#delightful ask to receive i started nodding Enthusiastically upon seeing it

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

PINK!!!!!

PINK!!!!!!

[natrogersfics]

PREVIEW - Game Plan: Chapter 3

Artwork by @faith2nyc​ Catch up on Chapter 2  Read on AO3

He can’t breathe. Well, maybe he’s being a touch dramatic. It’s not as if the tightness he’s feeling in his chest right now is akin to having a three-hundred-plus-pound defensive end pinning him to the ground, though Steve’s certainly experienced that enough times to know it’s pretty damn close. And just like when he’s sacked in the pocket, he’s uncomfortable – irritated, even. But the worst part is, he doesn’t actually think it has anything to do with the interviewer that’s been trying to cajole him into a cringeworthy sound bite for the last half hour.

The irony that he’s now sitting for an interview does not escape him. When the Avengers had first announced his signing, the reception was a mixed bag. There were some who cheered, delighting in the idea of him mounting a comeback and raving about what a coup the front office had pulled. Nevertheless, many were skeptical. Hardcore fanatics were, at best, lukewarm about the idea of a former NFC West quarterback jumping to the AFC East. Pundits on Sports Center dissected his ability to play pro ball again after a two-season hiatus. Then there were the ever-unescapable critics. He’s sure they had a lot to say (and likely still do), but if he hadn’t paid attention to them back then, he sure as hell isn’t going to do so now.

Fast forward two weeks, one front page cover, and a charity campaign kickoff later, and suddenly the tides have turned. Such was the number of requests Natasha had received from podcast hosts to talk show producers alike to book time with him that they had no other option but to schedule back-to-back interviews while he trains at the Avengers’ remote facility out in New Jersey. And that’s how he wound up in his current predicament – his patience running thin as he sits mic’d up on a plush leather seat in the Press Room in the middle of his third interview of the day.

“Let’s talk about your career.”

The suggestion comes from his left, where a wooden desk with a surfeit of props across the surface has been situated on the makeshift set. Behind it sits Johann Schmidt, the famously mercurial host of the streaming talk show HAIL HYDRA! and known to sports fans across the nation as the Red Skull – a moniker bestowed upon him for his impossibly sharp features and his penchant for dressing in the fiery color.

“7 seasons, 102 games played, 23,671 passing yards, 171 total touchdowns, 73.4% pass completion rate…”

As Schmidt rattles off a list of his career statistics, he steals a glance towards the front of the room, half expecting Natasha to interject that his pass completion rate is actually 74.3%, not 73.4. But she doesn’t, and he realizes that unlike the last few times she’s cut in when an interviewer misstates a fact about him or his career statistics, she isn’t doing so now because her attention is elsewhere. Or, more accurately, it’s being monopolized by the towering stranger she’s been talking to since the start of this interview whose words now have her tipping her head back in laughter.

The thought triggers a bitter taste in his mouth, and right then and there, it hits him. The inexplicable tension in his body, the irritation he feels – it’s nothing short of the green-eyed monster.

He’s always been competitive. He is an athlete, after all, and he’s almost certain that anyone would be hard pressed to find one that didn’t prioritize winning. But jealousy is just not an emotion he’s ever leaned into. It’s childish, nonsensical, and he’s seen the crazy things it’s driven other people to do. Not to mention the fact that right now, he has absolutely no right to feel it – especially when it comes to Natasha. With that in mind, he shifts in his seat in an effort to shake the feeling away, turning his attention back to Schmidt.

“The New York Avengers haven’t had a successful run in the playoffs in quite some time,” Schmidt states into the windscreen covered microphone before him. “That said, it’s still the most storied franchise in the league, which is why it’s understandable that fans may be dubious about whether or not you’re the right man to lead the team back to glory.” Schmidt pauses, his expression bordering on menacing as he leans forward in his seat. “So, tell us, Steve, why do you think you’re the player to do that?” Schmidt lifts a shoulder. “What makes you so... special?”

“We all know I’ve suffered a major injury and that I haven’t played professionally in two seasons. So, I get it,” he acknowledges. “I get why fans are skeptical to give me a chance.” He shakes his head. “You ask what makes me the man to lift this team back up… What makes me so special? The answer, Schmidt, is nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s true that I’m often associated with LA because that’s where my career began. But at the end of the day, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn-”

“Just what every fan base wants to hear, am I right?” Schmidt interrupts, practically reveling in delight as he smirks. “The savior they’ve been waiting for… and he turns out to be nothing but ordinary.”

“Perhaps you see it that way, but I disagree,” he says, prompting Schmidt to raise a brow. “Being a kid from Brooklyn means that I can’t” – he pauses, shaking his head – “I won’t back down from a challenge.” He sighs. “So, while I can’t guarantee fans a Lombardi at the end of the season, what I can guarantee is that every time I put on that uniform, I will leave my heart out on that field.”

Schmidt is stunned into silence, and it’s only when the room suddenly bursts in applause that he comprehends why the man’s glib expression has soured into a scowl. Turning away from the host, he allows his eyes to sweep across the room to see the entire crew – both from the Avengers and from HYDRA – clapping enthusiastically. As he spots Darcy and Wanda in the corner, both of whom offer him two thumbs up, pride begins to surge through him. But it’s only when he sees Natasha next to them, her lips quirking as she gives him a nod of approval, that he smiles – his earlier discomfort all but forgotten.

“You killed it!” Natasha exclaims as he walks towards her at the end of the interview, and he’s surprised when she leans in to wrap her arms around him.

“Think so?” he says, returning the embrace and letting his lips pull upwards into a smile.

“Know so,” Natasha says as she pulls away. “Oh, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Natasha moves to his side, and he looks up to see the man she was talking to earlier standing before them. He’s dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his stature massive enough that he could easily be a tight end or even a center. “Steve,” Natasha begins, “this is Thor Odinson, CEO of Point Break, the country’s leading athletic wear brand and your new sponsor.” Her words cause the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. “Thor, this is Steve, our starting quarterback.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Johann Schmidt stunned into silence before,” Thor says, flashing his perfect teeth as he smiles and extends his hand out to him. “Seriously, good job.”

“Thank you,” he says, shaking Thor’s hand. “But that was all Natasha. She prepared me well.”

He beams in pride as he turns to Natasha, because if he’s learned anything in the last two weeks, it’s that her dedication to her job is unparalleled. Every day since this media campaign has started, she’s easily the most prepared person in the room – ready to fire off a Plan B, C, or D when necessary. While things haven’t always been smooth sailing, he’s certain that nothing has ever escalated into a mishap because of her quick thinking. If he’s had any success in turning the public’s opinion on him, it’s only because he’s been fortunate enough to have her as his guide every step of the way.

More impressive than Natasha’s work ethic though, is her capacity for kindness, and it’s something he’s witnessed time again throughout their relatively short time together. As his Publicist, she’s often the first line of defense when it comes to the media, and though he’s only been back in the public eye for a brief period of time, he’s seen how brash they can be when they press her for information. And yet, she’s never been anything but professional, even when the person before her does not warrant it. Add to that the way she watches over her team and how lovingly she speaks of her sister, and he’s not sure how anyone can do anything but admire her.

“This one,” Thor says, pointing a thumb at Natasha, “is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he says to her more than anyone else, and as she playfully rolls her eyes, he pretends not to notice the hand Thor places on her shoulder.

“When he can nail interviews like that, my job is basically a breeze,” Natasha says, turning to Thor. “Anyway, shall the three of us discuss the rollout strategy for the sponsorship?”

“Yes, let’s,” Thor says, gesturing towards the door. “Lead the way, Nat.”

He arches a brow as he follows them out of the Press Room. Nat?

Read all of chapter 3 here

[ibijau]

welp, here’s my part of a winter exchange organised by on the xisang discord! I got to write for @scumvillainrights and it was fun~

It was Nie Huaisang’s fault for arriving a day early. He had just felt too impatient to visit the Cloud Recesses again. That, and it was just so cold at the altitude he flew at, so he had pushed himself hard to reach his destination faster. The downsides to that, he’d found out upon arriving to the gate of the Cloud Recesses, was that nothing was ready to receive him, and that the sect leader was absent dealing with some other business, as were Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji.

Having been given a jade token even before his brother’s death, Nie Huaisang was still allowed inside, but it was clear to him that the Lans just didn’t quite know what to do with him. And while it would have been easy, and perhaps even mildly funny to embarrass those Lan disciples by requesting a room be given to him right away to rest and refresh himself, Nie Huaisang simply did not feel like being cruel. It really was his fault for being early this once, when he was usually more likely to be late. So Nie Huaisang assured the disciples welcoming him that he was in no hurry, and asked to be allowed to enjoy a walk in the Cloud Recesses, since they were so beautiful with the thin layer of snow that winter had brought.

The request, of course, was granted, and Nie Huaisang started wandering. Before long he realised that even the peaceful scenery of the Cloud Recesses couldn't lift his heavy mind, not this time, not anymore. The last few years had taken their toll on him, between the loss of his brother, the weight of responsibility, and the burden of revenge. Something had broken inside, Nie Huaisang thought. Something that not even this place he used to love could soothe, nor the perspective of finally having time with Lan Xichen again.

As he walked, deep in thought, Nie Huaisang’s feet took him to the hall where the Lans conducted punishment for disobedient disciples. This, at least, nearly made him smile. He used to come here often when he was a guest student, and it seemed his legs remembered the path too well. Still, it was no place for him to be. Nie Huaisang was about to turn away when he heard some singing.

Music, of course, was nothing unusual in the Cloud Recesses. Every disciple learned to play an instrument, usually the guqin. But because of Lan rules that favoured the quiet, it was rare to hear any singing. In fact, Nie Huaisang wondered if he'd ever heard such a thing before. It made him curious enough that he followed that voice inside the courtyard of the hall.

There, in the snow, with his back to Nie Huaisang, a kneeling boy was singing to himself. It couldn't have been part of his punishment to sing. In fact, Nie Huaisang was sure the boy would get harshly scolded if he were discovered by other Lan disciples.

A shame. The boy had a good, steady voice, full of energy but pleasant to the ear. It seemed out of place in the Cloud Recesses, the same way Nie Huaisang knew he did in the Unclean Realm.

Perhaps that was the reason why Nie Huaisang clapped when the song ended.

The boy cried out in surprise, again too loud for the Cloud Recesses, and turned to look at Nie Huaisang with big frightened eyes.

"Gongzi!" he exclaimed, quickly looking around in case Nie Huaisang weren't alone. "Are you lost, gongzi? I don't think visitors are allowed here."

Seeing his face, Nie Huaisang guessed the boy to be twelve or thirteen at most. Going by the steadiness of his singing, Nie Huaisang would have thought him to be older.

"Ordinary visitors maybe not," he admitted. "But I'm a friend of Lan zongzhu, and I have certain rights."

"You don't look like someone Lan zongzhu would be friends with," the boy retorted. "Aren't you dressed too fancy for the Cloud Recesses?"

Nie Huaisang smiled in spite of himself, delighted by this odd little Lan he'd stumbled upon. Gusu boys never usually managed that sort of open insolence, it was beaten out of them by the time they were ten.

"I really am Lan zongzhu's friend," he insisted, showing off his jade token to prove it. That particular type was only given to high ranking disciples normally, though Lan Xichen had also given them to his closest, most trusted friends.

"Oh, maybe you really are," the boy conceded. "Who are you? I thought only Jin zongzhu had one like that. Or are you… Ah, what's the other one…"

"I'm Nie Huaisang," came the answer, a little drier than it needed to be. But Nie Huaisang's rare good humour had fallen apart at the reminder that Jin Guangyao existed in the world.

"Nie zongzhu!" the boy gasped, bowing politely to him. "I'm sorry. I should have guessed by your colours."

"It's fine. And you are?"

"I'm Lan Jingyi, Nie zongzhu. I'm actually related to Lan zongzhu. We're cousins. Kind of."

The boy's name was unfamiliar, but that was hardly a surprise. Nie Huaisang has always struggled to remember names, unless the person was of direct interest to him.

"Nie zongzhu, are you going to denounce me for singing?" Lan Jingyi asked, looking up at him with worry. "I know I shouldn't have. If master Lan hears about it, he's going to scold me for making a racket again."

"Are those his words?"

Lan Jingyi shrugged with a carelessness that made Nie Huaisang nearly smile again. Then, remembering that he was talking to a person of some importance, Lan Jingyi quickly nodded and bowed again.

"Master Lan is trying to teach me to stop disrupting the peace," he explained. "I am very grateful for his efforts and I am trying to learn from him."

"If he called your singing a racket he's unfair," Nie Huaisang retorted. "You have a very lovely voice. Where did you learn to sing like that? You must have been trained to be this good?"

The instant he heard the praise, Lan Jingyi's face illuminated, as if he'd never received such a high compliment.

"Nie zongzhu is too kind!" he exclaimed. "I haven't been trained, except if you count singing with my father when I was little. I just enjoy it a lot, even if I know I shouldn't."

"Ah, I know the feeling," Nie Huaisang huffed with a half smile. "I'm glad you persevered. You really are quite good. In fact, I wouldn't mind another song, if that's agreeable to you. I won't tell master Lan and Lan zongzhu, I promise."

"Really?"

"Really."

Lan Jingyi's smile at being encouraged could have outshone the sun. He didn't hesitate and started another song right away.

He really had a good voice, especially if he had never received training for it. So good in fact that Nie Huaisang allowed himself to be carried away by the music without paying attention to the lyrics. They seemed to be mostly nonsense anyway, just random things set to the tune of a Lan melody which Nie Huaisang, belatedly, recognised as Cleansing

At any other time, it would have horrified him to hear again the music used to murder his brother. But set to silly lyrics, in the voice of this enthusiastic child, Nie Huaisang found that he didn't mind. If anything, Lan Jingyi made the melody feel peaceful again.

It had been a long, long while since Nie Huaisang had felt so calm.

That fragile peace was promptly broken by approaching footsteps.

"Lan Jingyi, do you know what rules you have just broken?" a stern voice asked in a tired tone, bringing the song to a sudden end.

Even before turning, Nie Huaisang recognised Lan Qiren and shivered. Even though he was no longer his student, some part of him still feared the strict teacher who used to terrify him. At least, Lan Qiren wasn't alone. When Nie Huaisang turned to bow in respect, he saw Lan Xichen at his uncle's side, which meant he wouldn't have to go through the torture of small talk with Lan Qiren.

"Master Lan, Lan zongzhu, please do not scold that disciple of yours," Nie Huaisang asked. "I am the one who requested to hear him sing, and of course he could hardly have denied me this."

"And how did you know that he sings in the first place?" Lan Qiren retorted, unimpressed.

Unsure how to answer without causing more problems for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang elected to stay silent. He opened his fan to hide and turned his attention to Lan Xichen, as if he hadn't heard the question at all.

"Er-ge, how good to see you, it's been so long. Are you free now? Could we go have tea? I'm just freezing, I can't feel my feet at all and I'm worried about frostbite!"

Lan Xichen smiled indulgently, and glanced at his uncle.

"I'll let you deal with Jingyi, uncle, and entertain Nie zongzhu. Don't let him stay out too long. I fear it'll snow again tonight."

Lan Qiren looked unimpressed by that double plea for leniency, but nodded anyway. Only a little worried for Lan Jingyi, Nie Huaisang lost no time in following Lan Xichen away from that courtyard and toward the Hanshi.

"Will he be punished for this?" Nie Huaisang asked as they walked, a little closer to each other than necessary.

"Who?"

"That boy, Lan Jingyi. I really did ask him, you know, and I promised him he wouldn't get in trouble."

Lan Xichen chuckled softly.

"Lan Jingyi is always in trouble," he said. "We don't really know what to do with him. He has very good cultivation, uncle says he's one of the most skilled swordsmen he's ever seen, but his attitude is… a bit much to handle."

Nie Huaisang grimaced. He had found it endearing that Lan Jingyi had been nearly insolent, that he didn't whisper like most Lan disciples seemed to do, but he could imagine others would be less amused.

"It would be less of a problem if his musical cultivation were better," Lan Xichen sighed. "But he struggles with that as well. It's very odd. He has such a good ear for music, he's always humming something if left alone, but put him before a guqin and he's a disaster. He tries to please us, but it's so obvious he doesn't care for it, and so he makes no progress."

"Sounds familiar," Nie Huaisang grumbled, thinking again how radiant Lan Jingyi had been when praised, even by a complete stranger. He thought, also, of the way he'd found Cleansing soothing again, for the first time in years, and wondered. "Is it possible to cultivate through singing?"

Lan Xichen shot him a surprised look at the question, and did not answer right away. They had reached the Hanshi at last, and Lan Xichen remained silent as he opened the door, letting his guest in.

"I don't think it has ever been done," he finally answered as he closed the door behind them. "It certainly wouldn't be traditional."

"Oh, tradition," Nie Huaisang huffed, bending down to take off his boots as quickly as his cold fingers allowed. "Sometimes tradition isn't so great."

Kneeling next to him, Lan Xichen hummed noncommittally before helping Nie Huaisang remove his shoes, clearly less affected by the biting cold. Nie Huaisang couldn't decide if he was grateful or annoyed that he needed the help. He chose to ignore both feelings and leaned forward, silently begging for a kiss that was easily granted to him.

