? I think you’re breaking my hand.” He grits out. You mumble an apology and collapse onto one of the pristine beige couches, shoving your face into a pillow and groaning. Aaron laughs and kneels down next to you, his hand rubbing circles on your back.

“(Y/N), sweetie, it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s just a few hours before we’re back at your place. We can watch one of those movies you say I’m too old to understand.” He says. You sit up hesitantly.

“Promise?” You ask. He laughs again and nods.

“Promise.”

You smile at your boyfriend and pull him up to sit next to you.

“Mom? Where’s dad?” You call, praying to the heavens he got called into work. Your mother, as cold and calculating as she is, is a sweetheart compared to your father.

“He’s upstairs in his office. He’ll be down in a minute. Would you like a drink, Agent? Whiskey? A beer?” She asks, walking back into the living room.

“No, thank you,” Aaron says politely. 

“Do you have any white wine, mom?” Your mom glances up from the drink cart, surprised.

“Oh, (Y/N)! I didn’t even think to ask.” She says, grabbing a bottle, “Maybe that’s because you look 17 sitting next to him.”

Your tight smile completely drops from your face. Even Aaron stiffens, which you know means he’s angry.

“Well, I’m not. I’m 30, so.” You force out. Your mom laughs haughtily.

“You know what I meant.” She says, and she’s right. You knew exactly what she was trying to do. Before you think of something else, anything else to say, the stairs creak.

“(Y/N). Agent Hotchner.” Your father says coldly before snapping at your mother to make him a drink.

“Hi, dad.”

“It’s nice to see you again, sir. How’s the business?” Aaron says, and you instantly relax. This was usually a safe topic.

You have an awkward, dreadfully boring conversation for a few minutes before moving into the dining room. Your parents' chef (yes, seriously) made a very fancy looking duck dish with roasted vegetables, and as much as you hated living here, you missed the food. Dinner was quiet, with only the sounds of forks against plates and sporadic questions from your mother. You felt miserable. Usually, you’re completely comfortable when you’re with Aaron, but your parents were making it impossible. You were almost done eating when your father asks:

“So, are you still just transcribing records all day, or did you finally get a real job?”

You knew this was coming, but you still weren’t prepared. Your father, who was the CEO of a very big but very dull company, and thus was always giving you shit about your job.

“My job is a real job, dad.” You say. He laughs cruelly.

“Our dog could do what you do!” He says. Aaron, who had been silent (although his jaw was clenched) slammed his fork down a little too loudly.

“Sir, if I may, (Y/N) got a job at the bureau because she speaks four languages and has three degrees. She’s extremely qualified.”

“Exactly my point. Did we not spend hundreds of thousands of dollars for you to go to a good school? Take extra language courses? We gave you nothing but the best and this is how you repay us? By working a bad job that, in turn, makes your whole family look bad.”

“I’ve only been there a year, and there’s plenty of room to move up-” You say trying to defend yourself, but your voice catches, betraying the tears threatening to fall. You hate crying in front of your parents, showing them the power they have over you. But sometimes you just couldn’t help it.

“This is why you should’ve just stayed at home, (Y/N). Been a wife and a mother, like me. You have no idea how to run a house.” Your mom says, and you feel like screaming.

“You’re miserable, mom! Why would I want that?” You say, voice rising despite yourself. Your father slams his hands on the table.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that!” He yells. You can feel Aaron looking at you, can imagine the concern in his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to look back. You feel humiliated.

“I think we should-” He starts, and your father cuts him off with a scoff.

“Don’t get me started on you.” He says, and screaming doesn’t feel like that dramatic of an option anymore.

“Dad, don’t.” You threaten.

“Please, (Y/N), he’s old enough to be your father.” Your mom says.

“You keep saying that, but it’s not even true! He was eleven when I was born!” You cry out, willing them to understand. Your mom buries her head in her hands like you’re the one with the problem.

“Look at what you’re doing to your poor mother. You don’t even care that you’re a disappointment to us.” Your dad says. You don’t even know how to respond to that. Fortunately, you don’t have to. Aaron stands up abruptly, throwing his cloth napkin onto his plate.

“Aaron?” You ask through tears, confused.

“We’re leaving. Now.” He says, his voice rough.

“Excuse me?” Your mother asks.

“Now wait just a damn minute-”

“No. You wait, sir. With all due respect, and tonight has made me think there isn’t much respect due, I’m done. (Y/N)’s Father or not, I am not going to sit here and listen to you so blatantly disrespect the woman I love. (Y/N) is smart and accomplished and kind, and I believe that doing anything to suppress her abilities would be a mistake. I know she’s thankful for all you two have done for her, but now you need to trust that she knows what she’s doing. So we’re leaving, and I’m not going to speak for her, but I won’t be coming back until you learn to respect your daughter. Goodbye.” He says, and that’s the end of it. He grabs his suit jacket off the back of the chair and leads you out of the house, his arm wrapped around you. You don’t even turn back to look at them.

Once outside, Aaron grabs your upper arms and hold you away to assess your face.

“(Y/N), baby, are you okay?” He asks, wiping away a stray tear.

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone in.” You say, laughing. He smiles at you and kisses your forehead.

“They’re so wrong, you know that, right? So wrong.”

“I do. But I think this place makes me forget sometimes.”

Aaron kisses you, deep and loving like he has a hundred times before. It still feels brand new.

“I love you so much, (Y/N).” He says with such conviction that it makes your knees weak.

“I love you too, Aaron. So, so much Thank you for that.” You whisper, relishing in the delightful fact that this man is the love of your life.

“Are you gonna call them tomorrow?” He asks as you walk to his car. You shake your head.

“Not this time. They’ll have to call me.” You say.

“Good move. You know, I really thought you were about to explode.” He says, and you laugh.

“God I wanted to. Maybe next time.”

Aaron kisses the top of your head.

“There won’t be a next time. I promise you that.”

You believe him.

[havenoffandoms]

Could I request prompt 29. with Triss x Eskel, please? Thanks so much!!

Hey anon! Thanks for the prompt and I had a lot of fun writing this. Can I also say that I love people requesting all these pairings I very rarely write, because it actually forces me out of my comfort zone. Yay! Hope you like it, anon. 

You can request a prompt here. 

Eskel x Triss: “You’re the one of the most beautiful people I know and you don’t even know it.” “No, I know it” (prompt 29).

Triss wipes her tears with the back of her sleeve before pulling her cloak tighter around her shivering body. It’s freezing in the tower of Kaer Morhen castle. The tower is uninhabited and the wolf witchers rarely ever use it, which means two things. On the one hand, it’s not kept warm during the winter and is always very low on Vesemir’s maintenance list, so the holes in the walls and broken windows let in the cold drafts right, left and centre. On the other hand, Triss knows that no one will be looking for her up there. She has been hiding up in the tower for… well, she’s lost count. It was already dark when she first got there and it’s still dark now, but Triss has no real point of reference from which she can deduce the precise time. 

She also doesn’t have the energy to do so, anyway. 

Geralt has made it very clear that his heart belongs to Yennefer. Perfect, gorgeous, powerful Yennefer of Vengerberg. Triss knows she should’ve seen this coming. She knows that she was naive to think that Geralt would choose her when Yennefer was still in the picture. No matter how often she lets him down, plays him like a fiddle or breaks his heart, he will always go back to her. Idiot. Triss stopped being sad a while ago already. These are tears of frustration, tears of anger and resignation. There’s no sadness left. 

She needs to get a grip on her emotions. Now is no time to wallow in self-pity. Now is the time to mentally prepare to fight the Wild Hunt. 

“There you are,” a familiar baritone voice grates, pulling a startled yelp from Triss who was so caught up in her own wallowing that she did not hear Eskel enter the tower, “everyone’s looking for you. We’re meeting downstairs to discuss Geralt’s plan against the hunt.”

“Yes,” Triss quickly wipes the wayward tears that trail down her cheeks, “yes, thank you Eskel. I’ll be there shortly.”

Eskel doesn’t leave. Instead he stands in the doorway, his brows set in a pensive frown as amber eyes appraise her with some concern. He must have noticed her tears, Triss thinks. When her eyes meet his, he’s unable to hold her gaze for very long before he looks away. His hands come up to rub at his scars - a nervous tick she has observed before and which she finds strangely endearing. The sight of this mountain of a man looking so small and vulnerable stirred strange feelings in Triss. A kind of motherly instinct to protect him, to tell him everything will be alright, but… much more intense than that. 

“I, uh… I don’t mean to pry, but - if you wish to talk, I…”

“Thank you, Eskel,” says Triss, because she knows what he’s offering but like every other witcher alive, it seems, Eskel finds it hard to put his feelings into words. Even though his intentions are well-meaning and coming from a good intention, Eskel still feels like he’s not allowed to express emotions. “You’re very sweet to offer yourself up as a shoulder to cry on, but I think I’ve done enough of that as it is without wounding my pride any more.”

“Indeed. I much prefer seeing you with a smile on your face, anyway.”

Eskel’s words warm her heart. Triss can’t hide the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Why, thank you Eskel.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Eskel adds, almost as an afterthought, “you deserve to be treated better than this. I mean, what Geralt did - it was not right playing with your feelings like that. And I - you deserve an apology.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be the one apologising,” Triss tells him, her tone growing bitter once again. She thinks she can see Eskel recoil into himself. The sorceress instantly regrets her tone. “Which is not to say that I don’t appreciate you coming up here and showing me a bit of human decency. Forgive me. I shouldn’t be taking my sorrows out on you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Eskel steps closer, offering Triss a small smile but she notices that he keeps his face angled in a way that hides his scars. Old habits die hard, she figures. “Triss, I - I just want to say that whatever happens tonight, whatever happens to any of us… it was a pleasure to know you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she chastises him. She meets him halfway, her hands taking a hold of his and squeezing them. She can’t help but notice the strength and warmth these hands emanate, as well as the pleasant tingle that washes over her. Like the first time they met, she recalls. Triss holds back a shiver. “Eskel, please. Don’t talk like that. We’ll all be fine.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Eskel assures her, “but it is probable that we’ll lose people today, and I would hate to leave this world knowing I never told you that I’m happy you and I got to meet.”

Triss pauses, biting her lip nervously as she gives herself permission to drown in Eskel’s amber gaze. What’s the harm? Eskel doesn’t seem in any rush to leave. Triss manages a soft smile, which is returned if a little on the lopsided side. 

“I’m very happy to have met you too, Eskel,” she tells him, and she means it. “So if you could only tell me one thing before we walk to our deaths, what would it be?”

Eskel takes a minute to reflect, like he always does, like he has always done since Triss met him for the first time. Kind, gentle Eskel. Calm and rational Eskel. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him instead?

“It would be that you are one of the most beautiful people I know, and you don’t even know it.”

Triss is left momentarily speechless. Of all the things she expected Eskel to say, this came really far down her list. She sees nothing but genuine honesty reflected in his eyes. She half expects him to take everything back when he notices her prolonged silence but he doesn’t. Triss feels her heart swell to three time its normal size in her chest. 

“No, I know it,” she blurts out before her brain can stop her mouth. She brings a hand up to cover her lips, her eyes widening at her own cheekiness. Eskel seems momentarily startled by her words, but before she can correct herself he barks a breathy chuckle, his smile now showing a row of white even teeth. Gods, isn’t he gorgeous when he smiles? Really smiles?

“I never meant for it to come out this way.”

“Don’t apologise. I appreciate a woman who’s unapologetically herself. I know that it’s not always easy to be confident in one’s own skin.”

“And yet, you have nothing to be ashamed of Eskel.” Triss swallows thickly when she notices the witcher’s pupils dilate. If she placed her hand over his chest she’s convinced she’ll be able to pick up a slight increase in Eskel’s otherwise slow heartbeat. 

“If I may, I would like to ask you the same question you asked me.” Eskel breathes between them, leaning in closer until their lips almost touch, “if you could tell me one thing, what it would be?”

Triss doesn’t hesitate.

“I’d tell you that I sincerely regret being so infatuated with Geralt all those years ago that I didn’t see that happiness was right there, under my nose, all this time. I’d tell you that if I could do it all over again, I’d definitely get to know you better the second you and I met.”

Triss can’t quite explain what comes over her, but she suddenly finds herself pressing her lips against Eskel’s and kissing him with the desperation of a drowning woman. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close as she slides her tongue into his mouth. Eskel, at first too startled to react, lets her take the lead until his giant hands come to rest on her narrow waist and deepen the kiss of his own accord. They stay there a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing like there’s no tomorrow but at the same time hoping that there will be a tomorrow. 

And if there is a tomorrow, then Triss is definitely looking forward to kissing Eskel everyday for the rest of her life.

[hela-avenger]

poison & wine- part 20

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1664

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N:  Thanks for reading and commenting everyone! Please send me a message/ask if you’ll like to be tagged!

poison & wine masterlist

You were putting the final touches on Loki’s shirt when the doors swing open. Loki comes rushing in, out of breath, quickly tugging his leather coat off. The girls are startled by the act but it doesn’t dissuade the prince from undressing. 

“Ladies,” Loki greets as he tugs off his vest next. “Unless you would like to catch a show, I suggest you make yourself scarce.” 

“Loki!” you shout in alarm but he simply grins in response and shrugs. 

The girls had been in the midst of doing your hair which they quickly finished up at Loki’s insistence. Lynn and Datya were trying to suppress their giggling while Iana looked stressed. 

“My lady,” she calls out to you. “We are meant to help you get ready for the banquet.” 

“She won’t need your assistance,” Loki answers for you as he perched himself on the edge of his bed. His shirt was partly undone revealing a hint of his bare chest. “I can lend my dear lady a hand.” 

Iana doesn’t look up to meet your stare. Her focus remains on the floor. She gives you a nod and finally takes her leave closing the doors behind her. 

The moment you’re alone you turn towards the prince. 

