#anyways. felt my art was getting flat so I wanted to spice things up a bit

[phmonster]

It is IMPERATIVE that you have gay sex on the clock!!

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.��

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[sexyshakespeare]

Sasuke comes home - Part 3: You’re special to me

“Man, that cockroach was huge..”, I muttered to myself. It was the third of the day. This kitchen sure was filthy. I had managed to clean out the cabinets under the sink and the sink itself. The stove was wiped down with soap and dried.The fridge needed some serious sponging. Thankfully, I had cleaning supplies in the closet. I was a very proper, clean kid once upon a time. Living in an underground cave and on the road for the rest of my life had shot a bullet through that side of me. I had temporarily started to live like a dirty vagabond because, a dirty vagabond I was.  But now, it was time to revel in wiping down refrigerator gunk. That’s depressing. I sighed woefully as I removed the shelves from the fridge and scrubbed them down with soap water. The whole process must have taken at least an hour to do. Should I have just gone and bought another fridge..  I observed my work of art, a little smirk showing on my lips. With a sense of finality, I reached over and turned on the power to the fridge. I had had the good sense to check the power first of course, and as expected, it hummed to life.  After a quick mop and wipe of the counters, I was ready to hit the market for groceries. I quickly washed up and headed to the village produce market.   Everywhere around me I saw supermarkets and convenience stores. There were a few obasan selling vegetables off to the side, but too few in comparison. I went into one supermarket, feeling strange.  I, Uchiha Sasuke was wheeling a trolley down the vegetables aisle looking for carrots. I felt several pairs of eyes on me as I picked out tomatoes. I got myself some potatoes while another lady busily picked some out too. She handed me a larger potato that she didn’t need in exchange for two small ones from my basket. It calmed me, this simple act, I don’t really know why.  When I was done with vegetables, I went to get myself some condiments and spices. Shoyu was a must, as was sweet vinegar. A little boy came running into the aisle. We both stood side by side looking at all the different spices in little bottles. We both looked on with awe. As he reached for the chilli, I picked it up and handed it to him. “Arigato Sasuke san!”, he yelled cheerfully and ran back the way he had come.  Does everybody know who I am? I got conscious suddenly and readjusted my bangs, making sure to cover up that weird eye. Well, my other eye was weird too put apparently not as weird. I really really really don’t want a kid coming up to me asking to see my Sharingan. I groaned slightly at the possibility and suddenly wished I had just asked one of Kakashi’s chunins to do the shopping. 

I wheeled my cart towards the cashier as fast as I could. As the young woman billed me she said, “Do you cook Sasuke-san?”, beaming at me as she did. I muttered quietly in the affirmative, pretending to be busy picking out the change from my wallet. I grabbed my bags and headed back towards my shitty little flat.  It was about 6 pm on a Saturday. The Saturday that Sakura would be coming over. And bringing things for the apartment. And having dinner with me. And..  My eyes widened with panic. She’s coming to my home. This was very poorly planned. What would we talk about. What happens after dinner, do I just ask her to leave? Will she leave on her own? Dinner guests tended to leave on their own, right? I couldn’t bear to ask her to leave. What if we just talked all night and she fell asleep here. How much would we even talk, that’s not possible. 

I started to wash and cut the vegetables. I had bought some duck as well at the poultry shop next door. I set about cutting off its head and draining the blood from the body. Before I went ahead, I put on an apron I had bought. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any other kinds of aprons at the combini. I felt like an idiot, but it didn’t matter right now. Kiss the shinobi cook would have to do. 

Ridiculous. Itachi used to make duck roast for us when our parents were away. It would take him exactly 3 hours during which he’d get all the sides done. I smiled at the fond memories flooding my mind. I left the skin on the potatoes and cut them the way he’d taught me to. I remembered cutting my pinky finger once while doing this chore. 

Niisan, make chocolate pudding now. Itte ittee. You have to make it now cause it’s my favourite. 

Sasuke! Did you cut yourself just so I’d make that. Seriously, you’re such a- 

Niiiisaaaaaan- 

With a large grin on my face, I started on the sauce. The cut vegetables were boiling. I put in shoyu, chilli powder and vinegar and let it simmer. The duck needed to be cut up, washed and basted. After about half an hour had passed, I put the readied duck breast and legs in the oven. I’d add in the vegetables after about an hour. While the duck cooked, I put some rice in the little steamer I had borrowed from Hinata. I’d fry it up with some ginger to flavour it, to go with the duck.  The clock showed 8 pm before long. The last leg of the preparations was in motion. The duck was sitting with its vegetables, the fatty juices bubbling and bathing them. I took out the duck pieces and put them in the fry pan to glaze with the now cooled sauce. The smells in the kitchen were making me mad with hunger. I contemplated eating a leg or two, nothing she would notice- but then settled for some cola from the fridge. 

At 8:45 pm, the duck, rice and miso soup were ready, sitting on the kitchen counter. I wiped down and brought out plates and chopsticks for us. Carefully, I set the plates down on the little table, the glasses for water, the chopsticks. I even bought napkins for us, the nice smooth velvety kind. I arranged the duck and rice on the table, leaving a bowl of miso each on either side. For a minute or two, I kept fidgeting with the duck breast, aligning it one way or the other. Taking a sharp breath in, I saw the time was 9:05 PM. As I stared at that dusty grey, rectangular clock on the wall I suddenly realized that I had forgotten dessert. Kussoo. I looked up at the ceiling in despair, wishing I had made that chocolate pudding. I would have loved to eat it after this tiring day.  Then I heard a knock on the door. My head snapped in its direction and I immediately walked towards it. Taking a deep breath, I wondered if I should open it with a smile, or if I ought to say something the second I opened it. There you are! or I hope you like duck! No, that would be stupid. Just open the fucking door.  I quietly opened the front door and saw an anxious faced Sakura standing before me. Her hair was put up in a little bun, little chunks of her hair fanning around it, loose strands falling to her neck. Her neck. She was wearing a dress, no sleeves. Her neck was very visible right now.  “Sasuke-kun?”

The color of her dress matched her eyes well, I thought. It was a jade green, her dress. Her neckline went lower than I’ve ever seen. 

“Sasuke-kun.. can I come in..?”  I suddenly snapped out of it and realized that I hadn’t said a word to her for a while now. I now noticed that she had bags on the floor next to her, with little frames and things sticking out. “OH- yeah. Sorry. Come in..”, I managed to say. She started to pick up her things, and I helped her. 

We carried the bags to the couch. “What’s all this?”, I asked her curiously. She beamed at me. “Why they’re for your apartment of course! You asked me to brighten up the place.. right?” 

I started to take out the things from their bags, smiling at them, when in fact I was smiling because she had remembered. Sakura looked embarrassed as I pulled out framed photos of cat after cat, all cartoons or paintings. “Um- it’s a sort of neko overload- sorry”, she said. I started smiling wider as I pulled out a shuriken shape. “Is this for the wall? To hang?”  She nodded gleefully. “I mean. We could have just hung up an old shuriken of yours, but I figured you’d rather use that in actual battle than put it on a wall...”, she explained in a quick breath. 

I found a bundle of cloth in one of the bags that I unfolded. “Oh- perfect. I needed curtains.” 

“You like them? I’m sorry, all they had were Sakura prints-”

I looked at her and smiled. “Red and black are some of my favourite colours-” I stood up and put the curtain against the window to show her. The little sakura flowers were red on a black background. She smiled at my reaction and pointed at the rest of the stuff, starting to apologize again. 

“I really love them. Thank you for getting them for me. The cats are- great. Really..”, I chuckled and tapped the cartoon of a chubby calico. She laughed too.  Then her gaze went to the table with the food on it. Her eyes swallowed in every detail it seemed, which made me nervous. She stood up slowly and turned to me. “You made all of that.. for tonight?”  I felt my cheeks burning and looked away from her eyes, “Yeah.. I hope it tastes good-” She was looking straight at me now. I couldn’t help but make eye contact. Her eyes sparkled as they trailed from my face to my chest. I felt extremely conscious all of a sudden, and also like my chest was ugly for some reason.  She was struggling not to laugh, but a little giggle escaped her pink lips anyway. “That’s a cute apron..”  I stared at her for a second or two, slowly processing what she was referring to. Her lips pulled in different directions as she bit them, to stop the laughter. Then it dawned on me. I quickly put my hands on my chest and scrunched up the cloth to hide it, blushing severely as I did. I started to remove the apron and tried my best to sound dignified, “The stupid shop didn’t have normal aprons so I had to take this silly fucking thing.”  “NO it’s-it’s really cute. Just.. doesn’t go with-you..”, Sakura giggled some more, some strands of hair falling over her face as she shook with laughter. I looked at her, wanting to touch her hair again, smiling at her laughing. There wasn’t a purer sound in the world than that.  “The food will get cold. Let’s eat.”, I said and pulled out a chair for her. I sat opposite her. “Itadakimasu”, we both said in unison and started on our soup. I served her some of the duck and rice with it. “OISHII! SASUKE-KUN! YOU COOK LIKE THIS? WHY HAVEN’T YOU EVER TOLD ME!”  I looked at her, surprised at her reaction. She tended to be loud. “Uh-Yeah I guess. I really haven’t cooked a lot in my life..”, I shrugged it off, not wanting to talk about myself too much. It was strange to be under the spotlight, even if it was a small spotlight between two people at dinner.  “It’s so good, I want to die!”, she said with her mouth full of rice. A grain or two fell out of her mouth and she patted at it with the napkin, looking embarrassed. That made me smile a little too much. She must have thought I was laughing at her. I really hope she didn’t think that.  As we ate our meal, I was panicking slightly. I didn’t know what to talk about. Small dinner banter was really not my thing. I looked up at her from time to time to gauge her mood. She seemed to be in a pleasant mood, but I couldn’t read anything else. She also looked up at me from time to time and smiled. All the things I ought to be saying and all the things I could be saying were flashing through my mind. Instead my eyes strayed to her neckline again. 

In an instant, Sakura’s napkin fell off the side of the table. I was about to pick it up when she stopped me and proceeded to do so herself. That’s when I saw her leg come out of a slit in her dress. I could not for the life of me pull my eyes away. Oh God, you’re being creepy. At least say something while you check her out. Don’t just stare.  I really could not be bothered to come up with something to say at the moment. I could barely manage to chew my food straight. Sakura straightened up and continued to eat. She looked so beautiful in that dress and I hadn’t even worn a nice shirt for the occasion. 

She really did look beautiful. It was a strange feeling, to notice that in a woman. I had noticed it about her before, but this was different. This was very pointedly about her appearance. 

My thoughts went back to when Karin used to dress provocatively around me. That couldn’t have just been coincidence like I had imagined then. She had made some advances too. But it hadn’t fazed me in the least. It was so strange, the difference- how I had felt nothing biting into that woman’s neck, and how I felt just looking at Sakura’s neck right now.  I felt so horrible for looking so much, she had no idea even. It was plain wrong. I forced myself to stare at my empty plate instead. She’s an attractive woman. Sure. She knows that. We all know that in Konoha. You just noticed. That’s nothing to be announced.  I looked away from the table, to one bag that we hadn’t opened. And then I remembered something to say, though I said it unhappily. “I forgot to make dessert-” My voice resounded in a disappointed way.  “Oh I’m so glad! I brought us some flavoured mochi.”, she smiled at me. “It’s my favourite kind, strawberry. I wanted you to try some, my mom makes them.”  I stood up and started to clear her plate. “Sakura isn’t your favourite flavour?”, I smiled back at her. She made a face, “No- sakura mochi is just weird.” She began to help with the dishes. We put them in the sink one by one.  “Well- I like how sakura tastes”, I said unwittingly. Sakura started to go red standing next to me. I don’t think I go red when I’m flustered, but I started to sweat. 

Why are you such a goof. Change the fucking subject, NOW. 

My eyes moved to the unopened paper bag sitting on the couch once again. “What’s in that? Something else for the house?” She looked relieved that I had broken the tension. “The mochi is in there- oh and a little present for you.”  I looked at her perplexed. “Wasn’t all of that enough of a present-”, I laughed.  When we were done with the dishes, we sat on the couch and she brought out the home-made mochi for us. She also pulled out a bottle of sake with a pink ribbon tied around the neck. “Thought you might like this. It’s a nice flavour..”, she placed the bottle on the table.  I chewed on the sticky mochi with delight. It was yummy stuff. “It’s really nice Sakura.” Her legs poked out from the slits in her dress slightly, taking up a large chunk of my attention span. They seemed to be looming up at me. I quietly ate my mochi, trying not to look too hard. 

She adjusted herself a bit to hide them. I felt like screaming. I made her conscious about it because I was staring. What is wrong with me. I’ve seen women before. Why am I behaving like a 13 year old.  The tension between us was very palpable now. She was clearly uncomfortable, probably regretting the whole thing already. I eyed the sake and immediately said, “Why don’t we open that now- that’s a good idea.”  Sakura protested politely, “You don’t have to Sasuke-kun. It’s for you-” I grabbed the bottle and went to find glasses for us. “When am I going to drink something alone anyway..” I found glasses, and washed them a bit, before bringing them to her.  “Well okay. If you’re sure.. I’ll have some-”, she gave in a little too fast. I looked at her suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you drink like Tsunade does now..”, I teased her. She rushed to defend herself, “NO- she doesn’t drink all that much anymore. She’s treated me now and then after a hard week of work that’s all!” I laughed a little and poured for us. “You don’t have to explain all that to me- I’m not judging.”, I clinked my glass with her’s and drained it down my throat in one go. She blinked at me in surprise. “Sasuke-kun, when did you start drinking like that?” I poured some more for myself, thinking back to the days travelling in Hebi. I was so sour all the time, I found that downing a few glasses of sake would help with my mood. I’d stop with that much, cause it was just enough for me to not snap at everyone around me, but not too much that I’d let Karin snuggle up to me and not move.  I downed another glass. “Ah it’s just for the nerves.”  “Why are you nervous?”, she sipped at her glass. She was clearly holding herself back, I could tell. 

I sat very still for some time, thinking about what I could say next. As I sipped my third little glass of sake, I looked at her. “You really drink that slowly? Or are you just trying to be appropriate. Wait-am I being inappropriate? Drinking with you like this?”, the questions kept piling up in my head and I kept vomiting them out with abandon.  She smiled at me slowly. “Well Sasuke-kun, I happen to know that this sake is stronger than the kind I usually take. It’s a special variety.”  I thought back to the sake I used to drink. It was some awful cheap kind that we found in little stores on our travels. It didn’t taste half as good as this did.  “OH-OH I see..”, I exclaimed. I considered being quiet for the rest of the night, but it just didn’t seem to work, my plan.  She sipped some more and crossed one leg over the other. She looked very strong and poised at the moment, leaning back. I turned on my side to face her. My head resting on my hand, I looked at her. 