Before Nie Huaisang could get a second kiss, Lan Xichen rose to his feet and went to boil water for some tea. Nie Huaisang went to sit at the table and watched the other man work, their conversation already half forgotten for his part.

Lan Xichen, however, wasn't quite done yet.

"There might be something to your idea of voice cultivation," he said a few minutes later, while pouring the tea. Nie Huaisang blinked a few times, hurriedly trying to recall what he'd said. He was so often ignored these days, it always startled him how Lan Xichen truly paid attention to his chatter. "It would not be recommended for ordinary people, but Lan Jingyi does have a more powerful voice than most. The main reason uncle has to be so tough on him about being quiet is that Lan Jingyi has provoked headaches in others more than once. But if that could be channelled properly… and singing is music as well, isn't it? The voice is just an instrument of another sort. It could be worth trying. I'll tell uncle about it. He has a soft spot for Jingyi, I'm sure he'd be happy to find a way to help him improve."

Lan Xichen sounded so serious and earnest about it that Nie Huaisang found himself smiling. Because the world was cold and his own mind so dark, Nie Huaisang forgot sometimes how warm and kind Lan Xichen could be. At times he was annoyed by it, jealous that anyone might still carry so much gentleness. But that day, like most times he was reminded of his lover's nature, Nie Huaisang felt relieved that Lan Xichen remained untouched by darkness, and became each time more convinced that he'd been right in his choice to leave Lan Xichen unburdened by the truth.

"I'm sure Lan Jingyi will be very grateful that you are willing to help him find what works for him," Nie Huaisang said, sipping on his tea, shivering pleasantly at the heat of it.

"Not all disciples can follow the main road," Lan Xichen retorted, brushing his fingers against Nie Huaisang's cheek. "Those other paths are worth exploring as well. They can lead to great treasure, I've found."

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes, his face suddenly very hot.

He blamed the tea for that.

[fumiko-matsubara]

Expectations and Fantasies

“You know…” Kaho suddenly started, absentmindedly playing with the bending straw that she had used for her now finished iced-tea.

Sitting across the table before her, Ryuunosuke perked up at her voice, tearing his gaze off his phone screen. He slightly tilted his head in mild curiosity, with his usually sharp eyes opened wide, blinking owlishly after. “Yeah?” He gently prompted, his initially surprised face slowly contorting into a soft smile.

Kaho bit the insides of her left cheek as she silently stared back at him. It had been a few months since they had formally met, and yet, she couldn’t really see herself getting used to the stark contrast between DREAM’s wild lead guitarist Ryuunosuke and the Ryuunosuke who was softly smiling at her as he waited for her to continue.

They began hanging out outside the live house every other day after the rain had stopped pouring. It was surprisingly Ryuunosuke’s idea, saying something along the lines of “wanting to stray away from the stress of school and having to constantly put up with Eiji’s bullshit,” which was totally valid and she completely agreed that he really needed to take a break. But she couldn’t help but to wonder why he wanted to spend his break with her, as delighted as she felt when she first received the offer. She supposed that he had plenty of friends outside the band that he could’ve asked instead. Like Miki, for example, as they seemed to be close enough to casually hang out together all the time.

Speaking of Miki, the stylist had been particularly excited when she heard the news (which also made Kaho wonder why Ryuunosuke felt the need to inform her about it, but she decided that it's a concern she could ponder over at another time), that she took it upon herself to pick out outfits for both of them, even having them pose together for a picture once she was done. The memory of Miki going over to her home and practically raiding her closet was still fresh on Kaho's mind. She assumed that Miki was just enthusiastic since the hang out was just a rare opportunity for her to style two people who she (legit) made her personal models in the same setting.

But the way the stylist came about it made Kaho think it was for a different reason, and the thought itself made her feel extremely giddy the first time she realized it.

Who could blame her though? Spending the whole day together, with Ryuunosuke planning where they would go, while wearing seemingly matching outfits to boothー if the whole situation was taken out of context, it almost looked like they were on a date.

Kaho blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. Now is not the time to start fantasizing! Especially since she had yet to know the reason why she was the one who Ryuunosuke invited of all the people he knew.

Her eyes briefly darted between Ryuunosuke's eyes and the straw she had been playing with. Perhaps he wouldn't mind it if she asked him, right?

"For some reason," she finally continued after a minute of pausing. She leaned towards the table, resting her chin onto her free palm, as her other hand was still preoccupied with the bending straw she's playing with. "When the person I had a crush on also began to take interest in me and asked me out, that crush I had just vanishes completely as if I never had one in the first place."

Wait, what?

Kaho immediately lifted her head, her eyes widening in alarm. 'Idiot! You're supposed to ask him why he's interested in hanging out with you, not talk about people who're interested in you!'

She mentally sighed, her lips slowly contorting into a tight smile. 'Whatever, the topic's not too far off. I can just find an opening to ask him later.'

She returned her gaze back to Ryuunosuke, only to see him eyeing her in surprise. He probably wasn't expecting that crushes would be the first thing they would talk about to strike up another conversation, thirty minutes after their last one.

"It's weird, right?" Kaho nervously laughed.

At her voice, Ryuunosuke suddenly blinked, as if he was just snapping out of his reverie. "I don't think it is." He answered.

He then gave her yet another soft smile. "You probably just enjoy doing the chasing and that's not weird at all."

"Probably…" Kaho trailed off, staring down at her bending straw in thought. She didn't think of it that way and, in a way, it does make sense. After pondering over it for a few moments, she locked eyes with Ryuunosuke once again.

"There's also the fact that, once that person began noticing and showing more of their personality to me, I tend to get disappointed because they're usually far from what I've fantasized about them," she explained softly, proceeding to twirl a lock of her hair with her index finger. 

"And that really rubs me off the wrong way for some reason…" she sighed.

It took Ryuunosuke a few seconds of staring into space before he mouthed a big 'oh' when he understood what she was saying. "Ahh… it's that kind of disappointment."

"But romantic fantasies are usually just like that, especially if it's towards a person whose personality is what you've hardly known about them." He briefly quirked an eyebrow at her in mild confusion, likely wondering why she was making a big deal out of it. "And that's pretty normal, actually. Nothing weird about that at all."

"I see…" Kaho trailed off. Somehow, that made her feel slightly better, even when it wasn't her main concern in the first place. She discreetly smiled at that.

Ryuunosuke leaned back to his seat and faced the ceiling. "Though, it makes me wonder why you dated Maehara…" he softly muttered, but mostly to himself.

However, Kaho managed to pick that up and let out a gasp, her eyes wide opened in surprise. "Huh?"

"Ah w-what?" Ryuunosuke suddenly jolted when he realized that he said that outloud and was heard. He quickly tore off his gaze from the ceiling and looked at her in alarm, his eyes opened just as wide and in panic.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that!" He hastily apologized.

Kaho quickly snapped out of her surprise and shook her head in response. "Ah no no, it's okay! You're not overstepping anything since it's not that personal." 

She then smiled at him reassuringly. "Also, we're both on good terms now, so you don't have to dodge the topic."

Ryuunosuke hesitantly eyed her, his eyebrows furrowed. "...are you sure?" He gently asked.

Kaho let out a hum with a smile in response, nodding her head almost eagerly.

That seemed to reassure him enough to relax his tense posture. He let out a long relieved smile. 

"I see… That's good then."

Kaho smiled at him in mild amusement. Sometimes he can be too caring that he tends to worry for the smallest reasons, but she supposed that it's one of his charms. "So what were you about to ask?"

"Ah, it's just that…" Ryuunosuke slightly shifted in his seat. "I don't want to make it seem like I was trying to get something out of you…" 

Kaho shook her head. "I'm telling you, it's fine."

"Well, if you insist." Ryuunosuke sighed, leaning towards the table. "Now where was I..?" He rested his chin onto the back of his hand, briefly looking up at the ceiling in thought. "You had a crush on him first, right? And he was the one who asked you out?"

"Uh huh!" Kaho answered, but mostly to confirm that he remembered it right, as she had already told him that herself a while back.

"Since that was the case, he must've felt the same way as you do then." He then returned his gaze towards her. "So why did you date him?"

For a brief moment, they stared at each other's eyes, unblinking.

"Well…" It was Kaho's turn to look up at the ceiling in thought, breaking off the eye contact. "In Maehara's case, when I used to have a huge crush on him, even with just watching him from afar, it didn't take me long to figure out the general idea of what kind of person he is," she answered truthfully, letting out a giggle. "It's mostly because he's very upfront."

Ryuunouske chuckled in amusement at that. "You're not wrong. That guy's personality just screams loudly even from a distance." He mused.

Kaho grinned. "Right? So when we began dating and that I'm seeing more of his personality, I wasn't even the least disappointed since he's exactly as how I imagined him to be." Her grin then softened. "Like even just when he suddenly asked me out, I was already seeing parts of his personality at that moment. So I said yes."

She returned her gaze back to Ryuunosuke, only to see him gazing softly back at her, the softness in his smile matching his eyes.

"That's really nice… you must've had a great time with him then, huh?"

Kaho nodded. "Yeah, he's a really good guy." 

"Even with what went down last month, which sadly didn't end well at that time, it doesn't change the fact that I genuinely enjoyed his company when we were still together." She admitted with a small smile.

"Good for you, then." Ryuunosuke's soft expression then brightened. "I'm glad you're taking it well."

After a few seconds of comforting silence, Kaho also leaned towards the table. She then also rested her chin onto the back of her hand, a rather mischievous glint evident in her eyes. "So, what about you then?"

Ryuunosuke stiffened. "Eh?" 

"It's kind of unfair if I'm only the one who talks about things like this, you know?" Kaho mused, smirking.

Ryuunosuke faltered at that. "W-well thats…"

"Oh, come on! Don't be shy~" Kaho grinned teasingly. "What's Ryuunosuke like when he has a crush on someone?" She prodded further, leaning towards him.

Ryuunosuke leaned away and turned to the side, avoiding her gaze at all cost. "The thing is… I don't really get crushes…" He hesitantly admitted.

"Really?" Kaho's teasing smile quickly turned into a confused frown. That was very surprising. "Seriously? Not even once?"

Ryuunosuke turned back to face her again, albeit a bit slowly. "Perhaps I did…" He finally said after a moment of hesitation. "But then again, I could just be confusing it with admiration or respect." He gazed downwards, stroking his chin with his fingers in deep thought.

"Wait." Kaho raised an eyebrow at him. "Who are we talking about here?"

He looked up at her. "It's Ayaka." He nonchalantly admitted.

"Ohh!" Kaho mused at that. It makes sense if she thought about it. They've known each other for three years and have been working together to keep the band going. Surely there are plenty of things that Ryuunosuke would notice about the older girl. "Well, I can't blame you on that. That senpai is hella pretty and smart."

"Hell yeah, she is." Ryuunosuke almost immediately agreed with her and Kaho had to briefly wonder why he sounded so passionate just then. "To be honest with you, it's kind of pissing me off actually." He then admitted.

Kaho chuckled in amusement. "And why is that?"

"Like, think about it. She's pretty, she's smart, fairly popular, and she can pull off any kind of clothing no matter how questionable her fashion sense is!" He exclaimed frustratingly.

"Anything about her personality, though?" Kaho asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ryuunosuke quickly dropped his frustrated expression, staring at her dryly instead in response. 

"That's not a good trait." He deadpanned.

"Oi, don't let her hear you say that!"

He waved her off, though. "Not to mention, she's good at biology. That one is really unfair."

"Well, I'm not that good at biology myself, but is that really something you should be mad about the most?" Kaho asked, resting her cheek onto both of her palms.

"Yes?" Ryuunosuke raised an eyebrow at her incredulously. "You know what? She's just probably on my mind because I'm jealous of her." He decided.

"Oh really?" Kaho mused.

Ryuunosuke stubbornly nodded. "Yeah! I mean, of course, I still have my respect for her. But every time I think about Ayaka, the first emotion I feel is always jealousy." He crossed his arms and let out a small huff. "I'm probably just jealous."

Kaho just chuckled at him in pure amusement.

The topic had swerved off enough that there's no point in trying to find an opening to ask him that question, anyways. But Ryuunosuke was becoming more talkative, so Kaho couldn't really bring herself to suddenly switch topics, which can clearly throw him off, as evident as what happened earlier. 

For now, she should just enjoy the passionate performance that's being presented right in front of her, seeing as there's not a hint of when Ryuunosuke will stop rambling at this point.

She can just ask him at another time.

My other ChiHo works: Masterlist

[angelqueen04]

Hamliza Month, Day 29

@megpeggs @historysalt

Nap Summary: Alexander comes home to the Grange to find that things aren’t entirely as he left them.

The Grange was such a welcome sight, Alexander thought as he stepped out of the barn. The trip had not been an overly long one, but it had still been highly unwelcome. He had not wanted to leave Eliza or the children, but there had been no avoiding it. Still, at least he was home now. With the gig put up and the horse comfortably settled, there was nothing to stop him from entering the house and rejoining his family – the only place he wanted to be, and the only people he cared to see.

As he approached the house, however, he heard the sound of children laughing coming from the garden. Smiling, Alexander bypassed the front door and took the path around to the back of the house. There, he found five of his children. Alex had Liza by her hands and was swinging her around in circles, much to her delight, if her thrilled shrieks were any indication. James was on the ground not too far away, clearly having been wrestling with William, who now sat atop his brother with a triumphant grin. Johnny was also present, but was seated under a tree, his head bent over a book.

That just left Eliza, Angelica, and little Phil unaccounted for. Angelica, he knew, had gone to Albany to visit her grandparents, but surely Eliza would be out here with the rest of the children? Though autumn was rapidly approaching – he would need to begin the preparations for them to move into their house in the city soon – the air was still plenty warm enough. Surely there was no need to worry about the baby catching a cold?

“Well, well,” he called to his children, “here you are, quite the merry party! May I join you, or is this by invitation only?”

All five of them immediately froze at the sound of his voice. Alex lowered Liza safely to the grass, and she promptly leapt back up to her feet and threw herself toward Alexander. William also abandoned his position on top of James and raced to him. Even Johnny put his book down to come and greet him.

Alexander laughed as he swept Liza up into his arms, and he ruffled William’s already unruly hair after settling her on his hip. His three older sons approached at a slower pace, one they likely thought was more dignified than the excited leaping about of the younger children. Oh, how eager they are to be perceived as men instead of boys, Alexander thought fondly.

“Welcome home, Papa,” James greeted. Alex and Johnny echoed the welcome.

“I’m very glad to be home, my lambs,” he responded. Pressing a kiss to Liza’s temple, Alexander glanced around at their surroundings. “Where are your mother and little Phil?”

Alex and James shared a look, their expressions growing more serious, and Alexander straightened, growing concerned. When they didn’t respond immediately, he narrowed his eyes. “Boys?” he prodded, his tone growing sharp with warning.

It was William who spoke up before his brothers could. “Mama’s inside with the baby,” he told him. “Mama said we could play, but it had to be outside so Phil could sleep.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad, is it?” Babies napped all the time, after all. Still, James, Alex, and even Johnny now still had solemn expressions.

“Phil’s been crying all night,” Johnny said. “He won’t sleep. So Mama tries to get him to sleep during the day. She’s been upstairs most of the day with him. The doctor was here this morning.”

A nervous, painful knot began to form in Alexander’s stomach. “I see,” he said slowly. Was something wrong with Phil? Was he ill? Was that why Eliza had summoned Dr. Hosack? None of her letters had intimated that Phil was sick.

He gestured for Alex to take Liza from him, which, to the boy’s credit, he did without hesitation. “Why don’t you continue on here?” Alexander suggested. “I’ll go inside and check on your mother and Phil, and see about a little snack before supper.”

The suggestion of food gained him enthusiastic agreement from William and Liza, and even Johnny appeared interested, though he continued to do his best to imitate the more laid back, knowing reaction of his older brothers. Providing them with the most reassuring smile he could muster, Alexander then turned on his heel and made for the back door. As he hurried up the steps and entered the house, his thoughts raced.

Eliza had not had an easy time of it when she had been carrying Phil. Even before… Even before Philip’s death, her health had been precarious enough that Dr. Hosack visited several times a week. The dreadful blow of Philip’s sudden loss had been devastating enough that the physician had ordered her onto near total bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. It had been nearly two months before they’d even been sure the baby was still alive.

When Phil was finally born, just shortly before Alexander had moved the whole family out to the Grange for the first time, the reactions had been nothing short of hysterical relief. Though the labor had been difficult, Eliza had come through it as well as could be expected. Phil had all the appearances of a healthy babe, and did not seem to have been harmed by the terrible shock his mother had suffered while she carried him.

As he made his way toward the front of the house, slipping through the yellow parlor to the front hall, Alexander spotted their hired girl, Nan, coming down the stairs from the second floor, carrying a large laundry basket.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greeted when she spotted him as she reached the landing. “Welcome home, sir!”

Alexander managed a small smile for her, even as his eyes remained focused on the stairs. “Thank you, Nan. When you have a moment, could you ask Mrs. Georges if she would arrange a small snack for the children and bring it out to the garden please? It’s not too close to supper.”

Nan nodded and she turned the corner to take the steps down to the lower level of the house. “Of course, sir.”