“Was that really necessary?” you ask him. You’re trying to be serious but he’s making it hard as he grins up at you. “Do you know what you just did?”

“Giving them the impression that I’m here to ravish you?” Loki chuckles out as he resumes to unbutton his shirt. “Yes, indeed I did. It was my entire intention.” 

He peels off his shirt and you quickly turn away from him. 

“But why?” 

“Keeping up with the pretenses,” Loki explains as he approaches your seat on his vanity. “You do recall we are faking to be in love and with love comes passion… desire...” You feel his breath on your ear as he leans in next to you. “...lust.” 

You shiver and elbow him away from you. 

“I uh… I really don’t know how you want me to respond to that.” 

Loki shrugs and takes a step away from you. Your reaction to his words hadn’t gone unseen by him. 

“Have you ever been physically intimate with someone?” 

You stab yourself with the needle at his question. 

“Ow, what the…” you press the small bleeding wound to your lips. The small sour taste of iron filling your tongue. “Why are you asking me that?” 

“Curiosity,” Loki answers simply as he stares at you through the mirror. “Come on. You can tell me. We’re friends now.” 

You shake your head at him but saw no harm in giving him an answer. 

“Not that it matters, but yes I have,” you tell him as your focus returns to his shirt. 

“Hmm,” Loki hums. “Did you sleep with that soldier of yours?” 

You glare at him in response. 

“I take that as a no,” Loki grins. “How come?” 

You hesitate to answer him this time. 

You had been surprisingly quite vulnerable with him in this trip but your history with Bucky was something meant just for you and him. You don’t even think Steve knew how deep your connection with him really was. 

“I uh… I’ve had my string of lovers in the past centuries,” you explain to the prince. “But only because of moments of weakness when I crave companionship. It was all physical though. Nothing ever extended to an emotional level.” 

“But the soldier was different?” 

You knot the emerald string before cutting it. The shirt was finally done with every embroidered detail in place. 

“The soldier indeed was different,” you answer as you turn to look at him. “Bucky and I, we were companions in a bloody war. It was hard not to get emotionally involved especially since he was just so charming. And we danced and kissed and… I know we both wanted more but we knew better than to get too attached. We were right in the end seeing as he was killed… or well not killed. You know what I mean...” 

“Sounds like you loved him.” 

You shrug hesitant to agree.

“It was the closest thing I’ve ever gotten to being in love,” you confess. “It was nice.” 

You stand up from your vanity and present to him the shirt you had dedicated yourself to make for him. 

“Have you ever been in love?” you ask as you present the shirt for him to put on. He tenses up at the question.

“No, I have not,” Loki answers as he buttons his shirt up. “I am a man who needs order and love… well love seems like a chaotic emotion to have.” 

You hum in response as you fixed his collar. You hope to catch sight of a scar but his back is still under an illusion he conjured. Loki doesn’t notice your curiosity as he inspects the shirt in surprise. 

“You did all of this?” he asks as he takes in his reflection in the mirror. The shirt was a simple white button down but you had embroidered two green snakes entangled by gold thorns on the collar. “By hand?” 

“Yeah,” you answer, happy that all your work paid off. “I did.” 

You take in your work yourself and are relieved to see that it wouldn’t need any last minute adjustments. 

“Fits perfectly,” Loki comments. 

“It does,” you answer. “The girls were making their own replicas. Iana managed to finish the black one but Lynn and Datya left scraps of the green one. I can have those shirts finished and embroidered by tomorrow if you like.” 

“If you feel the need then why not,” Loki responds as he continues to appraise his reflection. “Good job, pet.” 

“Don’t call me pet,” you snap at him as you enter the closet to pull out a gown for you to wear. Loki was basically ready for the banquet while you had much to do yourself seeing as your help was sent away. “Did you find anything about my dad today while communing with the royal court?”

“I’ve asked around,” Loki sighs out. “Unsurprising, they all had no clue of what I was referring to.” 

You step out of the closet with a dress of your choosing this time. Loki is once again taken by surprise and you chuckle. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

Instead of dishing it back to you, Loki just nods. 

“Asgardian fashion suits you,” he responds quickly clearing his throat and turning away from you. “I have something for you to wear.”

You scowl trying to figure out what he could possibly have for you. He pulls his leather coat on which seems to bring back the mischievous Loki you are used to dealing with. 

“Come on, we’re friends now,” Loki motions you forward. “I’m not going to do anything to you.” 

“You’re a really demanding friend,” you mutter under your breath as you make your way towards him. “What do you have for me?” 

Loki reveals a sheath meant to house the dagger he had yet to give to you. You frown at the sight of the ugly hanging leather strap that you were meant to wear as a purse. 

“That is hideous.” 

“Well, you have to wear it,” Loki mutters as he tries to hand it to you.

“Can’t I wear one of those thigh strap-on thingies?” you offer as you avoid taking it. “Like the one Natasha wears?” 

Loki sighs as he thinks it over but the dagger had to be visible which meant you would have to be willing to show it. 

 “I know what you’re referring to but it is quite scandalous.” 

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” you answer. “To rile people up? Especially your father?”

Loki chuckles in agreement and with a shift of his hands the sheath in his hands shifts into the one you wanted.

“Perfect!” you exclaim as you shift your leg out of the slit the dress had. “So I’ll just…” 

“Allow me,” Loki interrupts you as he kneels down beside you. 

You still as his hands gently wrap the leather thigh strap around you. Your skin erupts into goosebumps and you hold your breath as Loki tightens it to your comfort. 

You're surprised the man can be gentle but you shouldn’t be. In your fake courtship, Loki has managed to be gentle when it came to you even more so now that you two seemed to be on the same page. 

“You’ll have to be careful,” he tells you as he stands. “The dagger is quite sharp. One wrong move in placing it in your sheath and you will harm yourself quite seriously.” 

“Right,” you swallow as you try to be unaffected by him. “Speaking of the dagger, where is it?” 

“With me,” Loki answers. 

“Can I see it?” you ask as you pat his jacket down for a clue. 

The leather made it hard to feel if anything was there and Loki is quick to put your investigation to an end as he grabs a hold of your wandering hands.

“No.” 

“Why not?” you pout. “You’re wearing the shirt I made and I can’t wear my dagger?” 

“It’s meant to be a gift,” Loki states as he peered down at you. “I have to present it to the royal court first before I can give it to you. Royal traditions and what not.” 

You’re still pouting at his explanation and he wonders if that has ever helped you get your way. It seems to almost be working on him when a knock on the door pulls his attention away. 

“It’s time for us to go,” Loki states as he lets your hands go. He hadn’t realized he still had them pinned against his chest. “You ready?” 

You nod knowing there was no point in trying to decipher his recent behavior change. You simply chalk it up to his newfound attempt of being your friend. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” 

poison & wine tag: @damalseer​ @just-the-hiddles​ @jessiejunebug​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @smollest-soybean​ @assassinoftheworld​ @readerbandit​ @doyoufeelikeayounggod​ @strangemcuvlogs​ @ha-tep​ @i-dont-know-eiither​ @gene-king​ @day-dreaming-fox​ @bn-studies​ @is-it-madness​ @sigyn-njorddottir​ @devilbat​ @victor-criss-bish​ @skinny-macncheese​ @musicconversedance​ @baby-bunnyxn​ @fandoms-allovertheplace​ @marvelloonie​ @jinxjinxednova​ @queenmuahaha​ @accio-boys​​ @eternalqueensworld​​ @umlvk​​ @roger-the-reindeer​ @punkrockhufflefluff​ @your-local-abyss​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​ @thesilentbluesparrow​ @oddly-drawn-muse​ @josiehosiedaninja​ @hp-hogwartsexpress​ @sadwaywardkid​ @wolf-lover74​ @sizzlingbarbarianglitter​​

All Works Tag: @jmb959​ @astudyoftimeywimeystuff​ @hellocookiecutter​ @steve-rogers-personal-hell​ @buckybarnesyard​ @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger

[kahans]

(so the background behind this is basically that it’s the night before/of finnick’s 16th birthday and a week before snow held an auction to see who would get to sleep with him first. don’t ask me for that scene because it hasn’t been written yet)

title: victor’s crown book ii: lover’s war (title is a wip shhhh) status: incomplete word count: 1284 fandom: the hunger games characters: finnick odair, mags flanagan, random capitol ocs warnings: nonexplicit allusion to child prostitution other notes: don’t be expecting a whole lot from this lol it was not beta-ed and it was written in like a half hour

o-o-o-o

They come for him at midnight.

Finnick is lying on the couch with his head in Mags’ lap, doing his best to calm his unsettled nerves. He feels a little foolish, curled up next to his mentor like a small, frightened child, but he can’t bring himself to move. His proximity to Mags, the one person anchoring him to his composure in a storm of anxiety, is no longer a privilege. It is a necessity. Her hands, thin and lined with sinew, card through his hair. He tries to focus on the sensation of her fingertips against his scalp instead of the vicious whirlpool of trepidation stirring in his gut.

An hour earlier, Aurelia had come in bearing an armful of supplies to prepare Finnick for his big night. While she assembles her station of makeup, she gives Finnick a list of exercises to perform, for which he is grateful if only because it gives him something to do. He runs a couple of laps around his quarters. He does a few pushups. At Aurelia’s behest, he lugs a few weights up from the gymnasium and works with those until she tells him to stop. He isn’t quite sure what the point was if she wasn’t going to let him get in a full workout, but he suspects his first admirer won’t want to meet him smelling of and drenched in sweat.

While his flesh is still warm and his blood quick, Aurelia begins applying makeup with a swift but deliberate hand. She lines his eyes with a dark pencil and dusts his eyelids with brown. To Finnick’s dismay, she pinches his cheeks and instructs him to bite his lips. When he protests, she says, “I could apply lipstick instead,” and he hurries to comply.

Once his skin has been sufficiently prepared, she gives him an outfit to don: An elegant evening jacket dyed the deep blue-green hue of the sea hangs neatly over a crisp white dress shirt, accompanied by a pair of black pants. His shoes are equally shiny and also look brand new.

“Calliope sends her regards,” Aurelia says. Of all the outfits Calliope has stuffed him in in the past, this is certainly not the worst. Nor the best. Finnick wonders who ordered this made; surely this suit didn’t spring from her wild imagination.  

His question is answered when Vesper arrives exactly at midnight. Unlike Aurelia, he is almost glowing with frenetic excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child who just won a prize. His expression crumbles when he spots Finnick curled up on the couch, suit rumpled, hair in disarray, eyes shadowed and hollow with worry and lack of sleep. 

“What in the world are you doing?” he demands, scurrying over to where Finnick is sprawled. Mags’ hand moves from his head to his shoulder, innocuous to Vesper, but protective to Finnick.

“It’s late, Vesper,” Mags says coolly. Something about her countenance must warn Vesper that arguing could end very badly for him, so he rounds on Aurelia instead. “Why did you let him lie down?” He flaps a hand at Finnick. “Get up! Get up before your suit gets wrinkled!”

Finnick doesn’t obey immediately. He glances up at Mags, who looks down at him, expression ever unflappable but indubitably compassionate.

Head up, my boy, she reminds him, not with her voice but with her eyes. You are victor, and you wear the victor’s crown.

“There’s my beautiful grown up victor!” he crows at the sight of Finnick, gleaming and adorned like some kind of relic. They do not allow statues to be erected of anyone except notable Capitol figures in the districts, where their only legal objects of worship are Snow and the ideology his administration represents. But in the Capitol, Finnick has seen dozens, if not scores, of figurines and synthetic replicas of past victors, bronzed and painted and perfect, in every corner and cove of the city. “Aren’t you excited?”

It’s my birthday, he thinks somewhat dumbly. I’m sixteen years old. He should be home right now, celebrating with his family. His father should be letting him try his first taste of District 4′s prized champagne. His mother should be sewing on an official sailor’s patch onto his uniform to designate him as a full crew member of the fishing fleet. Perhaps she would make him the lovely fish-shaped cookies he once so loved, one for each year of his life.

“Well done, Aurelia,” Vesper says. “It’s just what Miss Poppywright wants, I’m sure. Is he ready? Have you gone over expectations with him?” 

“Expectations?” Finnick echoes, at the same time as Aurelia says, “Of course.”

Vesper shoots Aurelia a scathing look, but her defiant expression remains unchanged. “He’s already frightened enough, Vesper. Why make him more nervous? He’ll figure things out when he gets there.”

“Yes, and have him be the laughing stock of the Capitol,” Vesper replies sarcastically. He turns and fixes Finnick with an appraising glare. “Finnick, it is your duty to make this night spectacular for Miss Poppywright, do you understand? No mistakes. Just pure charm from you and absolute enjoyment from Miss Poppywright.”

Mags makes a noise of protest in the back of her throat, half rising from her spot on the couch. “Vesper--”

“Margaret,” Vesper interjects, and Finnick coughs back a noise of surprise at the use of Mags’ full name. “I hope you remember that Finnick’s conduct tonight, and for every night after this, will reflect back on all of us.” He makes a little circle with his finger to illustrate his point.

It takes a moment for the implications of Vesper’s warning to sink in, but when they do they sit in Finnick’s gut like an anchor and do nothing to quell his mounting dread. Whatever he did tonight would have an effect on everyone from Aurelia to Mags to his loved ones back home.

A familiar sense of apprehension flutters in him now, of a weight and intensity he has not experienced in years. The last time he knew this kind of panic, he was playing for his life in an arena, where his every decision had been like dipping a single finger in surface of a still pool of water: Even though the initial point of contact was small, the ripples, the effect of the action, could still be clearly seen. From simple disquiet, alarm rises unbidden, a tidal wave gathering out to sea. He instinctively looks to Mags.