She began to speak,“Thank you for making this meal for us. You really didn’t have to.. You could’ve ordered in or even made cup ramen for us-”  ”Hey-Hey, I’d never make fucking cup ramen for you the first time you came over...”, I frowned at her, my eyes narrowing. I started to laugh. “I’d make cup ramen for that doggy guy- Kiba or someone if they suddenly came over one night-” She started smiling and biting her lip.  ”Sakura- you’re special. I’d only ever cook a proper meal for you if you came over”, I said to her face. Her eyes fixed on mine, her lips parted slightly. I felt very conscious suddenly and tried to make light of what I had said. “You know that! You’re- you’re a member of team Kakashi- we’ve gone through so much together...” My voice trailed off and my eyes struggled to find a place to rest that wasn’t her eyes or her neck. Her hair seemed to suffice for now. I looked at her hair, the little jade stone comb she had fixed in place, the etching of a flower on the stone...  ”Sasuke-kun...”  A thought occurred to me, a rather scary thought. Before I could process it, I decided to tell her because it was worth sharing. It really was a scary thought. I looked at her alarmed, “I mean, Naruto is a part of team Kakashi too but I don’t mean him. I mean he’s special and all that but that’s not what I meant-”  ”Sasuke-kun!”, Sakura raised her voice a little. My mind snapped to attention. Seeing that, she smiled widely. Then her smile faded until just a little smirk remained on her pink lips. Her eyes lowered as she said, “I’d really love that... you cooking for me, the way you did tonight-”  That look on her face was driving me crazy. I felt like I’d cook every single meal in the day for her just to have her look like that when she talks about it. I’d pack her a bento when she went to the hospital, and she’d look like that when she opens it.  I gulped slowly, the sound of my heart was filling the room. Please don’t hear this. I sipped some more of the sake, trying to calm down. I felt foolish. I was praying she brings up a topic, something we could talk about it and not just have extreme blushy reactions to.  “Where did you even learn to cook so well?”, she asked excitedly. I smiled at her and looked up at the ceiling to remember. “Ah I’ve learnt since I was 5 probably-” I looked back at her face and continued. “Itachi used to cook for us as kids. He was so good at all of this, he was a freaking genius!”, I smiled really wide, my teeth showing. I tried to hide them by pursing my lips, but my eyes glimmered with the memories of a past life. “He would make excuses to our parents, say that he used up all his pocket money- and get more to buy expensive ingredients. Then when they were out, he’d try new recipes and have me taste them.”  I put my legs up on the couch and hugged them to my chest, my eyes glazing over. “He made me the best chocolate pudding ever, every time I’d fall or scrape a knee-” Sakura moved closer to me, and put her legs up on the couch too. I looked at her, she had her chin in her hands, her hands resting on her knees. “EHH really? That’s amazing. What a great niisan-”, she said, her eyes sparkling.  She totally knew I was drunk now. But she didn’t seem to notice. She didn’t care. Sakura just listened to me with her beautiful green eyes pouring over my face, her pink hair bobbing around every time she laughed, her lips always stretching into a smile at just the right moments.  I stopped thinking about what I was saying now. I just talked and talked and talked. I felt like I was 6 years old. “Niisan used to lie to me, saying that he’d teach me the shuriken- but he never did. He just lied to me all the time-”, I said frowning slightly, taking another swig of the sake.  Sakura took the bottle from me and took a small swig too. Her speech was slurring slightly. “Awww- little Sasuke-kun must have annoyed him wanting shuriken practice all the time! You can’t blame him!”  I turned to her feeling indignant. “Well- I didn’t need him. I learnt on my own-” She laughed loudly at me and put her hands on my lap, “Gomen! Gomen! I didn’t mean it like that- awww look at your face-”  I didn’t know what she was talking about. I felt like I ought to be annoyed with her, stop this game right now.  But I couldn’t. I could not stop wanting to play this game where she laughed at me and her giggling was uncontrolled. Her hair was almost all out of her bun now, strands of pink getting in her eyes.  She kept struggling to take the hair out of her eyes, and then going back to laughing. I leaned forward a bit and carefully parted her hair, removing it from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. 

Sakura stopped laughing. She gulped visibly, and stared at my face like a cornered animal would its hunter. “What-”, I whispered. “I’m not going to eat you-”, I whispered again. She smiled and then chuckled. “Oh- I know that-”  I was very close to her now, her smell strong and intoxicating. I went a little quiet now, trying to gather my thoughts. I felt like it had to be said. I touched her face with my fingers lightly, trailing away. “Thank you for coming tonight..”, I said slowly. I frowned slightly, the memory of bad times filling my head, “I haven’t laughed like this since my parents died...”  She looked at me carefully, seriously. She took my hand and squeezed it with both of hers. Her eyes looked sad, as she nodded slightly at me in understanding. “I want nothing more than to do this for you, any time you want..”, she said to me.  I really wanted to lean in to her lips. I really wanted to hold her face in my hands and part her lips with mine... smell her...bite her. My eyes widened a little, I took a sharp breath, trying to knock out that thought from my head. I can’t bite her- get it together man. I pulled away slightly, ashamed. She seemed to come out of her dream-like state too. She was conscious of her bare legs uncovered now from the slits in her dress. I can’t believe I had actually missed that before. Well, they had my full attention now, and it was uncomfortable to say the least. 

I cleared my throat, and looked at the time. It was half past 2 am. She followed my lead and exclaimed in alarm, “OH MY- is that really the time? It is late- we should head to bed Sasuke-kun...”  I exhaled slowly as we made awkward eye contact. “I mean- my bed- our beds- our s-separate beds-”, she sputtered. I interrupted her, her panic infecting me as well, “Yeah- of course- you’ll be fine getting home? You won’t get lost or anything? It’s dark and you’re- inebriated...”  “Yeah- I’ll be fine. And besides, you’re inebriated too, probably more than I am-” , she giggled at me again. I was starting to absolutely love that giggle. I shrugged, “You know what you’re doing. Sakura-senpai, I have a lot to learn from you-” That little quip made her blush, as expected. I smirked a little at my sly manipulative skills. 

She stood up with me and instantly toppled onto me. I lifted her up, being careful not to let my hands or my eyes linger. I felt awful for enjoying that clumsy exchange as much as I did. She had no idea...  Sakura took the comb out of her hair. Her shoulder-length pink hair, though wild and pretty was now covering up her neck. I was saddened. She made her way to the front door, turned around and beamed. “Oyasuminasai Sasuke-kun!”, she shouted. I cringed and shushed her. “Oyasuminasai Sasuke-kun!”,she repeated but in a forceful whisper now. I chuckled at her and returned the phrase, “Oyasumi.” 

She tiptoed down the stairs of the quiet building and out on to the street. I watched her walk pretty straight for most of the way, till I could not see her anymore. Then, I went inside and threw myself on my bed.  I didn’t want to think about what this night would mean tomorrow. I just knew that I still really wanted to kiss her, really hard. I smiled to myself. How had she known exactly what to say.. My head was filled with images of her laughing as I fell asleep. 

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 1

Warnings: Language

I will be posting this every other week, let me know if you would like to be tagged. Gets a read more for length.

Present

Iloa sat with her back against the closed door. How had she gotten here? She could remember how she had met him, the Horned God from Asgard.

Some time ago

Iloa was sitting in Stark Tower, eating breakfast with Thor and Natasha, she was the newest recruit to the Avengers, having the ability to influence people with her singing voice. Her song could be lethal or it could simply stun, but it could also heal. Steve had started calling her Siren, and the name had stuck.

Now that she had an Avenger name, Tony had taken to giving her different nicknames. Mostly comments about how small she was. With her standing at just five feet, it was easy for him to come up with a plethora of options to choose from.

Suddenly, Steve had stormed into the kitchen ranting, “Why are you allowing him to stay here? Of all the horrible ideas in the world, this has to be the worst!”

Tony, who was following close behind countered, “No it is the best idea, first of all because it was mine and secondly because we can keep an eye on him. He seems to have changed, I would like to keep it that way.”

Steve ungraciously crossed his muscular arms across his broad chest, “I still don't think it's a good idea,” he grumbled.

Thor was the first to speak up from their little group, “I am sorry, who will be staying here?” he asked, scrapping the last bit of his eggs from his plate.

Tony sashayed up to the table, as if nothing at all was happening. He grabbed a box of cereal from the table and made like he was reading the ingredients before he said, “Oh didn't I tell you Point Break, your brother Reindeer games is coming for a visit.”

Iloa nearly chocked on her mouth full of cheerios, and coughed several times before croaking out, “Loki, is coming here?!” Her ruby red hair falling into her face.

“Why yes, Teeny, as a matter-of-fact, he is,” his ostentatious grin, flashing across his face had Iloa scowling.

Natasha gently patted her on the back a few times, before turning on Tony, “Why would you do that Tony? We already have one wild card to deal with why would you throw a second into our hands?”

The wild card she was referring to was of course Banner. Banner had recently become incapable of controlling the Hulk when he emerged. To the point that he was becoming increasingly dangerous to be around and often stayed locked in his lab.

“Well, you see, my dear,” Tony began, not looking up from the box in his hand. “If he is here, then he isn't in enemy hands and I can keep him on lock down if need be. Right, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ?” He said the last, glancing up and calling to the AI.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” The computer generated voice announced matter-of-factually.

Iloa rolled her eyes at them both, refocusing on her cereal as the conversation continued.

Natasha shook her head, “I agree with Steve, I don't think this is a good idea, Tony,” her voice low with a dangerously thin edge.

“This would be why I didn't ask you,” Tony glanced at Natasha with a smug smirk.

Thor broke into a full face grin, “I think it's a wonderful idea!” His voice boomed joyously, “When will he be here?”

Tony turned toward Thor, setting the box back on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. But when his mouth opened, it wasn't his voice that was heard.

“I am already here, brother.”

Iloa glanced up at the open door, behind a still brooding Steve. The slender figure of the God of Mischief, stood in the shadows. She could see his smirk even with the darkness keeping most of his features hidden. His green and black leather clothing catching the light and throwing it back away from him. She had never met him, but had heard enough about him to know she should be weary and on guard.

Thor bounded from his chair, moving to his brother and patting him warmly on the back. “Welcome, brother,” Thor smiled at Loki.

Shifting slightly, the light casting more across his face, Iloa could see the lines of his face smooth and form into a genuine smile as he looked over at Thor, “Thank you.”

Iloa could feel her heart kick up a notch. She glanced away not understanding the reaction. Out of the corner of her eye she watched, as Thor led Loki toward the table to the seat that was next to him. Which just so happened to be next to her as well.

He sat, his arm brushing against hers and electricity burned up her arm at the contact. She jerked her body away, snapping her eyes to his. He was staring back at her with what had to be the mirrored reflection of her confused features. Did he feel it too? She wondered. The smell of spice, ink, old parchment and leather, overwhelmed her senses and warmed her blood. He smelled deliciously masculine.

Thor fussed over him for a bit, asking if he had eaten. He didn't seem to notice the arc of tension suddenly flowing between the two strangers. When she finally pulled her eyes from his, glancing unassumingly around the room, she realized that no one had seemed to notice. Until her eyes reached Natasha that is, who was giving her a dreary smirk.

Not sure what this was and not particularly wanting to think to hard on it, she grabbed her now empty bowl depositing it in the sink before heading out of the kitchen for her rooms. Reaching the doorway, an unexplained pull had her glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes drawn to Loki, he was still staring at her, his emerald eyes glowing. A knot formed in her throat, a blush threatening her cheeks as heat rose in her veins. She was about to turn away, when his lips quirked into a playful grin. She watched him wink at her, unbeknownst to anyone else. The blush came in full force, heating her entire body. Whirling on her heel, she stormed off to her rooms unsure what had caused her body to react in this manner.

Present

That had been about two months ago, she thought sitting on the cold floor just inside her bedroom.

Afterwards, there had been little contact between them. But when she had seen him, the same electric arc connected them. Fire ran through her veins when they brushed past each other, and as much as she tried to avoid it, sometimes contact was inevitable.

They had yet to speak to each other, until tonight.

A few hours ago

Iloa had intended to go to dinner after many hours in the training center. She practiced martial arts and with Kunai, as well as honing her singing skills. Cause lets face it, sometimes things happened and she couldn't use her voice as a weapon.

Natasha had sparred with her, and it had been a brutal training. She was tired, sweaty, her sports bra and leggings clinging to her uncomfortably. Even if she wasn't human, she had limits. So when she rounded a corner, her head hung low from exhaustion, she didn't see him and couldn't avoided the contact.

Running full force into Loki's hard chest, she was startled and gasped loudly. Both from the contact and the electricity and heat that ran through her veins.

She would have found herself falling flat on her ass, if not for the hand that shot out to grip her arm and steady her. But the action didn't stop there, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his other arm around her bare waist. Her hands shot up to his chest, that electricity tingling across her fingers and the places his hands touched her skin. The familiar spice and leather scent of him, was joined by another. . . was that magic. It smelled very close to her own, but not quite the same. And yet it still wrapped it's self up in her veins, comfortingly.

“Are you alright?” His voice low with concern.

She didn't want to make eye contact, terrified of being caught up in those eyes. It was unavoidable, her manners not allowing her to skip out on thanking him for keeping her upright. Craning her neck back and pulling her steely blues up to his electric greens, she fought to find the breath to form words. He was so tall. The sharp lines of his face, were a thing of perfection. Her naturally curly, ruby locks fell away from her face, tickling her bare shoulders, she shivered. She knew that it hadn't been her hair that was causing the reaction. Instead, the overwhelmingly obvious worry that shone from his eyes and wrinkled that sharp brow. Her mind fumbling for words, she pushed away from his chest putting some distance between there bodies.

Allowing her head to dip, her hair fell long over the front of her face. But try as she might she couldn't break eye contact with him, couldn't ask him to remove his hands from her, though she knew she should.

Finally, her brain kicked in, noticing how short his breathing had become, “I'm fine. Thank you.”

His eyes instantly changed from concerned to callous, masking any further emotion. He let his hands fall reluctantly from her, his fingertips lingering on her skin until they fell away to his sides. Clearing his throat, his entire demeanor changed. Instead of the concerned gentleman that had saved her from making a fool of herself, she watched as an animal suddenly stood before her.