That taken care of, Alexander started up the stairs, taking two at a time. Coming up to the landing, he immediately rounded the corner and hurried to the door to his and Eliza’s bedchamber. The door had been left slightly ajar. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Alexander took a deep, calming breath before pushing the door open.

His eyes immediately went to their bed. Eliza lay curled on her side, facing a large circle of pillows. Her eyes were open and focused upon the pillows, but then turned to him as he appeared in the room. Her dark eyes, which had faint dark circles around them, brightened and a small, weary smile came across her face. Slowly, she sat up, being careful not to jostle the bed as she moved. Standing up, she quietly moved a few pillows, enclosing the circle around the sleeping babe in the middle. She then made her way toward him, a finger pressing against her lips in the familiar warning to stay quiet. Alexander nodded, and then he followed her back out into the hallway.

Once the door was shut, he and Eliza moved back down the hallway, coming to stand before the large, ornate window at the front of the house. “What’s happened?” he demanded, taking care to keep his voice low. “Is he ill? Was that why Hosack was here today?”

Eliza blinked, surprised at being on the receiving end of a barrage of questions instead of the loving, tender greetings she was usually granted when he returned home. “What?”

“Phil,” Alexander elaborated, waving his hand back toward their bedchamber. “The children said he won’t sleep, that he cries all night. What’s wrong?”

She stared at him, and then sighed. “Oh, darling,” she said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing that can’t be mended, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Eliza looked around, and then nodded to two of the chairs that were situated outside of Angelica and Liza’s chamber. They settled down in them, hands still clasped, and she began to speak. “Phil hasn’t been sleeping well at night, in his crib,” she explained. “But he’ll sleep perfectly well during the day when I make a place for him in our bed. He’s also had a mild rash on his skin, which is why I sent for Dr. Hosack.” She glanced over her shoulder toward their bedchamber. “He thinks that Phil is having a bad reaction to something in his crib, perhaps the feathers in the mattress. The doctor gave me a salve for his skin, which is already helping. He’s sleeping even better in our bed than he normally has.”

Alexander took a deep, steady breath, considering his wife’s explanation. He knew that sometimes people did not react well to certain things in their daily lives. His brother, when they had been very young, had not been able to abide cow’s milk, though he had eventually outgrown that intolerance, much to their mother’s relief. Alexander had even heard of some ladies not being able to bear the sensation of certain fabrics or dried dyes on their skin.

“So, Phil will be all right, then?” he finally inquired.

Eliza smiled at him and raised a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over the skin. “Yes, dear. Dr. Hosack says that it is a mild reaction, though he recommended that we throw out the entire mattress and scrub the crib thoroughly before Phil sleeps in it again, to be safe.” Amusement flared in her eyes. “He sleeps very well in our bed, and seems to like your pillow the best. He always grabs onto it when he wakes.” Eliza laughed. “Perhaps he finds his papa’s scent soothing.”

A reflexive smile came to his lips in response to his wife’s laughter. Even now, it was a relief to hear her sound so happy, after all that she had endured.

They sat together like that for a few moments, content in one another’s presence, until Eliza said, “I should go and check on him. I think it helps him to rest if I’m there.”

“May I join you?” he asked impulsively, standing up as she did. When she stared at him, surprised, Alexander could feel his cheeks heating up a bit and he added, “It’s still some hours ‘til supper, and it’s been a long trip.” He smiled at her, feeling unaccountably shy for some reason. “I’ve missed you.”

Eliza’s eyes softened as she gazed at him, and then nodded. “Of course.” Tugging on his hand, she began to lead him back to their chamber. “Quietly, now,” she whispered.

Alexander shed his coat, waistcoat, and shoes as soundlessly as he could after they reentered their chamber, leaving them on a chair nearby. Eliza had already returned to the bed, resuming the same position she had been in when he had first come upon her. Alexander carefully climbed onto the other side, curling his body around the circle of pillows. This allowed him a clearer look at his tiny son. Phil’s skin did indeed have an unusual pink tint to it, and he could see a few raised spots, though thankfully, nothing that had the look of smallpox or any other such disease.

He didn’t reach out to touch the sleeping babe, though he dearly wanted to, if just to reassure him of his continued health and existence. Alexander turned his head toward Eliza, and found that she wasn’t looking at Phil, but at him, her expression gentle and loving. Silently, she reached out with the hand that was closest to him, the one outside of the pillow circle. Alexander grasped it without hesitation, holding onto her as tightly as he could. Then, as one, they turned their eyes back toward the fragile life between them, their last child.

We are here, my little one, Alexander thought. We are here, and we love you. Stay with us.

[obaby-me]

Your writing's really good! (~^-^)~* Can I get strong MC carrying their demon around bridal style?? (just an idea but imagine Levi being carried by MC in his favorite male character/ruri's cosplay :o, and for Belphie, maybe, him falling asleep during movie night or smth and MC just casually scooping him up to get him to his room?? For Mammon maybe rescuing him and running away from witches?) but u can think of smth by yourself ^^ can't wait :D

Thank you for the compliment anon. ♡

Manhandle the boys?  I got ya covered.  You had some great ideas, by the way.  These turned into basically mini-stories.

Lucifer

“Chicken fight?” Diavolo asked you with a glint in his eye, always eager to learn more of the human world.

“It’s a pool game, where two people carry two other people and try to push the carried person off their person.”  You explained, or rather tried to.  Even for a mostly sober Lucifer, the explanation was a mess.  A tipsy Diavolo found it impossible.

“Show me,” Diavolo asked. “Just show me.”

“It takes a minimum of 4 to play.  And it’s done in a pool.”  You laughed.

“You can’t do it outside of a pool?”  Diavolo whined with a frown.

Never wanting to disappoint, you quietly considered it.  “I mean…” Your eyes travelled to Lucifer, lighting up in a way the Avatar of Pride knew meant trouble.  But with a shake of his head, knowing what was to come, he stood from his seat, and rotated his shoulders.  Carrying you would be a simple task for him.

“If you can lift Barbatos, and I lift Lucifer, we could do a little demonstration.  But we can’t actually play.  Without the water it’s like, dangerous.”  You suggest.

“Lift me?”  Scoffed Lucifer, looking a little incredulous, while a delighted Diavolo barked out a laugh.

“Okay!”  The prince agreed enthusiastically.  His gold eyes flitting to the avatar of pride giving a silent, mortifying, order that sealed Lucifer’s fate.

Groaning into his drink, Lucifer quickly chugged down the last of his drink.  You kneeled down to the floor, and Diavolo followed suit, as you instructed Barbatos how to climb on to Diavolo’s back.

“Like this?”

“Yes!”  You nodded happily.  “Lucifer, your turn!  Hop on.”

The word no sat on his tongue but Diavolo’s expecting gaze wouldn’t allow for the word to pass his lips.  “Perhaps I ought to be the one to—”

Suddenly one of his legs was yanked out from under him as you swung it over one side of you.  You made no move to grab the other.  “Stop worrying.  I can lift you easy!”  You assured him with a cocky grin.

“I don’t know—”

When you ignored his protests and attempted shift yourself between his legs to grip the remaining foot tethering him to the ground, in fear of losing his balance, Lucifer finally complied.  He threw his leg over your shoulder, gripping on to your head and wrapping his thighs about your neck.  He shot a glare at his liege.  If you broke your neck, he refused to be held responsible.

To his surprise however, you stood straight up with ease, balancing him on your shoulders.  He was rather impressed.  Though that was sort of overridden by his unease at the sudden lack of control he had by being on your shoulders.

“Okay, now in a pool, Barbatos and Lucifer would have to shove each other off.”

A look of determination flashed across Diavolo’s face, and it took all three, Lucifer, Barbatos, and you to reiterate that this was not a game that could be played outside of the water.

Mammon

The witches call at the most inconvenient times.  But Mammon knows he must answer.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled in apology to you as he dropped the shopping bags he’d been carrying into your arms.  “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

“Should we call someone first before you go?”  You asked, waving a hand at the plaza that surrounded you filled with demons.   Eyes flickered towards you occasionally, however they quickly averting upon recognizing the Lord of Greed.

He didn’t have time, but he also knew you were right.  Groaning and grumbling he texted a request to his brother’s chat for someone to come and get you.

But there was no immediate response.  Calls to several of the brothers also went unanswered—even when you made the calls.  Mammon grew impatient—because he knew the witches were too.

“Looks like I’ll just have to take ya with me,” he sighed.  “Ground rules, first.”  Looking serious and he holds his fingers up, “Don’t say anything,” he begins, dropping one finger. “Don’t touch anything.  Anything I say, ya agree with.  Anything I tell you to do, you do—no questions.  If I say run, run.”

You looked nervous—as you should be, so was he.  It was a bad idea to take you.  But it’s a worse idea to leave you alone.

Seeing the witches generally made Mammon a little queasy—but he can handle anything they throw at him. It’s you he worries about.

“Got it.”

“Don’t you worry, human. The GREAT Mammon won’t let anything happen you,” he said with a grin, trying to rid you of your worries.  You give him a small smile in return and he throws an arm around your shoulder as he begins to lead you away.

Meeting with witches didn’t seem to terrify you as they invited the two of you in for tea and treats. Mammon however, declined for the two of you, getting right to the point of their requests.  They made their demands rather politely, but the undertones of a threat obviously present.

The nature of their demands however, no matter how honeyed the language, were insane.  Limos, and dresses, and jewelry, and tools used by witches, made of luxury woods and metals.

“There’s no way I can get all this!”  Mammon shouted as he estimated the total.

“You can, and you will. We trust you’ll find a way,” one of them said sternly.

Another slid herself to your side, an arm drifting to wrap about your waist.  “And while you do so, we’ll just enjoy some tea with—”

“Don’t you touch my human,” hissed Mammon.  His eye flit to you, a dangerous glint in them, and he nods his head to the door in a silent order.

“Don’t you talk that way to us,” another witch hissed in return.

“Your pact is with me, not—” Mammon started to argue in return.

“Yes, it is.”  One witch calmly stated, “and by our pact, I order you to—”

Before her order could be completed, she was thrown back, the literal rug ripped out from under her. Mammon’s eyes widened and turned to see the edge of the floormat sitting in your hands.

“Time to go,” you told him.

Suddenly laid out over your shoulder, hefted about like a sack of potatoes as you ran the two of you of the building.

Mammon wasn’t sure how to feel.  He was surprised, that was for sure.  Thankful to some degree, but humiliated as well—for being the one in need of saving, for the way he was being carried (ass up).  And though he dared not admit, turned on.  He could only hope you were too busy running the two of you out of trouble to notice him at half-mast.

Leviathan

A convention has come to the Devildom and ecstatic was a massive understatement.  When the convention was announced months back, Levi was already including it in every conversation somehow.  As the weeks grew closer, his fanaticism was getting so out of control Lucifer banned him from bringing it up in the group chat, the dining table, and specifically, in Lucifer’s presence.

“Today’s the day!” Shouted Levi, as was his morning ritual of the countdown.  While he was not technically in the dining room, everyone could hear him from his room. Annoyed but relieved that finally the day had come that perhaps he’d finally shut up about it, the brothers gave a sigh of relief.

“Come on, come on, Normie!” He pounded at your door.  “We have a very strict schedule to keep!”

“Levi, you sound like Lucifer.  Give me some time to get dressed!  Honestly, if you’re this excited you might accidentally transform.”  You scolded him with laughter dancing behind your door—still refusing him entry to drag you out.  “It’ll ruin your cosplay if you do you know.  Have you even gotten changed yet?”

“I will once we eat breakfast.  I don’t want anything to get stained.  And you shouldn’t either!  Come on out!”

“Levi, I’m already half into the costume.  You want me to come out there half naked?”

Levi blushed at the thought. “N-no!  Just take it off, normie.  Get changed after!  We need a perfect picture together as Henry and the Lord of Shadows!  And we can’t have one if you’ve got food all over it.”

He heard you sigh and grumble, but he knew he was getting his way.  You had been supportive of all his enthusiasm, despite the numerous reprimanding your received from his brothers for “encouraging” and “enabling” his behavior.  You always had his back, just like Henry.

Why, you even agreed to cosplay as his Henry to his Lord of Shadows!  He thought he was having the most blissful heart attack when you suggested it.  You suggested to be his Henry.  

He could hardly wait to see you dressed, but the reveal was something he would savor, dressed in his own costume.  And it would be worth it.  Additionally, once he got his picture of the two of you in your perfectly pristine cosplays, he would be posting it and using it everywhere.  As his profile pictures, in his icons, framed in his room. He had it all planned out.

He rushed you through breakfast, through packing, and through the door.  But you took it all with a smile.  He knew you weren’t as excited about the convention as he was, but the fact that you had the patience to put up with him on this day meant the world to him. He’d already put some Grimm aside to buy you whatever you wanted at the convention as a gift of thanks.

The line was agonizingly long, even with his pre-purchased pass, and changing into your cosplays in your shared hotel room took a while more than expected.  He missed an early morning panel and went hysterical.

“Levi, you’ll ruin your cosplay if you transform,” you warn him again from the bathroom as you adjusted make up on your face to get some details just perfect for your Henry imitation.

“We should have gotten here sooner!”  He complained.  “We should have-“

“Levi, I’m ready.” You called out, interrupting him before he could rant any further.

He swallowed hard, eager to see the result.

You looked perfect.

“Well?”  You asked as you gave a small twirl for him to let him see it in whole.

“Every detail i-is, is—” His heart raced, his face reddened. It was not that your outfit was revealing, but you were cute.  You were really cute.  You were cute and in cosplay with him, for him.  It was just an outfit, but the implications hit him like a ton of bricks. He was overwhelmed, practically in tears.  Too overwhelmed, really.

He passed right out.

When he finally woke up, he realized he was slung over your back, carried through the convention halls. “W-what is happening?”  He screeched in embarrassment into your ear.

You faltered and nearly dropped him.  Quickly you adjusted him, bouncing him with your grip on thighs to get him balanced properly against you again.  “Don’t shout,” you hissed your ear ringing painfully.

“The next panel was about to start and I couldn’t let you to miss it.”  You explained as you trudged along to your next destination.  “You’ve been looking forward to this one most of all.”

Touched by the sentiment, Levi tucked his burning face into your shoulder mumbling ‘thank you’s and praises that you were a perfect Henry.

Satan

The Devildom archive is massive, and yet given its size it is still overfilled with books and shelves that line the walls up to his high ceilings.  Tall ladders that slide across the rooms on tracks in front of the shelves, to allow easy maneuvering are available, but not many.

“I can see it just there,” frowned Satan as he stared up at the dusty covered volume, embossed letters with faded and chipped gold foil labelling its spine.

On his tiptoes, reaching upwards, his fingers just barely above the shelf and his fingers graze the binding, only to push it further back on to the shelf and out of his reach.  He cursed.

“I’ll have to fetch a ladder,” he spat, turning his from side to side to spot on.  On the farthest ends of either side of him he could see a few unoccupied steps.  The trek just to fetch the damned things was an exercise in itself.  Why the hell was the archive this size with so few ladders between them?  Or rather, why wouldn’t they restrict ladders to certain sections?  Why did they have to make the process so difficult?

“Seems hardly worth the effort,” you commented, as you slipped your arms around his waist.

The action was sudden, but welcomed.  Having you wrapped about him was instantly soothing, and his temper dropped immediately. He sighed, letting out the tension, and his hand came to rest on yours.  “To get as perfect score on this essay, all efforts are worthwhile.  This time I will be top Lucifer’s standing for sure.”  He said with a nod.

With a light blush, he pushed his fingers between your digits in an attempt to hold your hand, but your hands instead tightened and gripped tight together, as if rejecting him.

Actually, your entire hold on him tightened.  His eyebrows furrowed curiously.

Next thing he knew, his feet were no longer on the ground.  His first instinct was to struggle as he was suddenly lifted into the air.  “What do you think you’re doing?”  He whisper-shouted, wide eyes trying to peer at your face behind him, rage rising with his embarrassment.

“I’m just helping!” You laughed, rubbing your cheek into his back in a reassuring gesture.  “Can you reach your book now?”

“Ah, right,” he muttered, his face heating to a deeper red as he hastily tore the book from the shelf and patted at your arm to let him down.  “A little warning next time,” he chastised with a small smile, his anger clearly evident in the way he punctuated his request.

You gave a quick “sorry” but your smile showed no real apology.  Well, he’ll have to wretch a real one out of you in a bout of punishment later.  He hoped you’ll be looking forward to it as much he was thinking of it.

Asmodeus

Your ball ensemble for Diavolo’s ball was magnificent, and Asmo, as your date wore its perfect match.  He could not be prouder of his efforts to make you both look stunning for your evening out.  He designed the outfits himself, weeks before, and today he’d spent all day preparing the two of you—hair, make up, nails, last minute tailoring.  It had been exhausting, but it was well worth it.

All eyes were on the two of you the moment you’d entered the room, and he couldn’t have been more pleased. Not that it was unusual for people to stare at him—but tonight, you were on his arm, and he felt a sense of pride that was new to him.

Because I have you. And they can only dream to.

It took a few drinks to loosen you up to the idea of dancing.

“Just one song,” he begged throughout the evening.

You smiled and promised him just the one, and at three drinks, he had finally could lead you to the dance floor for at least a slow one.  Having you in his arms was a delight, though you seemed so focused on your dancing that you were forgetting to have a good time yourself.