“It’s all right, Finnick,” she says, rising from the couch. She stands in front of him, and even though he’s been taller than her since before she became his mentor, he’s never felt smaller. “You’ll be all right. Just remember what Aurelia told you. Listen to what they have to say, and say what they want to hear. That’s all they want.”

Be who they want you to be, not who you really are. The advice offered from Finnick to a nervous tribute seemed to have been spoken a lifetime ago. Look at how much good it did him, a little voice in his head pipes up.

“It’s after midnight,” Vesper says, breaking Finnick’s reverie with a wave of his manicured hand. “It’s not like he’s going off to war or something. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Mags swallows, inhaling a deep breath through her nose. “Go on,” she says softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

Though it’s almost painful to muster, Finnick manages to put on a confident smile. “Don’t worry about me, Mags,” he tells her. “These people can’t help but love me.”

With a goodbye wink to Aurelia and a half-hearted salute to Mags, he turns and follows Vesper out the door.

[dumbkombuchakid]

I’m finding more and more that mindfulness and awareness play a massive role in everything. All the growth I’ve undergone has been rooted in cultivating those skills in myself. 

Getting curious instead of judgmental, asking questions and being objective, letting go of outcome and expectations. All of these things seem tiny and maybe insignificant on paper; but in practice have made all the difference for me.

This past Thursday, I met with my therapist (as I usually do on Thursdays) and she told me she was proud of me. I am so grateful for that feedback, for her helping to contribute to my awareness of myself. Awareness extends beyond the present moment, it encompasses patterns and trends and habits and intentions and consequences. It informs decisions and aids processing and understanding. Awareness is the key to it all.

She commended me for staying in wise-mind while telling her about a situation that was upsetting me. She noted that though I had the opportunity to allow my emotions to take control, to pull me into a spiral, I made a choice to remain in control. That’s not what I would’ve done a year ago. That might not even be what I would’ve done a few months ago. Her providing that feedback about my new patterns and trends, specifically my ability to abstain from following old, maladaptive patterns and trends, brought that new data into my awareness. It’s very difficult to be cognizant of your own patterns. It requires parallel processing of data about several versions of yourself in different but comparable situations across a timeline. That’s not a skill that comes naturally; that depth of data about each version of ourselves just isn’t stored. 

I am proud of myself. I’m proud of my ability to say that I’m proud of myself; proud of my capacity to believe that I’m proud of myself. For the larger majority of my life (I’m talkin 1st 19 years) I refused to allow pride to penetrate my consciousness. I grew up fearing that I’d slip into narcissism and lose who I was, instead developing into some spawn of my father; a figure I’d associated with all things self-centered and antisocial. Any shred of pride or self-esteem was too great a risk; I’d rather be humble and miserable but secure in my pro-social self-appraisal. I vividly remember the day I felt true self worth for the first time. It was in june, a month before I’d turn 20. That day came a few years after another significant (in hindsight) day when I began working with my current therapist. I fear I may accidentally catalog the past several years here for the sake of clarity and continuity, but the main takeaway point is that I’ve undergone immense growth, all a result of my own innervism.

Innervism is a term I’m borrowing from Elizabeth Lesser, the author of the book Cassandra Speaks. It refers to inward awareness and intentional growth. Tuning in to tune up. If not for facing the things about myself that I didn’t want to get true, I’d never have reached a point where I’m able to act with intention and display a self of whom I’m proud.

I’m far from perfect, and I’ve made a personal vow to never stop growing, learning, listening, and adapting. I will never reach my final form; there is always room for growth.

My point in writing right now is to address some of the cognitive behaviors I’ve noticed myself exhibit when in relationships. In the beginning, when things are wonderful and new and affection has a strong presence, I latch on. I start to fantasize about the future and how my life could play out with this other individual by my side, treating me the way they do at the beginning. 

This tendency to idealize based on that first impression, that best-behavior scenario, extends into the period when things begin to slip. When the negligence begins, when manipulative tactics begin being employed. When I am expected both to change myself and also to unilaterally accept the other’s lack of change. I am projected to grow into a mould that aligns with their current state, rather than the two of us developing into a new shape, together.

Internally, this is accompanied by a fear of communicating my feelings. A hesitation to go against the grain and a tendency to shrink and abide by these new terms of engagement. I get quiet and small and they become all powerful. I am aware of the red flags and harm and damage and yet I remain docile and strive for perfection in their eyes.

This is how I’ve always done it, it’s how I’ve been conditioned to behave in relationships. I’ve been conditioned to accept that A) there will be a power imbalance and B) it will not favor me.

I no longer accept that. Today I did something that past me would not have done. 

A few important things to note about the situation that allowed me to make this development are that:

1. my “picker” is getting pickier. I’ve always fallen into relationships with narcissists in the past, not because I chose them, but because they chose me and I only knew how to go along. This time, in my current relationship, I made a choice as much as they did. The quality of their character actually had a chance to play a role in deciding whether or not the relationship was worth pursuing.

2. I trust them. I trust that they care about me and want this to work. I trust that they want me to be happy and healthy and that they’re willing to grow.

We didn’t talk much today because he had a big day of doing things that I won’t get into, but then tonight when we did finally get to talk, we spent a long time discussing his day in depth and then never shifted to talking about me. Instead, he started multitasking and doing other things and talking and singing to himself. I told him if he wanted to do those things that was fine, but if we were going to be on the phone that I wanted to him to talk to me, to pay me attention. This didn’t actually turn a result, which hurt me.

Eventually, he got tired and said he was going to turn in, and wished me a goodnight. I said goodnight too, without my typical enthusiasm or affection, and he noticed that those were missing. Instead of asking why though, he simply told me to say it like I meant it, since he didn’t believe me. He has a tendency to make jokes when I’d really rather he be serious, and I’ve stopped laughing along and instead stay true to the tone I want to be received. I don’t want to diminish the weight and value my thoughts and feelings deserve. I’ve decided to not accept less than I deserve.

We hung up and I journaled a bit and felt myself getting worked up, and this is where I did a few things I’m proud of.

I called him back. He didn’t answer, so I recorded a snapchat video and told him how certain aspects of our conversation made me feel, and how I had realized that if I didn’t tell him then he’d have no way to know that those things had hurt and upset me.

This was honestly terrifying, and sending it (and not getting an immediate response) made me feel a whole other type of awful. 

I decided to set a timer for 15 minutes and meditate. During my meditation, I focused on a few things. I repeatedly reminded myself that I must let go of outcome; remind myself that I spoke only about my feelings and my feelings deserve to be heard. Silencing all the spiraling thoughts about the conversations that could follow was hard, and I noticed the colors in my awareness shift as more potential outcomes forced their way in. I repeated the mantra “I deserve love” to myself and focused hard on not allowing expectations or theories about what could or may happen in. Those things aren’t real, they’re imagined. I forced myself to choose to refrain from processing events until an event actually occurred.

15 minutes passed and I felt a little lighter. Part of me still really just wanted to cry, but then eventually I got a notification. He said he was sorry, that it was more of a mental hiccup than a true representation of how he feels.

I thanked him - intentionally rerouting from a typical path of saying “it’s okay” in response to an apology. I then wished him sweet dreams and told him we’d talk tomorrow, and I meant it.

It was uncomfortable, I’ll admit. It’s never fun to confront something that hurts you, especially when it’s something or someone that you don’t want to lose. During my meditation I had to remind myself that if someone doesn’t value my feelings or have respect for me, then they aren’t the person I should be with. That’s terrifying - holding people to a higher standard. Choosing to not accept less than what I deserve is something almost completely foreign to me and is fucking scary, but it’s also sort of exhilarating. The idea that mutual respect is now a requirement, that my partner needs to give a shit about me and express that through their behavior is something I deserve. I never used to think about myself as deserving anything - at least not anything good. But now? I put so much effort into who I am and how I treat others. I’m a good, kind, caring person. I know that I am because I do it on purpose. I think that qualifies me as deserving someone who treats me the same. 

It’s 5am now. My sleep schedule is off kilter in a big way. I’m going to finally stop and allow this day to end. I’ve already made a to-do list for tomorrow and I hope the day brings joy. I appreciate you reading what I have to write; it helps me to do this and I hope it helps you to read.

Goodnight and sweet dreams, remember that you deserve love.

[quietlyimplode]

Whumptober2020 - Day 14 - Alternative Prompt Comfort.

Day 1 - Waking Up Restrained // Day 2 - Kidnapped // Day 3 - Manhandled // Day 4 - Caged// Day 5 - Rescue // Day 6 - No More // Day 7 - Support // Day 8 - Isolation // Day 9 - Take Me Instead // Day 10 - Blood Loss/Trail of Blood // Day 11 - Psych 101 // Day 12 - Broken Down // Day 13 - Oxygen Mask // Day 14 - Alternative Prompt - Comfort // 

Natasha and Tony have a chat.

“You made this for me?” Backing up a bit, feeling a bit unsafe, Tony stands behind his desk in his suit. Tony nods again, unsure of what Natasha’s going to say.

“Thanks, Shellhead.” She says quietly.

Tony smiles, puts the suit away.

“You and I,” he starts, “we have some of the same hurts. You and Clint, have some of the same hurts. Steve, Bruce, we all need to be smarter about how we take care of each other. It’s not rocket science. It’s harder.” He smiles, pats Natasha on the hand.

——-

The tower is big. Like find a needle in a bunch of needles big. Natasha can avoid people, staff and teammates (not Clint) and then pop up when she wants to be found. Clint tracks her like a hound at all times, she gets she’s not to be trusted right now, but sometimes she needs some space. The therapist tells her it’s his way of protecting her, that when he steps away and leaves her alone; he’s learning to manage his fears and they need to respect each other in that. Natasha needs to respect by telling him where she’s going and Clint needs to let her; trust her.

So at this very moment, Clint is shooting arrows at the range and Natasha is looking for Tony.

She knows to find him, and in turn Clint knows where to find her.

.

Approaching Tony’s workshop, Natasha pauses and watches him work through the door. He’s definitely working on something, his look of concentration and total obliviousness to the going’s on around him just prove how shit of a spy he would be. Not wanting to interrupt, she opens the door and sits on the couch; opening her phone and scrolling through the news, and social media apps. Sometimes it pays to be appraised of the news, and other times the news has no actual idea of what’s happening. Finishing her peruse, she starts reading her book. Heavily engrossed, but wanting to take a break, she looks up at Tony and finds him dancing whilst trying on a new suit. Curiosity peaked, she calls out. Tony doesn’t care and he doesn’t embarrass easily, so when he notices her he gives an easy smile.

“Check this out!” He says by way of greeting. She watches the suit appear from nowhere, like spiders crawling over his skin. Within the minute he’s in full armour and giving her a thumbs up.

“It works!” He says gleefully, the face plate coming down. Natasha looks at him, confused.

“I don’t get what you’ve done.”

Tony looks scandalized. “I’ve managed to configure the nanotech to add and build things that I might need for a mission - in this case, there’s a first aid kit that can be configured from the bots that are sitting in my forearm plate and then the other bots…” Natasha let’s him ramble. She’s interested, she is, but currently doesn’t have the brain space. Until.

“… and then if,” Tony pauses, looks at Natasha straight in the eye, “when, one of us gets hurt, we can treat injuries in the field, the bad ones any way. It heals cuts and stabilizes bones by splinting it, smaller wounds anyway. And painkillers, so when it happens we can help each other if medical isn’t available.”

“Hang on. You made this?”

Tony nods, looking pleased.

“You made this for me?” Backing up a bit, feeling a bit unsafe, Tony stands behind his desk in his suit. Tony nods again, unsure of what Natasha’s going to say.

“Thanks, Shellhead.” She says quietly.

Tony smiles, puts the suit away.

“You and I,” he starts, “we have some of the same hurts. You and Clint, have some of the same hurts. Steve, Bruce, we all need to be smarter about how we take care of each other. It’s not rocket science. It’s harder.” He smiles, pats Natasha on the hand.

“I came to say thanks.” She starts. “it’s been..” a pause and a sigh. “Rough.”she decides on.

“It’s ok not to be ok,” Tony singsongs. They both smile, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Thanks for the therapy,” she retorts. But it’s true; it’s all true, Clint may have got her out, made her safe and kept her safe but Tony’s been his wingman and in-turn kept Clint safe from her or for her. The therapy, the resources; answering the damn phone when Clint called and dropping everything to come and help; even her just having his earpiece, Tony’s kept them safe.

They sit in a comfortable silence and Tony starts tinkering, handing her the Starkpad for the programming, “you’re better at seeing things I can’t,” he comments flippantly, “it’s for an infiltration for Steve, he’s found a Hydra lead but doesn’t want Shield to know just yet.” Interesting.

She points out some obvious mission specs that seem to have gone over the boys heads. Not spies. Things like this have been ground into her since she was 4 are now as natural as breathing.

Stopping, she hands Tony a bottle of water.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she starts. Tony looks up sharply. “I tell you this because, this-“ she points to the new suit and the mission tech he’s building for Steve, “tells me that you might be the same.”

Tony smirks. “I don’t sleep, don’t you know?”

“Tony.” She admonishes. “Anything you can do I can do better.”

Natasha sits down, and prompts Tony to do the same, indicating that the conversation isn’t over.

“You want to know what the therapist said when I told her?” Not waiting for a response, Natasha pushes on, “she said that if you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, it doesn’t make you weak to set it down for the night. There’s no rush in recovery and even though I want my triggers gone, there is a predictable cadence to it.” She pauses, baits him. “Do you think I’m weak for going to therapy?”

Tony looks at her.

“No.” He says, bluntly.

“Do you think I’m weak for taking something to help me sleep?”

He rubs his hand over his face, knowing where this is going and having walked right into it.

Tony’s having flashbacks to the monumental meltdown of the last team dinner where Natasha hadn’t slept in days and almost taken half the team out. He’s thankful she’s getting better sleep. That incident plays on his mind, having to restrain her, hold her, whilst Clint talked her down was one of the things that keeps him up. The guilt of it all. “No” he says honestly.