“You should watch where you are going, mortal,” he growled, exposing his perfect set of white teeth. He took a step back, crossing his arms roughly across his chest. “You could have been hurt.” Though it didn't show in his features, a thread of concern laced that last sentence.

Iloa felt cold at the absence of his earlier warmth, and the tone he was taking with her just made her furious. She didn't deserve this treatment. Sure she had been distracted and had barreled into him. But it was an accident and not something he should be so angry about. Unless it isn't about the collision at all? Her brain coughed up.

She took a step back as well, mirroring his arms and cocking her hip to the side. “It was an accident, Loki,” she spit, lacing each word with venom. “Be happy I didn't scream at being startled, I could have killed you.” He scoffed at her until she added, “It's not like I ran into you on purpose, anyway.”

His features shifted again. If she hadn't been staring so hard at him she would have missed the shook that registered there, before turning devilish. He grinned, impossibly wide and a shiver ran up her spine. His eyes flashed lime green for an instant and she knew it as his seiðr. He chuckled, as he leaned forward, bringing his face almost level with her own. “Didn't you?” He dared, seductively.

She suddenly felt how small she was with him looming over her. She had been short her entire life, but she had never been made to feel like this. It poured gasoline on the fiery anger raging inside her. Dropping her arms, she leaned toward that demeaning gaze, “Trust me, Loki,” she kept her voice low and sultry, “If I had wanted your attention, I would have it.”

He blinked in surprise, and she got the distinct feeling that no one spoke up to him like this. Pushing it a step further, she slowly took the two steps toward him. Swishing her hips daringly and licking her lips. She watched him raise back up to his full height, at her approach. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes darted across her body curiously. She lifted a hand, starting at his shoulder she drug it across his chest as she moved around him. Stilling to stand next to him, her hand pressed firmly against his peck, she lifted her gaze to his, “And you would know it,” she added, feeling the muscle tense beneath her hand, though his face still betrayed no emotions. Letting her hand fall quickly away, she walked off down the hall. A gratifying smile gracing her lips, when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

Just as she was about to reach the next corner, she heard a new voice thunder down the hall, “Are you alright, brother?” Thor's unmistakable timber reached her ears.

“I like her,” Loki's voice answered, as she rounded the corner and broke out into a sprint.

Present

So here she sat, out of breath, wondering over the interaction. Her hunger and exhaustion, temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. Did he feel the same electricity and heat that had her heart racing? She guessed she could probably just ask him. But what if he didn't.

He had said he liked her, but that could mean any number of things. Was she seriously even considering these feelings he was stirring in her.

Yes. Yes she was.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She stood, squaring her shoulders with a new sense of resolve. If she didn't want to be embarrassed, she just needed to get him to tell her on his own. Certainly, she could come up with some way to influence him.

Grinning, she ripped the sports bra, leggings, and underwear off her body. Leaving them in her wake, walking naked to the shower.

Humming a new tune.

[nebulous-frog]

Danuts Donut Shop

Summary: Phil kept visiting Danuts Donut Shop because the donuts were divine. Yeah, that was totally the reason. 

It had nothing to do with the very cute and very flirty pastel cashier who always seemed to be working, not at all.

Word count: 2101

Rating: G

Warnings: Some swearing

Genre: Extreme Fluff

Author’s Note: Written for Day 4 of @phanfichallenge​‘s week of fics and as my contribution to the Trope Challenge!

Now with ART!! Thank you to the fabulous @pasteldnp for this edit!!

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

Sugar. Phil needed sugar.

Not for baking, god knows he’d burn down the whole block if he tried that, but he needed to eat something sugary and he needed it now.

Phil had just moved to the area a few days ago, so he didn’t really know any good places to go for something sweet. He pulled out his phone and asked Siri for some help and decided on a place that sounded interesting: “Danuts Donut Shop”.

It was only a few minutes away from his flat, so Phil decided to walk. It was a nice day, anyway, not too hot or cold and not raining for once.

When Phil arrived, he opened the door to be smacked in the face with the mind-numbing scent of fresh-made donuts. He inhaled deeply through his nose, lingering in the doorway.

“Hi, welcome to Danuts Donut Shop! What can I get for you?” a chipper voice asked.

Phil jumped, having gotten caught up in the delicious smell, and walked fully into the store.

“Um, well, I was looking for some donuts.”

“And you came to a donut shop? Crazy,” the young man manning the front counter said teasingly.

“I-uh- um- yeah?” Phil stuttered. He was still a little off-balance and he was always awkward, so he was quickly deciding to never come back here again. He finally looked up at the counter to see the cashier, who was wearing an oversized pastel pink jumper and white skinny jeans with a pink flower crown delicately placed on top of an organized mop of curls. In that moment, Phil realized he was done for. This man was this amazing combination of adorable and flirty that had Phil absolutely swooning.

“So, what donut would you like?”

Phil stumbled towards the donut counter and perused the options. There were so many flavors and sizes that he was a little overwhelmed.

Maybe I’ll have to come back and try some more later, he thought. But which should I pick first? Classic glazed? Bear claw? Oooh, but pumpkin spice is always delicious…

He glanced back up at the cashier, and gave him a small smile.

“Pumpkin spice?”

The cashier bent over reached into the case to take out the donut.

“Alright. Just the one?” he asked as he stood up straight.

“Well, yeah, I guess?” Phil replied unsurely. He really only needed one, but the other donuts were really tempting and Phil could feel his willpower threatening to crumble.

“Not, maybe, a glazed? Jelly-filled?” the man drawled, staring intently at Phil and licking his lips. His eyes drifted over Phil’s awkwardly tall form. “Boston cream?”

Phil blushed and coughed a bit, breaking eye contact for a moment. “Um- no. Haha, just the pumpkin spice.” He tentatively looked back up at the cashier again.

“Sure thing, love,” the cashier replied with a wink and a smirk.

Unsure of how to respond, Phil just pretended he hadn’t heard, although he was sure he was blushing heavily by now. He pulled out his wallet as the pastel cashier put his pumpkin spice donut in a bag for him to take home.

As they exchanged money for donut, the man winked again. “Come back anytime, sugar.”

Phil spluttered, extremely flustered, and nodded. He quickly turned around and walked to the door, desperate to leave his own awkwardness behind with that extremely attractive cashi-

“Oof!” Phil exclaimed. He had walked directly into the doorframe. Run. Now. Escape. You’ll have time to be embarrassed later, Phil, r u n!

Sheepishly, Phil backed up and opened the door properly this time, with a background of the cashier’s laugh effectively pushing him out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next week, the donut shop (and its cute cashier) were all Phil could think of.

The pumpkin spice donut had been amazing, tasting like a food version of the pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, and Phil wanted to try some of the other flavors to see if they could be anywhere near as good.

But Phil also was a little afraid of returning.

The cashier had been so cute and Phil had made an absolute fool of himself the first time he went for donuts. He couldn’t go back anytime soon because he was too ashamed.

But that donut had been so good.

Phil finally decided that the donut had been too delicious for him to stay away. Maybe if he went on a different day of the week than last time, the cashier from the other day wouldn’t be there.

Hopefully.

So Phil found himself walking into the donut shop again a week and a half after his first visit.

As soon as he walked in the door, he regretted his decision.

The cute cashier from the other day was working again, but he looked somehow even more adorable today.

His hair was somehow extra curly, held back from his face by a pin with a big lavender-tinted flower stuck to it. His jumper was also lavender and looked so soft and delicately fuzzy that Phil just wanted to rest his head on it like a pillow. The cashier wore light wash dungarees over the jumper with one strap hanging off his shoulder.

He also had a nametag on, which Phil had not noticed the first time he came in. “Cute Cashier” was apparently called Dan.

Wait. Maybe he owns the shop, if it’s “Danuts”. No wonder he’s here again.

Phil was lucky there was someone already at the counter, otherwise the cashier- Dan- would’ve seen Phil sending him the biggest heart-eyes of all time (he also might have been drooling slightly, but nobody else needed to know that).

He was just about to turn and run out of the shop when Dan spoke up.

“Welcome back, sugar! What can I get for you today?”

Damn, Phil thought. I missed my chance to run.

The other customer brushed past Phil and left the store as Phil trudged up to the counter, a nervous smile rising on his face.

“Um, hi again.”

Dan’s lips twitched up in a smirk. “Were you going to get a donut, or just keep staring at me?”

Phil blushed violently. “I- uh- donut?”

The other man laughed. Phil never wanted the sound to end.

“Which one would you like?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter and chin in his hand.

Phil’s heart thumped heavily at the image.

It should be illegal for one man to look this cute and be this confident and be in control of such delicious pastries. It’s just unfair.

He looked into the case again.

The coconut one looks really good, but so does the chocolate sprinkles, and the powdered sugar, and the glazed… I can’t just get all of them, so which do I pick?

After about a minute of silence, the cute cashier spoke up again.

“Do you need some help deciding?”

Phil startled, having gotten so wrapped up in his internal donut discourse that he forgot he wasn’t alone.

He sheepishly made eye contact with the cashier, who had a glint of amusement in his eye.

“Uh, yeah. They all look so good that I’m not quite sure which one to try first.”

“Well,” Dan began, “they certainly are good. And that’s not just a shop owner’s bias, it is a fact that several critics have shared.

“My personal favorite is the double chocolate pistachio donut, but, if nuts aren’t your thing, the strawberry frosted with sprinkles is a close second.” As he spoke, he pointed at each donut in the case.

Phil pondered for a moment, then nodded. “Double chocolate pistachio sounds great.”

Dan grinned. ”Coming right up, sugar.”

He winked, then bent down to take the donut out of the case.

A few minutes later, Phil was leaving, dignity mostly intact.

When he got home and tried the donut, he moaned.

He has damn good taste. I need to go back.

Every day for the next week, Phil found an excuse to stop in at Danuts Donut Shop. Sometimes it was as a reward for completing a chore or making a phone call, once it was because he “forgot” he finished off his cereal and needed breakfast, and once was because he won Fortnite for the first time.

Really, all the excuses were complete bullshit. By day three, he wasn’t just returning for the donuts, he was also looking to talk to Dan.

Dan had really taken over Phil’s thoughts. Phil was always thinking about how amazing Dan looked with a flower in his hair, or in his oversized jumpers, or when he teased Phil. Dan always found a way to get Phil flustered, and Phil loved it. He never knew how to respond, but he couldn’t get enough of Dan’s flirty winks, cocky smiles, and sarcastic comments.

As the week progressed, Phil’s attraction to Dan developed into an obvious crush. Phil learned what times were the slowest for the donut shop and would spend as much time talking to Dan as he could handle before he inevitably felt too flustered to stay and Dan laughed him out of the store.

At the end of the week, Dan finally commented on Phil’s frequent visits.

Phil had just paid for his classic glazed donut when Dan leaned forward, resting his forearms across the counter.

He looked intently at Phil, his signature smirk on his face. “So, Phil. You’ve been in my shop every day this week, for one random reason or another. Would you care to tell me the real reasons?”

Phil’s eyes widened.

No, I would not care to tell you about my absolutely hopeless crush on you, thanks.

“I- I just really like donuts?” he squeaked. “All the excuses were just to cover up my sugar addiction.”

Dan blinked, smirk melting into a fond smile that had Phil struggling not to swoon.

“Of course. Your completely obvious sugar addiction.”

Dan shot Phil a smug expression that had Phil thinking that maybe he isn’t talking about sugar and maybe he knows I like him.

Phil decided it was best to simply shrug and remain silent, a weak smile on his face.

Dan rolled his eyes. The fond smile returned, and he stood up straight to grab Phil’s receipt and a pen. He scribbled something on it, then handed it to Phil.

“Since you’re really pretty terrible at this, here. Text me.”

Phil took the slip of paper and looked at it to see a phone number and Dan’s name. He looked back up at Dan and was shocked to see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

He began to laugh lightly. “I am really terrible at this, aren’t I?”

Dan nodded. “Truly awful,” he said while trying to contain his smile. “But it’s okay, you make up for it with that cute blush when you’re flustered.”

Phil blushed, but he was beaming. Dan’s compliment gave him the confidence to give one of his own.

“I can’t help it when I’m talking to such an adorable donut shop owner,” Phil said. He delighted in the way Dan’s face lit up with his smile and a deeper blush.

Dan looked like he was about to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of the bells tinkling on the door as someone entered.

“Welcome to Danuts Donut Shop!” he called to them.

The customer nodded a greeting and moved to look at the donuts.

Dan turned back to Phil for a moment. “I have to cut this conversation short, unfortunately, but maybe we can pick it back up over a coffee sometime?”

Phil grinned and nodded.

“Great,” Dan said. “You have my number now, so text me for details, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phil replied, turning to leave the shop.

“Oh, and Phil?” Dan

Phil paused and turned back to see Dan’s smirk back on his face. Phil raised an eyebrow in question.

“I look forward to hearing more about how adorable you think I am, sugar.” Dan winked, and Phil felt his face heat up again.

He giggled a little, then quickly turned and walked towards the door, eager to leave so he could text Dan and replay the whole conversation over in his mind while eating his latest donut.

I have a date with the cute cashier, oh my go-

Just like the first time Phil had ever visited Danuts Donut Shop, he walked straight into the doorframe and bounced off with an “oof”.

And just like at the end of his first visit, Phil fled in embarrassment to the melodic tones of Dan’s cackling.

This time, however, Phil definitely would not be afraid to return.

[starsgivemehp]

Tag’s Multiverse - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Tea Party

Word count: 2,266

Warnings: none (I think?)

Characters: Vega (Classic Sans), Alka (Alterfell Sans)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101227

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

- - - - - - - - - -

The door made a soft chiming sound, and the sweet, homey fragrance of various teas washed over Vega. He glanced around, his hands easily slipping into the pockets of his parka. Assorted boxes and jars of tea were neatly stacked, arranged by type. A few places had tea pots on little burners, and samples of certain more popular teas on display for testing. Behind the counter sat a skeleton monster, much like Vega himself, his back perfectly straight. He looked to be dressed in a robe of some sort, the hood and sleeves red, arms tucked into the opposite sleeves. He seemed harsher in appearance, teeth sharp, one glinting gold. There was a lateral crack down his right socket, splitting and tapering underneath. Though Vega’s own face was unmarred, his teeth flat and harmless, he wasn’t surprised. The sharper skeletons had a big district, but not all of them chose to stay there.