To lighten the mood, he made it a point to spin you, and then himself, rocking together with you before repeating the process.  A spin for you, a spin for him.  The two of you looked childish, almost ridiculous.  The type of dancing a 5-year-old’s interpretation of a fairytale dance. Asmo, a man of allure and the pinnacle of sexy, was happy to play goofy if it meant making you smile.

It took another drink to get you on the floor again, but this time it was song that was much more upbeat.  There was less concern in you now for your steps, a little sloppy, but full of joy, which is all Asmo wants.  He gave you a cocky grin before lifting you slightly into the air and spun you.

Your laughter was the best song all night.

Much to his surprise, you locked your hands on to his waist and lifted him in return, mimicking his spin. Giggling in the thrill.  Almost like a child, he asked for another spin and another, posing each time he was held up high for all to see until the song ended.

“Let’s see what else we can do with that strength of yours,” he panted, catching what breath he’d been losing in all his laughter.

“This one’s a bit of a slower one,” you commented.  “Spinning might be—”

“Oh, no, honey.  We’re done with dancing.”

Beelzebub

Beel’s a quiet guy but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affectionate.  He was a hugger and he different types of hugs for different occasions.

He gave short but firm for hellos.  He held a little longer for good byes.  Thank you’s were half hugs and pats on the back.  And I’m sorry’s were engulfing but gentle, never imposing.  For comfort, he was

But this hug was a new one. It wasn’t one he’d ever given you before.  And it wasn’t one his brothers had ever seen him do since he’d been down in the Devildom—not since Lilith.

He’d been gone for about five days—given some business direct from Diavolo to handle an incident on the other side of the Devildom with Lucifer in tow.  Lucifer returned early, but Beel remained for two days more.

When Beel finally lumbered through the door relieved to be home.  He was chilled from the rain pouring outside, hungrier than he’d ever felt in the past two decades, and in desperate need of some time to relax.

The first thing he heard was the patter of footsteps, running to meet his arrival.

“Beel, welcome home!” You shouted from the top of the stairs, laughing heartily as you came down to meet him quick as you could. Trailing behind you came Belphie, eager to meet him, but slowed down by his sin to reach him as fast as you did.

It was as if his exhaustion disappeared at seeing your smile, and your rush to meet him was so endearing, it warmed him—at least his face—instantly.

“Glad to be back,” he said with nod, opening his arms.

To his surprise you launched yourself into him, the momentum knocking into him.  To keep balance, he gave you a spin, chuckling at your excitement.

��I missed you!”  You shouted as he spun you about.

“I missed you too.”

He held you tight against him, and in response to his grip, you gripped him tightly back.

It’s an affectionate game of mimicry you two play often.  If you tap a beat on his hand, he’ll tap it back with an addition.  If you give him a kiss, he’ll give you two.  Back and forth until one of you gives.  It was a game generally played behind closed doors, but this was a special occasion—he missed you too much.  Now it was game of who can give a tighter hug.

And he was determined to win.

He adjusted his arms around you to hold you just a little lower—and then lifted you off the ground.  You giggled, pleased.  It was only for a moment before he set you down.  He grinned at you.

But his smile soon turned to shock when you in turn put your arms about his waist, lifting him and spinning.

Too stunned to respond, Beel lost the round.

“Never expected that out of you,” whistled an impressed Belphie, having finally descended down the stairs.

Beel could only nod, wide eyed in agreement.

You gave him a cocky grin, planting your hands on your hips and puffing your chest with pride.  Beel too beamed with pride at his partner’s strength.  He begins to invite you to workouts together, curious to see just how much you could lift.

Belphegor

Movie nights followed a very specific pattern.  It was a scramble to get the boys together, and just when you think you’ve settled in, someone remembers something they’ve forgotten:  popcorn, blankets, phones, chips, drinks, coasters, pillows.  And of course, the matter of seating arrangements was always a battle.  You had your designated seat, but the demons around you didn’t—each fought to take the seats beside you in some way shape or form.

“You had your turn last week!”  Fumed Levi, glaring daggers at his younger brother Belphie.

It did little to persuade the seventh born who seemed to instead nuzzled his face deeper into your lap, a hint of a teasing smirk his only answer.

Grumbles and protests eventually died down as Lucifer threatened each one into settling in.  Finally, they could all relax as the movie began to roll.

Lucifer fell asleep midway through.  Mammon and Levi shouted out quotes in bouts of laughter.  Satan shushed his elder brothers, and Asmo sighed and provided commentary on outfits and hair styles.  Beel ate most of the popcorn and chips, munching away happily.  Belphegor managed to last to its ending, but the minute the lights were brought back up, he went right to sleep, skipping the inevitable post-movie debates and commentaries by his brothers.

As it grew later into the evening, the boys slowly trickled out to their rooms to bed.  You however, remained a pillow to the cat-napping avatar.

“I’ll carry him up,” offered Beel, the last of the conscious.

“No, I’ve got it.” You told him with a smile, a hand slowly stroking through Belphie’s hair as he slept.  “I’m not quite tired yet.  I’ll leave him undisturbed for just a bit longer.”

Beel nodded, and returned to his own room.

You browsed your phone for awhile longer, one hand mindlessly running through Belphie’s soft locks.

When you were good and ready for bed, you slowly sidled out from below Belphie.  Carrying him was the easy part.  The only difficulty you had was trying not to disturb him as you slipped your hands beneath him to lift him.  You seemed to have succeeded, and Belphie was determined to let you believe it, amused that you were going to such lengths for him.

He’d been awake for some time, mostly from the time you started trailing your fingers through his hair. He didn’t dare move and let you know he was awake.  He feared you’d stop if he did.  So instead he laid and enjoyed your gentle petting him the way you might a beloved pet.

When you moved out from under him, he considered waking up to walk himself up, but the thought of you lifting him amused him greatly.  He assumed you couldn’t, and to have you try and fail to do so would be the perfect time for him to wake up and tease you.

Much to his surprise however, you lifted him with ease, carrying him all the way to his room. He would be keeping this in mind for the next time he decided it was too much trouble to make the trip himself—play dead and he can get a free ride.

[fckinsupreme]

Masterpiece - Xavier Plympton x Fem!Reader - One-Shot

Description: Xavier drops by your art studio and distracts you from a deadline.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Female reader, oral sex (female receiving), breast and nipple play, spanking (brief), dirty talk, unprotected sex, choking (light, brief), and paint use during sex. 

A/N: Anonymous requested -  Hi! Could you do an Xavier x reader where the reader love painting and Xavier appreciates her art along with having kinky paint sex? 

Sorry if this has been done before! 

No copyright infringement intended! Any rights belong to proper shareholders and they deserve the ultimate credit.

__________________________________

The evening pinned up inside of your art studio had been slow, monotonous. You had been there for hours, working to complete a portrait that your local art gallery wished to display for their upcoming exhibit. They had commissioned a portrait of your choice, which meant that you were on a deadline; it also meant that you had to cancel date plans with your boyfriend, Xavier Plympton. You hated having to do it, to see the look of sadness & disappointment etched into his handsome face, but you needed to do this. It was of the utmost importance, something that was very near and dear to your heart, and he understood that. Even still, you wished that you could be with him instead tonight, to be in his arms, to feel his body on yours, to relish in his lips and hands traveling over your entire body…

But the plus side was that you weren’t entirely without his company. The portrait that you had chosen to paint for the gallery was of him, a full-body one with the most exquisite of detail. Bringing him to life on canvas had proven distracting at times, his beauty staring back at you as it became more and more realistic upon the easel. You had to remind yourself, more than once, of the precious seconds that ticked by the longer you ogled it, and how many of those wasted ticks of the clock would result in more time here. He was grinning in the painting, adorned in his favorite lavender jacket, dark purple crop tank top, nice-fitting blue jeans, and his trademark cross earring. It had been his requested outfit, and he’d modeled it for you recently during a lazy Sunday afternoon. The Polaroid of it rested on your easel, tiny flecks of paint scattered about its surface, but not enough to impact the photo itself. You were grateful; you planned on hanging that little picture in your room when this was all over.

Presently, you’re so focused on your work that you don’t hear the studio door open.  You don’t pick up on the footsteps behind you, nor hear the breathy laugh as those feet approached. You thank your lucky stars that your brush was away from the canvas as those familiar arms, muscular and strong, envelop you from behind in a tight hug, nearly lifting you from your seat. You cry out in surprise, ready to elbow the mystery man, before he chuckles lowly in your ear. 

“Surprise, babe.” 

“Xavier!” you cry, both in surprise and playful anger. “What are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t wanna sit at home bored all night without my best girl,” he answers as you turn around. His eyes were on the painting, an awed expression on his own, real-time face. “Wow. That looks really, really good.”

“You really like it?” you ask, tilting your head. “I wasn’t sure that I was doing justice to the Polaroid.”

“I love it,” he breathes, refraining from touching so as not to smear the wet, fresh paint. “You’re so talented, Y/N.”

You can’t help but blush at that remark, watching as he walks around the studio. He observes some of your other works--a monarch butterfly perched upon a red rose, a lighthouse based on a photo you took during a trip to Maine in 1980, a portrait of your best friend that won first prize in a contest a couple years ago. He pored over each one as if they were sacred works of Dali or Picasso, face lit up as he glances at you. He slowly strides back to where you’re standing, his hands on your waist as he gives you a tender kiss. 

“I love your work,” he murmurs against your lips, giving your waist a squeeze. “I’m pretty lucky to have such a talented girlfriend.”

That comment results in you bringing the brush, still covered in a small bit of paint, across his cheek in a playful swat. You both giggle, with Xavier gathering a tiny amount from his face and smudging it over your cheek in return. You offer him a look of faux shock, gliding the brush across his other cheek as he howled in false derision. You drew your hand back as if you were going to paint his nose, but he grabs your wrist in order to still your movements. He lowers it slowly, his breathtaking blue eyes on yours as he leans in for another kiss. 

You expect nothing less than his needy, raw kissing, the type that became something of his trademark. That’s why you’re stunned when he starts the kiss off slow and gentle, his large hands still planted firmly upon your waist. Your hand, the one holding the brush, creeps up one toned arm, settling there as his lips move against yours. It doesn't take long for that familiar style to show itself, his lips parting as his tongue darts over your closed mouth. You open your lips to grant him access, his tongue swiping past your own as your hand moves further upward. The brush falls to the ground behind Xavier with a dull clack!, lying forgotten as you mewl lightly into his mouth. He tastes of vanilla and a hint of cinnamon, and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no better taste in the whole world. 

“God, I fucking missed you today,” he pants, fisting your hair as he presses his hips to yours, his lips attacking your neck. You can feel that he’s already started getting hard, and you move one hand between your bodies to palm his forming erection. “Mmm…yeah, baby. Do you feel that?”

You nod with a smirk, grabbing the belt loops of his pants before unfastening them and tugging his belt off. “I missed this,” you say in his ear, tugging his cock free from the confines of his pants. “I’ve been aching to touch you all day.”

“Maybe you should paint that next,” he suggests jokingly, moaning as you begin pumping him. He hardens even more in your hand, and encourages you to push his pants & boxers around his ankles. He steps out of them, cock now fully freed. “Or...mmm...sculpt it. Make your own dildo with my cock as the prototype.” 

“Why would I do that when I have the real thing?” you purr, tugging your shirt off before he does the same with his. “The most amazing dick in the world, and it’s all mine.”

“Damn right,” he says, pulling you close for a messy kiss.

The rest of your clothes and his soon fall to the floor, between sloppy, breathless kisses and your hands wandering all over each other’s exposed skin. His mouth trails down your bare chest, his face buried in your breasts as he peers up at you. Looking into those eyes, so full of raw desire, makes your heart flutter. How had you been so lucky to have someone like Xavier? He was like a dream and yet, here he was--as real as air and all yours. Gazing at him and getting lost in the feeling of his mouth, now moving down your stomach, almost made you forget--

“Fuck,” you say with mild panic. “Xavier, I need to get back to work.”

“Mmm,” he hums, his open mouth situated above your pubic mound. “Later, babe. Right now, I want you to relax with me; you deserve it.”

“I have a deadline,” you say, but make no attempt at stopping him.

“It isn’t due for, what? Another four or five days? You can pull an all-nighter sometime if you need it, but it looks almost done to me. Come on, baby. Let me take care of you tonight.”

You chew anxiously on your bottom lip, but you realize he’s right. Two more days, tops, and it would be complete. What was one night of some much-needed fun going to hurt? Especially when you were fully aware of how much fun sex with Xavier actually was. He wasn’t like any other man you’d ever been with: He wasn’t afraid to be funny during the act, he giggled when it was appropriate, he wasn’t afraid to be loud and vocal, he absolutely loved making you feel good, and he felt like heaven inside of you. He also wasn’t an asshole when it came to going down on you, unlike most of the other men who only did it to get their dicks sucked in return. He truly enjoyed it, he was enthusiastic about it and never expected a blowjob for it. 

How could you turn him down any other time, but especially in an instance when you needed it most? It was the best way to de-stress that you could think of, and he was offering it to you. Why not take it?

“Okay,” you finally say. “I think letting my hair down tonight is just what I need. I wouldn’t be able to focus this far in, anyway.”

His grin was beatific, nearly splitting his face as he stands from the paint-splattered concrete floor. He coaxes you toward a large, wide table with paint bottles & plastic sheets strewn about its surface, pushing you onto it after sliding the sheets to the ground. An open bottle of bright red paint is knocked onto the table amidst the chaos, and any other time you would have been irritated. But you were too lost in the moment and in your own lust to care, and you delight in the fact that more bottles remained within reach. They’re mostly closed, but the ideas that form in your head surrounding them are numerous and spectacular. 

The cool, liquid feeling of red paint fills your entire back, and you pull Xavier on top of you in a heated, saliva-filled kiss. One idea that you had only seconds before comes to the forefront of your mind, your tongue exploring the roof of his mouth as you reach for some paint. You grasp a bottle of standard blue, and squirt some onto his back once the cap was popped open. He gasps in shock against your lips, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he only kisses you even harder, your hands smearing the paint to form a blue canvas on his skin. You bring your hands around to the front, trailing streaks of blue over his chiseled torso. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes as you tweak his nipples. “Do you like that? Do you enjoy making a mess out of me?”

“You know it,” you tease, licking over his tongue as you wiggle a bit. “You kinda started it, though. You knocked over the red and now I’m lying in it.”

“And you covered me in blue,” he says in amusement as he catches sight of your paint-covered fingers. “Do you wanna make purple?”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “That’s the corniest line I’ve ever heard, Xavier.”

“It may be corny,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “But my perfect cock pounding into your pretty, dripping cunt won’t be as much.”

You whine, biting your lip as he flips you over. You’re on top of him now, his back in the puddle of red. He gathers some on his fingers, massaging your breasts as you moan appreciatively. You grab the bottle of blue again, handing it to him with a mischievous grin. He gets the idea, squirting some onto one palm and rubbing his hands together. He swipes them over your breasts, relishing in your lewd moans and the way that the red paint on your skin soon turns purple. You reach down to place your hands in a small amount of red, running your hands over his blue chest to achieve the same effect.

“So pretty,” he marvels, eyes glued to your erect nipples as he gives your ass a hard spank. His fingers ghost over your clit, before pinching and rolling one nipple between his fingers. “All painted up, desperate, and soaking wet. Did you know that purple is my favorite color? It looks so damn good all over those pretty tits.”

“Xavier,” you mewl, head falling backward. “Don’t be a tease.”

He winks at you, shifting you onto your back again. He ducks between your legs, mouth immediately settling over your clit. Usually, he’s more into the build-up, in absolutely doing everything in his power to rile you up past your limit, but tonight he’s wasting no time. He grips your thighs like a vice, leaving lines of purple in his wake as he begins to devour your pussy. His skilled tongue flicks over the small, sensitive bundle of nerves, soon massaging your folds with his mouth as he gazes up at you. Your eyes meet his, the lust in your eyes mirrored in his own, as your hands bury in his hair. He gives a soft yelp in protest, not wanting to get paint in his hair, but upon seeing red paint clinging to your own (h/c) locks, he’s less prissy about it. He guides his tongue along every crevice, every lip, every inch that he can reach, his chin coated in your juices. You groan, tugging his frosted hair before running one hand down his pierced ear. The cross earring that you love so much is smudged with a tiny bit of blue paint, and you hum as you admire it for the smallest second. 

“You taste so good,” he remarks. “As always. I missed your sweet taste, babe.”

“I missed your mouth,” you say, rutting into his face before he shakes his head back & forth rapidly against your core. “Xavier!”

“Y/N,” he purrs, smears of red paint on your hips from where his fingers had yet again dipped into the running puddle. “You’re so hot.”

“Not as hot as you,” you purr seductively, arching off the table as his full lips envelop your swollen, drenched clit. He sucks generously, tongue swirling madly as your legs begin to quake. He hums loudly against you for vibration, and your eyes roll back slightly. He wipes his painted fingers off on his thigh, making sure there’s no fresh remaining before pushing two of them inside of you. His hot, wet mouth is still on your cunt, his hums growing louder as his tongue swipes more urgently against your clit. His fingers pump and curl against your spot, juices spilling onto his hand as you feel your stomach beginning to tighten. “Xavier, I’m gonna cum. Please--”

“Not yet,” he growls, running his free hand up the entirety of your thigh. “You can’t cum yet, baby girl.”