“I spoke to Pepper. She wouldn’t tell me but,” she pushes his shoulder, “I know all.”

“I know, Red. I’m not promising anything. But how about I will try and be more mindful?”

“Would you concede to a bed time alert? Friday could do it? Maybe when Peppers going to bed it could be like a ten minute warning?” Tony knows she’s trying to help, knows she wants to do something for him, because of all he’s done for her, so he agrees. Two of the most important people in his life want him to get more sleep? Maybe he could try.

“No promises.” He says.

Conversation over.

They lapse into easy conversation, gossiping mostly, Clint finds them later, tinkering in the workshop. He smiles easily, and breathes deep. Maybe things are settling.

——-

Hey team. Thanks for all your support and kind words. It’s really motivating. Can’t believe tomorrow we are halfway through.

[iamtwilighttrash]

My Breaking Dawn

My Breaking Dawn

BACKGROUND: I am rewriting Breaking Dawn the way I think it should have been written. To preface, please note that in my Twilight universe: 

1) Jacob and Bella were never anything more than friends. In New Moon, they were nothing more than brother/sister-ish friends. In Eclipse, Jake and Edward actually became good friends, and he was ecstatic to hear about the wedding. (NO KISS EVER OCCURRED) 

2) Angela is more present in Bella’s life. This is very important to me. 

3) Edward and Bella have basically the same relationship: he still left her in New Moon, they’re still the classic/mushy/everlasting romance type, etc. BUT they also are young, they have more fun with one another, and Bella knows how to hold her own a little bit. 

4) Bella is much more integrated into Cullen life/family. She, Jasper, and Emmett are closer, and there is no tension between her and Rosalie after Eclipse. 

5) Edward does not buy Bella a new car. I like her truck, and so does she, and Jacob and Rosalie are around to fix it up. 

6) Please assume that Charlie found out about the engagement in the same way as in the original. I don’t feel like rewriting that, and I thought that it fit the narrative well. 

7) Jacob has long hair. This might seem insignificant, but it isn’t, and it means something to me. 

Anyway, I’m going to jump right in! I hope you enjoy my Breaking Dawn. 

(Stephenie Meyer OBVIOUSLY owns these characters and the saga. I’m just adding my creative aesthetic spin to it. Some elements will be incredibly similar in wording to the original, but for the most part I am entirely rewriting it) 

CHAPTER ONE

     I was getting married. I was getting married. I was getting married. Tomorrow. So soon, my head spun. 

     I paced around Alice’s bedroom, the sound of my socked feet just whispers to my own ears; to my vampire family, I probably sounded like an entire marching band. Alice was perched on the edge of her bed, Rosalie beside her, both of them bemused and statue-still. Esme flitted anxiously by my side. Her soft, sincere face broke my firm resolve to bolt from the door. 

     “Bella, honey, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” she murmured gently, slender fingers framing my face to stop me. I met her gaze, certain I appeared frantic. 

     I’m getting married! This was the final fitting. I would have to look at myself in the mirror, in the elegant gown of eggshell white, and see a stranger looking back. “Esme, what if its all...wrong?” Before Esme could answer, Alice surged to her feet and gripped my hands. Her touch was stone-cold, hard, but gentle. It soothed me marginally. 

     “It will be fine Bella, go to your happy place.” Rosalie sashayed to the corner, a vision of grace, to grab the satin dress. The color complimented her skin and hair beautifully. She would make a stunning bride. But what of me, silly, insignificant, young, human girl? Would the fabric turn my skin translucent; would the guests be able to see right through me? 

     I closed my eyes, trying to listen to Alice. If I couldn’t shut off the ramblings of my mind, perhaps I could redirect my thought. My happy place. The nerve-wracking wedding done and behind me. I had married Edward, fulfilled my end of our life-altering bargain. It would be his turn. Our final adventure together with me as a human. So soon, I would become just like him. The eternity that I had long-hoped for would begin. But, before that, there was just one more thing...

     Our honeymoon.

     Sex was not so scary to think about in the grand scheme of things, even if I would be having it with a vampire. I trusted Edward entirely. In fact, my only worries stemmed from insecurity. How would either of us know what...to do? Edward had his brothers around to help him. I supposed that I could ask Alice or Rosalie, but then...but then what if Edward heard them think about what I asked? The thought was so mortifying that, in the moment, I blushed. 

     Okay, so maybe I couldn’t go to my happy place with company in the room. Even barring my embarrassment at having him know I asked his sisters how to have sex, there was still the inevitability of my heart racing at the thought of being with him in that way. If Esme could hear the evidence of how much I enjoyed my happy place...

     So, instead, I focused the slip and glide of the satin gown over my skin and the cool brushes of Esme and Rosalie’s hands as they held the garment in place for Alice’s minor sewing adjustments. My weight hadn’t fluctuated much, so there was little that needed to be altered from the last fitting. Just a little bit taken in in the back, I thought, judging by the pinch of the fabric. Esme hummed while Alice worked, and the melody worked to soothe the nerves that threatened to fray. 

     “Oh, Bella...” It was Rosalie speaking. I opened my eyes to look at her, concerned by the tone. 

     “What? Is something wrong?” She was looking at me, at the dress, at me in the dress. Oh, god, I’m hideous! I’m too human. Esme had stepped back to join Rosalie, and she daintily covered her mouth with her hands. The only person seemingly unaffected was Alice, who had seen me in the dress many times. 

     “No, Bella, you’re...” 

     All wrong? 

     “Stunning.” The word shocked me. Stunning? Me? Coming from Rosalie’s mouth, Rosalie the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, that word was like an expletive. I shuddered beneath the weight of her praise. 

     “You...you think so?” I had yet to turn around and look at myself in the mirror. I was frightened. Would I be able to recognize myself, Bella the bride? 

     “Oh, sweetie, you look beautiful!” Esme reached out and hugged me; she smelled like lavender, and orange blossom, and breakfast tea. Her body was like ice and yet, as she gave me a little squeeze, my whole body felt like it had been basking beneath the Arizona sun. I hugged her back automatically. In her, I had found a mother in the areas that my own was lacking. Unwanted tears sprung along my lower lash line. On a day such as this, my mom should have been there. I was reminded once again that my choice— becoming a vampire— would effect more than one aspect of my life. 

     Esme pulled back and wiped away the moisture with steady hands. Alice, sensing my unraveling, was quick to change the subject. 

     “Alright, Bella. Go ahead, look at yourself.” Simple enough task, but my feet felt like they were buried in cement. Look at myself? How? With an uneven breath, I forced myself to turn and face the long mirror on the wall. 

     The dress was so...Edward. Even on my body, I could tell it was designed for him. I panicked, trying to see myself in the timeless shape, the Calla Lily folds; even the lace of the sleeves mocked me. I was far too plain, too ordinary. Was I all wrong for him? They had spoken of how beautiful I was, but where? I noticed the splotches on my cheeks from crying, the puffiness under my tired eyes, the unevenness of my body’s proportions: human. Mortal. Meant to end.

     “Well?” beamed Alice. I turned back, and three pairs of golden honey eyes appraised me warily, waiting for my response. 

     “I love it,” I choked out. Esme’s smile vanished. Alice and Rosalie pursed their lips. I could not fool them. I was an awful liar. 

     “What’s wrong?” The dam broke; I came, at last, undone. Esme was quick to usher me towards Alice’s bed, folding me into a marble embrace. I was glad Edward wasn’t home; the sound of my distress would have roused him to check on me, regardless of Alice’s stern warning to mind his business and stay out of her room. 

     “I’m not,” a hiccup broke the sentence, “good enough for him. I’m all wrong.” Rosalie— I knew it was Rosalie from her feather soft touch— rubbed my back while Alice touched my hair. 

     “Isabella Swan,” it was her stern voice that jolted me. I sniffled, conscious of the fact that I was staining Esme’s lilac blouse with my tears, and pulled back to meet her gaze. One strand of spiky black hair had escaped its polished, messy spikes and was drooping over her left eye. She brushed it back, so quickly that my eyes barely registered the gesture. “Edward loves you, you silly girl. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble for just anybody.” It was teasing, but truthful. 

     “Okay.” Yes, she was right. He loved me. I loved him. It would be okay. I took a deep breath, mortified that I had started sobbing. “Sorry, sorry.” The knee-jerk reaction made me sniffle. Had Jacob been there, he would’ve made me laugh, told me to get over myself— maybe I should call him. As if on cue, my phone buzzed on Alice’s antique vanity, the sound like a beehive. Sometimes, I swore, Jacob could sense my sadness from miles away.

     Esme released me so I could answer my best friend. His voice, husky and warm, assaulted my ears before I could say a single syllable.

     “Bells, you better not be crying you idiot. I can hear you from outside. I’m here to spring you.” I rushed to the window to pull back the sheer curtains, and indeed he was there, leaning against his bike with my spare helmet tucked under his arm. He waved.

     “I have to get out of my dress you jerk. I’ll be down in a sec.” As I spoke, Alice started undoing the pearl buttons on my back.

     “Cool. I’m letting myself in and grabbing a snack.” Esme heard that and her soft, soothing laugh began when I snapped the phone shut.

     “I’ll go down and keep him company. I’ve been meaning to ask him about the progress on his new car. Oh, and Bella dear,” she said, reaching out to cup my cheek. I gave her my full attention. “Edward might not be biologically mine, but he’s still my son. I know how much he loves you. He smiles so much more now, and I can tell his happiness is due to you. You are so incredibly right for him, Bella. And I—” there was a little catch in the back of her throat, “I’m so happy you’re joining our family.” With that, she kissed my cheek and all but danced from the room.

     I couldn’t help but smile. I told myself to relax— all that mattered was that I loved Edward, and he loved me back. The rest— the dress, the wedding, the guests, the honeymoon— was unimportant. I stepped out of the gown, and Rosalie gave me a firm look.

     “Bella, this is your wedding. I thought the dress was lovely on you, but if you’d rather wear something else, the choice is yours.”

     “Of course, Bella,” said Alice, though her brows furrowed slightly. Visions of me prancing down the aisle in my sweatpants likely plagued her thoughts. “We can come up with something, anything you want, in time for tomorrow. I’ll hand sew a dress myself if I have to.” I looked at them, my sisters, and felt so loved I choked. Forgetting my partial nudity, I wrapped both of my arms around them in a tight hug.

     “I love you guys.” They both laughed. “Tomorrow is going to perfect. I’m just nervous.”

     “Well of course you are,” Rosalie chuckled. I pulled back to dress myself in my jeans and one of Edward’s hoodies. It smelled like him— I inhaled deeply. “It is your wedding day, after all. I’ve been married so many times and I still get butterflies.” I was so excited to get to attend one of Emmett and Rosalie’s weddings in the future; Emmett promised me that their next one would be ridiculously themed, as it was his turn to decide.

     “Okay. I’m going to go spend time with the Best Man before Edward steals him for the Bachelor Party.” That thought put a little knot in my stomach, though Jasper had promised me he would keep it under control. It would just be Edward, his brothers, Jacob, and Seth. 3 vampires and 2 werewolves walk into a strip club sounded like the start to a bad joke, and two of them were underage anyway.

     “Don’t forget, your Bachelorette starts at 8:00.” Alice’s tone was stern, but she was smiling.

     “Yes ma’am,” I joked, saluting playfully as a ducked through the door. On the way down, I could hear Jacob and Esme talking. After the battle that had rid us of Victoria, Jacob had spent a great deal of time recuperating at the Cullens. He and Esme bonded; I knew he saw some of his own mother in her features, and that warmed my heart. 

     “Hey Bells!” cheered Jacob. He draped one bulky arm over my shoulder as he finished up his conversation with my almost mother-in-law. In his opposite hand, he held a soda. Esme had started stocking food and drink for the wolves, and for my human father, the latter of the two having only ever braved the threshold once since finding out about my engagement. 

     “You two should get out of here before Edward shows up and ruins the tradition. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Esme kissed both of my cheeks, and then stood on her tiptoes to do the same to Jacob, before shooing us from the kitchen. 

     “You wanna ride on my bike, pretty girl?” asked Jacob, wagging his brows at me while he offered me the helmet. I snorted and shoved him a little. 

     “My mom always told me to say no to creeps.” But I took the helmet, securing the thick strap beneath my chin. “Why aren’t we running?” Riding on Jacob in his wolf form took days of practice, but I had finally gotten the hang of it. Emmett had even taken his fair share of turns, much to everyone’s amusement at the time. Jacob revved the bike. 

     “I figured we better do something just a little dangerous. It’s your last night as a free woman, Bells. And its the last time I’ll get to spend a full day with human- you.” I swallowed hard at the reminder. I had no regrets, of course, about the impending wedding or my decision to join Edward’s family permanently. Even setting the Volturi aside, I knew I was meant for vampire life. I could feel it in my bones, in my heart— an eternity with Edward was what I wanted. I was almost there. 

     Jacob started to drive; the bike didn’t go very fast, but it felt like we were flying. I clung to him, watching the forest blur, as the wind whipped my skin. There wasn’t much room for conversation, so my mind— predictably— wandered. I thought of the passed summer, my last human summer, which was coming to its glorious end. I thought of staying out late to build card empires with Jasper and Alice, infuriating chess games, and movie nights with Emmett. I pictured Edward sprawled out in the sun, body engulfed in a see of purple wildflowers, as his diamond skin refracted endless light; they swore that my memories would fade, but I swore that nothing in the whole world could make me forget that. Even then, in the present, I could feel the hard planes of his cool chest as we swam in the hidden lake he’d taken me too in July, could see the way those amber eyes glittered in the moonlight streaming through his open bedroom windows on late June nights. 