The sharp skeleton’s eyelights were a muddy sort of cerulean, and that told Vega plenty about the kind of person he was already. He shuffled up to the counter, noting that the shopkeep’s pupils never left him. Was that wariness, or just interest in the only current customer? The harsher monsters tended to be jumpy. And yet, this one’s posture was relaxed. ‘alka,’ the nametag on his chest dubbed him, in a familiar, all-lowercase font.

“golden flower is on your right,” Alka informed him, his voice deep, almost husky, with a touch of that drawly accent his type had. A much clearer cerulean poured from the words, and Vega couldn’t help but grin. Familiar endless patience.

“actually, i wasn’t looking for golden flower.”

“oh.” His brow raised slightly. “my apologies, most skeletons coming in here have quite a fondness for it. how can i help you, then?”

Despite the light drawl, his words had a deliberate quality about them, a more formal speech pattern than younger monsters (and humans) bothered with. This guy had to be several centuries old. Vega must have worn his amusement on his face, because the man’s sockets narrowed after a moment.

“how can i help you?” he repeated, and Vega watched the perfect cerulean of the words darken, even take on a faint hint of muddy green.

“heh heh. sorry, just remembered something funny. yeah, i’m actually looking for a kind of tea to wake me up, not put me to sleep.”

“oh. coffee not to your tastes?”

“nah. too bitter.”

“right.”

The other skeleton got up and came around the counter, and Vega could see the rest of his appearance. The robe was long enough to cover his feet, tied with rope at the waist. He was only a few inches taller than Vega, which was unusual - the softer skeleton stood at a pretty 4’6”. Even as Alka reached out to switch on a burner, his hand never became visible. Vega couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to an injury - it always seemed to be something like that.

“you’ll want black tea, for the caffeine. i take it you don’t like flowery shit?”

The casual swear even in such a formal conversation… Vega could just hear the chiding “LANGUAGE!” Solstice would chirp. He tried not to snort at the imagery.

“um, not really.”

“not fruity either?”

“nah.”

“mm. i have a few you can try. but it’ll take a bit for them to steep. you’ll have to be patient.”

Vega grinned wide, lifting his chin up with a gleam of amusement in his gaze.

“no worries there, pal. i’m always patient, heh heh.”

“you say that like it’s a joke, somehow.”

There again, Alka’s brow rose a little. Vega shrugged, closing one eye to look down at the teapot slowly getting heated up. Black, stone of some sort. Very fancy and professional. Clearly, this guy was no pushover about this stuff. Funny, how… no. Say that out loud.

“funny how a sharp guy like you can have so much… tranquili-tea.”

There was an undignified snort from the other skeleton, and he turned away to laugh into his sleeve.

“brew think you’re funny, huh?”

“oh yeah. i’m tea-ming with puns.” Vega grinned wider, and his opponent only snorted again, a little smirk coming onto his face.

“i leaf-t that one out for you.”

“well, i still have a cup-le of more.”

“you can chai to outpun me, but you’ve got oolong way to go.” The shop's owner was smirking behind his covered hand now, his sockets narrowed in amusement rather than irritation.

“i guess i’m in hot water now.”

“don’t strain yourself, it’s a steep climb out.”

“now you’re just taking pot shots.” Vega pulled out a hand to put to his chest, as if wounded by that one.

“ah, kettle load of that one.”

“you sugar you haven’t met your match?”

“please, i’ve got this in the bag.”

“eh, i’ll milk you dry eventually.”

“hehehe.” The sharper skeleton turned off the burner now, and pulled out a tea bag to settle into a cup. Then the kettle was tilted, the hot water pouring into the cup. “technically, the proper way to brew your tea is to put it in the kettle and let it steep there before pouring. but since you want to try a few different types, it’s easier to steep it in the cup.”

“yeah, sure. i’m not picky.”

“make sure you do it the right way when you’re at home.”

“yessir.” An easy shrug, as he held out his hand. Alka handed the teacup over.

“this one is ceylon. give it two or three minutes to steep, and then try it.”

As Vega took the teacup with a nod, the other skeleton grabbed another, and rooted around in the samples for another kind. A second tea bag was found quickly, and settled in the second cup. He then poured water into that one as well.

“this one is yunnan. neither of these are flowery or fruity. they're richer. almost have a bit of a chocolately taste to them. that one you're holding, the ceylon, has a bit more spice to it. if it's too much, you might like the yunnan better.”

Vega nodded along, though he honestly wondered if he'd taste much difference at all. He pinched the square tab starting the string, and shifted the bag in his cup a few times, causing more of the flavor to seep out. Then he took a sip.

“...huh. not bad.”

“yeah? well, try this one too.”

The second cup was held out, and Vega obediently took it to give it a try. The warm drink rushed through his non-throat, and he hummed lightly in approval.

“even better. guess i'll take this one.”

“good. go ahead and finish that cup. i'll take the other off your hands.”

“sure, okay.” Vega handed off the first cup again, and Alka took it to absently sip as he reset everything at the little taste-testing station. Vega couldn't help but smile again, seeing that bright yellow accent the cerulean. Shining, triumphant. Genuine.

The shorter, softer skeleton let his eyes wander around the store again, as he savored the rich taste of the tea. Way better than coffee, he felt no need to add any sugar or milk to throttle the flavor. He wandered off, looking at decorations on the walls. Mostly tea motifs, though there were also some posters of human and monster bodies, displaying energy movements through the body, describing magic flow. There was a guide to meditation plastered on another wall, with steps laid out and encouragements to keep trying if nothing was achieved the first few attempts. He wondered if the owner had plastered these sorts of posters around the place because they fit the theme, or if the guy really did meditate and practice energy flow and other such inner-tranquility things. Seemed an oddly… peaceful type of hobby for a fell type. Maybe he was misjudging thelem.

“do you meditate?”

Vega tried not to jump, realizing the other skeleton had approached while he was spacing out.

“oh, uh, no,” he said, finding himself sounding almost apologetic. “honestly, i'd only fall asleep if i tried.”

Alka clicked his teeth, and Vega realized after a moment that he was holding back a chuckle.

“if it helps you fall asleep, you've at least gotten part of it down.”

“heh heh, i can fall asleep easily anyway.”

“that's fair. what about fighting?” Alka asked, and Vega blinked in confusion.

“huh?”

“fighting, do you know how?”

“uh. well…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, debating how to answer. Technically, yes, he knew how. He had very good magic control, though not as amazing as his brother's. But on the other hand, he'd never exactly had to test it. “...i do well enough,” he said eventually, before drinking another gulp of his tea. He felt Alka's gaze bore into him again, and kept his own gaze on the nearly-empty cup.

“you know the rec center just outside of the arts district?” Alka asked next, and Vega had to cast around in his mental map to remember where the arts district was in relation to him. Music seemed to hum in the air constantly there, as if everyone who lived there generated it with their bodies.

“oh, yeah, i know where that is.”

“i teach kung fu there.”

“really?”

“technically, there's some tai chi mixed in with my style, but yes. every tuesday and friday from 7 to 9 in the evening is my monster class. humans come on mondays and thursdays.”

Vega stared at him for a long moment, a little dumbfounded. Logically speaking, this made sense. Not only was violence of some sort a very typical hobby or skill of the fells, the specific kind he was speaking of - some Eastern kind he couldn't place perfectly - paired with the meditation and tea drinking perfectly. Still… he had just been beginning to think there was not a fighty bone in this skeleton's body. Alka waited for a long moment, clearly waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat to speak again, his voice a bit softer. A swirl of green replaced the yellow as accent to his voice-color.

“throwing around bone attacks and dodging is one thing. you might even be perfectly safe like that, up here. but you never know. learning how to properly dodge, block, and attack physically is very useful. especially since, given your stats, you'd probably want to avoid killing from relying on magic attacks too much. who knows when fighting skills would be put to the test? things are peaceful for now, but… besides, the doctrine is not to be aggressive and hurt everyone you come across. kung fu is meant to protect yourself and deal only the damage to need to for your attacker to leave you alone.”

Vega scratched the side of his skull thoughtfully. He had no interest in fighting at all, and despite what Alka said, he was fairly certain he'd never have to do it. But that being said… his brother's determined voice rang in his head, proclaiming his lifelong desire to join the guard. He still was not a part of it, and he had set his sights on other goals. But even so… It sounded like something he might enjoy.

“tuesday and friday at seven, you say?”

“that's right. interested? the first class is free.”

“mmm. i guess i'll come take a look. s’ it okay if i bring someone?”

“of course,” Alka assured. “the more the merrier.”

“heh. alright. then, i'll be there.”

“excellent. could i get your name and your friend's name?” Alka went back to the counter and pulled out a clipboard. Vega hummed quietly again, finishing the tea and setting the cup down. Then he hovered near the wall of tea.

“the name's vega. his name is solstice. which, ah…?”

“the yunnan. vega and solstice. very well.” The names were scribbled down, the clipboard tucked away again, and then he rung up the box of tea Vega had brought up. The G was slid over for Alka to pocket, and then he sat himself back down, his sleeves once again meeting in front of him. “have a nice day, vega.”

“you too, buddy.”

Vega left the store with the tea box in hand, wondering how Friday night would go.

- - - - - - - - - -

Alka settled himself in his seat properly again, making sure that his back was as straight as he could make it. The pain was not so bad today. But of course, he had been keeping to his routine for a while now, that was to be expected. He closed his sockets, letting his awareness expand to cover the whole store, and even a little beyond. People passed by on the street, and he could hear their chattering, their footsteps, see which direction they were headed and if any of them might step into his shop. Absently, in the back of his head, he contemplated why he had been so eager to get the soft skeleton to come to his classes. In the end, it was probably the same reason he had tried to save each child, the same reason he had fiercely defended Frisk from all of the dangers on their journey to freedom.

He was a softie for the innocent ones. It was the big brother in him.

He hoped Vega would actually come. The guy looked like he couldn’t dodge more than five hits before he got knocked flat or killed.

He wondered if ‘Solstice’ looked anything like his dead brother.

[escailyyy]

Sweeter than fiction (SherlollyFicExchange2017 @darnedchild)

Mary would be the first one to admit that motherhood softened her embarrassment threshold, that was one explanation for it, domesticity had apparently made it mentally acceptable for Mary to indulge in the hobbies of middle aged housewives that Sherlock would roll his eyes on. (Joining the ranks of the type of women that made fifty shades of Grey a best seller) so she couldn’t exactly share her new hobby with him.

So when Molly Hooper caught Mary reading something called ‘Warstan gets Naughty’ by username: WhatzonDkink, Mary not only was way too eager to talk about her latest obsession but also had no shame in admitting it was an obsession. Sherlock probably would have expected more from Mary! She blamed this on Rosie, if as a woman she no longer had an issue with having baby vomit on her shirt when she went grocery shopping, then obviously she wouldn’t have it with sharing her smut preferences with a friend during girls night either.

“Let me get this straight, people write about you and John, just because they saw you on the telly and mentioned in John’s blog” Molly hummed over her second glass of wine “they write about you the way people write about Clara Oswald and the Doctor, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley kind of thing?”

“Like Posh Spice and David Beckham” Mary nodded “I found this site dedicated to real people fanfiction it’s quite big, there’s a section for royalty, politicians, sports players, celebrities and crime fighters, people consider us the second best pairing in that category, they write all sort of thing featuring John and me” she grinned proudly while Molly giggled

“Let me see” Molly peered at Mary’s tablet while reading out loud “ this one is called "Make me scream” by username Bby8R2D2, John Watson comes home from a day chasing a serial killer to find his wife wants to leave him, unless he can prove to her why he was nicknamed 'Three continent Watson’ ….“ Molly burst out laughing opening the link and skimming over it "Mary I’m not sure paragraph five is anatomically possible”

Mary nodded scrolling down “just wait, paragraph ten defies the laws of physics and some of chemistry’s” feeling emboldened Mary opened another file and pushed it into Molly’s eyes “this one is a particular favorite of mine”

The fan fiction was called “Duty to Love” by LaD-GG-romnuv,and Molly read out loud “ An: I wrote this while sleep deprived working through rocket science and assembling an IKEA bedroom set, John Watson is Captain America and Mary Morstan is Black Widow having a hot affair, their love will be put to test when John has to choose between his love for Mary and his duty to Rehabilitated Winter Soldier Sherlock Holmes” Molly perked up with interest opening the first chapter and reading through “wow this is…this isn’t bad, you’re..very in character, oh look I’m in here too… Molly Carter-Hooper agent 221” this brought a smile to Molly’s face, then she let out another gasp “Oh John how could you!…Mary, you know him better than this….No, Sherlock, that’s a bastard move”

“I know right, the writer hasn’t updated in ages” Mary groaned putting her hands to her face “I have half a mind to track down their IP and ask them if I John will ever see me again now that he joined the group fighting Lokiriarty in Asgard and I am single-handedly heading S.H.I.E.L.D” she also didn’t mention that special Agent 221 and the Winter Soldier were also having awkwardly adorable encounters as a ‘side pairing’ and that she wanted to know how it ended, but that was neither here nor there.

“Aaaand thanks for the spoilers” Molly glared at Mary who shamelessly raised her glass, surreptitiously closing the link

“Some people write things that you wouldn’t believe in the NSFW rating…let’s just say I’ll spare you the details of 'Watson Gang bang’ and 'Blood kink Mary’ because you’re not ready for that type of darkness”

“ what? Really?” Molly’s finger hovered over the rating button but Mary stopped her with a glare

“Yes, really, but back to my favorites, there’s an angsty one that’s very on demand recently. "Bone Marrow,” I think, apparently John met me as a patient, we had a collection of one night stands turned dates and now I only have weeks to live because the writer of that fanfiction is a sadistic ass"

“Do you end up together though?”

“I have no idea!” Mary groaned “ I swear Nick Sparks could use a tip or two from the hyperactive teenage girl that’s writing about my imaginary terminal illness”

Molly snorted patting her hand “speaking about angst, does John know about this?” She motioned to Mary’s tablet

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head “He doesn’t want to hear about our fictional sex life, apparently it’s not fair that his fan fiction persona is better stud than he is, and a better doctor, actor, polo player, international pilot, astronaut” Mary ticked off her fingers “You don’t see me complaining about the superhuman professional skills that those fans give me” “That’s actually kinda…sweet, if a little disturbing” Molly settled in comfortably in her lounge seat while she ordered another round of margaritas when once again Mary’s tablet beeped with a notification

“Hey Mary what’s "Sherlolly finally does it” about? It’s by username Sherlicks-lollies and it looks promising….“ but Mary had already grabbed the tablet out of Molly’s hands

"Yeah no you can’t read that, nope not at all” Mary as a rule never looked nervous unless she wanted people to think she was nervous, but the face she made at the very mention of that fan fiction was…actually the same face Mary made whenever something unexpected happened to Rosie’s nappy

“Mary” Molly eyed her tablet suspiciously “what is in there?”