“But--” you begin, whining softly when he withdraws his mouth & fingers, crawling up your body in a slow, teasing manner.

He says nothing as he grabs a bottle of yellow paint, squirting it into his hand. He uses that same hand to grab your throat, but not too hard; just enough to keep a firm hold on you. Ravenous baby blues scan your face, smirking as you grin around his grip. A green color, mixed with swirls of red and purple, starts to form on your neck, and Xavier admires it as if it’s the most beautiful color he’s ever seen. And maybe, just maybe, it actually was. 

“I want you to cum around my cock, babe,” he says as he releases your throat. “I’ve been craving it all day.” 

He pins your hands above your head by the wrists, and you give him a consensual nod. He keeps your hands pinned with one of his own, the other gliding down to guide his cock inside of you. You both groan in satisfaction, and you don’t even care about the fact that he had some paint on his cock as it went in. After all, he still had some on his fingers earlier, a bit drier than that on his dick had been, so what was a little more? How could you give a fuck, anyway, when he felt this damn good? He throbs inside of you, and you could feel every vein, every ridge, every pulsation of his erection as he pushed even deeper within. You clenched around him instinctively, soaking in his moans as you did so. 

“So tight,” he groans, letting go of your arms. “Fuck.”

“You’re so big, Xav,” you gasp, leaning forward to press kisses over his neck and clavicle. “I love it.”

He purrs at the praise, thrusting sharply to fully seat himself inside of you. You grab the back of his neck, looking into his eyes before observing the painted, cum-soaked mess of his face. His hair and upper chest are also covered in paint, swirls of the various colors used decorating him like a living, breathing canvas. You can feel drying paint on his back as your hands explore the muscular expanse, your cunt squeezing him again before he starts properly thrusting. One of his hands begins to roam your side and your thigh before gripping your throat a little harder than he had previously. His other hand supports his weight, although he struggles one-handed as his hand slides in the congealing paint on the table. He presses forcefully on your throat for a moment before using it to prop himself better, absolutely pounding into you after finding his newfound footing.

“Jesus,” you whimper, moaning in his ear as your hold switches from the back of his neck to settle in his hair. “You feel so good pounding into me, Daddy.”

He chuckles breathlessly at the nickname, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in harshly. Your hand is still paint covered as it fists in his hair, some a bit fresh and other old and drying, coloring the locks purple, red, and even a small bit of green. He isn’t objecting, still mercilessly fucking into you as he kisses you hungrily. His noises of pleasure vibrate against your lips, your own noises filling his mouth as his cock brushes repeatedly against your sweet spot. He pulls back after a little while, completely admiring you. He looks at you as though you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen, his hips slamming into yours. His balls slap against your ass, so big and heavy, and you can’t wait to feel him cumming inside of you. It becomes a craving so intense that it’s an itch you can't scratch; the only way to satiate it is for him to cum, to give you exactly what you both want him to.

“Xavier,” you mewl. “I can’t wait for you to cum, and I want it you to do it so fucking deep. Will you do that for me? Will you cum inside of me? Will you let me milk that perfect fucking cock of every drop?”

“Fuck yes,” he pants, the hand that had previously been planted within the red puddle now grasping your jaw. “As long as you scream my name when you cum. I want anyone close by to hear you. I want them to know how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Back at it with being cheesy, I see,” you joke, and you receive a light warning tug to your hair in response. “Mmm...okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

“Good girl,” he praises, mewling hotly in your ear as your nails dig into his painted back. “I fucking love your pussy, babe. I can’t say it enough.”

“I know you do,” you say, the red paint beneath your back making a squelching sound with each thrust. You were surprised that any remained on the table’s surface, or that it was still wet enough to produce such a sound. Then again, maybe you were confusing it with the noises of him fucking into your sopping cunt; it was shockingly similar to your ears. Then, another idea forms in your head to find out what the sound truly is: “I wanna ride you.”

“I won’t complain about that,” he says, flipping you over so that you were on top of him, his cock still deeply embedded inside of you. “You look like a goddess when you bounce on my cock.”

You set a steady pace, trying to keep the fast one that he had set. You soon realize that the noise was not, in fact, caused by the paint but by the sex itself. It almost echoes in the surrounding space, along with the sound of both of your moaning & heavy breathing that signaled your upcoming climaxes. You move up and down, slamming onto him with every movement downward. You make sure that he rams into your G-spot each time, wanting to feel his engorged head against it with each bounce of your hips. Xavier’s hands, now a red-green-purple mix, explore your waistline and hips, traveling to your breasts eventually and giving them a fresh splash of color. You rest your hands over his, losing yourself in the sensation of the dried paint on his hands against your sensitive nipples.

Your head lolls back, soft sighs of ecstasy spilling from your lips. He tugs your nipples, rubbing them in circles before pulling you down. You keep working your hips, chest level with his face at this point. Painted tits bounce in his face with the momentum of you fucking yourself onto his massive length, one of your hands above him to brace yourself as the other toys with your clit. He runs his tongue along one hardened nipple, paying no mind to the taste of the paint. The amount was minuscule, but you know it had to taste like shit; it was fucking paint, after all.

“I guess it’s fortunate that I only use non-toxic, acrylic paint, hm?” you tease, which causes him to hum. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking softly. “Isn’t the taste of that pretty nasty?”

“It isn’t the worst thing ever,” Xavier replies, face now positioned between your jiggling breasts. “It’s not pussy, but it’s alright. Pussy is the best flavor in the world, you know that.” 

You laugh softly at his comment, sitting back up and swiveling your hips as you toss your hair from your face. He moans thickly, and your hands bury in your own paint-covered hair. His hands continue to run over your body in a colorful pattern, your own finding his chest as one rubs wildly at your clit again. You know that he wants you to cum first, you can sense it by the look in his eyes and his attention on your sensitive breasts, his fingers working magic on them. He pinches and rolls the nipples, occasionally giving your tits a hard squeeze. You know that your orgasm is quickly approaching, and you open your mouth to warn him of it.

In response, Xavier forcefully grabs your tits, holding on so hard that you fear they may bruise. It doesn’t really faze you that much for long, though; in fact, it only fuels your orgasm and you finally cum so hard that stars begin dancing across your vision. You scream his name as you promised, scratching down his chest through the valley of red and purple, nail marks revealing pieces of his pale skin underneath. His hold is on your hips now, holding you firmly in place as you soak his cock in your sticky, milky essence. Your head is swimming, and as you hit your high, you’re vaguely aware of him guiding your hips along his cock to chase his own release. 

“Babe,” he rasps, darkened eyes drinking in the sight of your body atop of his. “God, you’re a fucking porn star. Look at you.”

“I know,” you say, a dazed grin on your face. You clench around him, trying to coax him to his own orgasm. “Go ahead, Xav. Cum inside of me.”

He bites his lip, eyes on your heaving, moving breasts. He can no longer contain himself at the sight, shooting his hot load deep inside of your pussy. You feel his cock twitching, his balls nearly draining completely within you as he gives you all that he can. It feels too damn good, and you don’t want to move off as he finishes. He moans your name before it falls repeatedly from his kiss-swollen lips in a breathy chant. You smile, reluctantly lifting your hips as you feel him becoming flaccid. He hugs you to his chest, lying you next to him in order to hold you. His painted fingers play with your stiffened hair, and he’s laughing after a small beat of silence. 

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on his chest.

“Nothing,” he says, running his fingers down your cheek in a tender manner. “It’s just that you’re officially the prettiest piece of art in this room.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say teasingly, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re on a roll with the corniness tonight.”

“It’s true!” he says in protest with a mock pout. “You know I’m right, babe.” 

“No, you’re wrong,” you say with a wink. “The prettiest artwork here is you. You already look like a statue of Adonis, and that dick? That is a work of art in and of itself.”

“Don’t forget my balls, too,” he jokes, and now you’re rolling your eyes for real.

“Dork,” you laugh, leaning up for a gentle kiss. “But honestly, the real art is your pretty face and that bone structure.”

He’s silent for several minutes, both of you basking in the afterglow. Then, his laughter rings out again--this time, more of a chortle. You look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion over what he could be laughing about now. You almost speak, but he answers before you get a chance to. 

“You know how they have those paint canvases that are, like, huge?” he asks, and you nod. “Well, I was reading in Playboy awhile back that people have sex on them, covered in paint, and it makes really cool art. Like sex art made by real sex.”

“And why were you reading Playboy, Mr. Plympton?” you tease, trying to hide your smirk and failing. “Hm?”

“For the jokes and the articles,” he says, putting up a serious act that backfires when he scratches the back of his neck. That’s how you always knew he was lying, that damn neck scratch. “And okay, yeah, for the naked chicks. Who, by the way, aren’t as hot as you. They have fake hair, fake tans, fake bodies, and then there’s the fact that some of them don’t even--”

“I get it, babe,” you interject with a chuckle. “I actually have canvas like that here. It’s like a sheet and it’s pretty big.”

“You’re saying you wanna try it?” Xavier asks, eyes big with both excitement and surprise. “For real?” 

“Why not?” you say, sitting up with a wide grin. “It could be fun, and I could display it in here. Tell people who may stop by that I made it with my boyfriend.”

“Mmm,” he hums, licking his lips. “Go get it, baby.” 

You offer another wink, sliding from the table. You know that you’ll be cursing the whole situation later in the shower, trying to scrub layers of dry paint from your hair and skin, but for now, that didn’t matter. You desperately needed this night of letting loose and having the fun that you’d been deprived of lately. Trying new things was definitely an option, and you were determined to make the most of it. A sex canvas seemed to be the icing on the cake, and as you retrieve a spare canvas and some extra paint from your storeroom, you knew this night would be unlike any other.

To hell with the deadline. If you somehow didn’t meet it because of this, you had a feeling it would be more than worth it. 

___

Taglist!

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[rainbows-fanfics]

Our Nightmare (Chapter 8)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there  is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like  living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends,  where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many  ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as  they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

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Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

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Sally prepares for an important trip today, slipping herself into her patchwork dress first thing in the morning. She finds herself avoiding it nowadays, as it reminds her of the old treatment she received back at Finklestein's. Where she was forced to use leftover fabrics and scraps to sew together just to make clothing...Looking at it in her mirror now makes her feel unpleasant. But it is the best thing to wear, if she is going somewhere that is old, dusty, and worn down.

She makes room in her basket that will hopefully be filled by the end of the day. By the time she is ready, she finds Jack idling around in his den. He looks to be somewhat anxious, pacing around in a small line in thought. He stops once she comes into the room and relaxes when they meet at the door. She leans on her tiptoes for a kiss. He receives the message and bends down to leave one on her lips.

"Are you leaving now?" He asks.

"Yes, I'm going to find the Hanging Tree and ask him if he'd like to come."

He frowns. "I doubt anything will happen while the two of you are there, but-"

"-Jack." Her voice stops his thoughts. She comes forward to rub his arm soothingly. "It's sweet of you to worry about me. I promise I'll be fine."

His posture softens. How could he not, after all they've been through? "-If you find anything that needs my attention, I'll be right in the Town Hall. You're free to come and get me."

She nods and leans forward one last time to peck his cheek. She bids her goodbye and leaves the mansion, carefully climbing down the stairs and waving to her beloved as she passes through the gates. He watches her figure disappear into town without a word, then slowly closes the door behind him.

Her absence makes him feel strangely cold.

----

It takes a few minutes for Sally to realize that she doesn't exactly know where her friend would be. She isn't sure where anyone here lives, aside from the Doctor and Jack. She wanders around for several minutes before stumbling right upon the tree. She accidentally bumps his side while he is walking by. When he turns around, he jumps in delight.

"Sally!" He exclaims, his sharpened grin widening. "How awful it is to see you!"

"Hello, Hanging Tree." She ducks to greet the skeletons on his branches. "-Hello to you five as well."

They lean their skulls to the side and greet her right back. He leads them out of the way to let her sit down for a moment. She brushes her hair behind her ear and gazes around at their environment. It is a beautiful day out right now - there are clouds currently forming in the sky.

"Is there any particular reason you're out today?" He asks politely. "I haven't seen you since that meeting!"

"There is. I was looking to speak with you." Her friend perks up at these words. "Would you happen to know where the old sewing shop is?"

"The old sewing shop, you say?" He repeats, placing a finger to his bark in his thought. "That's all the way in the Residential Hill. I haven't been there in so many years!"

"Would you like to come with me, then? I was going to look there for some sewing supplies. The Witches told me there might be some there, and I've been in desperate need for some time now..."

"Ah...they might be right. No one has checked in there for a very long time."

"That's why I wanted to ask. You know more about sewing than me, so I assume you've visited there, and you're familiar with the place..."

"Of course! I remember when I used to knit a lot back in those times. Maybe I can find some stuff for myself while I'm there. I've been at a loss of supplies like you have."

The skeletons on his branch have been absorbing their conversation intently. They hadn't interfered out of politeness, but as soon as silence settles in for a few moments, one of the skeletons decides to pry.

"Miss Sally, I must say that I'm surprised you didn't ask Jack to come with you." They comment. "I'm sure he would have been more than happy to accompany you."

She bites her lopsided lip. "Well, yes, but he seems so busy nowadays...I didn't want to interrupt his work."

The Hanging Tree laughs. "If I know anything about Jack, I'm sure he's prioritized you plenty already."

Her blue cheeks turn a little pink at his words. She feels foolish for not asking him to come. But she still has someone assist her, and that's all she really wanted from the start. Jack sounded concerned about it last night, and seeing how he acted just before she left.....she'll be sure to be more than careful, if this is truly concerning to him.

The Hanging Tree begins to head in a direction and motions Sally to follow.

"We can start heading there now, if you'd like. I wasn't doing anything terribly important. And the walk shouldn't be too long - we'll be there before you know it."

She nods enthusiastically, looking forward to their trip. They pass the time by speaking more with each other, talking about how their knitting and sewing has been going. The skeletons listen to their conversations and even join in on a few. Sally can't begin to describe how peaceful it feels to talk with someone like this. She enjoys her time with her friend, and almost forgets about the sewing shop until they finally arrive.

----

"This is it!"

The ragdoll blinks twice as they approach a strange building. It stands out like a sore claw compared to the dark, occupied structures back in town. This one stands completely alone in its place - no neighboring buildings in its proximity. It is clearly built out of wood, most of which is now long rotten and looks to be nearly falling apart. The Witches' description was fairly accurate for what she is looking at now.

The Hanging Tree steps forward and she follows him. She notices the details the closer they get. The sign hanging just before the entrance is cracked and barely hanging on its hooks. The words that were once printed on it have been stained by the sun and are no longer legible. The windows on the side of the building are currently boarded up, as the glass has been broken. The roof creaks every time a gust of wind passes by, making her wonder if it would cave in at any second.

Her friend stops as they reach the door. Its paint is worn and a sign that reads: 'DO NOT ENTER' is placed right in the middle. She reaches for the key in her dress pocket and slowly takes it in her hands. She hadn't noticed there was a small skull on it; one that looks to resemble Jack's.

She observes the building again. It stands firmly where it is, and the sign creaks when the wind comes around.

"Something about this place makes me weary..."

"With what went on here, I can't blame you. But that happened such a long time ago. There's nothing to worry about now."

"You're right." Her fingers glide down to the key in her hand. 'And yet....'

The Hanging Tree glances at the sky and notices the dark clouds. Rain can be coming any second now. He looks back at Sally and finds her still staring at the building. He can't allow the Pumpkin King's girlfriend to get soaked under his watch! He steps behind her and motions her forward uneasily, glancing at the clouds that are coming in by the second.

"We might have to get going before it starts pouring..."

She notices what he is talking about and nods right away. They come to the door and she slips the skeleton key in with ease. The lock unlatches as she turns the key. The door slowly creaks open. To her surprise, the inside still seems to have power, as the moment she flicks the lights on, the hanging lanterns inside light up.

As the two head in, the floor beneath them groans at their weight and the door hastily shuts behind them. Sally jumps in alarm and bumps into one of the skeletons by accident.

"Are you alright?" They ask, holding her shoulders steady. She nods several times to assure them she is.

"Oh, yes, just a little....spooked, is all...."

The tree laughs. "Fantastic!"

The lanterns shine brighter as they're now in the room. She takes a good look at their surroundings. Things are deadly quiet otherwise, beyond the sound of the wind hitting the sign outside.

It is a large room they're in, filled with shelves that hold many fabrics. There are several sewing machines placed on the desks that litter around the room, as well as an unlit fireplace that sits in the back. There looks to be some sort of pantry to their far right, though she has yet to see what is in it.

All of these things are filled with cobwebs and dust. The fabrics look like they've been untouched for the longest time. The walls themselves are worn down, as the wallpaper seems to be peeling. Nearly all of the pictures hanging on the walls have several tears or scratches in them. As if someone has deliberately made them.

"Where do you think she kept the bodies?" One of the skeletons asks. They seem to be talking with the others on their branch. Sally can't help but eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Why would you even ask that? It's such a morbid topic."

"Which is what we love to talk about, isn't it?"

"Maybe the fabrics are the children..! Their skin, or their-"

"Don't say such things in Sally's presence!" Another skeleton scolds. "You might scare her."