     I would remember more of my last mortal summer than just the Cullens, of course, as I knew they would be mine forever. Going fishing with Charlie— who had begged me to go just one time with him— and hearing the way his surprised laughter echoed in the cab of his cruiser as I told a joke about fish (Why did the trout leave the cult? They were too sacrifishal). Roasting marshmallows with Jacob and the rest of his pack while Billy and Sam raced around the yard; of course, Billy had won. Buying books with Angela. Walking the beach with Jacob. Spending one last weekend in Florida with Renee, painting our nails and listening to rock. 

     But my human life was soon to be over. I had said goodbye to the possibility of having any more memories like that, as being a bloodthirsty newborn would ensure that I was too dangerous to have those moments again. 

     Just as thoughts began to somber, Jacob cut the engine. I realized I had closed my eyes— when I opened them, we were on the beach. We both dismounted and stretched, me removing the stuffy helmet so I could gulp in salty air and him tidying up his windblown locks. We headed down to the shoreline in silence. The quiet was comfortable; in it, I could hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs and the rhythm of our feet on the damp earth. It was an overcast day, but the sun promised to poke through the cloud cover at any moment. 

     “I’m going to miss this,” I said after a few minutes of us slipping off our shoes and wiggling our toes in the sand. Jacob nodded. His eyes were on the waves. 

     “Me too, Bells. It’s gonna be weird, after you...well, when I see you next.” 

     “I won’t be able to show my face in public for a long time. I’m gonna be a walking freak show.” 

     “Oh, yeah,” he said, teasing. “You’ll be a real circus act.” He took my hand as we continued to walk. With Jacob, there was nothing romantic about the action; he had always just been my sunshine, my best friend. I hadn’t realized until then just how much our friendship would be effected. No more beach trips, or dinner with Angela in Forks, or watching TV on his couch during lazy Saturday mornings. I would be a vampire. Though the pack and the Cullens were on good terms, there would be something in our biology pushing us apart. I was going to be, genetically, his enemy. 

     “Will you still be my friend, Jake, after all this is over?” There was a lump in my throat. It wasn’t time to say goodbye yet, but it would be the last time I would get to see him alone. He pulled us to a stop and studied my face.

     “Bella, how many times have I told you? What you are doesn’t matter to me. You’ll still be Bells. Just a little more creeptastic.” The fake word made me giggle despite the fact that tears threatened to surface. He gave me a goofy smile— when he hugged me, though, I could tell that he held on just a little bit tighter than he would have had this been any other day.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Stray Cat Strut

Chapter 5

Reader x OT7

► Faerie!AU

Fluff, Comfort

Warnings: Mention of Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Faerie Mischievous Bullshit

↳ Summary: When your grandmother passes away, she leaves her countryside house in your name. The longer you stay, the harder and harder it becomes to explain away the odd happenings. What kind of secrets does this sleepy town hold? And why do the local animals act so strangely around you?…

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Cleaning the pond with Jin isn’t exactly what you’d call easy or fun, but it’s good, honest work. You wade through the edges of the pond collecting trash, sleeves pushed up on your arms, shoes perched precariously to try and avoid actually stepping in the murky water. You make a mental note to see if there’s anywhere to buy a pair of rubber boots better suited for this kind of job, but for now, you’ll just do your best. You’re helping him pull the weeds trying to claim the underbelly of the bridge, scrubbing at the moss growing there, and even cutting back some of the willow tree’s long tresses with a pair of unwieldy hedge trimmers. 

Once your arms start to ache, and you’ve begun to get tired, you suggest stopping for the moment and he agrees readily. A sunny patch of warm grass to the side of the bridge is where you end up taking your rest, sitting comfortably beside each other to survey the work you’ve done so far. It’s looking better—one day and two people haven’t returned the pond to its former glory just yet, but it’s starting to make a difference. As the sunlight heats your skin, the breeze cool while it caresses the water from your sleeves, you’re struck once again by the peace that seems to steep into the very breath of this town. The trees rock gently, murmuring hushed stories into the green-scented breeze, the light and shadows underneath their leaves chasing each other across the grass and glinting off the water. Altogether not an unpleasant way to spend your afternoon. 

Jin’s company has been pleasurable the entire time as well—you don’t even realize how much of yourself you’ve been talking about until you have to take a break for something to eat and with your mouth full of sandwich, it’s suddenly quiet. 

“Sorry I’ve been talking so much about myself,” you add, swallowing and throwing him a sheepish look. His grin only grows wider.

“Trust me, I’ve enjoyed hearing you talk as much as you seemed to enjoy sharing,” he returns. The sun ahead, hot with the passing of the hours, cradles his hair in a soft halo and lends a gleam to his eyes. As he sits there, bathing in it, even covered in moss stains and dirty water from the ankles down, dark water staining the edges of his rolled sleeves, he looks like a painting. Delicate brush strokes shaping the curve of his face, the slant of his eyes, the petal-softness of his lips. So much in this town is beautiful beyond comprehension, and if anyone was living proof of that fact, it was Jin. He’d give even the possibly-magic swan a run for his money. 

“While we’re taking a break…” you say suddenly, remembering the rabbit with a start. “Jin, would you mind looking at something for me?”

“Certainly.”

You fish out your phone, wiping one hand absentmindedly on your pants, flicking with your thumb through to your photos. Your other hand holds the rest of your sandwich aloft, pausing in your consumption in favor of concentrating. 

“Okay, so, I...I’ve been running into some of your local wildlife. And I’ve had a couple people tell me that they’re these spirits, right?”

“Keprys,” he puts in, clarifying. 

“Yeah, that’s them. Um...I was just wondering...you’ve lived here a while, you said?”

He watches your eyes, blinking once, waiting patiently for your point. “Yes, I have.”

“Would you recognize one? If you saw it?”

“Yes.”

You nod once and reach out to hold the photo of the rabbit towards him, scrutinizing his face anxiously for any sign that he’ll make fun of you for believing in children’s stories.

“Okay, so what about this one?”

Hopefully, he won’t think you’re crazy. Or at least, he won’t be mean about it. Surely, he can’t throw you out of his company over something as silly as local folklore. Not when you’ve just spent an entire afternoon helping him clean his pond. But instead, he immediately bursts into bright, sparkling laughter. 

“That’s Jungkook.” he says. “I’m surprised you managed to catch a photograph of him. He’s very quick on his feet and incredibly shy.” He takes your phone from you gingerly, inspecting the picture with a cautious touch. Instead of pinching or tapping the screen, he only tilts it side to side in his hand as if to appraise it better from different angles. You wonder if he sees the legs, but if he does, he makes no mention of it. You decide you won’t bring it up.

“Jungkook.” you repeat. “Is he...I mean, is he one of them?”

Jin’s smile reappears, and he cocks his head. “Is Jungkook a kepry, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.” He cranes to offer your phone back, pressing it in your palm with a touch that you swear lingers for a half second longer than necessary before it retracts. “Jungkook is a kepry.”

“The librarian said that keprys would be attracted to this totem I got for helping another one,” you add, hesitant. “And I feel like he—Jungkook?—I feel like he’s been following me ever since. It’s kind of like—” Jin’s head whips around in shock, eyes wide. 

“Librarian?” He echoes, cutting you off. “You saw Namjoon?” 

Your nose scrunches with curiosity. “Is that his name? Purple haired guy? Likes to be really vague? Hangs out in the ivy-covered library?”

“That’s him. That’s Namjoon.” Something curls in Jin’s eyes, furrows his brows momentarily. His voice goes soft, and he shifts, plucking at his trouser leg with an absent air. “How...How is he?”

You stare at him, intrigued by the change in atmosphere. “He’s...fine, I guess?”

“I don’t see much of him. That’s all.” He explains hurriedly, though you can tell he’s sitting on legitimate concern, biting back more questions. 

You can understand that. Working too hard, not getting out enough with your friends. That used to be you, before coming here. You can’t imagine being cooped up all the time in a place like this. Your smile is wry, but comforting, you hope. “He doesn’t get out much, huh?”

“No. He doesn’t.”

You pause. “What about that festival that’s coming up?”

“Spirit Lights?” he seems taken faintly aback. “What about it?”

“Can’t you see him then? The lady at the convenience store made it sound like a holiday. Doesn’t he get the day off or something?”

“Or something.” Jin snorts, staring at some indeterminate space near the pond. He blinks, hard. “We always see each other during Spirit Lights. It’s just...It only comes every so often. You know? I worry.”

“I get that.” 

“What else...did Namjoon say to you?” 

“There’s a book about keprys that apparently could be really useful for dealing with them, but he won’t give it to me.”

“It can be a very dangerous book.” His tone has become serious, and his gaze into space hardens, dark brows creasing. “He wouldn’t lend it to just anyone.”

“He said I need something of value for it. He wouldn’t take my money.”

“Very few people in this town barter for money.”

“What would you give him?” 

Jin turns to look at you again, a sideways grin on his lips, his eyes curving with amusement. “Me?”

“Yeah, what would you barter for a ‘very dangerous book’?”

He sits there for a moment, his expression frozen in a mixture of disbelief and humor, before it breaks with a bark of a laugh, his head dropping. 

“‘Something of value’,” he repeats. “Well, it would have to be something close to my heart. Something of my past, maybe. A fragment of who I am, who I was, who I could have been.” 

“That’s really specific.”

“I’ve been here a while. I know a lot about how these deals work. It would have to be the one thing I have that means that much to me.” 

You muse over his words, finishing your sandwich thoughtfully. Suddenly, an idea occurs to you with a flash of inspiration. “Maybe there’s some old keepsake at the house that fits that description? In the shed, maybe?”

He shrugs, pouting, but his eyes glint. “It’s worth a look.”

You stretch your legs out with a luxurious, assenting sigh, eyeing the fluffy clouds drifting ahead. You balk when you realize that the sky is already threatening to cool, the sun beginning to hide her face in the treetops. 

“Oh, man, it’s later than I thought it was. I should really be getting home.”

“Should you?...” Jin echoes. You can feel the hesitance in his frown, though he smothers it quickly and stands up gracefully, offering you a hand. When you take it, you feel a thrill race through your skin, dancing up your spine, setting your body aglow as it travels. This time, he definitely lingers, long fingers curled around your palm.

“Thank you.” He says after a beat. “For your help. I’ll be over tomorrow to help with your...shed, was it?”

“It was.” You reply. “I’m at the house on the hill. The one in front of the forest, with the iron fence.”

His face lights up in recognition, his eyes suddenly searching yours with something like shock. “The house on the hill.” 

“...yes?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He hesitates. “I...I knew of your grandmother. We only met once, but I heard about her from the others. I didn’t realize it was...it was her who...that you lost. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” you reassure him with a soft smile. He lets go of your hand and you fight against the vague disappointment taking place of his warmth. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Jin watches you peculiarly. “...you’re taking care of Taehyung, then?” he adds after an awkward beat. 

“The dog?” you blink, surprised. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes. I don’t know, he just started following me around. He really, really didn’t like the swan we saw up here this morning, and he almost ate the gardener.”

He nods. “He...sometimes gets frustrated. But if he’s protecting you, then it makes sense.”

You laugh at that. “Protecting me. Yeah, from swans and gardeners. And rabbits. Jungkook.”

“He really does have your best interest in mind. Please don’t be too hard on him.”

The breeze kicks up just then, sending his hair waving gently across his face, bent in a serious frown. You stand transfixed, utterly bewitched, by his eyes. The bright sunlight glances off the brown depths, lit like lanterns against a mild summer’s night. Weariness lives there. An old soul, tired and heavy, but sincere. Your breath catches in your throat, but you manage to nod, feeling quite suddenly as though you’ve been entrusted some kind of weighty responsibility. He smiles, and again your heart twists in your throat, just as when you met. 

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow? Right?” 

“Right.” 

Like one wandering inside of a dream, you make your way down the path towards home, mind swimming against the pull of a tide that seems to lead back to the pond, back to Jin. Please don’t be too hard on him. What a weird thing to say about a dog. But it’s not like you’re gonna leave him alone to go wild and bite everything you come across. He’s not even really your dog! Everyone you’ve met seems to have decided that he’s your problem now. Even you are having a hard time keeping the inherent strangeness of his affection in mind.

You just hope Jungkook is okay...you aren’t convinced that he means you any harm. Despite what the librarian—Namjoon, apparently—seems to think about keprys, you can’t imagine such a sweet bunny machinating anything beyond harmless. He probably just wanted to see the cat’s totem up close or something.

You reach the mouth of the walkway, just by the sign, and pull up short when you realize there’s a young man perched atop the sign, sitting comfortably, a mischievous if shy grin pulling at his plush lips as he watches you emerge from the trees. 

“Hi,” you greet, taken by vague surprise to see him but remembering your manners in the nick of time. 

He shifts, tugging absently at the fluffy blue jacket hood he has pulled over his pink hair, his grin growing wider, pushing his eyes into crescents. 

“Hi,” he echoes, the end of his voice pitching almost into a giggle. “Hanging out with Jin?”

Your first knee-jerk reaction is to be distrustful of him, to hear a stranger so immediately know your business, but after a moment of bristling it occurs to you that everyone in this small town has to know each other. He must be a local, then, familiar with Jin. You relax into something more congenial. “Yeah. I’m helping him with the pond. Cleaning it and stuff.”

He hums in mild understanding, nodding, casting his glance to the side. His leg bounces atop the sign a couple times. Though his face is sweet, his voice high, and the pastels of his outfit speak to an almost childlike gentleness, there’s a sharp gleam in his eyes when he looks back to you, smirking.

“Not getting lost in the woods?” he says, playful. 

“Lost? Well...maybe once.” you admit with a small laugh. “But it’s alright. I got out in the end.”

“All by yourself?” His face freezes, smile fading slightly at the corners. He searches your eyes as he stares.  

“No, I , uh…” you chuckle, awkward. “I followed this cute little bird out. I know it sounds crazy, but I swear that’s what happened.”