“Nothing, just more tawdry things about me and John….if you’ll excuse me I need to leave a proper commentary review on this work of art” her face was turning a bit red and as far as Molly was concerned, Mary’s face had just passed dirty-nappy territory straight into buying-condoms-for-Mrs Hudson level of uncomfortable.

“You do know that I also have Google on my phone don’t you?” The tiny pathologist said in a threatening tone taking out her serviceable smartphone and waving it in front of Mary’s face

“You wouldn’t dare” her friend replied as nonchalantly as someone hiding smutty fan fiction could

“Google it is”

“Molls you’re not ready for the world of RPF, trust me”

But Molly Hooper was a brave soul, a brave, intrepid and possibly drunk soul who was capable of sawing through the rib cage of a dead body without batting an eyelash and also once gone on a date with Moriarty, she hung out with Sherlock! and somewhere, one day if she ever needed to change jobs, those things were going to be stamped in her CV under 'work experience’. So she wasn’t afraid of fan fiction.

Or so she thought “You don’t intimidate me Mary Watson” Molly whispered ominously

Finally as if hit by a very mischievous idea Mary’s face did a 180 and a rather creepy smirk graced her face “Fine, Google the word Sherlolly, go ahead Hooper, I dare you, I’ll let you read this if you do” And so Molly did.

Mary who was now shamelessly enjoying herself again covertly turned on her tablet’s camera and carefully took pictures of the progression of emotions crossing Molly’s face, shock, disbelief, despair, embarrassment, flattery, embarrassment again, and finally plain mortification.“Mary I’m in the dictionary”

“I know”

“Sherlock and me…we’re in the bloody Oxford dictionary”

“Next to the definition of Shipping, yes” Mary passed Molly another margarita in mock sympathy “Oxford, but only the updated version, nobody over twenty reads the updated version anyway”

“Sherlock and Molly” More disbelief “Sherlolly…”

“I warned you” Mary nodded, then since she might as well rip off the band aid completely she added “there’s fanart too”

The horror dawned “People draw…people draw Sherlock and me together”

“And they’re quite talented at it too, all sort of situations, oh don’t look so terrified Molly, the fan-art isn’t that bad, the fandom thinks you’re both Kawai or something, not all of what they draw is porn”

Molly cursed something so colorful it made Mary feel proud “tell me Sherlock doesn’t know”

“Oh he knows it exists, he probably just hasn’t thought about it very deeply” Mary shrugged “Like Greg’s name, fan fiction is probably not relevant enough for his nibs”

“And thank God for his little mercies” Molly hissed “Someone drew us sailing with the Queen!”

“must be a new member, usually your shippers are more into drawing the insides of St Bart’s or imagining what your flat looks like” Mary was enjoying herself Furthermore she wanted Molly Hooper to enjoy herself so she tried a new approach “hey don’t be so shocked, the shippers love you, they buy any science magazine you’re mentioned in, it’s not all about Sherlock for them”

“They like an imaginary version of us” Molly was not appeased

“And we liked the airbrushed versions of Prince Charles and Princess Diana when they were a thing so I don’t see how it’s any different, cheer up Missus Pathologist” Mary encouraged in her best 'mom’ voice trying her best to make her friend see the bright side “Carpe Diem and all that”

And that’s how Molly Hooper discovered the world of Real Person Fanfiction, at first Molly was reluctant to see the website again, after all any sane person would be a bit miffed if they found out that other people played around with the details of their life like grown children with action figures. But curiosity won out, the next time she felt bored in the tube she pulled out her phone and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.Soon she came to realize that the so called shippers were not really malicious or ill intentioned. In fact, most of them had in one way or another become interested in her romantic life because they’ve been previously impressed with something during the course of her career and looked her up online.It was somewhat ridiculous, these people knew nothing about her life (or so she thought) but apparently, they decided over the course of who-knows-how-long-this-had-been-going-on that she and Sherlock Holmes were either going to make a good couple or were already a good couple behind the scenes.

Anderson’s crazy conspiracy group had probably only proved these people right when Sherlock was gone and….. Oh damn, it got worse.

There were fanfics about that too. (Username ‘Notr3a11yAnderson’ wasn’t even subtle when it earned the website’s award for reviewer of the month)

“How many variations of Sherlock snogging me after falling from the rooftop can exist?” Molly muttered to herself glaring a bit at her phone, a quick refinement in the ‘advance searching’ gave her an answer that had her cursing again.

Ten million? Really?.

But Molly couldn’t find it in herself to hate them, when her mortification died out over the weekend amusement replaced it, after all, if she was allowed to silently wish Mycroft and Anthea would snog already, then why judge the shippers for romanticizing her extremely ordinary life in their heads. Mary was probably right in taking a relaxed approach.Outrage would serve her for naught, it wasn’t as if these people were like Kitty Riley or her ilk, fan fiction was still considered a widely taboo hobby in most places and the so called 'shippers’ didn’t seem to be doing it for personal profit. To these perfect strangers imagining her and Sherlock together was just…fun, so they kept doing it.

A phone call from Mike interrupted her musings and when she went back to her phone like most Internet browsers hers allowed a pop-up ad on the fanfiction website latest updates to blink on her phone screen.“Sherlolly Saves the endangered Koalas” Molly hummed reading through one of the fanfics suggested by the pop up, apparently the Sherlolly shippers were very dedicated fans, of course there were other suggestions, an N-sync fan fiction that featured the band’s most popular members getting together and someone wrote Tiger Woods and Serena Williams having a super powerful tennis playing golfer baby. Mary and John were popular too with a multitude of different scenarios straight out of a Hospital Soap being the favored fanfic inspiration. Molly bookmarked the one marked as a ‘Letters of love in Afghanistan’ because it sounded like something she wouldn’t mind reading, even if the author’s bio made Molly think he really needed a hug.

But the fanfiction about the endangered Koalas taunted Molly again, it wouldn’t hurt to click it just once.

How bad could something tagged #fluffy-super-fluffy be? The summary promised two people in a Koala rescue, really it wasn’t as if she’d be reading anything rated NSFW. The tube wasn’t going to get any faster and she was curious.

One click became another, then another and before she knew it Molly was making BogusRPFwebsite.notcom part of her daily routine in the tube and slowly started replacing her paperback novels during her relaxing time. Sometimes she could even ‘deduce’ who the writers of certain stories were but she tried not to, things might get weird in real life if they turned out to be people close to her (She was pretty sure leg-in-a-cast Polly Turner and Nurse Roberts from upstairs were writing that collab, where Sherlock and Molly had a host of quintuplets and labor, was a sneeze for Molly’s vagina).

Also, the more she read, the more questions she had, like:

Why were her first borns always either girls or twins most of the time? Were the authors aware that little boys made cute fantasy babies too?.

What was the obsession with Sherlock’s hair? I mean yes Molly knew that his curls were unusually perfect and had fantasized about pulling them as much as the next girl but really, they all made it sound as though he used unicorn blood in his shampoo and it was starting to get to Molly in real life.

Why did every girl that liked him with the exception of Molly turn out to be a serial killer or a criminal of some kind?.

Also, why was everyone in fan fiction always extremely attractive? Had the ugly people been abducted by makeup scientists?.

Why was Sherlock’s shirt always open during his fictional interactions with her?.

How exactly did time work in fan fiction? Nobody ever seemed to own a clock in fictional London.

And with these type of questions in mind, Molly pretended that it was someone else in those pages, someone else who was pretty, witty and adorable who was in love with another Sherlock who definitely wasn’t her Sherlock because this was all fan fiction and it didn’t count as real life.

Some writers made it really easy for Molly to compartmentalize her denial, writing either Sherlock or her out of character was a sure fire way for Molly to keep her plausible deniability while enjoying a bit of escapism, it didn’t hurt that Sherlock was in France for an overnight case with John and wouldn’t be back until he solved another seemingly impossible puzzle and Molly didn’t have to SEE him.

Sure he texted her with crime scene pictures and called her every once in a while to talk about incompetent French coroners but so far so good Molly was keeping real life Sherlock out of sight and out of mind while the multiple incarnations of RPF Sherlock gave her a good source of amusement and that was fine with Molly Hooper.

It was hard for embarrassment not to turn into flattery after some days swimming through the #fluff and #morefluff tag, I mean what woman didn’t like the idea of being cool enough to inspire people to writing glorified romance novels in obscure corners of the internet, Molly didn’t think either Sherlock or her deserved half of the unspoken admiration these writers had for them, but nevertheless it was…sweet (if a little disconcerting).

Fanfiction was one of those things that were ignored when one saw another person doing it, like reading the newspaper, people never paid much attention to another’s reading materials unless the topic was broached and as such Molly’s new pastime could have gone largely unnoticed had it not been for one thing: Sherlock Holmes did not like it when Molly didn’t pay him attention and Two weeks later when he got back from France, Molly Hooper knew she had a problem.

“Molly, I need access to a good set of kidneys, before noon if you please" was the first thing Sherlock said when he got back from his case, John at his side rolled his eyes, expecting the pathologist to at least greet him with her usual bright smile, but Molly surprisingly didn’t even lift up her head from her computer.

“yes Sherlock, I’ll get it to you later”

“and a good femur, for some reason Mrs. Hudson threw away my last one"

Molly who was still clearly engrossed in whatever she was doing barely managed an “of course Sherlock”

“And some eyes, preferably without much cornea damage" Sherlock frowned at her “Molly are you even listening or is the usual game of Solitaire taking up too much of your time?”

But even then he only managed to make Molly separate herself from the computer long enough to pull a notepad from her desk drawer and slide it in his direction “write a list of the body parts you need and I’ll deliver them at Baker Street after my shift” and then she was back to what had her so busy.

Molly tried to ignore Sherlock’s presence, easily opening the tabs for a couple of vaguely interesting autopsy reports to justify herself in case he decided to snoop in her files and went back to reading more fanfiction completely tuning out the real life consulting detective of her dreams.

The fanfiction that had her giving Sherlock auto pilot responses was titled “Celebrity Romance” in it Sherlock was written as an actor in a BBC series called ‘Benedict’, the TV show he starred in followed the life of fictional Hollywood darling Benedict Cumberbatch ( Sherlock apparently had been at it for five seasons) who was married with kids and held a demanding life as a sought after celebrity, and Molly, in turn, played a secondary role in his show as one of Benedict’s equally famous friends, progressive feminist actress Louise Brealey. What had Molly intrigued was that in the fanfiction despite the fact that on screen Sherlock and Molly’s characters were only good friends, with story lines that rarely overlapped, off screen they were actually falling in love and bonding over Starbucks coffees. (privately Molly rather liked Loo’s minor suffrage-style story line just as much as she liked Ben’s love story with his wife Sophie, but that was just her)

The point was that Molly was really invested in the plot of that story, the author was making his characters jump through rings of fire to get that happy ending…..Aaaand “Excuse me Sherlock did you say something? I was a bit distracted with this autopsy report” Molly said, eyes snapping out of her reverie to catch the tail end of one of his deductions on the state of Lestrade’s NSY passwords.

Molly saw a muscle in his jaw twitch with exasperation “Yes, I can see that” Sherlock said with narrowed eyes “if you tried to get any closer to the screen you would be in danger of merging with it”

Molly nodded distractedly making the same face Sherlock usually did when he was texting behind his back “Of course Sherlock, merging, that’s great for the victim” in response Sherlock calmly walked to the power outlet in the corner and unplugged her desktop “HEY” Molly snapped glaring at her blank computer and turned her whole attention to Sherlock Furiously, now she would never know what Happened after fictional Molly tweeted about how her character Louise needed to get more screen time.

“Body parts? Assistance in the lab?” Sherlock said without flinching watching Molly’s petulant glare melt into her usual friendly smile

“I gather you brought a sample of evidence with you" She replied easily getting up as though she hadn’t been not paying him attention for the last fifteen minutes, privately she resolved to find that fan fiction again when she got home “let’s see it, if it was worth bringing here it must be something big”

Sherlock handed over the evidence bag and for all intents and purposes that should have been it, she was back to the usual, except it wasn’t.

Because that week was the week Molly ventured into the deep dark hole that was the smut rating. And Sherlock being Sherlock, noticed the change immediately.

Molly began distancing herself from him and he didn’t like it.

She was distracted almost disinterested in him every time he saw her, she answered his questions in sentences that might as well have been recorded on an answering machine and had started spending too much time on her emails. To everyone else, she looked and acted like the normal Molly but Sherlock knew that something was going on in her life.

Normally this kind of behavior would lead him to deduce some new sort of paramour in her life, but a deeper look at the details of her social life showed no variation in patterns, her flat showed no sign of new visitors staying longer than what was considered appropriate and a quick call to Mycroft reassured him that she hadn’t been anywhere else in the past month.

Browsing through her phone and computer gave up similarly uninspiring results, other than a mountain of random pages and articles on things he didn’t care about Molly hadn’t logged on to any new dating website or media equivalents.

The only detail he could see was that Molly’s strange behavior coincided with the recent scheduling of her weekly nights out with Mary and like a dog with a bone, Sherlock had to investigate further. So using his master detective skills he roped John into trying to spy on his daughter’s godmother and on his wife (John was naturally against it citing that for very obvious reasons spying on a retired secret agent like Mary was almost impossible, also according to him spying on girls during their girl time was something teenage boys did, not men) but Sherlock eventually managed to convince him .

Meanwhile, Molly felt she couldn’t be around Sherlock anymore and it was all Mary’s fault.

“I ran away Mary, I said I needed to wash my hair and ran, like a coward” Molly complained bringing her hands to her face “ I can’t look at him in the eyes, I’ve tried!”

“I hate to say it, but: I told you so” Mary chuckled patting her hand “tell me again how bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to ten, eleven, I can’t seem to stop reading them" Molly wailed not daring to take her hands off her face “maybe I’ve turned into a pervert”

“you’re not a pervert Molls, people that send pictures of their privates to unsuspecting strangers on chat rooms are perverts, you’re just you know….sexually frustrated” the chuckle turned into a full blown giggle.