"We're curious, that's all."

Their tree hushes them down, and they grow quiet. He returns to her side and frowns. "I'm sorry for my skeletons' behavior...they get so talkative with new things!"

"It's fine. I'm....sort of wondering the same thing...." She mumbles.

His frown deepens as he looks around. He decides not to touch upon such a subject and starts wandering around the room. She follows closely behind, rubbing her arms continuously. It's growing colder the longer they're in here, what with the gaps through the exposed windows and all. Since the fireplace is unlit, there is nothing currently keeping them warm in the meantime.

"It seems like all the fabrics are still in good condition," He comments, touching them and trying not to rip any with his sharp fingers. "Although, the dust would have to be cleaned off..."

"Do you think the sewing machines still work?"

"I wouldn't doubt it."

This springs some hope in Sally. She follows him as they look into the pantry across the room. This one has many drawers, all filled with sewing supplies that must have been kept as spares at one point. The relief on her face is substantial. She takes a look at what is inside and gathers what she needs. The Hanging Tree looks for himself and hums in delight when he finds the knitting needles tucked away in one drawer.

After they finish collecting what they desire, a thunderous boom sounds from outside. She yelps in surprise and instinctively reaches for one of the skeletons again, who holds her hands to calm her down. Rain begins to pour down from the sky. The two take one glance out of the door as the weather begins to pick up.

"Oh, no...I wanted to return to the Manor before it started raining...." She sighs.

"That's alright; we can stay here until it eases down."

Her breath starts to show in the air. "But it's getting so c-cold..."

The Hanging Tree says nothing as he glances at the unused fireplace in the back of the room. He walks over to it and notices the stacks of wood and twigs still placed inside, completely untouched. He goes through the trouble of finding some sort of igniter and lighting a small fire. As soon as the flames start and the wood catches, he motions for Sally to sit beside him.

She obeys and rests her basket by her side, watching the wood burn. She fidgets with her hands as they start to warm. They listen to the rain pour from outside. She finds some sort of calmness to it. It would be much better if she was at Jack's side right now, holding his hand as they rest by his hearth - in the safety and comfort of their own home, rather than an abandoned sewing shop...

"It isn't odd watching wood burn for you, is it...?" She asks.

"Not at all. I know not all trees are sentient like I am. Sometimes I burn my own sticks, and it doesn't hurt very much."

"Hm." She clutches her knees closer to her chest. "Hanging Tree, what do you know about this old seamstress..? I assume you've talked with her before, if you've been knitting for a long time."

"Back then, I talked to her whenever I came around to knit or use something of hers. She had quite the business going on back in the day - everyone loved her work! It was special enough to get our King's attention, and have her as his personal tailor. Even I liked what she made.

"Was she kind?"

"We all believed she was a nice lady who was incredibly talented in her field. But after learning what she did....I think that's when she showed who she actually was."

The Hanging Tree leans back and looks at the ceiling, seeming to recall something in bright detail.

"You see, she had a habit of disguising herself. The seamstress we knew was different from how she actually looked like. She was some sort of spider with button eyes...who usually had porcelain skin, but it cracked after awhile. She looked horrifying! We would have kept her around for the scares and chills had she not ....well...."

Sally glances at the torn pictures and frames on the wall. "-Do you think she did that?"

"Most certainly. She had fingers like needles - sharper than my own!" He laughs. "If you ask me, she reminded me a lot of Jack. He can do things very similar to what she did. She never participated in Halloween, but I imagine she would've had quite an impressive competition with him!"

"She sounds.....scary..."

"Yes, but she's been gone for a long time. I doubt she has any intentions on returning here. I'm sure Jack would be upset if she ever tried. We have nothing to worry about under his protection."

The fire pops and cracks loudly. They stare at it for awhile in silence, the rain still going in the background. She wonders how long this will go on. Talking about Jack only makes her long for him more. To be in his warm arms at this moment, far away from the place where this awful woman resided. She shivers a little and her friend observes her quietly.

"You know, Sally, I think you would do a great job as a seamstress yourself." He says. She blinks in surprise at the suggestion.

"Me....a seamstress?" He nods with a sharp smile. "What makes you say that?"

"I've seen what you made and how often you practice. You're very talented! Not to mention, we've been needing someone with your expertise for a long time. Everyone I know has either holes or tears in their clothes."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing, for Halloween?"

"Yes, but for every other day of the year, I imagine it's quite a hassle! All I'm saying is that...I think you would make a good one. You're more kind than she ever was, and I know for a fact that everyone here would support you."

"Where would I even start...?" She shakes her head. "I have nowhere to do such a thing, nor do I have the means to. All I have are-"

"-You have Jack."

She pauses. He continues:

"He can make things easy for you. You should bring it up to him sometime and ask if it's possible. I'm certain it is." He bows his body forward. "It will also give you something to do, and I think you deserve to be paid for your efforts. It'll bring in many opportunities for you."

She smiles and looks at the floor. The idea makes her excited...but she gets shy thinking of bringing it up to her beloved. Is she even in the position to ask for something so big? She doesn't deserve such a thing....but sewing is such a passion of hers. She can't help but imagine herself owning a shop of her own - providing her services to her friends and the rest of Halloween Town...

----

Jack Skellington taps the side of his skull as he searches through the drawers in the Town Hall.

He's been doing this awhile now, in search for something in particular. But what he is looking for is old, and was likely organized a long time ago. Something they haven't bothered to touch in years. He hums as he slams another drawer shut with no success. He then goes to another filing cabinet, skimming through the papers and folders quickly.

"Have you found it yet?" The Mayor asks from behind him, his worried eyes following the skeleton around the room. He pauses to address the question, closing this drawer shut as well.

"No. Which is a peculiar thing..."

"Maybe it got mixed up? Check the propositions."

He follows his colleague's advice and moves to another area entirely, desperately searching through the stacks of paperwork. The shorter man decides to help him and begins looking for himself, going at a much slower pace compared to the skeleton's quick movements. They keep this up for awhile until Jack suddenly stops in his tracks. He holds one singular paper up with a grin plastered on his skull.

"Found it!" He exclaims.

"Perfect!" The Mayor's face changes and comes to his side. "How old is it?"

"It was filed about 8 years ago. Was this really the last time we talked about the sewing shop?"

"I'm afraid so....it must have slipped our minds, with all the other things we've been doing..."

The skeleton clears off the desk in the room and places the paper on it. He leans over and quietly reads through what has been written down. The Mayor joins him and observes the page intently. There is a moment of silence as they absorb the information. The Mayor is the first to speak.

"Well? What should we do?"

He frowns. "If we want to do anything with it, it's going to need demolished and then a complete refurbishment. That wood can't be reliable - its structure is bound to come down anytime."

"Do we have enough funding for that? Last Halloween was a little costly..."

"Check our finances, would you?"

He nods before leaving into another room. Jack continues to look at the paper in his absence. He wants nothing more but to do something with this old building. He can't have it rotting in town while being completely unusable. He's relieved Sally brought this up in the first place...the last thing he wants is for it to come down and someone to get seriously hurt by the mess.

The Mayor returns in the room, holding a few papers in his hands. "We have just enough if we decide to cut down on the blood this year. We can't afford more canisters for the Vampire Brothers if we hope to get something done."

"Alright. That's a price I'm willing to pay." Jack briefly looks over what he brought. "What do you suggest?"

"Maybe a new restaurant?"

"I don't think it would do well. The one we have never gets crowded as it is." He taps his jaw in thought. "A blood bank, perhaps?"

"I think the vampires manage that kind of thing well on their own..."

"..."

His faces switch in despair. "I tell you, we can NEVER think of something good enough as a replacement! Something that won't lose money, and what we really need...."

"Maybe we don't need to change it into something different at all...Maybe, it can still be a sewing shop?"

"But with what tailor? Or seamstress?"

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and...Sally likes to sew. Why not have her run the place?"

"Jack, that's genius! Oh, what a horrible, awful idea!" He claps his hands in excitement. "You're telling me she agreed to it already?"

"Oh, no. I, well, haven't brought it up yet. It's just...something I thought about last night." He rubs the back of his skull in shame.

"Well, then, ask her as soon as possible so the ownership can go under her name! I've heard what she can do, and I have no doubts she'd do a fine job."

The Pumpkin King doesn't respond right away. He's still staring at the paper, holding his hand to his lips in thought. He does this for a long time as his colleague stands there waiting for his confirmation. After awhile, he slowly brings his gaze from the paper over to his friend. He looks to have a smile on his face.

"Actually, we can go ahead and put it under my name. We can start with construction right away...I'll make it a sort of surprise for her.

"Really? But you two haven't even talked about it - are you sure she wants to do this?"

"She's been making all sorts of dresses and clothes these past few weeks. I can tell she's going to run out of room soon. She needs a better outlet to express this in rather than a room."

He goes to pick up the paper again, thinking further on this. "-I won't make the decision for her, but I think this is something that she's always wanted....."

'She once told me she wanted my approval on what she made. What if she had the rest of the Town's, too? I'm certain it would make her happy.'

"Alright. Let's start putting your name on the project and planning this out. We'll hire the Behemoth...he provides labor without much pay, thank Halloween!"

Jack follows him and happens to glance outside of a nearby window. He notices the sky is now filled with dark clouds. He can hear the raindrops hitting the roof and smiles to himself. This type of weather always excites him. He can hear thunder brewing far away and notices a few cracks of lightning in the sky. Then he remembers that Sally is out right now, and momentarily stops in his tracks as he feels worry begin to consume his thoughts.

'She's still out there...Maybe she noticed the weather and headed home. I'm sure she's being careful.'

----

The Hanging Tree and Sally are having a lovely time talking to each other. They further discuss the idea of her being a seamstress, and eventually, she caves in. She confesses it was something she'd thought of before, and was even close to suggesting it to Jack the other night. She further talks about her insecurities that come with the idea - which her friend does a wonderful job with comforting her about.

It is in the middle of their conversation when they hear another boom come from outside. The wood begins to creak as the wind picks up. This is when they finally notice the storm coming, and quickly decide to take their leave now in an attempt to get home.

The air is chilly. Sally clutches onto her sides as she moves closer to the front door. It's a wise decision to leave now. The longer they stay in here, the building may not hold for very long. She doubts the wood is still sturdy after all this time. She can't ignore how anxious the wind outside makes her, with how violent it's becoming by the second....

"D-do you th-think we'll ma-make it?" She manages through chattering teeth.

Her friend seems hopeful. "As long as we hurry, I'm sure we'll beat the storm in time."

They listen to the loud creaking and groaning of the wood around them. It makes her more worried by the minute. She shivers and reaches for her friend as they approach the door. He holds her to try and keep her warm. The contact is assuring, but his bark feels like ice. He gets the message and smiles as an apology, then opens the door and allows them to leave.

His skeletons start to thrash when the wind hits them, swinging by the ropes on their neck. Sally feels sorry for them. Her hair starts to get carelessly tossed around. The tree shuts the door behind them and she uses the key to lock it. She's holding tightly onto her basket - not wanting her things to be taken by the wind.

"Here, I'll help you get home." He offers.

He quickly yet carefully guides Sally back to the Pumpkin King's Manor. Since she didn't wear anything over her dress that morning, the rain happens to soak her figure the longer they're out there. They get there as fast as they can, finding the gates to the mansion opening and closing with the wind. The Hanging Tree bids her goodbye with a last smile on his face. She understands the message behind it - remembering what she has to ask from her skeleton man, and that it should be done soon.

----

Sally returns home dripping wet from head-to-tie by the time she walks through the doors of the Skellington Manor. She feels cold as she shuts the door behind her and sets down her basket. She feels guilty for walking in while her entire figure is soaked in rainwater. She hopes Jack isn't home for a second, so he doesn't have to see her like this, getting his floors all wet-

"Sally? Are you home, my dear?"

She freezes in her spot as his voice comes from up the stairs. She finds him climbing down rather eagerly, but the moment he sees her, his expression instantly turns to worry. He practically runs over and looks at her drenched figure. His eye sockets widen in disbelief. She holds her head low, an unpleasant feeling now settling in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You're all wet..! Oh, if only I had given you something to cover yourself with - this simply can't do! I'm so sorry, Sally. Here, let's get you in front of the fire."

She's taken by surprise as he leads her into the den and towards the hearth. There is already a decently-sized fire inside, the flames dancing around as the logs have long caught. He carefully sits her down in front of it and joins her side right away. This one is much warmer compared to the last. The skeleton takes a rag and begins to dab at her face, getting the excess water that is dripping from her cheeks and hoping to dry whatever he can.

Zero barks in delight when he finds them down there, flying above their heads in excitement. But when he notices Sally is shivering and completely damp, he whines and floats down to her side. He receives a couple of pats to the head. She scoots closer to Jack, wishing to share whatever body heat he had at that moment. He allows her to rest at his side, ignoring this part of his undershirt moistening at the contact.

"I'm s-sorry I didn't come ba-ack sooner. We th-thought the rain wo-uuld pass...That's w-why we were wait-waiting." Her tone carries guilt through the chattering of her teeth. He has a sympathetic look on his face.

"How could you have known? Nothing is your fault at all. I simply need to help you get dry..."

He tries to hide how anxious his words are. He returned home right after he and the Mayor finished starting their new project. The first thing he did was kindle a fire to warm the cold mansion. He was surprised, however, to find the Skellington Manor completely empty, apart from his ghostly dog. He believed Sally would've been there waiting for him...only to realize that she wasn't.

He was so worried in that moment - that something had happened to her, or the storm must've caught her. He was just preparing to leave and search for her until she happened to come in right through his front doors. To find her standing there, shivering, covered entirely in water...it brought immense anxiety to his bones. He's never felt so concerned before.

He sets down the rag and goes through the trouble of wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rests his large hands in her lap. She lays her small ones over his shortly afterwards. They enjoy their contact and continue to sit there, enjoying the warmth from the fire. When he brings his hand over her arm, he finds that she's finally starting to dry.

"You had me so worried," He confesses. "I'm sure I overreacted this morning - but to find you here, cold to the touch and drenched, I-"

"We tried to get here as fast as we could....it was pouring outside, and-"

"It's my fault. I should have seen this coming. Ever since you brought this up to me last night, I...I've just been feeling peculiar..."

"Peculiar..?"

He massages her hands in thought. "I always get this feeling before a storm...it's this tingling sensation on my spine. I felt it again this morning, before you left. I thought I was just nervous. If only I had read my instincts better...I could've given you my jacket, or an umbrella, or-"

"Wait. You can tell when a storm is coming?"

"I think many of us can. It's common around here." He rests his skull atop her head. "We love this weather. But this is the first time I've ever felt an unpleasant prickling. I think it's because I knew you were out there, still."

She nestles in her lover's embrace. She gets butterflies in her stomach hearing him so worried.

"I'm alright; it's nothing to be worried about. I get this wet whenever I take a bath."

"Yes, but, still....I don't want you catching a cold." He isn't even sure if Sally can fall to any ailments, but he still feels worried. "And knowing I could've prevented this from the start-"

"Oh, Jack...I don't like it when you blame yourself like this. Really. I'm fine. I'm here now, aren't I?"

He sighs deeply. "That you are..."

His grip on her tightens. Hearing that last sentence fills him with relief. She is here now. Instead of being outside, where it is far too dangerous and cold...she's safely tucked in his arms at this second. He feels his bones stop swelling as he rests his skull on her hair. She is only a little damp at this point. He feels satisfied with this progress.

After a few minutes, he realizes he hasn't asked about her trip yet.

"Did you find anything, by the way?"

"We did. There were drawers filled with spare needles, thread, thimbles...everything I could've asked for."

He smiles. She sounds so excited. The trip must have been worth it to make. "-You didn't find anything out of the ordinary, did you?"

Her hands inch their way along his arm as she thinks of a response. Quietly, she tells him, "It was a little creepy. I didn't want to stay a minute longer."

"You shouldn't have to. You got what you wanted." He motions to her basket sitting by the front door. "I guess this means your sewing should get much better?"

"I'm excited. Really, I am." Her fingers dig into the fabric of his sleeve. "Thank you for letting me go."

"Of course, darling. I would do anything to make you happy."

He moves her yarn hair to kiss her forehead. She feels tingly as she sits there, grabbing at his him and smiling. She feels antsy all of a sudden....wanting to blurt out what's on her mind. Ask him for what she wants so dearly, right then and there...but then she gets that twinge of nervousness in her leaves that stops her. She rests in his lap instead and entwines her fingers with his, enjoying their now-dry embrace.

She doesn't notice how fidgety Jack is as well. He repeatedly runs his hand through her hair and twirls the ends of her strands in his fingers. He wants to break the news to her already - of what he plans to accomplish for her; to spoil the surprise early, just to see the bright smile on her face. But he has to ignore these impulses, figuring it will all come in due time.

They hold each other while resting by the fire for the rest of the night, both of them as restless as the other.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 19: Hands Off

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18

Word count: 2587

TW for self harm

"So you're tellin' me absolutely nothin' is goin' on between you two?" Between sessions, Harley had come to visit Elianna in her office for a chat. "Aren't you still staying at his place?" It seemed that the blonde still had yet to give up on the idea of El and Jonathan together; the only difference now was that she had ended up being right (a fact that the redhead had made sure to remind him of as they laid in bed catching their breath the day before. He hadn't found it quite as funny as she did).