His friendly manner returns in full force before you even realize it was dissipating, his grin turning radiant, clutching adorably at the sides of his hood with a saccharine giggle. He’s blushing, his cheeks pushed up and together by his small hands. 

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” he replies in a reassuring tone through chuckles. 

“No?”

He shakes his head, sending bubblegum-colored strands dancing with the movement. 

“I guess there’s a lot of odd stuff that happens in this town.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.”

You hum in agreement and crane around him, peering at the road, and seeing no cars, you decide to throw him a passing wave and friendly smile. “Well, I should get going. It was nice to meet you…?” 

“Nice to see you again,” he interrupts cheerfully. “Ah, you probably should be getting home before dark. Wouldn’t want the spirits to get you.” 

You think of Jungkook and snort as you turn, beginning to cross the street. “Thanks, but I think I’m alright.” 

“And be careful around Jin.” 

His tone has dropped. You swivel on your heel when you reach the other side of the road, throwing him a peculiar look. His smile hasn’t disappeared completely, instead quarantined to the edges of his lips, turning wry. It’s almost calculating, the way he watches you.

“...Why?...”

His eyes widen innocently, brows lifting into his hair. “You can’t just bargain with everyone you meet. It’s dangerous. Who knows what you’ll agree to?”

A scoff leaves your mouth, and you shake your head, turning away to hide the flash of indignation that courses through you for a half-second. You’re sure he’s only trying to be helpful, but it’s really none of his business. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He laughs again. The sound is like a brook in summer—light, bubbly.  “Don’t misunderstand; you’re already in debt. I just don’t want him to get in the way.”

You look to him in confusion and disbelief, but are met with only an old sign and an empty crossroads. Swiftly, you spin, casting your scrutinizing gaze about the trees, the road, but there’s no evidence that the soft-looking man ever even existed. 

Talking to yourself? You don’t think you could have imagined up an entire person like that. No, he must have just taken that split second and run away. What a weirdo. Never mind the animals, it’s the locals that sometimes behave the most oddly. Must be something in the water. If you stay here long enough, are you going to start disappearing when people turn their backs? 

Why not, you think to yourself. If only to get your own back a little, maybe.

By the time you start climbing the hill to the house, it’s just beginning to really settle into evening, the air cooling and the sun casting warm rays everywhere, sharpened to individual shards of light through the trees. You can see the house, the iron gate, the beginnings of the garden within, and a small shape, pacing frantically up and down by the gate. Taehyung notices you long before his form registers properly in your mind, and before you can even really react, he’s torn down the stone-marked path towards you, small legs flying out under him in his haste to reach you, gravity threatening to pull him head over heels. He’s yapping as he barrels over, skidding from the sheer force of his sprint, his sweet voice pulled taut into what you can only describe as breathless worry and desperation. You murmur soothingly, rolling your eyes as you stoop to pet him, but he’s jittery on his tiny paws, incapable of sitting still, whining and huffing, hoarse as he blinks up at you and attempts to press as much of himself against you as physically possible. 

“Now, really,” you chastise under your breath, shifting the bags on your shoulder to bend closer, trying to thread your fingers through his soft fur in a reassuring kind of way. “Now, honestly. Taehyung. You don’t get to act like this when you’re the one who left me, remember?” 

He makes an impossibly distraught noise, turning balefully into a long howl, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound. He sounds like his heart is breaking, throwing his head back and crying of all the injustice in the world. To hear him, you’d think he was dying.

“Okay, pup, okay,” you interrupt his lament, stroking his face, around his ears. “I hear you. It’s alright. I’m okay, I promise.” 

You straighten, walking towards the gate, and he immediately makes a beeline for your ankles, keeping in pace with your strides as though leaving your side would physically wound him. When you reach for the iron, he starts making this huffing, sobbing noise that even as ridiculous as it is, tugs at your heartstrings. You hesitate, curling your palm around the gate. He was here this morning. You doubt he went anywhere last night. Besides, you let the cat stay the night—where would be the fairness in disallowing your new companion, especially when he seems so incredibly upset at the thought of leaving you behind again?  

You think again of Jin’s words. 

A small dog so famous that everyone who meets you immediately knows his name has to be an upstanding member of the community, you continue to reason with yourself. He’s well-groomed, shiny-eyed, and obviously clean. If his owners don’t mind him wandering the town all the time, then surely they won’t miss him one night?

You interrupt his pitiful snuffling in a quiet tone. “What do you think, Taehyung? Just one night?”

He immediately goes silent. When you look to him, his ears have perked up, head cocking to the side. As you watch, his ears flick, back, then front again. A shuddering sigh escapes his small snout as he bores holes in your eyes with his round, slightly-crossed ones. 

“Just the one.” you reiterate. “As a thank you. For trying to protect me.”

His fluffy tail wags, once. Twice. Hesitant, he leans back on his haunches to place a delicate paw just below your knee. His tail starts up again, beginning in earnest now. 

“You wanna spend the night with me? Hmm?” 

His ears go flat and he whines, low. 

“Alright. Come on.” You unlatch the gate, pushing it open and stepping inside. When you turn to glance at Taehyung, he hasn’t moved, stock-still where you left his side. You blink at him, curious. “You can come in,” you say, and he immediately skips over to you, tail breaking the sound barrier with how it furiously wags, a bounce in his step, but such deep, quiet adoration in his eyes, you wonder again why this dog is following you around so much. You close the gate between the both of you, leading Taehyung into the house. 

He is adamant on staying by you, though occasionally he sniffs at the air, the floor, snuffling like he’s hunting some scent. At one point, he noses violently at the radiator where the cat had slept, tail pausing in its waving as his mind diverts all energy to thinking. 

“Was there a kitty cat there, Taehyung?” you ask him in a high pitch as you set the bags on the kitchen table, craning to peer at him from beyond the door frame. He sneezes, huffing a small, unimpressed bark at the radiator, before looking back up at you. 

When you take a shower, he lays patiently in front of the bathroom door. You almost knock him over with it when you step out with a towel wrapped about your body, but he’s just as happy to see you as ever, casting a glance up at you and wagging his tail. You hesitate, peering back at him. Do you change with him in the room?...Your lips quirk. 

Finally, you decide to leave him outside the bedroom door while you put your pajamas on. It’s just too weird. He isn’t really your dog, and besides, with all this talk about keprys and spirits...best not to take any chances anyways. When you open the door, he’s sitting patiently in the hall, tail thumping against the floor to greet you again as if for the first time. While you mill about the kitchen, putting together a quick evening meal, he follows you, though he’s so much more relaxed inside the house and so much quieter. 

You slip him a dog treat from your bag as an afterthought. He sniffs at it, but doesn’t eat it, electing instead to prop himself against your chair when you sit down with a leftover sandwich from the store. Jin’s sandwich. You realize with a bit of shock that he never ate it, or did you even offer? Embarrassment flushes your face, but if he’d been hungry he could have just as easily said so. You’ll be sure to be a better host tomorrow, while he helps you with the shed. 

“Are you gonna bite Jin when he comes over tomorrow?” You ask Taehyung absentmindedly, throwing him a glance underneath the table. He sniffs in reply. “You can’t. You have to leave him alone. He’s a nice guy.” 

He doesn’t seem too convinced, but lays his head on his paws with a quiet snuffle. He perks up when you get up to wash the dishes, moving to sit by you on the placemat. It’s dark now, the yellowed lights in the house lending an almost dreamlike quality to the spaces, chasing the shadows into the corners of the room, and when you crane your head out the window, you can see the twinkling of so many stars in the velvety sky. You briefly consider spending some time stargazing, but eventually decide against it. You need to be up nice and early again, if only to make sure you don’t make Jin wait. How embarrassing would that be? 

Taehyung trails you silently to the bedroom, and for a half second you consider turning him out, making him sleep by the radiator, but there’s something so familiar, so comforting, to watch him standing by the bed expectantly, waving his tail when you look down at him. 

“Come on, up you go,” you say, and before you’ve even finished speaking, he’s hopped upwards, alighting on the covers with a grace you didn’t expect. He waits as you turn the light off and sink into the bed yourself before he begins tapping cautiously over in your direction. You can feel the change in pressure on the sheets as he walks, feeling for the bed underneath like he’s actively avoiding stepping on you. For a moment, you’re afraid he might start licking your face once he gets close, but he only bumps against your nose with his small snout, before turning and situating himself at your chest, snuggling into you. He’s so hot against you, so soft and warm, you can’t help but curve one hand into his fur, cuddling up with him as he sighs, bone-deep. The gentle smell of honey and warm sunshine emanates from him, light and sweet.  For a second, you’re afraid you might not get to sleep—when was the last time you slept with a stranger’s dog in your bed, after all?—but he immediately slacks into deep, contented breaths and the sensation is so calming you’re drifting before you can even worry too much about it. Again, the spark of familiarity occurs to you and you curl closer to him, stroking at his fur lazily. 

“Night, Taetae,” you hum, unaware that you’re even saying it until it’s left your lips as a mumble. Just before you fall into the void of sleep, you imagine he whines quietly in the dark.

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[peaceoutofthepieces]

chapter 27.5 (part I)

When I Live My Dream (Please Be There To Meet Me)

This is the first(!) bonus part to go with chapter 27. I asked what would be preferred, and the result was Sobbe. So this is their Valentine’s! They have a lot of fun. I hope you enjoy.

Sander needs this to be perfect. 

He’s always been a perfectionist, always needs to execute each and every one of his ideas beyond his best ability, and it’s got him into more than a few downward spirals of disappointment and self-hatred. It’s something he still needs to work on (that’ll probably never actually be fixed) and a dangerous mindset to be in and he knows that. He knows that some of his perfect goals are unreachable. Impossible for his young mind and simple mortal state. 

But this has to be perfect. 

Because this is for Robbe. 

Sander’s been planning and organizing all week (longer) and all the intricate measures he’s taken and hiding from Robbe he has done is about to be worth it. Everything so far seems to be in place, and he’s proud, but he isn’t letting his guard down yet. He’s aware anything could go wrong at any moment and he has to be prepared to stop that from happening. He can’t let one thing slip out of place, because he’s designed this night specifically to make Robbe happy. All he wants is to make Robbe happy. 

Especially now, after their last disaster date. He wants to make Robbe happy now more than ever. 

And he’s always been pretty intent on Robbe’s happiness. 

And like Lucas said, he’s a lover. He wouldn’t necessarily consider himself a romantic, or he wouldn’t have, pre-Robbe. For Robbe, he may have slightly changed his opinion. Robbe would probably call him a romantic, and if he did, Sander wouldn’t protest. But lover is a definition he himself can one hundred percent get behind. And Valentine’s Day is a day for lovers—and therefore a day for him. 

Milan lets him in on his way out, giving him a once over and a low whistle. Sander rolls his eyes at him, but it boosts his confidence a little. “Someone cleans up nice.”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with how I dress?” Sander says, teasingly affronted. He’s not dressed much differently than usual. His black jeans, boots, and leather jacket are all safely in place. The only difference is that instead of his usual designed tee, he’s wearing a dark grey button down shirt. 

Milan pinches his cheek. “You know you’re beautiful. You don’t need me to tell you. Besides,” he adds, nodding to the apartment, “I’m sure baby Robbe will.”

“I’ll what?”

Sander’s heart flaps around his chest with all the excitement of a puppy welcoming its owner. Robbe shoots him a bright grin, and his eyes dragging over Sander’s body set him on fire. Milan’s once over was appraising; Robbe devours him. His confidence leaps and he settles slightly, overcome for a moment with the reminder that Robbe in himself is perfect, and it requires very little effort from Sander. 

Milan gives Sander a look that suggests he knows all the dirty deeds Sander has planned, and he shoots him a wink before planting a kiss on Robbe’s cheek. Robbe’s sound of protest is drowned out by Milan’s, “Have fun, cutie,” as he bounds out the door and leaves them in peace.

“He’s in a good mood,” Sander muses. 

Robbe rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his face. “He usually is. But I think he has a date. Like an actual one. Not with someone he matched on Grindr.”

Sander raises his brows. “Good for him. He deserves it.” Robbe pulls a face, and Sander will let him pretend all he wants, because they both know how much he actually cares about the other man. Robbe reaches for him at the same time Sander steps into his space, and their kiss is a silent agreement—they can be happy for Milan tomorrow. Tonight is theirs. 

Robbe’s lips on his almost make him forget that he has a whole elaborate plan for them, and he pulls make a little sooner than usual. Robbe’s tiny whine makes him change his mind briefly, and he swoops in to kiss him once more before taking a resolute step back, stroking his thumb over Robbe’s cheek. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” Robbe mocks, bumping their noses, and Sander is so very gone. “Am I underdressed?”

Sander takes in his light grey sweater and black jeans and shakes his head. “Overdressed, if you ask me.” Robbe huffs a laugh and shoves him away—only to tug him right back in. “No, you’re good. You always look perfect,” he adds, with a sneaky kiss to the rising blush on Robbe’s cheek. 

Robbe smiles bashfully. “Okay, but you look…”

Sander grins, has to kiss him again, and then pulls him towards the door. “Okay, okay, come on. We’re already off schedule.” 

“Oh? Do you have a lot planned?”

“Do you remember what I said?”

Robbe sighs, like the whole thing is a unnecessarily difficult task. “Yeah, yeah. I’m ready to be mindblown.” 

Sander’s grin only widens. 

~^~

Robbe lights up as soon as he realises they’re going to the tunnel, and Sander’s hopes lift slightly. His goal, mainly, is reminiscence for the purpose of realising their growth, their budding feelings from their first date recaptured amidst the all-consuming love they currently share. Sander had wanted to wow then, only realising later that it was influenced by the subtle stem of a mild bout of mania beginning to bloom, and still not regretting a second of it. It had made him less careful, more extravagant, and nothing more, and it only left him truer to his feelings, louder about them than he would’ve been otherwise. It had worked in winning Robbe over, and there was nothing he could regret about that. 