“Thank you for stating the obvious Mrs. Three Continent Watson" Molly grumbled “They like Sherlock’s penis! A lot and my breasts, just look at them Mary” Molly pointed to her modest chest “They are not a big deal, but out there in the big wide internet there are strangers that…have a very artistic view of my breasts”

“And of Sherlock’s penis,“ Mary reminded her laughing

“Stop laughing this is serious, I need help” Molly then pulled up her phone “hear this one” Molly cleared her throat “Prince Sherlock wasn’t supposed to be fucking his niece’s Fairy godmother, but he couldn’t help himself, the christening was almost over and he just had to know what it was like to taste her dewy pussy, to be inside her and hammer his member so deep she cried with pleasure, his manhood was made for her, hard red and angry his shaft was painfully aware of how beautiful she was and he just wanted to rip off every single item of frothy fabric covering her and her, gloriously hard nippled small breasts, see his little fairy naked and open just for him, while he made her miss the christening of Princess Briar Rosamund”

“Oh wow, what talent”Mary was holding her sides in laughter “Remind me to invite whoever wrote that to the christening of my next baby”

“MARY” Molly almost started crying “that one had a plot I enjoyed and now I can’t stop thinking about…”

“Sherlock’s rock hard penis?”

“STOP SAYING IT” Molly hissed “this is all your fault”

“Hey my friend I told you not to do it, you didn’t listen"

“you knew I would do it anyway" Molly wailed “Now I can’t stop thinking about how it would be like to actually have sex with him, not that I didn’t before, but these people are graphic Mary, VERY, graphic, now every time I look at Sherlock I wonder which one of these people hit the mark, is he rough in bed, does he take it slow, does he like his hair pulled, or does he do the hair pulling, is his penis as big as they claim it is or is that just normal smut exaggeration” Molly began ranting while Mary kept trying not to spill her drink with her giggles “I mean I’m pretty sure some of these people have access to his medical records from his druggie days so one has to question if it’s true, I for one like to be dominant in bed and now it’s affecting my relationship with Sherlock because I can’t look at him in the eye without wondering what it’s like to spank his perfect ass with that bloody riding crop he likes so much”

“Oh Molly, you really need to have sex and soon" Mary advised wisely patting the petite woman’s head, then she turned around on her stool and looked at the pair of old men that were sitting at the table behind them “By the way, John, why don’t we head home and leave Sherlock and Molly alone, I think you’ve heard enough”

“Mary Watson that move just cost you a friendship” Molly looked genuinely betrayed but Mary didn’t look one bit regretful

“You need him out of your system and you Mr. Clark Kent…“ She said pulling Sherlock up and divesting him from the trey wig and bad prosthetics "need to stop being a tosser over the fact that Lois Lane likes Superman better” and with that Mary swanned out of the pub with an apologetic John in tow, leaving Sherlock alone with Molly

minutes ticked down.

Another minute.

Sherlock still was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. “So it was fan fiction all along”

“Yes"

“That might present a problem for us” Sherlock said awkwardly

“I’m aware”

“Molly I….”

But she cut him off deciding enough was enough “Just say whatever you need to say Sherlock” Molly glared at him “I’m tired, I’m hungry and extremely sexually frustrated so if you’re going to be a bastard about this get it over with, I need to find a stranger to shag tonight preferably”

that got his attention really fast, no, the only man Molly was going to take home was going to be him “you’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be, I was merely thinking about the next course of action one should take when a woman one has fantasized of fucking confesses the same thing”

“I was not expecting that" Molly eyed him suspiciously before downing whatever drink she had in hand before shrugging and eyeing her phone “you know what Sherlock, any other day I would be very accommodating talking about what you want and why this isn’t a good idea, but right now, I can’t think clearly when your shirt buttons look like they want to pop out so here is what will happen” She stretched to her toes and grabbed him by the collar watching his eyes grow dark with want, taking his hand and pressing it to the waistband of her skirt “I have questions about how we would be in bed, you have answers, it ends tomorrow and it absolutely doesn’t mean anything”

“we could start with those fan fictions you were reading, you seem to want to investigate which ones are accurate and which ones are entirely poppycock" he murmured in her ear making her shiver, desire pooling in her belly

“I have a long list”

turns out that Sherlock was in fact not as disgusted with Molly’s fan fiction problem as he’d been with Mary’s, he was positively pleased by it and it was a frequent source of both amusement and role-play ideas any time he went to Molly’s flat or had her over in Baker street.

The flowery language in the smut section only made Sherlock more aware of the tiny details of Molly’s body that he could use to his advantage, it was like having a cheat code on how to sexually please Molly.

And in turn, he found himself pleasured by her in many wicked ways.

“I think we might have to extend this arrangement” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s hair for the umpteenth time, he was sated and she looked happy, he wasn’t going to ruin a good thing.

“An Extension?” Molly replied with a yawn cuddling into his chest “How big?”

“Depends, these people publish stories every day, how about until they stop writing?”

“That could take forever"

“Good thing I’m a patient man then" He replied kissing her lips.

And yes it turned out that Sherlock, was so much better at everything he tried in real life than he was in fiction, especially when it came to Molly.

[dires]

My acid experience;

To start off, I don’t think you can prepare anyone for such an experience. I’ve never dabbled in hallucinogens before, so this was my first time with anything like this. I’ve tried a few drugs now. For my own record (recreational usage): Weed, (dabs), percocet, xanax, hydrocodone, morphine, spice (worst experience ever), molly (didn’t really feel anything?), and now acid. I never thought I would try some of these. And there are things I absolutely will never try; heroin and meth etc. I’ve only tried some of these because of R honestly. Anyways;

My acid experience starts off like this. We didn’t have a sitter. R hadn’t tried acid before either. We looked up as much as possible before diving in. We each took half a tab at first, just in case. This was at 3:30. We went on a walk, and nothing had kicked in yet. So we went back home. 4:30 rolls around. Nothing yet. So I suggest we take the other half tab. I was impatient so I didn’t realize the acid just didn’t kick in yet. 5 rolls around and the floor starts to move. We found a small tick in his room and he was our friend until I threw him in the trash. We decide to go for another walk. It didn’t last long because the acid is starting to peak. This is around 5:30-6. The ground was something else. 

The grass had so many line. And you could see EVERY detail. I could see every pore on R’s face, every blade of grass. It was moving. It was so intense. I wanted to go back home because I was scared of being outside in public at first. When we got back, it’s still hitting harder. I think the combo of the second half tab started to peak around this time. Or within the next hour it did. 

We were sitting on the floor and I’ve never been so happy in my life. The music was amazing. I was so comfortable. And everything was moving. I looked in the mirror, never too long. But I felt like I looked beautiful. I read that people can freak out or get scared of themselves, but I thought I was a small elf angel. That I was experiencing beauty. All my senses didn’t work how they normally do and that was okay. COLOR was amazing. I would look at one thing and I saw every color. SO MANY patterns. I didn’t know this was even possible to experience. Synesthesia. I was feeling and seeing and hearing everything in a way that I wasn’t used to. The floor was something else. 

At this point it’s kind of foggy to me as to what we did. We were planning to go out but never did?? We were so excited and jumping around everywhere. We got sidetracked so many times. I couldn’t talk much during the peak period. It was difficult for me. R’s face was so beautiful. It was warping and I saw so many expressions and it’s like he had a filter on his face. I saw multiples of almost everything. And everything was breathing. One of the coolest things I experienced was how small I felt in his room. I felt like I was looking through a window in my head. It was a different perspective. I was standing near the door, and I was on an angle. Like we weren’t on a flat plane. I was on an angle one way and he was all the way across the room leaning the other way, even though were both standing straight. It felt like a drawing.

The one tip I wish everyone gave me before taking a tab was to eat!! Eating was so scary at first. It was absolutely impossible I couldn’t feel my teeth or my mouth and the chips were loud and scary. The jelly bean I tried to eat was so hard and sweet and I couldn’t do it art first. We were finally able to eat at about 10 hours in. We had those loud chips and steak sammiches and it was amazing. If you stopped focusing you’d start to not feel your teeth and you couldn’t eat. 

It felt like days went by. Time has never felt so distorted. I feel like time just went by, yet it felt like I was tripping for days? How is that possible? The color though. We had this cute blue light on, where when you touched it the little strings of light went to your hand. I forget what those lights are called, but on acid it was amazing. It wasn’t just blue though. I saw green and purple and the other light was red and yellow and just hints at every color. You saw every color at once. It was amazing.

There was one part where the trip went downwards for me. Every emotion and feeling was amplified, so when I felt a small ache in my chest, my anxiety kicked in and I was scared of dying. But in actuality I was fine. I was able to get out of that mindset so that was good. But this experience all in all was just so deep. I never thought so much in my life. R had a very emotional moment or two. And it impacted me. His mom had messaged him that she was very proud of him and that she loved him very much. He started crying. I know he deals with deep depression and it affects me sometimes. I knew how much it meant to him that his mom sent that. My heart just, I felt as if my mom said that to me. I hope he knows that I’m proud of him too. And later he mentioned how he’s never killed himself for the sake of his parents. Upon hearing that I started bawling. I noticed that I would just say the thoughts on my mind and experience everything. I truly feel like this whole experience connected me and R more. And the next day he said he wasn’t as sad. Like acid had an impact on his brain. Idk for how long, but I hope it truly helped. 

There are just so many things I experienced that I don’t know how to explain. I felt so in love. I felt like there’s just so much to experience. I forgot about my personal depression and how we have to make a purpose and that we just die eventually. I felt like there’s so much to experience while being alive. 

We didn’t fall asleep until a tad past 5:00 AM. It was so long. The longest drug I’ve ever experienced. I’m so fortunate to have had a good trip and not a bad one. I can see how dangerous and how easily a bad trip could happen. When I said we were going to go out, we were going to have a friend take us somewhere. But I’m so glad we didn’t. I don’t think I can do this in public. R’s friend says he drives on it and goes out to parties on it, and I just can’t imagine how. It’s dangerous and idk I had more than enough fun alone. We were just in R’s room for the majority of the night. Around 11:00 PM we did go outside for a bit. There were so many bugs!!! But the grass and sky was so beautiful. At first I thought this would be my first and last acid trip, but I think if in the future we have a weekend set aside for it, months from now, I’d do it again. I feel like this first experience was lovely. It was just beyond me. You cannot prepare anyone for such magic. It literally looks like those trippy photos you see, but it’s in real life. My body was so numb. And I’m happy I did this with you R. I felt like I had no anxiety except for that brief moment. Usually I worry too much about what his parents think, but on it I wasn’t scared at all. He lives with his parents still, so they were in the house. But they are so cool. He told his mom that we were on acid and she just said to be safe. It made me feel better that someone else knew. 

And that was my experience. It’s so hard to explain something other worldly like this. It’s incredible. Beyond comprehension unless you yourself have experienced it. It’s like you’re in your own genjutsu. Amazing, really. 

Also I feel like making love would have been out of this world, but I was sadly on my time of the month. Every time R touched me I got goosebumps. And we have no idea how much acid was actually on each tab. I also licked the aluminum foil in which they were sealed.

[aroseandapen]

Introducing...

Read it on AO3

There’s always a need for more Papyton in this world, so I decided to finally write my own. What better way to do that than to follow along with the 100 Themes list?

Next (Complicated)

Rating: Teen Pairing: Setting up for Papyton Word Count: 4322 Summary: It’s Papyrus’ first birthday on the surface, and somehow he ended up getting the biggest monster celebrity to come to it. Cue the struggle to not make everything awkward with his fanboying. Somehow everything works out.

Warnings: Alcohol--not excessive, but Papyrus does drink it.

“so,” Sans began around a mouthful of oatmeal. Bits of mush flecked across the table in front of him. “pap.”

Papyrus grimaced at the sight, resisting the urge to gag. “SANS! DON’T START TALKING WITH FOOD IN YOUR MOUTH!”

He swore that he saw his brother’s grin widen just a bit at his reaction. A firm scolding rose up to his mouth, and Papyrus was prepared to launch into a full blown rant about his brother’s disgusting habits and how anything that he needed to say could just wait until he swallowed, if Sans should protest.

Fortunately, Sans seemed to be on the same page. He didn’t attempt to speak again, finishing what he had in his mouth. Not so fortunately, he didn’t seem to be inclined to start speaking again. It probably wasn’t anything important. Papyrus shouldn’t worry about it. It was probably some silly pun, and Papyrus would regret allowing himself to be led into it.

Despite knowing that… he was still curious about what Sans had been planning to say.

“SO…” Papyrus tried to lead him back into it, fighting not to look down at the spat out food that Sans hadn’t quite had the decency to clean up. When Sans didn’t continue, it was all Papyrus could do not to groan. “…WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO SAY?”

There was a silence, in which Sans took another languid bite of his oatmeal, and in which Papyrus felt like screaming. Just when he was about to push his own bowl away and storm from the table in absolute refusal to entertain his brother’s games, Sans started up again.

“so.” Sans glanced off to the side, at the kitchen wall. “your birthday is coming up pretty soon here, huh?”

Papyrus followed his brother’s gaze, to the big calendar pinned to the wall there. He used it to keep track of events and important things that he had to do, his own handwriting cramped into almost every available space. Sans didn’t write anything on it, but since they had moved into their house on the surface he had dutifully marked off each day that passed.

He didn’t have to see the calendar to know how far away his birthday was. It wasn’t written up there anyway, but that didn’t stop the haunting awareness that it was just a small handful of days away. Papyrus didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“OH.” Hopefully Sans heard the mild surprise that he hoped to force into his voice. “IT IS. I HAVEN’T GIVEN IT VERY MUCH THOUGHT, I GUESS.”

Sans let out a neutral hum. If he saw through Papyrus’s little lie, he didn’t call him out on it. He didn’t even pull his eyes away from the calendar. Papyrus wondered what was going on inside his brother’s skull. He wondered if he’d ever know.

“what do you think about having a birthday party this year? haven’t had one since you were a babybones.”

“NO.” Papyrus answered too fast, and he inwardly cringed at himself. He hurried to amend his mistake. “OBVIOUSLY I’M NOT A BABYBONES ANYMORE, AND BIRTHDAY PARTIES ARE POINTLESS ANYWAY!”

More than that, birthday parties were always a disappointment. It was better to long for a party full of people there to celebrate him turning a year older until his soul ached. Better than to face the sharp, bleak rejection of his peers as he had over and over again. Sans didn’t have to know that, though, and so Papyrus simply ‘grew out’ of having parties. He was an adult skeleton after all.

“that’s true.” It was difficult to tell from Sans’s tone whether he really did agree with Papyrus’s reasoning. “but maybe you might want a party this year? it’s not just your birthday; it’s also your first birthday on the surface. could have a nice little party, all our friends coming over just for you and giving you gifts… sounds nice, don’t it?”