"Yeah—wait, how did you know that?"

"I was pullin' into the parking lot behind you guys this mornin'."

"Uh-huh, we drove separately, stalker." El quirked an eyebrow with an expectant smile.

"Right, so you just happened to arrive at the same time? Just 'cause you didn't take the same car doesn't you're not comin' from the same place."

"Alright, alright," El laughed. "He's got some errands to run after work, so I promised to make dinner."

"Aww," Harley exaggerated the syllable, knowing it would get under her friend's skin.

"Oh, cut it out." El rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I already told you, nothing is going on." The blonde just laughed in response. "Hey, how's your big case coming along?"

As Harley enthusiastically began to tell whatever she could about her sessions with the self-named Poison Ivy, El used the distraction as an opportunity to recall the day before smugly to herself.

Already, the recent change in their relationships had its ups and downs. On the one hand, it almost seemed like a dam had burst; their dynamic flowed more smoothly, and for her part, she felt as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. On the other, when he had told her that morning that he had to oversee the handling of that night's delivery personally (since Batman had effectively put Falcone out of commission), her usual worry for his safety had doubled.

Something that Elianna and Jonathan had in common was a lack of experience with real relationships. As such, they shared a sense of profound importance in regards to the new arrangement. It would take some work to balance the now heightened concern they held for each other.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was in his office trying in vain to occupy his mind by shuffling through the stack of administrative paperwork that the warden's office couldn't be bothered to sort through before sending it to him. Between the unexpected hitch in the master plan and trying as hard as he could to not think about El (on that count, Scarecrow was actively working against), he was struggling to make it through even the very basics of his job.

At that moment, for example, he was grappling with his schedule for the day. Falcone had been taken to Blackgate and apparently had been asking to see him for a few days. Jonathan had been putting off visiting the mobster since he had found out; he had been caught by a civilian in a cape and a mask; what could he possibly have to discuss with such a disappointment to the underworld? Today, however, he had received word that the older man had cut his wrists, and the administration at Blackgate had sent for him specifically.

As if that weren't enough, he had already had to clear his schedule for that night to oversee the shipment, given that Falcone was now indisposed.

There was no getting around it, though, he supposed, and found himself back in the car en route to Blackgate. However, the drive wasn't nearly long enough for Jonathan to quell his frustration in Falcone's incompetence, and before too long was meeting with the mobster's caseworker.

"Doctor Crane, thanks for coming." There was a thinly disguised urgency in her voice as she greeted him.

"Not at all," he replied, barely remembering to keep his tone patient. "He cut his wrists?" How irritating it was to fake concern.

"Probably looking for the insanity plea," well, at least the woman was pragmatic, "but if anything should happen..."

"Of course, better safe than sorry." He nodded as they approached the door to the private room that Falcone had been brought to. With that, the caseworker unlocked the door to let Jonathan in and let the door swing closed behind him.

Falcone didn't skip a beat. "Hey, Doctor Crane, I can't take it anymore. It's all too much; the walls are closing in, blah blah blah," the old man rambled dryly. "Couple more days of this food, it'll be true." Jonathan found himself steeling himself against the urge to let Scarecrow come out as he settled into his chair.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know how you're gonna convince me to keep my mouth shut." The ego of a powerful man is truly something indigestible, isn't it?

"About what? You don't know anything about the operation."

"Maybe not specifics, sure, but I know you don't want the cops to take a closer look at the drugs they seized. I know about your experiments with the inmates of your nuthouse." Jonathan listened and watched as patiently as he could as the tiresome man continued to talk. "See, I don't go into business with a guy without finding out his dirty secrets." At this point, Scarecrow was banging against the proverbial walls of their brain, desperate to retaliate. "Those goons you used. I own the muscle in this town. Now I've been bringing your stuff in for months. So whatever he's planning, it's big. And I want in."

Can you believe the balls on this guy? Let me out, Jonny.

Not yet; he still doesn't have a leg to stand on.

"Well, I already know what he'll say. That we should kill you." Just because we haven't yet doesn't mean that we won't, old man.

"Even he can't get me in here. Not in my town." Jonathan was growing tired of this conversation very quickly.

"Your town." The psychiatrist repeated, not a question—a mockery. The older man's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh, did I forget to ask? How rude of me, I forgot the most important part. How is your little lady friend from the asylum?" here the mobster leaned in threateningly, "Does she know what you're doing? What's gonna happen to her once you go down, I wonder. Maybe I'll send some people to make sure she's not alone, huh?"

Now that caught Jonathan's attention. The rest of Falcone's little threats were easily avoided; even he didn't have the power to endanger Ra's Al Gul's plans. He did, however, have the power to have unspeakable things done to Elianna. That would not stand.

Jonathan made his decision from there quickly. Scarecrow was overjoyed that El had been brought into the discussion, knowing that Jon would have to take it seriously, and was raring to be in control.

Jonathan sighed and removed his glasses, hearing the straw man begin to cheer in the back of his mind. "Would you like to see my mask?" He asked, opened his briefcase without waiting for an answer, popped open the false bottom, and reached for the mask, ignoring the several full syringes waiting to be used. He had added a new rig to the case, and it was as good a time as any to test it out. "I use it in my experiments. Now, I'm probably not very threatening to a guy like you," he continued, holding up the mask for emphasis, "but these crazies? They can't stand it."

With that, he made to put the mask on and let Scarecrow take over.

He could barely hear Falcone's quip about the nut taking over the nuthouse over the ever surreal feeling of taking the backseat in his own brain.

Once his face was secured, Scarecrow took great pleasure in pressing the button to release the cloud of toxin. The screams of terror began almost instantaneously, much to his delight, and he rose from his chair to loom over the mafioso.

"They scream, and they cry," he teased with menacing glee. "Much as you're doing now." Jonathan allowed Scarecrow a few more seconds of enjoyment before regaining control. They still had to leave undetected, and Scarecrow couldn't be trusted to be professional. As much as Jonathan enjoyed hearing the man who had dared to threaten El scream, he was more trustworthy when it came to subterfuge.

"Well, he's not faking," Jonathan cleared his throat as he reentered the hallway, greeted by the caseworker's concerned face. "Not that one." He was still a bit flustered by the rush of inflicting such horror upon someone. Move on, Jonathan, act normal. It was a bit of a blur after that, promising to talk to the judge and get Falcone transferred to Arkham before making his way back to the Asylum himself. He still had a few patients to see before he could punch out to oversee the shipment that evening.

However, once the rush wore off, Jonathan found his mind wandering back to what Falcone had said about El. Who knew what he could have told his people already? He stopped by El's office before returning to his own and was surprised to find her no longer there. A quick phone call to the secretary at the front desk told him that she had already left for the day—another phone call to find that her cell phone was dead.

Shit.

Jonathan forced himself back to the matter at hand, telling himself that she was fine, but the lingering worry stayed in the back of his mind.

For about an hour and a half at least, when he decided that he was done with work for the day. The sooner he could take care of business, the sooner he could rush home to make sure she was there.

In the car on his way to the meeting site, Jonathan tried calling her again to no avail.

I really need to get a home phone for the apartment; he cursed to himself.

He found himself unable to focus on the task at hand as he parked his car and got into the one being driven by the goons provided by Falcone. Any of them could have received orders at any point to take El, hurt her, anything. He had no way of knowing if instructions had already been given or what liberties were allowed should anything happen to her.

Behind his impassive expression, Jonathan was operating almost solely on autopilot, getting out of the car and entering the old apartment that served as a drop point. This one had already been used twice before, and given how close the end date was, he had already decided to eradicate any and all evidence once the job was done.

He looked disinterestedly over the pile of stuffed bunnies, appraising the shipment's size, doing quick calculations in his head to the best of his ability. After concluding that it was, in fact, the correct amount, he gestured to the goons to retrieve the substance from inside of the toys. "Get rid of all traces."

Jonathan couldn't help the disgusted look around the dilapidated apartment. He couldn't think of anywhere he wanted to be less at that moment. Distracted by the sheer quantity of distasteful thoughts swirling in his mind, he was almost startled when Scarecrow spoke suddenly.

There's someone else here.

That statement froze all other concerns as he tuned in to his environment. He barely registered one of the thugs telling the others to torch the apartment as he noticed a prickling on the back of his neck, as well as the open window.

Jonathan remained calm and in control as the other men began to douse the furniture in gasoline while he moved to examine the window.

Are you sure?

Before the straw man could answer, the sound of shattering glass from the other room stole Jonathan's attention from the window.

Yes, came the smug response. Wasting no more time, Jonathan let the other goon move to investigate and instead moved into the shadows to retrieve his mask.

You're up again, Scarecrow. Do it fast; we have to get home.

Yeah, yeah, you've been annoying me for hours; she's fine. Would you shut up about it? Retaliated Scarecrow as he forced Jonathan out of the driver's seat and took over, relishing in the drama of wearing his face again.

That moment didn't last for very long before his suspicions were confirmed, and the Batman himself burst into the room, swiftly incapacitating the leftover thug. Luckily, Scarecrow's reflexes were just as fast, and he released a cloud of toxin from their sleeve rig, which hit the caped crusader squarely in the face.

The effects were almost instantaneous, judging by the wide eyes behind the cowl and the erratic, flailing movements. Scarecrow stifled a laugh as the armored man toppled backward away from him.

"Take a seat," he taunted, thoroughly enjoying his playtime, "have a drink." Here he seized a bottle of vodka abandoned by his now useless goons. The staw man snarled mentally, understanding Jonathan's intolerance of incompetence. They would be eradicated along with the evidence of their crimes. Splashing the booze on the caped man in delight, he continued to tease him.

"You look like a man who takes himself too seriously." Scarecrow abandoned the now empty bottle and replaced it in his hand with a zippo lighter that El had left in their pocket.

Wait, she loves that thing-

We'll buy her a new one, pipe down.

He had corraled Batman in front of the window and sparked the lighter, extending it in front of him menacingly. "Do you want my opinion? You need to lighten up." With that, he tossed the lighter, which ignited the caped crusader and the old rug in seconds.

This allowed them a swift escape, as Batman threw himself out the window and plummeted with the rain onto the pavement several stories below. Wasting no time, Scarecrow had them outside and in the getaway car. Luckily, there was a spare key in the visor, and they sped down the street in the direction of where they had left their car.

Slow down! We're attracting attention; we don't need that.

You're the one who's been bitching about getting home for the past few hours.

Not letting up for a second, Scarecrow turned a fifteen-minute drive back to Jonathan's car into a five-minute one before finally retreating to his place in the back of their mind. Of course, on principle, Jonathan was still irritated with Scarecrow for behaving so recklessly, then leaving him to deal with any potential consequences. Still, he was glad for the saved time.

By this point, Jonathan was so frenzied with panic about El's wellbeing that he couldn't even think about their own run-in with the Batman. Still ten minutes away from home, he tried to call her cell once again. Still no answer.

Why the fuck won't she pick up?

Scarecrow didn't respond, finally picking up just how agitated the whole situation had made his counterpart. Best not to rile him up further.

Jonathan nudged the car faster. Only a few minutes away, but it felt like forever. He was so frantic to get home and see Elianna safe that he couldn't even think of what he would do if she weren't. No game plan, not even a shadow of one because she's okay. Or so he kept telling himself.

[second-chance-stray]

Rp Log: Cravs introduces “Windy” to Lin.

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs has sent a letter to “Windy,” asking him to meet at the Heartwood estate in order to meet a friend of hers. Of course, lacking an address, Cravs had simply handed a moogle the letter with “Windy” written on it, and had hoped that it’d somehow find its way. She waits outside, searching for that telltale tuff of blond hair.

(Cravendy Hound) And moments prior, she had told Lin that she’d be bringing over a friend of hers tonight. A mailman who delivers on foot, who can outrun a chocobo, who’s really good at fighting bugs. What Lin would think of that description...well, it was up to her.

(Bertram Windshadow) It is by the miracle that is the Moogle Mail System that a letter found its way into Bertram's hands. How convenient to couriers that 'knew what she meant'. Though when Bertram saw the address in the letter he was certainly a bit surprised. It certainly wasn't a place unfamiliar to him. At least ... he thought that was the correct address? Any doubt was quickly dispelled as he approached the ground proper, looking travel worn as ever.

(Bertram Windshadow) He hadn't set recovered from his mild confusion when he bumped into Cravendy. "... Oh! Uh ... hey there. It's good to see ya again." He pauses. "Is ... this where you work?"

(Bertram Windshadow) (( We're re-enacting the Tyler1 meme right now. )) (Cravendy Hound) PFffFFahaha ))

(Aislinn North) Cravendy had breezed through the front library like a gust of wind moments before, explaining to Lin there was a friend she wanted her to meet and potentially sign a contract with Heartwood. Aislinn had only had time to look up from her notes and blink owlishly, a disoriented 'Alright' coming from her before Cravendy had disappeared out the front door. Aislinn shook her head. While Cravendy had all the power to had her friend a contract herself, ...

(Aislinn North) Aislinn understood that the Seawolf was still uncomfortable with her position in Heartwood. She frowned down at the report from Heartwood's informants and tried to reach a good stopping point before the company arrived.

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs waves at Bertram as he approaches. “Oy there! That’s right. Welcome to ‘eartwood.” She proudly points to the company’s gates. “I said I worked as a mercenary, didn’t I? Anyway, let me show ye around. This ‘ere is the...” She steps into the garden and begins to list off her opinions about the décor.

(Cravendy Hound) Stuff along the lines of “This tree is a nice tree. This tree is not a nice tree.”

(Aislinn North) ((I kinda want to know what quantifies a 'not nice tree' in Cravs' mind xD)) (Cravendy Hound) LOL probably if she holds a personal grudge against it...like a branch falling on her xD )) (Aislinn North) ((That's exactly what I was thinking! It all comes down to a grudge she must hold against it!))

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram rather understands that such distinctions are important when one lives in the Shroud. You wouldn't want to wake up and have your breakfast in the shade of a *grumpy* tree. Of course, as Cravendy rather enthusiastically leads him through the gardens he isn't exactly able to find the opportunity to mention that he's been here before ... instead he just listens polite and occasionally nods ... smiling!

(Cravendy Hound) After giving Bertram a thorough tour of the garden, she finally shows him to the door. “Alright, ‘nough about the good and evil of plants and rocks. My friend should be waitin’ inside for us.” She pauses, and gives a wide grin to her guest. “I think ye’ll like ‘er. She’s...serious, but dependable.”

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram couldn't truly keep himself from starting to connect dots the longer he thought about it. Of course Bertram couldn't claim to have met all the members of Heartwood, so maybe he was mistaken, but ... things seemed to be pointing in a certain direction. "Anything that can keep up with you must be, I think." He let out a quiet chuckle, bobbing his head to the side.

(Cravendy Hound) “Heh, it’s the other way ‘round. Ask ‘er about the time we fought a giant dodo.” Cravs smirks, and then barges in.

(Aislinn North) So the mage she sought had quit Ul'dah and returned to Ishgard after the Calamity. She hung her head and let go a heavy sigh. Bloody Coerthas. Again. Just then, she heard Cravendy and her friend approaching and set the report face down on the table. Certain to clear any lingering annoyance from her face in regards to the report, she turned with a polite smile at the ready and makes her way over to them, smoothing down her skirt. ...

(Aislinn North) "Welcome to Heart-- *Bertram*" she blinked in surprise, quickly shifting her gaze between him and Cravendy. "-This- is your friend?" laughter bubbling up. "Cravendy, this is Bertram." she paused. Perhaps Cravendy didn't recall that part. Wyda would have. She shook her head. "He's an old childhood friend." she turned her attention to Bertram with a warm smile. "Alright, there?"

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram couldn't really keep a straight face as Aislinn walked up, his lips twisting into something decidedly goofy looking. The sight of Aislinn immediately put to bed any doubts regarding who Cravendy's friend was. His laughter was quick to join Aislinn's as his smile grew, dipping his head toward Aislinn in confirmation, "Got my head on my shoulders." He tilts his head to the side, still smiling, "What about you, Linn? Seems we've got a mutual friend."

(Bertram Windshadow) He glances over to Cravendy with an amused expression.

(Cravendy Hound) Looks between the two of them repeatedly, confusion growing with every iteration. “What? Ye know each other already? Wait, what?”

(Cravendy Hound) “Bugger, I can’t go round assumin’ every golden ‘aired man is Bertram. An ye didn’t tell me ‘e was wanderin’ round the Shroud!” Cravs grumbles at Lin. She then turns her ire to the man himself. “And get that smile off yer face. I thought yer name was Windy!”

(Aislinn North) "It does seem that way, doesn't it?" she nodded to Bertram, a thread of good humor still in her voice. "Windy?" laughter threatened to overtake her again but she could see Cravendy was flustered more than anything and did her best to hold it in. "Ahh...wait. So he's the one that saved you when the Shroud attacked?"

(Bertram Windshadow) He blinks several times as his mind processes that. Maybe he should have corrected her when she kept calling him Windy? It had seemed ... y'know ... 'close enough' for him. Then he's chuckling quietly at the absolutely delightful ridiculousness of the situation. "I mean ... it is. Sort of. Windshadow; it's an epithet of sorts."