This time, though, Sander made sure to put in work so that he could do things right. When they make it to the entrance to the pool, Robbe trails a few confused feet behind him until Sander brandishes a key. It only turns Robbe entirely incredulous, and he gapes at Sander when he says, “I thought ahead enough to ask this time.” Robbe only continues to stare while Sander opens the door, and then Sander reaches out his hand and asks, “Come.”

Robbe wraps his fingers around his and squeezes, and Sander leads him inside. This time, Robbe shivers but doesn’t give a single complaint about the cold. Sander had told him to wear his usual brown coat and hadn’t managed to convince him to add a scarf (on the ridiculous basis Sander wasn’t wearing one himself) but on their way out the door he’d thought to request, “Maybe a beanie?” with possibly too much hope. But now his boyfriend is extra adorable and extra cosy, so at least it worked. 

In front of the pool, Sander has left a pile of blankets and a picnic basket. The pool lights form a dim glow, just more than enough to see by and casting the prettiest shadows over Robbe’s profile. His lips are pulled up in a disbelieving smile, parted just slightly. “Like it?” Sander asks eventually, barely more than a whisper. 

Robbe looks at him and smiles fully, pulling him in with a single tug of their still-joined hands. He kisses Sander sweetly, adoringly. “I love it. I love you.”

Sander’s smiling too much to kiss him anymore. He hugs him close instead and says, “I love you too. So much that I won’t even make you swim this time.”

Robbe raises his brows. “That’s a lot.”

“Mmhm,” Sander hums, regaining enough control over his lips to press them to Robbe’s once more. “Come on. This is only the beginning of what I have planned for us.”

Robbe grins and lets himself be set in place on one of the blankets. Sander tucks another around Robbe’s shoulders and the last around his own, settling in close as he produces the main dish from the basket. Robbe brightens. “You made croques.”

“I tried to keep them warm, but, you’re distracting.”

“Wait, did you come leave them here before coming to get me?” Robbe gives the food a clearly more dubious look. 

Sander huffs a laugh. “I had a little help. Noor is a very good friend.”

It only adds more fuel to Robbe’s smile. “I’ll have to thank her, then.” Sander holds a croque up to his lips and feels his stomach twist as Robbe takes a bite. 

Sitting there with Robbe pressed against his side, sharing food and the warmth of the blankets, Sander has never felt more content. He’d been falling for Robbe for so long, and falling hard, but this is where he knew he’d fallen in love. When Robbe had watched him strip down to nothing with bare surprise and had followed him anyway, accepting all of Sander right from that moment, Sander had been in love. It had exploded in his chest then, leaving him breathless and aching and needy. Now it’s wrapped around every single atom of his body, keeping him safe and warm and always being there to remind him he’s never alone.

Last year, he spent Valentine’s Day with Britt, wondering why he couldn’t stop feeling like he’d rather be spending it alone. This possibility hadn’t yet crossed his mind—of spending this day with someone who loved him unconditionally, who’d seen him at his best and his worst and accepted both without a word, someone he knew would move mountains for him at his simple request. 

He had never let himself imagine someone like Robbe. He can’t imagine ever having lived without him. 

Robbe presses closer to his side and touches his fingers to his cheek, turning Sander’s head to look back at his smile. “Hey. You okay?”

Sander rests their heads together and tightens his arm around Robbe’s waist. “I just love you a lot.” He can feel Robbe’s breath gust over his lips, and then there’s a soft mouth covering his and gentle fingers in his hair. Sander lets Robbe lead them and feels an inexplicable tightens in his chest, one that crawls up this throat and makes his eyes burn, and he grips Robbe tighter to anchor himself. Sometimes, he still can’t believe this is real. Sometimes, he feels like crying when he remembers it is. 

He has to pull away and clear his throat when it becomes too much for him, and at Robbe’s pout he gives the simple excuse of, “The night isn’t over yet. There’s still another place I want to take you.”

Robbe gives him one of his favourite looks, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed and smile still in place, like he doesn’t know what to expect but suspects Sander’s up to no good and is perfectly ready to go along with it. Sander gives him his most innocent grin in return, pulling him to his feet and fixing his beanie over his ears. They pack up, Sander simply shoving the blankets in the now empty basket, and then they’re leaving once more, Sander locking the door behind him. 

Robbe gives up questioning Sander after the first five minutes, but the curious glances continue until Robbe stops dead in the middle of the street, eyes widening in comically slow motion, and Sander holds his breath. He stares, blinks, and restarts, pedaling over to where his gaze had caught, too entranced to spare Sander a glance. 

He stops and drops his bike a few meters away from the wall, mouth dropped open, and Sander waits a few feet away. 

“Sander,” Robbe breathes, finally, after an eternity, and Sander can’t tell what he’s thinking. “You—you did this?”

“That depends,” Sander hedges. “Do you like it?”

On the side of the building, sprayed in the most intense, bright colours Sander owned, is Robbe. His face sits inside a heart, fragmented and cracked at the edges but undeniably open, letting through every bit of Robbe’s light and holding him inside, presenting its love for him in return. He’d shown the drawing to Robbe, weeks ago, in another life. This had been the idea in his mind, but he hadn’t been sure he’d ever have the guts to do it. He hadn’t known just how far his love went. 

“How?” Robbe turns to look at him, eyes still wide and sparkling, and everything in Sander settles at once. “Sander, this—what?”

Sander reaches for him, and Robbe takes his hands instantly, letting himself be reeled in even as his eyes drift back to the wall. “I did it last night. I—I know that it’s a lot and you probably think I’m crazy but I needed everyone to know. I love you and I needed to let you know. They’ll probably remove it eventually, so if you don’t like it—“

“Sander,” Robbe cuts him off, his hands raising to cup Sander’s cheeks. He shakes his head in disbelief, and the pure, unfiltered love in his eyes is the best sight Sander has ever seen. “No one has ever loved me this much.”

Sander finally releases his breath. “I do,” he says quietly. “I love you even more than this.”

Robbe kisses him, and this time they take much longer to stop. 

~^~

When they get back to Sander’s flat, Sander has one last surprise ready. If Noor was able to finish it for him. 

He guides Robbe to the bedroom and, on opening the door, lets out a sigh of relief. Robbe’s breath hitches at his shoulder, and Sander looks around to see that the same look of awe hasn’t moved from his face, only seeming to grow with each new discovery. Sander has covered the floor with a delicate spread of rose petals, and organised another bundle on the bed into the shape of a heart. Candles sit on the bedside lockers, just recently lit, with more on top of Sander’s drawers and desk. Robbe’s hands wrap tightly around his arm and when Sander looks, his eyes are wet. 

“Hey,” he says softly, laughing slightly. “Robbe. I painted you a mural and you’re crying at flowers and candles?”

Robbe shoves him lightly, shaking his head and wiping a hand over his cheek. His voice is almost hoarse when he speaks, choked with emotion, and this is what Sander had been looking for. This means that it’s perfect. “It’s just...All of it. You did so much, and I—“ He cuts off, breath too shaky, and then he lets out a tiny laugh. “Sorry.”

Sander shakes his head back. He raises his hands to Robbe’s cheeks this time, gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “I wanted you to feel it. I wanted you to be happy.”

Then, finally, that brilliant smile is back, and Robbe’s folding himself into his arms and tucking his face into his neck. “Have I mentioned that I love you a little bit?”

“Maybe once,” Sander replies, grinning, as he presses a kiss to Robbe’s temple. “I think I’ve also mentioned that I love you too. Do you want me to show you?”

The flush that covers Robbe’s cheeks is lovely as he takes another glance at the bed, at the rose petals and candles and Sander and says, in a stumble, “We’ve done...but we haven’t...I don’t even know if that’s what you were planning, but I want—I want you to know that I want to. If you do.”

Sander drags him into a kiss, and this time they don’t stop. 

[7team7]

Choosing Fate: Chapter 7

Accidentally on purpose. // Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

A/N: I absolutely adore and cherish student-mentor relationships so I really wanted to put Tsunade in here to develop that for Sakura like she is really only surrounded by her stranger family so she needs Something/Someone else there. This also marks ssk turning away from being overly devoted to his clan. More on that in the note at the end, enjoy this chapter and happy birthday to the king!! <333

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Sasuke was running a quick errand for his mother when he saw her.

The blonde hair and amber eyes were unmistakable — Senju Tsunade was back in Konoha. For what reason, he didn’t know, didn’t care, but he hurried home to tell Sakura anyway.

.

“You need a teacher,” Sasuke’s voice sounded behind her.

She jumped, scattering dried leaves across the table by accident. Did he read her mind? She was encountering a road block: she didn’t know enough about the poisonous properties of plants, always being told to stay away from them, but never study them. And she couldn’t just test things out herself or on others. So she was stuck for now.

“I thought you were my teacher,” she teased lightly.

“I still am,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes at first. Their tutoring sessions had evolved into quiet discussions that he found more and more difficult to tear himself away from. He cleared his throat, “I found someone else for you. For this.” He waved his hand to gesture at the herbs strewn all over the tabletop.

She brightened visibly, “That’s perfect! I thought I knew more than I actually did. I’m scared of making an actual fatal error. But I want to continue — at this point I feel like I have to.” She chewed her lip, already thinking of the ways one could easily mess up with which plants you consumed. She could only hope that her knowledge of healing improved alongside the new deadly concoctions she hoped to create.

Sasuke nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t suggest this if she wasn’t the best. You’ve heard of Senju Tsunade, correct?”

“Of course I have, who hasn’t? Is she back in the village? I’ve always wanted to speak with her. Do you know her well enough to ask her this favor?” Tsunade was a busy, intimidating woman. She wouldn’t say yes to just anyone.

“Not really. And the Senjus and Uchihas don’t have the best history together. We’ll consider this a new start.” If his plan failed, he didn’t know what the hell he would do next.  

She tilted her head in question, “Do you really think she’ll agree to this then? I’m an Uchiha.”

Sasuke’s face softened for a moment when he said quietly, “But you’re different. I’m sure she’ll say yes to you. Everyone likes you.”

To cover up her sudden bashfulness, she started to babble and clean up her workspace. “Oh, um, sure. Let’s hope. So, can we go to her today? Time is of the essence!” It took some effort, but Sasuke’s visage shifted back to neutral. He should probably help her, but watching her gather herself was strangely endearing.

“Hn. We can go as soon as you’re ready.”

Apparently going alone was still not an option, but she didn’t mind the company.

.

Sakura’s stomach was knotted with nerves. Who was she to demand such a thing from such a woman? But this was the only way. She would not back down.

Sasuke kept his pace even, but noticed the way Sakura kept her hands clasped tightly behind her back. It was surely exciting to think of being in the presence of such a legendary master, but her status only made the confrontation more intimidating.

He struggled to find words to comfort her and it was only when they reached Tsunade’s doorstep did he manage a clipped, “If she says no we’ll just have to find someone else.”

Sakura nodded shakily, even though she knew there would be no one else who could compare. He stood back while she knocked. One moment, then two passed until the door was wrenched open from the inside.

Tall and imposing, the famous woman’s reputation could not be overstated. “And who are you?” Sasuke nodded at his wife when she glanced his way.

“My name is Uchiha Sakura and I want to become your student,” she said quickly but with clear resolve. She ended with a deep bow.

“Oh get up,” Tsunade said lazily. Sakura looked stunned as her rose hair swished in front of her vision on the way up.

“Yes ma’am.”

She stuck a finger under Sakura’s chin, appraising her, “Uchiha huh? You certainly don’t look like one.” If anything, the girl could claim distant Senju relations.

“Yes ma’am. I used to be Haruno Sakura, but Sasuke and I married recently.”

Only then did Tsunade’s attention shift to Sasuke standing stoically like a sentry behind Sakura.

“Uchiha Sasuke, you’re one of Fugaku’s brats aren’t you? It’s been a long time.”

His mouth twisted, “My father..does not know about this yet,” he offered. It was as good of an olive branch as he could give at the moment.

Tsunade crossed her arms over her chest, “Why?”

Sakura looked taken aback. “Why? Um, it was an arranged marriage so-”

“No, no. Why should I be your teacher?”

The younger woman straightened her spine, “Because I already have minimal healing knowledge from working on my parents’ land and I’d like to learn more from the most knowledgeable woman in all of the nations. I’d also like to learn about poisons, something I can only successfully do under your watch. I believe it’s important for women to be able to protect themselves, no matter the method. This is mine.”

“Uh huh,” the blonde nodded thoughtfully. Her eyes flickered between Sasuke and Sakura. Some nerve he had coming here, but the girl seemed genuine. This couldn’t have been good for that famous Uchiha pride.

With a strange mix of pity and admiration for Uchiha Sakura, Tsunade clicked her tongue and said, “Okay. Meet here tomorrow morning.” Then she slammed the door shut.

Sakura blinked; even Sasuke was surprised. But she soon regained her composure and a grin split her face open, “Alright then. I’ll be here tomorrow.” She turned back towards the road and beckoned to Sasuke. “Let’s go.” He followed.

.

When they got home, Sakura called over her shoulder that she’d go and tidy up her herb collection to bring with her tomorrow.

She waltzed into their bedroom humming a sweet and simple tune. He watched her back all the way until she disappeared from view. He decided to make his way into the kitchen to brew some afternoon tea for the two of them.

His father sat at the table with his arms crossed tightly. He didn’t seem angry — yet. But suspicion hung in the air. “Where were you two today?”

“Getting help for Sakura.”

“Is there something wrong with her?”

Sasuke hated playing games so he sighed and told him the whole story: “We went to see Senju Tsunade. She’s taking Sakura as an apprentice to teach her about medicine and poison. It’ll be good for her. She’s eager to learn.”