“…YEAH.” Papyrus had to admit that Sans did paint a pretty picture. His chest did an uncomfortable little flop, soul twinging. He wanted to have that party. “I DON’T KNOW, IT’S PROBABLY TOO SHORT OF A NOTICE ANYWAY. EVERYONE’S PROBABLY ALREADY MADE PLANS FOR THAT DAY, IT’S TOO LATE. MAYBE I CAN HAVE A FIRST SECOND BIRTHDAY ON THE SURFACE NEXT YEAR.”

Sans had turned to look at him at this point, but Papyrus dropped his gaze down to the table, staring hard at his food as he pushed the oatmeal around in his bowl. It was cold and unappealing at this point. He probably wasn’t going to finish it.

“nah.” Still Papyrus didn’t look up. “i betcha undyne would drop everything to come to your party. she wasn’t around for it last year, and she’d probably kill you if you deprived her of the chance to come over and celebrate your birthday with you. alphys too, except she probably wouldn’t kill you. she’d probably have a few stern words for ya, though.”

One last pause. “tori and the kid, too. they love ya, bro.”

Papyrus clenched his hand around the spoon handle. Wowie. In just the last year, he’d met so many more people. So many friends. Just the other day he had a picnic with Frisk and Undyne and Alphys, and Undyne had shoved Papyrus right into the pond, laughing at his squawking until Alphys shoved her right in after him.

A smile tugged at his mouth. They were his friends; of course they’d come to his birthday party if he asked them.

Yet he couldn’t shake that anxiety that they wouldn’t, that little twisting in his soul that made his magic shiver in his marrow. What if he was wrong? Papyrus never had any friends before. What if they really didn’t like him as much as he thought that he did.

“so… how’s about it, bro?”

Now more than ever, Papyrus wouldn’t be able to handle their rejection.

“WELL…” He inhaled, letting the air fill up his chest cavity, allowing it to pillow around his soul, feeling his magic pulse through it. He wouldn’t know if he didn’t even try to have a party, huh. They were his friends. They were. “IF IT’S JUST A SMALL PARTY, WITH OUR CLOSEST FRIENDS, I’M SURE THAT IT’D BE FINE.”

The way his brother’s smile warmed was worth the possibility of this blowing up in his face.

“cool. if you want, i can pop by the store after breakfast and pick up some invitations.”

Papyrus shook his head. “NO! I CAN DO EVEN BETTER THAN THAT.” He pushed his bowl away and stood to leave. “YOU STAY RIGHT HERE, AND I’LL BE RIGHT BACK.”

If he was going to be having a birthday party, then he was going to put his all into it. There would be no store-bought invitations and half-baked ideas for Papyrus!

When he returned to the kitchen, it was with an armful of art supplies. He had a ream of colored papers, a variety of glitter pens, and bits of scrap fabric with glue to stick them on. Sans watched curiously as he dumped the armload in the clear space on the table.

“WE CAN MAKE THE INVITATIONS! EACH ONE WILL BE SPECIAL, OF COURSE, AND SINCE WE’RE ONLY INVITING OUR FRIENDS, IT SHOULDN’T TAKE THE TWO OF US TOO LONG TO MAKE THEM ALL.”

He paused, looking from his brother to the pile.

“I MEAN, IF YOU WANT TO HELP ME THAT IS. I THOUGHT IT’D BE FUN IF WE WORKED ON THEM TOGETHER.”

“course i’ll help, bro.” Sans scooted his bowl aside to bowl some of the pile toward him. “what’s the plan?”

Papyrus plopped down into his chair, tearing out a piece of paper to begin folding. “I WAS THINKING ABOUT TURNING THEM INTO ORIGAMI HEARTS! FRISK SHOWED ME HOW TO MAKE THEM—THEY’RE REALLY CUTE! AND THEY’RE FLAT TOO, SO THEY’RE PERFECT FOR WRITING ALL THE INFORMATION ON! AND WE CAN SPICE THEM UP WITH SOME GLITTER AND THINGS, TOO, FOR EXTRA PERSONALIZATION. HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU HOW TO DO IT.”

After making sure that Sans was watching him and not flaking off on him, Papyrus showed him how to do the folds, and after that they settled into work. Between the two of them, the pile of invitations slowly grew. Too many perhaps, considering that Papyrus still didn’t have a great many friends, but he enjoyed the act anyway.

“DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT PEOPLE WILL COME?” Papyrus didn’t look up from what he was doing, dragging a sparkling red line around the border of one of the invitations.

“sure they will. they’d be stupid not to come and hang out with the coolest skeleton ever.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “WELL, THAT’S TRUE…” It didn’t stop his worry that no one would show up, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

“and if they don’t, you’ll still have me, bro. i’ll make sure to eat all of the food, too. i’ve always wondered what those little weenies taste like in a cake. maybe drizzled in ketchup, too…”

Papyrus grimaced. “THAT’S DISGUSTING!”

Sans shrugged, grinning at him. “you never know. maybe it’s actually really good. i’ve got to do it for science.”

“YOU DO NOT!”

People just had to come to his party, if only to stop his brother’s gross eating habits.

Once armed with his own bundle of invitations in his bag, Papyrus went off to deliver them. Sans promised to hand one off to Alphys. The scientist was probably quite busy, and Papyrus didn’t want to bother her, but Sans was interested in asking her a couple of questions, and the party invitation would be a good excuse for it, he told Papyrus. In the meantime, Papyrus would give invitations to Undyne, Frisk, and whoever else came to mind.

First of course was his best friend, and the former captain of the Royal Guard!

Undyne didn’t leave him waiting for long after he knocked, before she threw the door open with a big, toothy grin.

“Hey, Papyrus! What’s up, dude?”

Despite his earlier apprehensions, Papyrus found himself grinning along with Undyne. He was worrying over nothing, wasn’t he? This was Undyne! His friend! Of course she wasn’t going to refuse if he invited her to a birthday party!

“HELLO, UNDYNE, WHAT IS UP?” He began ruffling through his bag, pulling out one of the invitations. “I DECIDED THAT I’M GOING TO BE HAVING A BIRTHDAY PARTY THIS YEAR—BECAUSE IT’S OUR FIRST YEAR ON THE SURFACE—AND I CAME TO PERSONALLY DELIVER ONE OF THESE TO YOU!”

Undyne took the origami heart from them, eyebrows raised as she checked it over. “Oh shoot, your birthday is coming up? I had no clue!” Her eyes widened a fraction. “Dude! That’s so close! Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Papyrus found himself fidgeting with the end of his scarf, trying hard not to avert his gaze. “UM, WELL, I GUESS I JUST FORGOT ABOUT IT. I’VE BEEN QUITE BUSY UP HERE, YOU KNOW AND I SUPPOSE IT JUST… SLIPPED MY MIND?”

And he hadn’t been planning on having a birthday party in the first place, but she didn’t need to know that.

“You big dork. But duh I’m going to come, and I’m going to give you the best ever present too, so just you wait!” Her grin twitched, and Papyrus was suddenly reminded of the few moments just before Undyne initiated snow wrestling. He glanced around just to be sure that there wasn’t any surprise piles of snow that she might have seen. “Hey, you think I can get another of these invitations?”

There was definitely no snow, phew. Papyrus turned his attention back to her. “IS IT FOR ALPHYS? BECAUSE I’M PRETTY SURE THAT SANS IS GOING TO GIVE ONE TO HER, SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT INVITING HER!”

“No, that’s not it! Uh… It looks like you worked really hard on these things! I need a second one that I can put up on my fridge, you know?”

No, Papyrus didn’t really know. He couldn’t see why she wouldn’t put up her own invitation, if that was what she wanted to do. Still, it wasn’t as if there was a scarcity of his invitations, so with a shrug he pulled another out and handed it over.

“OF COURSE! AND IF YOU EVER WANT ME TO TEACH YOU HOW TO DO THEM, I’VE BEEN LEARNING A WHOLE BUNCH OF ORIGAMI STUFF LATELY! IT’S REALLY FUN AND I’M PRETTY MUCH AN EXPERT BY NOW, SO I’D BE HAPPY TO TEACH YOU WHAT I KNOW!”

“I’ll hold you to it then, nerd. Can’t wait for your party! You know I’ll be there!”

After Undyne went back inside and Papyrus went on his way, he felt as if his soul was soaring. Already he had at least one guest! That would make his party his most successful one yet.

He was more excited for his birthday than he’d been in years now.

———————————————————————————

The day of his birthday came and the party was a success. Undyne, Alphys, Frisk, Toriel, even King Asgore, and that little white dog managed to sneak in among his guests. He completely forgot about so many parties left unattended, with so much planned only for Papyrus to be alone with Sans trying to pull together the pieces.

So with so many people here, just for him, it was perfect. There was no way that his party could be any more perfect.

“HELLO, DARLINGS, IT IS I!”

Wait, was that…?

Papyrus whipped his head in the direction of the front door so fast that his skull might’ve flown off with the force of it. Oh my god, it was, Papyrus would recognize that form anywhere.

“M-METTATON?”

The celebrity in question wheeled over, making his way for Papyrus.

“I was so delighted when Alphys gave me the invitation and asked me to grace your party with my wonderful presence. Especially knowing that the birthday boy is a sweet, handsome skeleton such as yourself.”

Yes, this was exactly how Papyrus was going to die.

Past Mettaton, Papyrus saw Undyne, lurking over by the wall with Alphys. When he caught her eye, she gave him a grin and a thumbs up.

‘Happy birthday!’ she mouthed.

Oh. Oh my god. Was this what Undyne meant by his birthday present? Was this why she needed a second invitation?

His cheekbones burned. She got him Mettaton? The Mettaton?! As a guest at his birthday party.

He wasn’t ready for this!

“OH!!! WELCOME, I’M REALLY GLAD THAT YOU COULD MAKE IT, WITH WHAT MUST BE A VERY BUSY SCHEDULE OF YOURS!”

“Of course, darling, anything for a friend of dear Alphys.” He rested a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, the pressure light but oh my god, Mettaton was touching him. Papyrus was going to die.

Or better than that, he was going to get something to drink. And Mettaton as well. He couldn’t forget to be the gracious host that he needed to be!

“WOULD YOU LIKE A DRINK, METTATON?”

“That’s sweet of you, Papyrus.” There was no mouth to smile, but Papyrus could hear the light amusement and warmth in Mettaton’s voice. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the capacity for drinks when I’m like this. No mouth.”

Papyrus resisted the urge to pull his scarf up over his face. “OH.” Duh. Robot, no mouth, no drinking. What an idiot.

“Thank you, though. I appreciate you thinking of me here when you’re the special one today, birthday boy.”

He was just being nice. It was a celebrity thing, even at a private party as a favor to a friend. Mettaton was just trying to be nice to a fan. And yet Papyrus felt his soul flutter in his chest anyway, and he near sputtered when he rushed to respond.

“OF! OF COURSE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD ALWAYS STRIVE TO BE THE GREATEST HOST—! THANK YOU!”

Mettaton may not be able to drink anything, but Papyrus was ready for a good few hard drinks himself. It was perfect to get rid of all that pesky anxiety roiling in his soul, terrified of humiliating himself in front of the Mettaton. The knot in his ribcage loosened, and as he downed each grand gulp, he really did loosen up and began to just enjoy the party, without worrying over the judgment of certain (famous, handsome, talented, all-around-amazing) guests.

Which he found himself gushing about in the midst of his drunken haze, a heavy orange flush warming his cheekbones.

“Aw, thank you darling, you’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

Papyrus felt himself heating up and he leaned closer, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. “THANK YOU! I’VE REALLY BEEN SUCH A BIG FAN OF YOU FOR A LONG TIME. YOU’RE SO TALENTED AND HANDSOME AND RECTANGULAR AND YOU VOICE IS GORGEOUS.”

“You’ve got quite the talent yourself, sweetheart. Did you make the invitations by yourself?”

“YEAH!” His nodding was perhaps a bit more vigorous than was necessary. “I MEAN, MY BROTHER HELPED ME OUT WITH SOME OF THEM, BUT I SHOWED HIM HOW SO THAT EACH ONE WOULD BE SPECIAL!”

“I noticed that they were unique. I ended up getting two of them, after all.”

Papyrus’ eye sockets went wide. “TWO OF THEM?”

Oh god, what if Mettaton thought that he was behind both invitations and decided that he was annoying and clingy because of it? How did Undyne get two of them? Why did she give him two?”

“Yes. One from your… boisterous friend over there…” Mettaton jerked his thumb in the direction of Undyne, and Papyrus near died from embarrassment at the suggestive looks that Undyne was still shooting at the two of them. “…and then one from dear Alphys over there.”

(Who was also giving them looks, apparently. God.)

“WELL I’M SORRY ABOUT THAT. I’M SO HAPPY THAT YOU CAME THOUGH.”

“It’s no problem. The invitations are charming. I love the generous use of glitter. They’re gorgeous.”

‘Gaudy’ was what Sans called them, ‘but in a good way’. Papyrus didn’t know what that meant, but he was glad to hear that Mettaton liked them.

“THANK YOU!!! I’VE BEEN DOING A LOT OF CRAFTS SINCE WE CAME UP TO THE SURFACE—HUMANS HAVE ENTIRE STORES DEDICATED TO ONLY CRAFT SUPPLIES! HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO ONE? THEY’RE WONDERFUL!”

“Oh? Sometime after your party you’ll have to show me some of your work.”

“ABSOLUTELY, YES!”

“alright folks, time for a birthday classic: ‘pin the tail on the donkey’!”

Sans was standing in the middle of the room, holding a blindfold aloft. When he’d gotten those things were beyond Papyrus, because they certainly did not plan on pin the tail on the donkey as a game. Papyrus narrowed his eye sockets at his brother, unable to glance over at Mettaton.

“SANS, THAT IS A GAME FOR BABYBONES!”

“c’mon bro, let’s get some healthy competition in here.”

“Sounds fun!” Before Papyrus could continue his reprimand, Mettaton cut in, draping an arm around Papyrus’ shoulders. “But if you were intimidated by my prowess I would absolutely understand.”

Intimidated? Him?

“OH, NO NO, I AM THE MASTER OF ALL SORTS OF GAMES INVOLVING BLINDFOLDS AND PINS! I WILL DESTROY YOU IN PINNING THIS TAIL ON THIS DONKEY!”

For some reason, his comment had Mettaton laughing, withdrawing his arm from around Papyrus’ shoulder to press a fist to his display screen. “Of course, darling. Just wait until I’ve pinned that tail spot on.”