“What a shame that there isn’t a more suitable teacher for her, someone who isn’t a Senju.”

“There’s no one better, regardless of clan considerations. What’s done is done.”

“Don’t you betray us like this, son,” Fugaku warned.

Sasuke hissed, “I think I know what’s best for me and my wife.” He loves his family but he had been growing frustrated with their ideals and hunger for power. He wasn’t sure when he separated himself and Sakura from everyone else.

“Watch your tone.”

Sasuke didn’t respond and left the kitchen without the tea he had originally come for.

He nearly ran into Sakura when he walked into their bedroom. His hand shot out to grasp her shoulder and steady her. Their chests were nearly touching; could she feel his heart about the leap out of his chest?

“Sasuke,” she breathed.

“I wanted tea.”

“I heard everything.”

He let go to run a hand through his hair. She stepped back slightly and he could breathe again. “Don’t listen to him.”

“You already told me there’s bad blood between the clans, I suppose it’s to be expected.”

“But that doesn’t excuse the way he’s always trying to control me,” he snarled lowly. Sakura was now an extension of himself. Anything Fugaku did to one would affect the other.

Hesitantly, she placed what she hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to do this no matter what he says. I can talk to him too, if that would help.”

He didn’t move away from her hand so she kept it there. “As you should. But it’s not your fight.”

Her hand started slowly moving up and down his arm; his muscles were so firm beneath her fingertips! “That doesn’t mean I can’t help you. I am your wife, after all.” Her voice had become incredibly soft and the surrounding air became thick.

He gave her a peculiar look that she couldn’t quite read. “My wife. That’s right.” He glanced down at her hand and she withdrew like she was burned, but he was faster. He clasped his fingers around her wrist and glanced between her dainty fingers and parted mouth. He made his decision.

Almost like an experiment, he pulled her closer and tilted his head. “My wife,” he repeated softly. It felt good in his mouth, gentle on his tongue. He leaned in and kissed her on her plush lips. His wife, objectively beautiful and smart and lovely, was standing here before him and he had never done this. What a fool he was.

He pressed into her more firmly, closing his eyes for a fleeting moment. But for Sakura, it felt like an eternity. His advances weren’t unwanted, but she froze in shock. She finally managed to place both hands back on his broad shoulders and deepen the kiss.

It was only for a moment, though, because Sasuke seemed to remember what he was doing and he jumped backwards.

“I didn’t — it was an accident,” he said quickly. As if the intention wasn’t radiating off his body in waves. Now she learned something else about her husband: he was a terrible liar.

Really, Sasuke never did anything unless he wanted to; this was growing truer by the day as he finally started to figure out what exactly he wanted from life. Sakura’s curiosity had rubbed off on him.

Her fingers lingered by her tingling mouth, ���It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” She was getting better at understanding him and his ways of speaking: he meant to say, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

“So it’s settled,” he said stiltedly, trying to change the subject back to the safe topic of finding her a teacher.

She nodded, her skin starting to glow gently, happily. Feeling emboldened by their “accidental” kiss, she reached up and pecked him on the cheek, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.”

He nodded tersely; if he was blushing before, he was on fire now. He turned on his heel and left the room, muttering something about plans and chores and tea.

She watched him go, shaking her head with amusement and affection. Why was her husband so cute like this?

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A/N: Sneaky accidental but also not accidental kiss hehe I know people are waiting for some spice but this is not the chapter for it obviously HAHA thanks for your patience (and unless I don’t remember my own story that’s the first time she calls him ssk-kun) Anyway, I think another point of tension for Sasuke will be grappling with his individual desires vs community. We know that he’s big on family but the purity of the clan is being questioned and it’s interesting to see him realize that Sakura is family and he cares for her even if she’s just one person >_< ssk why are you so cute?? But yeah, by the end of the story his values and beliefs will have come into question whereas sakura will feel more confident in what she thinks and believes in. Ultimately they grow together and we mf love to see it!!

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 39: Doing the Job

He and Mary Margaret talked for well over an hour. This part of the game wasn't difficult; it was simply a balancing act. On the one hand, he wanted to leave Mary Margaret spooked, not terrified, just sufficiently spooked. Enough so that when she got her hands on the skeleton key, then she'd run. On the other hand, he had to be her lawyer and didn't want to appear as if he was trying to scare her. A balancing act like this might be difficult for some, but in this case, it was easy enough for him to accomplish, mostly because all he had to do was tell her the truth.

"Your chances are good because there is no body at the moment," he reassured her. "They can't assume she's dead. They have to know for sure. All they really have is your jewelry box with your fingerprints on it, which can be easily explained. The box belongs to you. It would be odd if it didn't have your fingerprints on it."

"But what about the heart? Emma said they're running DNA."

"Don't worry about that right now."

"Right now, but what…what if it comes back as Kathryn's?"

Which it would…

"Well, if it comes back as Kathyrn's, then that would be bad," he stated clearly. "That would be very bad indeed. Something like that might implicate you."

"But I didn't do anything!" she hissed as her face fell.

"You don't have to tell me, Miss Blanchard. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't. But…if you truly didn't do it, then you should have nothing to worry about. For all we know, some kids broke into the apartment, stole the box, and it's a sheep's heart in there. Could just be some kids playing a prank, and that's the argument I intend to make if this goes to trial."

"Trial!"

"It likely won't get that far. We'll worry about arraignment first; that'll be tomorrow morning unless further evidence against you is brought to light."

"What's that involve?"

"You'll be brought before a judge, the formal charges against you will be read, you'll plead 'not guilty,' bail will be set."

"Bail…I can get out of here."

"Well…in a murder trial, they'd send you to prison because you would be considered a danger, but seeing as how they don't have a body yet…"

"A body…everything hinges on a body, on that heart."

He sighed. "Try to be calm, Miss. Blanchard. It doesn't do to worry about things that may or may not come to pass."

"And what if they do come to pass?"

He resisted the urge to smile again. He didn't want to look like he was trying to spook her, and fortunately for him, she did a fair enough job of giving him a reason to all on her own.

"As I said before, that would be bad. It would implicate you. But we're not going to worry about that for now. One foot in front of the other. You get some rest. Let me do my job."

Immediately following their conversation, he invited himself into the Sheriff's office. "So…how bad is it?" he asked.

Emma glared at him skeptically, her mouth unmoving as she considered his question. She'd done her job well; she'd let the pair of them talk in private as the law required. She'd tried to keep herself busy or otherwise secluded in her office, but he could feel the way she'd watched them. He hadn't ordered her to stop, nor had he told Mary Margaret to stop talking to her as he would a normal client. For someone on trial for murder, talking to the district attorney or the police could potentially be harmful. But Emma just wanted her friend free again. She believed in her innocence. There was nothing wrong with talking to Emma. As for anyone else, Emma was protective enough that she wouldn't let it happen. So that just left the pair of them, two unexpected allies involved in a very complex plan.

"Miss Swan…if this goes to trial, I'll be given everything during discovery," he insisted, reassuring her that talking to him, though it would commonly be considered inappropriate, was exactly what she needed to do in this case. "Besides, sharing information at this stage can only help her. I'm her lawyer, I want her out of jail, and I suspect so do you, Miss Swan, so let's help each other…shall we?"

He saw her gaze adjust over his shoulder to the cell Mary Margaret currently sat in before she sighed. "Heart's still out for DNA testing. It should be back tonight or tomorrow morning. Ruby found it in the woods by the toll bridge, the place she used to meet David. It was in her jewelry box, and her fingerprints were all over it. The heart had marks on it that suggested it was cut with a knife of some kind. I found a knife wrapped in cloth in the heating vent in her room."

"I'll assume you did a thorough search of the area and found any other clues. Has the apartment shown any signs of a break-in?"

"No, it was the first thing I checked. It was clean."

"Who else has access?"

"I have a key, she has a key, no one else."

He raised his eyebrows in interest. "You're sure?"

"I asked," she answered back emotionlessly. That was how the entire conversation had gone thus far. Emma didn't like him. She'd exchange facts, but she wasn't ready for theories yet…at least he assumed that she wasn't.

"Is there anyone in town who has the ability to get into the apartment, anyone who can pick a lock?"

"Normally, I'd be looking at you for something like this," she insisted. "But all things considered-"

"All things considered, I have no reason to want this. No motive," he finished for her. "And if I did this, then it would seem a bit counterproductive to try and get her out of the trouble I put her in."

"Right…"

"So then, the next question you must ask yourself is who does have a motive. Who would want to see an elementary school teacher put in prison for a murder she didn't commit?"

Emma sighed. "At the moment, the only person who would have that motive is Kathryn herself."

"A crime of passion…revenge."

"But seeing as how she's missing and Mary Margaret is here…"

"Well…" he smirked. "You do have your work cut out for you, it seems. I'll expect updates as you get them. It can only help your friend."

"That's what they all say."

"This time, it's true."

He spent the night in his shop. He couldn't bring himself to go home for more than an hour in the morning to bathe and change clothes. Everything that was happening was happening in town. And he wanted to be as close as possible for what was to come next.

That morning was supposed to be Mary Margaret's arraignment. He'd told her that it would happen yesterday unless new charges were brought against her. Last night, there had been new charges. Regina called him in the middle of the night. The glee that she felt was clear in her voice as she told him that the DNA results were a match for Kathryn. She was appreciative, thankful even, for his help in the plan. According to her, she'd left the skeleton key, as he'd instructed in Mary Margaret's cell. It was only a matter of time until she found it and ran. He'd smiled at her foolishness but was smart enough to let her hear it in his tone when he told her that it appeared she was about to get what she wanted. And so it was…it appeared Regina was about to win, which was sure to make her defeat that much sweeter.

Emma was informed of the charges that morning, Mary Margaret's arraignment was postponed until the following morning. Emma was taking on the task of informing his client, and so he hung back at the shop for the day, doing this and that, small tasks to keep himself busy. Polishing was always his go-to chore, even if it made him sad now that he had his memories back. He wished Belle could see him doing such work. His shop was always in disarray, but he knew that she'd be impressed she could pick up a cloth and do some form of polishing. He wondered if he'd like this version of him…Mr. Gold. If she were alive and got to work at the library, he wondered what their interactions would have been like.

It was a nice thought to have. It was a nice vacation for his head to take instead of thinking about everything he was plotting and planning now. It was crazy trying to pull this off without magic. Times like last night, he felt like it was getting to him. It was frustrating and terrifying. Worst of all, he felt like a coward for admitting it.

He heard the bell chime out in the main room, letting him know someone had wandered in. A moment later, he heard a familiar voice call out, "Mr. Gold? You in here?!"

He rolled his eyes at Emma Swan's footsteps and didn't bother to call out to her. Not only was it undignified to shout, but she didn't seem to have a problem going where she wanted to. She'd find him with or without invitation.

"Mr. Gold," Emma stated as he heard the curtain whip back.

"Just taking inventory," he explained, picking up…it was the genie lamp again that had found its way into his hands, making him shudder all over again. How was it Emma Swan always seemed to find him when he had it in his hands? He took a seat at the table he'd been polishing on, but he wasn't going to be so stupid as to not learn from his mistakes. He wouldn't polish it, not this time, perhaps just appearing as though he was appraising it until she left would work.

"What can I do for you, Miss Swan? Any developments in the case I should be aware of?"

"Yes," the girl breathed frantically. Was that a hint of frustration in her voice? "Regina set her up."

Excellent. "And this surprises you?" he questioned, trying to be careful not to smile or reveal any shock on his face at all. He didn't want to discourage her from going down this road. He wanted to encourage her. "Show me your evidence, and we'll get this over with immediately."

"Yeah, that's the thing," she breathed heavily, leaning against the desk herself. He knew that look, that haunted frustrated gaze. It was a woman who knew the truth but felt powerless. Good. That was motivation. "There isn't any. Anything that's court-worthy. But I know it now."

He smiled. So now she trusted him. Whether or not that trust was well placed for the future, it wasn't just a good thing but a necessary thing in this situation.

"Look who's suddenly become a woman of faith. Why are you here, Miss Swan? To spin conspiracy theories?"

"I need help."

He chuckled appropriately. "From me?"

"Every time I've gone up against Regina, I've lost. Except for once…when I became Sheriff, when you helped."

"As I recall, you don't exactly approve of my methods."

"I approve of your results. And this time, I have something more important than a job. I need to save my friend."

Excellent. Magic or not, he had her right where he wanted her, right where he needed her. This was almost as good as he knew it would feel on the day he finally had her standing before him, ready to kill a dragon for a potion. Almost, but not quite. They still had work to do before they were there yet. The question was how much work. "And you're willing to go as far as it takes?"

"Farther."

"Now we're talking," he smiled. Not much farther at all then. "Fear not, Miss Swan," he breathed, picking up a magnifying glass to examine the lamp closer for no reason at all. "Regina may be powerful, but something tells me you're more powerful than you know."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions for how to exercise that power because right now, everything seems pretty bleak. So…what do we do."

He sighed. "Now…now you do your job, and I'll do mine. Her arraignment will be tomorrow morning before the judge. Either one of us will find something useful, or…both of us will. Care to wish on it?" He offered the genie lamp to her on a whim, but as soon as he'd offered, he realized the danger of what he'd done.

Fortunately, Emma glanced down at the lamp with irritation as if she was upset that was all he had to offer and then turned to leave.

"Have you talked to Sidney lately?" he called out before she could make it through the curtain.

She stopped and turned back to him. "Sidney? Sidney Glass?"

"Well…he used to be Regina's right-hand man, an investigative journalist. It seems to me that if she were to trust anyone, it might be him. The pair of you parted on good terms, if I recall. Might not hurt to have a few allies."

Emma paused for a second as if to consider that fact. Then she let out a sigh and left his shop, not in aggression but determination. He smiled as he got up to put the lamp away and out of reach. He hadn't wished on anything, but if he had, it would have been for what had just happened.