“YOU ARE ON, METTATON!”

Never had Papyrus been so hyped up to annihilate someone at a children’s party game. He pushed away, immediately swaying in place as the room spun around him. Oh right. Might be a bit of a handicap since he’d had a few drinks.

No matter. Mettaton would need that handicap with Papyrus’ incredible skills.

———————————————————————————

His skull throbbed. He massaged his fingers against it, leaning into his hand as he sat at the kitchen table. There was the hum of voices coming from the other room, mingled with the music of the continuing party. Most of his guests had been concerned, but Papyrus had assured that he’d be right back, after he sat down for a little bit.

Mettaton stood next to him, a reassuring hand rubbing his back.

“Are you feeling alright, darling? Do you need me to call your brother in here?”

Papyrus waved him off, biting back a groan at the splitting pain in his head. “NO, NO, LET HIM HAVE FUN. HE’S PROBABLY BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS LONGER THAN I HAVE. ARE YOU ALRIGHT, METTATON? I’VE GOT BONES OF STEEL.”

Unlike humans, skeletons weren’t exactly in danger of brain damage. The pain would pass and Papyrus would be fine. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he’d damaged Mettaton’s body.

“You’re fine. I’ve got a body of steel—well, maybe not steel, but I’m made of some tough, high-quality materials as befitting of an entertaining robot.”

Good. Papyrus gave him a strained smile through the pain. “I’M GLAD OF THAT. I’M SORRY I TRIPPED AND BASHED MY HEAD AGAINST YOUR SCREEN LIKE THAT. YOU SHOULD GO HAVE FUN THOUGH. I’LL COME OUT SOON.”

He still couldn’t believe that the moment that his brother had tied the blindfold around his face for his turn, Papyrus had managed to lose his balance in his sightlessness, and knocked his skull right into Mettaton’s face. It’d been so uncool of him.

Mettaton hadn’t made him feel bad about it once, though.

“No, I’ll stay with you tonight, birthday boy. I wouldn’t want you to be miserable and alone on your birthday.” There was a smile in his voice, though there was no mouth to smile with, and the robot leaned in close. “Why don’t you tell me about what you like doing when you aren’t too busy falling for me?”

If Mettaton had eyes in his current form, Papyrus would swear that he’d be winking at him.

“WELL, I’M QUITE THE CHEF…!”

———————————————————————————

They chatted for much of the night, well after the pain in Papyrus’ skull had faded. He didn’t even realize how long they’d been in the kitchen until Mettaton caught sight of the time, and announced that he needed to leave for the night.

“Tonight was a blast, darling, I’d love to spend more time with you sometime. Here you go, if you can remember tomorrow.” An arm extended, a slip of paper in hand. With a number on it.

Oh god, Mettaton was giving him his number.

Papyrus’s cheekbones flushed with more than the alcohol now.

“YES! YES, I’D LOVE TO CALL YOU! AND SPEND MORE TIME WITH YOU, I MEAN!”

The lights on his front panel flashed in what seemed to be amusement. “Glad to here it. I can’t wait for your call, then, Papyrus, good night sweetheart!”

“GOODNIGHT METTATON! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR COMING! AND FOR YOUR NUMBER!”

He felt like he was in a daze, and not just from the alcohol. The rest of the night passed by without him remembering much other than bits and pieces of it—saying goodbye to one or two people, Undyne nudging him hard in the ribs and winking at him as she left, falling into bed—and all the while he kept glancing at the little slip of paper that Mettaton had given him.

Best birthday party ever. He was so glad that Sans had talked him into having one.

———————————————————————————

Papyrus stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the calendar on the wall, at the little red line marking out his birthday as another day passed. The card was in his hand, his fingers fidgeting with edges, bending in the corners. There was a part of him that still couldn’t believe that this was happening, that the entirety of yesterday was an alcohol-induced dream, and any moment now he’d have an abrupt awakening, and it will have all been fake.

He became aware of Sans’s presence at his side. Papyrus didn’t know when his brother had gotten there, but there they both were now, staring like a couple of boneheads at the wall.

“lots of days have passed by, huh? can’t believe we made it—here on the surface so long that you had a birthday up here and everything.”

That wasn’t what Papyrus had been thinking, but now that Sans brought it up, he realized that his brother was right. So many red lines, each one marking the passage of time. Each one another day spent on the surface.

And the last one was his birthday. His birthday where he had gotten the Mettaton’s personal phone number.

“OH MY GOD.” He said the words with a soft exhale. His gaze was on the wall, but he was hyper-aware of the paper in his hand. “YEAH.”

Out of his periphery, he saw his brother tilt his head to look up at him. Papyrus was too dazed to return the look.

“wonder how many more, huh?”

Well that was ominous. Papyrus tore his eyes away to lock gazes with his brother—dark sockets meeting empty ones. He shivered, but forced a smile onto his face.

“PLENTY MORE FOR ME TO PLAN NEXT YEAR’S PARTY! MORE GAMES, MORE FUN, MORE INVITATIONS! JUST WAIT, YOU’LL SEE SANS. THERE’LL BE A MILLION MORE LINES ON THE CALENDAR!”

“heh.” The lights returned to his brother’s eye sockets, an amused tilt to his grin. “can’t wait, bro.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence. Papyrus found that, for the very first time, he was excited for the next year, and for his next birthday to come. He was glad that Sans suggested it this time, and that he agreed to it. It turned out to be his best year yet. Lost in his thoughts for the future, Papyrus almost forgot the reason he’d been standing so absentmindedly in the kitchen in the first place. Almost, until…

“so when’re you planning to call him up?”

[readbookywooks]

As Esk tried to work out how to move the staff the ripples spread out in the magical ether, changing the Discworld in thousands of tiny ways. Most went entirely unnoticed. Perhaps a few grains of sand lay on their beaches in a slightly different position, or the occasional leaf hung on its tree in a marginally different way. But then the wavefront of probability struck the edge of Reality and rebounded like the slosh off the side of the pond which, meeting the laggard ripples coming the other way, caused small but important whirlpools in the very fabric of existence. You can have whirlpools in the fabric of existence, because it is a very strange fabric. Esk was completely ignorant of all this, of course, but was quite satisfied when the staff dropped out of thin air into her hand. It felt warm. She looked at it for some time. She felt that she ought to do something about it; it was too big, too distinctive, too inconvenient. It attracted attention. “If I'm taking you to Ankh-Morpork,” she said thoughtfully, “You've got to go in disguise.” A few late flickers of magic played around the staff, and then it went dark. Eventually Esk solved the immediate problem by finding a stall in the main Zemphis marketplace that sold broomsticks, buying the largest, carrying it back to her doorway, removing the handle and ramming the staff deep into the birch twigs. It didn't seem right to treat a noble object in this way, and she silently apologised to it. It made a difference, anyway. No one looked twice at a small girl carrying a broom. She bought a spice pasty to eat while exploring (the stallholder carelessly shortchanged her, and only realised later that he had inexplicably handed over two silver pieces; also, rats mysteriously got in and ate all his stock during the night, and his grandmother was struck by lightning). The town was smaller than Ohulan, and very different because it lay on the junction of three trade routes quite apart from the river itself. It was built around one enormous square which was a cross between a permanent exotic traffic jam and a tent village. Camels kicked mules, mules kicked horses, horses kicked camels and they all kicked humans; there was a riot of colours, a din of noise, a nasal orchestration of smells and the steady, heady sound of hundreds of people working hard at making money. One reason for the bustle was that over large parts of the continent other people preferred to make money without working at all, and since the Disc had yet to develop a music recording industry they were forced to fall back on older, more traditional forms of banditry. Strangely enough these often involved considerable effort. Rolling heavy rocks to the top of cliffs for a decent ambush, cutting down trees to block the road, and digging a pit lined with spikes while still keeping a wicked edge on a dagger probably involved a much greater expenditure of thought and muscle than more socially-acceptable professions but, nevertheless, there were still people misguided enough to endure all this, plus long nights in uncomfortable surroundings, merely to get their hands on perfectly ordinary large boxes of jewels. So a town like Zemphis was the place where caravans split, mingled and came together again, as dozens of merchants and travellers banded together for protection against the socially disadvantaged on the trails ahead. Esk, wandering unregarded amidst the bustle, learned all this by the simple method of finding someone who looked important and tugging on the hem of his coat. This particular man was counting bales of tobacco and would have succeeded but for the interruption. “What?” “I said, what happening here?” The man meant to say: “Push off and bother someone else.” He meant to give her a light cuff about the head. So he was astonished to find himself bending down and talking seriously to a small, grubby-faced child holding a large broomstick (which also, it seemed to him later, was in some indefinable way paying attention). He explained about the caravans. The child nodded. “People all get together to travel?” “Precisely.” “Where to?” “All sorts of places. Sto Lat, Pseudopolis . . . Ankh-Morpork, of course . . . .” “But the river goes there,” said Esk, reasonably. “Barges. The Zoons.” “Ah, yes,” said the merchant, “but they charge high prices and they can't carry everything and, anyway, no one trusts them much.” “But they're very honest!” “Huh, yes,” he said. “But you know what they say: never trust an honest man.” He smiled knowingly. “Who says that?” “They do. You know. People,” he said, a certain uneasiness entering his voice. “Oh,” said Esk. She thought about it. “They must be very silly,” she said primly. “Thank you, anyway.” He watched her wander off and got back to his counting. A moment later there was another tug at his coat. “Fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftysevenwell?” he said, trying not to lose his place. “Sorry to bother you again,” said Esk, “but those bale things ....” “What about them fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftyseven?” “Well, are they supposed to have little white worm things in them?” “Fiftysev - what?” The merchant lowered his slate and stared at Esk, “What little worms?” “Wriggly ones. White,” added Esk, helpfully. “All sort of burrowing about in the middle of the bales.” “You mean tobacco threadworm?” He looked wild-eyed at the stack of bales being unloaded by, now he came to think about it, a vendor with the nervous look of a midnight sprite who wants to get away before you find out what fairy gold turns into in the morning. “But he told me these had been well stored and - how do you know, anyway? ” The child had disappeared among the crowds. The merchant looked hard at the spot where she had been. He looked hard at the vendor, who was grinning nervously. He looked hard at the sky. Then took his sampling knife out of his pocket, stared at it for a moment, appeared to reach a decision, and sidled towards the nearest bale. Esk, meanwhile, had by random eavesdropping found the caravan being assembled for Ankh-Morpork. The trail boss was sitting at a table made up of a plank across two barrels. He was busy. He was talking to a wizard. Seasoned travellers know that a party setting out to cross possibly hostile country should have a fair number of swords in it but should definitely have a wizard in case there is any need for magic arts and, even if these do not become necessary, for lighting fires. A wizard of the third rank or above does not expect to pay for the privilege of joining the party. Rather, he expects to be paid. Delicate negotiations were even now coming to a conclusion. “Fair enough, Master Treatle, but what of the young man?” said the trail boss, one Adab Gander, an impressive figure in a trollhide jerkin, rakishly floppy hat and a leather kilt. “He's no wizard, I can see.” “He is in training,” said Treatle- a tall skinny wizard whose robes declared him to be a mage of the Ancient and Truly Original Brothers of the Silver Star, one of the eight orders of wizardry. “Then no wizard he,” said Gander. “I know the rules, and you're not a wizard unless you've got a staff. And he hasn't.” “Even now he travels to the Unseen University for that small detail,” said Treatle loftily. Wizards parted with money slightly less readily than tigers parted with their teeth. Gander looked at the lad in question. He had met a good many wizards in his time and considered himself a good judge and he had to admit that this boy looked like good wizard material. In other words, he was thin, gangling, pale from reading disturbing books in unhealthy rooms, and had watery eyes like two lightly-poached eggs. It crossed Gander's mind that one must speculate in order to accumulate. All he needs to get right to the top, he thought, is a bit of a handicap. Wizards are martyrs to things like asthma and flat feet, it somehow seems to give them their drive. “What's your name, lad?” he said, as kindly as possible. “Sssssssssssssss” said the boy. His Adam's apple bobbed like a captive balloon. He turned to his companion, full of mute appeal. “Simon,” said Trestle. “- imon,” agreed Simon, thankfully. “Can you cast fireballs or whirling spells, such as might be hurled against an enemy?” Simon looked sideways at Trestle. “Nnnnnnnnnn” he ventured. “My young friend follows higher magic than the mere hurling of sorceries,” said the wizard. “-o,” said Simon. Gander nodded. “Well,” he said, “maybe you will indeed be a wizard, lad. Maybe when you have your fine staff you'll consent to travel with me one time, yes? I will make an investment in you, yes?” “Just nod,” said Gander, who was not naturally a cruel man. Simon nodded gratefully. Treatle and Gander exchanged nods and then the wizard strode off, with his apprentice trailing behind under a weight of baggage. Gander looked down at the list in front of him and carefully crossed out “wizard”. A small shadow fell across the page. He glanced up and gave an involuntary start. “Well?” he said coldly. “I want to go to Ankh-Morpork,” said Esk, “please. I've got some money.” “Go home to your mother, child.” “No, really. I want to seek my fortune.” Gander sighed. “Why are you holding that broomstick?” he said. Esk looked at it as though she had never seen it before. “Everything's got to be somewhere,” she said. “Just go home, my girl,” said Gander. “I'm not taking any runaways to Ankh-Morpork. Strange things can happen to little girls in big cities.” Esk brightened. “What sort of strange things?” “Look, I said go home, right? Now!” He picked up his chalk and went on ticking off items on his slate, trying to ignore the steady gaze that seemed to be boring through the top of his head. “I can be helpful,” said Esk, quietly. Gander threw down the chalk and scratched his chin irritably. “How old are you?” he said. “Nine.” “Well, Miss nine-years-old, I've got two hundred animals and a hundred people that want to go to Ankh, and half of them hate the other half, and I've not got enough people who can fight, and they say the roads are pretty bad and the bandits are getting really cheeky up in the Paps and the trolls are demanding a bigger bridge toll this year and there's weevils in the supplies and I keep getting these headaches and where, in all this, do I need you?” “Oh,” said Esk. She looked around the crowded square. “Which one of these roads goes to Ankh, then?” “The one over there, with the gate.” “Thank you,” she said gravely. “Goodbye. I hope you don't have any more trouble and your head gets better.” “Right,” said Gander uncertainly. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he watched Esk walk away in the direction of the Ankh road. A long, winding road. A road haunted by thieves and gnolls. A road that wheezed through high mountain passes and crawled, panting, over deserts.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

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