(Aislinn North) "Like Ren and Armsbreaker." she added. "They're Highlander battle names." she glanced back to Bertram. "Cravendy said you were looking for work? You could have told me that."

(Cravendy Hound) “Ye should’ve! Corrected me!” Cravs grabs Bertram by the shoulder and shakes him like a maraca. “ARgh! Don’t tell me ye’ve been ‘ere afore too! Why didn’t ye stop me in the middle! Of! The garden tour!”

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Oh my *gosh*. )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Betram's going to be a few marbles short after a rattling like that! ))

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram starts to bob his head in Aislinn's direction in solidarity to her clarification before Aislinn turns the focus onto the matter of his looking for work. Of course, before he manages to say anything, Cravendy is upon him and shaking out any cobwebs that might be building up in his skull. "I'm sorry!" He calls out, though there's a certain joviality to it, "I have, I'm sorry. You got started before I could say anything and then, I don't know! it seemed like you were having a good time."

(Aislinn North) Blinked and hurriedly stepped between them in an effort to keep Bertram's senses from being rattled into oblivion. "Cravendy!" she wasn't loud by nature, but her voice held a urgent edge. "It was a simple misunderstanding, is all."

(Cravendy Hound) Lin’s intervention thankfully brings an end to the shake-egeddon. Cravs huffs, half overwhelmed with embarrassment and half winded from the effort of nearly shaking Bertram’s head loose. “Aargh, bloody bastard...And ‘ere I was, thinkin’ I was gonna bring two friends together, and it turns out they know each other better than they know me!”

(Cravendy Hound) “Anyone else wanna say somethin’ I don’t know afore I make a fool out of myself?” She groans, red faced.

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram stumbles his way back just a touch as he is released, a hand rising to his head to gives himself a steadying before looking back up to Cravendy. He sobers just a touch and offers the woman a light smile. "You did bring two friends together though. And not to mention given me all the confirmation that I'd ever need to know that you're a good sort yourself."

(Aislinn North) Let go a soft breath of relief as Cravendy mercifully releases Bertram. She glanced over at him to be sure he was alright before turning back to Cravendy with a wave of her hand. "That's only because we've had the benefit of time, nothing more. And aye, it's been awhile since we've seen each other, so you did what you set out to do." she eyed him over her shoulder with a teasing glint in her eye. "He has a tendency to disappear for Twelve knows how long. So we were due for a bit of catching up."

(Aislinn North) "Now I know he's been off racing chocobos and saving people from the Shroud, though." she looked back at him again with a deadpan look as if to say 'Racing chocobos. Really?'

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs sighs, slowly but surely recovering from the near lethal dose of embarrassment she had received seconds earlier. She grumpily rubs the space between her brows, as if kneading her head could will it to better process what was going on. “Windy, don’t tell me yer not even a mailman...”

(Aislinn North) Cleared her throat at that. "Maybe we should all go have a drink."

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram lifts a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck a bit bashfully at the teasing before collecting himself enough to give a slightly bemused shrug. It ... seemed like a good idea at the time? He didn't have a good explanation. He looks back to Cravendy as she poses the question. He looks like he's about to answer but hears Aislinn clear her throat and follows her lead. "That's sounds nice, yeah."

(Cravendy Hound) “Bah. Best idea I ‘eard all night.” Cravs goes up the stairs to where the company bar is located.

(Aislinn North) Gave another sigh and glanced at Bertram. "Well, it's good to see you again."

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram looks to Aislinn with an expression that reads as 'is she going to be alright?' before offering a light smile and following up the stairs. "It's good to see you too, Linn."

(Aislinn North) Leaned down under the bar and pulled out a pint glass before looking at Cravendy and Bertram. "Right then. What're you two having?" she asked as she poured cider from the tap.

(Bertram Windshadow) The Windshadow Riker's his way over the stool and settles himself down upon it before glancing around the bartop. "Ah ... " he skewed his lips to the side slightly before retreating to an easy answer, " ... whatever you're having there. That looks good!"

(Cravendy Hound) “I think ye should regale me with embarrassing stories from Windy’s youth. Only fair for what ‘e put me through,” Cravs says to Lin while shooting Bertram a smirk. “...As for drinks, do we ‘ave any mead left?”

(Aislinn North) ((Lol! Riker's his way. Such an apt and efficient description)) (Bertram Windshadow) (( *laughs and grins* It saves time!! ))

(Aislinn North) Nodded and pulled up another pint. Her hand settled on a wine glass but hesitated and thought of the face Cravendy would make if mead showed up in something like that. She went for a short whiskey tumbler instead. As she pours the drinks she gives Bertram a wry sidelong glance. "Embarrassing stories. I'm sure I can recall one or two. If I think hard enough." She sets the bottle of mead on the counter and then pushes all three glasses to the front of the bar before disappearing to make...

(Aislinn North) her way around front. "But tell me why you thought he was a mailman in the first place?"

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram blinks a couple times, holding up his right hand with index finger extended, before speaking. "In my defense, I didn't even know you worked here until you sent the letter." He glances down slightly, a small smile touching his lips, "But I figure it's only fair in recompense for my not correcting you about my name." He pauses again and glances to Aislinn as she asks her own question ... and then back to Cravendy. He takes a sip of cider.

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs gladly takes the drink in hand and leans against the railing. She traces the brim of glass in thought. Why -did- she think he was a mailman? She was so confident about it earlier, but now...Cravs looks at Bertram with a great deal of suspicion. What IF.

(Cravendy Hound) “Didn’t ye tell me that was yer occupation over drinks? And I could’ve sworn I brought it up a second time when ye were racin’ against my chocobo. Something about ‘ow ye run really fast to deliver mail.” There's a hint of doubt in her voice, mind racing as she questions everything she knows about the man.

(Aislinn North) Glanced between the two, entertained as she took a swallow of the crisp cider. She raised a brow in his direction. Lying wasn't something he was any good at so she knew that couldn't be it.

(Bertram Windshadow) The man furrows his brow slightly as focus turns upon him and he beings to file through his memory in search for the day that he met Cravendy, "... uh ... I think you said that I run really fast? And that I had escape tools. And suggested I was a some kind of courier?" He pauses for a moment, "But ... I think we might have miscommunicated. I ... don't really have a *job* so to speak. Even if I'm running around a lot." He clears his throat and glances away. "Sorry about that."

(Bertram Windshadow) It's his turn to look flushed now.

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs is ilms away from grabbing hold of Bertram’s shoulder and shaking more sense into him, AGAIN. But she doesn’t want to put down her drink, so instead she just facepalms with her one free hand in utter disappointment. “WINDY NO...”

(Cravendy Hound) “Is ‘e always like this? Vague and friendly?!” Cravs gives Lin a pleading look. "Well, at least the jobless part I got right."

(Aislinn North) Turned her attention to Cravendy, a hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "Sounds like an easy mix-up." she shrugged. She glanced back to Bertram and considered Cravendy's description of him. "Friendly, aye. Vague...well, I think we're both just the quiet sort to let assumptions hang in the air." she shook her head. "Though, honestly Bertram. I wouldn't put it past Cravendy here to keep hounding you until she's found you suitable employ. She's the determined sort."

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram concealed himself -- and his blush -- within the opening of his cider. He was probably taking a longer drink than he actually wanted so that he could keep himself hidden away for a moment. It would seem he and Cravendy had swapped hotseats. He glances over to Aislinn as she offers her ... warning? A slight smile pulls at his lips before he bobs his head to the side, "I'm starting to get that impression ..."

(Bertram Windshadow) He looks back at Cravendy. "All the same. I'm sorry. I can be ... a bit cagey around new people. I'm working on it."

(Aislinn North) ((*hugs the cinnamon roll*))

(Cravendy Hound) “Only if ye want it. But with ‘ow fast ye run, ye would make a fine mailman’, and there are plenty of parcels that I need sent, no questions asked.” A smug grin crosses over her face as she senses the heat switch from her to Bertram.

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Cravendy engaged her trap card! ))

(Cravendy Hound) She leans in close to Bertram and whispers something in his ear. “Some of these could be, ah, unverbal messages. If ye catch my drift.”

(Aislinn North) Pauses, her drink halfway to her lips. "Wait...what do you mean parcels, no questions asked." she narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked over at Cravendy. Her suspicion only grows as Cravendy whispers something to him. "Cravendy, he's not going to be your runner." she stated, emphatic.

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram blinks several times at the whisper. No; he did not catch the drift. At least he didn't think he did. He passes Cravendy a somewhat bewildered look before his gaze flickers back toward Aislinn and she makes her point *very* clear. Oh. Now he was caught up in the drift alright. He remained looking a bit shell-shocked for a moment letting out a quiet laugh, his head shaking in gently bewilderment.

(Bertram Windshadow) "I ... don't know about being a *runner* ... but ... maybe some real work wouldn't be bad for me. I know Aislinn's been suggesting that I apply myself a bit more healthily for a while now and ... well ..." He glances back to Cravendy, "With a force like Cravendy out there trying to help too ... I probably should take a hint."

(Cravendy Hound) “Aw, ye ‘eard the man. He’s good at runnin’, and there’s a few people I’d like to see knocked down a peg or two.” Cravs protests, a toothy grin revealing her canines. “Pff, I wouldn’t start ye with such jobs anyway. Just some stuff to deliver to a village we’ve been helpin’ rebuild, and to ‘elp me look into some business in the east.”

(Aislinn North) Put off glaring at Cravendy to look back to Bertram with a sharp exhale. "Me saying it wasn't enough? Should have gotten Cravendy involved a lot sooner, apparently." she noted with a helpless shake of her head.

(Cravendy Hound) “Oy, e’s a grown man and can make ‘is own decisions. And if that’s runnin’ mad in the wilds, aimless and jobless and all other kinds of ‘less’, then power to ‘im.” Cravs is making assumptions. Again. She takes a sip with a smug smile.

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram offers Aislinn an apologetic expression and soft smile as he bows his head toward the woman. "We'll add it to the long list of things that you were right about ..." He murmured quietly, taking a sip of his cider again. A regular one this time. "Cravendy was just ... the tipping point." He offers in gentle tease.

(Bertram Windshadow) "But ... " He looks back to Cravendy, "If I can help with rebuilding a village I can certainly say I'd be happy to do so." There he goes. Not even asking for job details or compensation.

(Aislinn North) Makes a noise of displeasure in the back of her throat. Maybe she was sick and tired of being right after the fact. She quietly takes another swallow of cider. Or two. She'd let Cravendy give him the details of Dirtpatch.

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs snorts. “It’s called volunteerin’ if ye don’t get paid!”

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram winces as he witnesses the level of embarrassment that whatever childhood story Aislinn has in store for Cravendy skyrockets in realtime in the wake of his response. He blinks and looks back to Cravendy, "Oh, ah ... heh ... right. What's the usual price for something like that?"

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram needs an agent.

(Cravendy Hound) “And volunteerin’ won’t pay the bills. Anyway, it’s just a couple of boxes to deliver to a village called Dirtpatch. A small seatown off the coast of Vylbrand. Tools and medicine, stuff like that.” She pauses. “...I’ve ‘eard recent rumors of pirates attacks though. Those don’t follow the accord. So keep an eye out for them.”

(Cravendy Hound) (me w/ no idea of what the proper payment for this would be* ))

(Aislinn North) "And you're afraid you wouldn't make a good officer." she noted to Cravendy as she propped an elbow on the bar and rested her head against her fingertips. 'Get Paid' was rule number 1 of the mercenary company.

(Aislinn North) "Seems like you got it all sorted out to me."

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs blushes. “I-I’m pretty sure ye keep me around to make the others look better. Why ye all ‘aven’t cut me loose is a mystery I grapple with everyday.”

(Aislinn North) Tipped her head in Cravendy's direction, staring at her over the rim of her glasses with a 'Come on, now.' look. It didn't need to be said.

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram glances between the two women and their exchange with a slightly slanted smile. There was something about it the evoked a feeling of happiness before he let out a quiet laugh and took a drink from his cider once again. "She's got a point, Cravs. You *do* seem like you've got this all sorted."

(Cravendy Hound) Cravs presses her lips together in an attempt to hold back a shy smile. “Seven ‘ells...why we talkin’ bout this anyway? So, Bert, ye want the job or not? Can pay ye this much.” Some reasonable number is presented to the man.

(Aislinn North) ((hehe)) (Cravendy Hound) what even is gil. it's like 3 for an egg, 100 million for a house xD )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( So ... you're telling me if we get 300 million eggs ... )) (Aislinn North) ((Profit)) (Cravendy Hound) xD ))

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram quietly chuckles and passes Cravendy a thought expression before glancing over the presented payout. He -- honestly -- doesn't seem like he has a healthy bearing on *normal* expenses but he nods his head all the same. "Count me in, Cravs. And, in good faith, I submit to whatever embarrassing story Linn has in store for you." He pauses and looks back to Aislinn with a subtle smile.

(Aislinn North) had been minding her own business, drinking her cider when Bertram voiced his offer. She shot him a look of surprise. Honestly, she thought she had well and truly helped him dodge that bullet by turning the conversation but here he was, putting himself back in the hotseat. "Why would you..." she stopped and just ruefully shook her head. She glanced over at Cravendy.

(Cravendy Hound) oh Bertram....I feel like I could pay him in eggs and he'd be like. Looks good? Looks good! )) (Aislinn North) ((He would have loved the Hatchingtide shenanigans in that case xD)) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Oh dear ... *laughs* Hatchingtide shenanigans you say? )) (Aislinn North) ((Cravendy paid us in eggs)) (Cravendy Hound) two words. egg mafia )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Oh. My. *Gosh*. )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( I am slayed. ))

(Cravendy Hound) “Oh, I -so- look forward to it.” Cravs puts her empty glass onto the bar table and then puts her hands on her hips. Leaning over, she gives Lin and Bertram a devious smile. “And of course, anythin’ ye ‘ave on Lin would be appreciated. No secrets between friends, aye?”

(Aislinn North) turned several shades of red in the span of mere moments. She stared hard at Bertram. This is the mess he got them into. After she had neatly changed the subject. No good deed goes unpunished. She gave a heavy sigh. "I swear to the Twelve, Bertram..." she muttered as she touched her fingers to her brow.

(Bertram Windshadow) Bertram lifts his brow in surprise as Cravendy goes fishing and Aislinn invokes the Twelve. "Oh ... ah ... " Oops. He's definitely made a mess of it now. If you give an inch they'll take a mile, as they say. He clears his throat. "Right, ah ... we'll start with just the one, yeah?" He was just trying to be nice!!

(Cravendy Hound) lmao windy....when niceness leads to the opposite effect ))

(Aislinn North) "Alright..." she takes a swallow of cider and then begins in on the misadventures of Bertram, the would-be rescuer of a cat that belonged to a girl he was sweet on. It inevitably ends with Bertram crashing through the awning of a market stall, into a stack of pristine melons with nothing to show for it but a mess of scratches along his face and arms, an angry crush and a cat that simply saunters further down the ledgetop, not in need of rescuing at all.

(Aislinn North) What followed was a pell-mell escape from one burly, enraged melon merchant.

(Aislinn North) "Ren and I could barely catch our breath for laughing. Once we were in the clear. Of course."

(Aislinn North) The three of them continued to drink and trade stories long into the evening. Between them, there was certainly some catching up to do.

(Bertram Windshadow) (( *dies* )) (Cravendy Hound) AWw NICE )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( A long-standing aversion to melons may have been planted that day. )) (Cravendy Hound) noo not melons )) (Aislinn North) ((And to this day, Bertram shudders at the sight of a Gyr Abania melon)) (Cravendy Hound) hehehehe )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Indeed. Forever shall he associate the sweet, crispness of a melon with the shearing of a cat's claws! ))

[carpstan]

hi @wasp-factor! i'm your secret santa. i just wanted to say how happy writing this fic for you made me - i love gakushuu too, even though i never had the chance to write about him before, hopefully it's in character. i know you like gakushuu/isogai, and i tried to include it in the fic (apparently i really like this ship, i never thought about it before). i hope you'll like it and, since we don't know each other, maybe we'll become friends. happy holidays!

Asano Gakushuu discovers the magic of Christmas

He had done it on purpose. There was no other possible explanation.

Winter holidays were approaching and the headmaster himself had given class A a social studies assignment about the influence of Christmas. Normally, Gakushuu would not have minded writing a paper on a topic that he deemed to be quite fascinating, but that was really not the case: the headmaster apparently thought it would be delightful to have everyone discuss a different aspect of the main theme, so joining all the students’ essays would result in a rich dissertation that would cover every little detail. The problem was the theme he got. 

According to the instructions he received, his task was to understand what made Christmas so appealing to people in terms of improvement of their mood and behaviour; in easier words, he had to investigate the odd phenomenon known as “the magic of Christmas”. Oh, and he had to provide actual evidence to support his thesis as well. He had to go on the streets and interview people. 

So, his father absolutely did that on purpose. Forcing him to reflect on a social event he considered not only pointless but plain out dumb, while also having him interact with random strangers who were likely just as dumb was an extremely clever way to torture him. Like that was not enough, he knew he could not complain about it with his friends, who he was sure considered him lucky and would have immediately said he got the best topic. The audacity.

It could have been literally anything else. And to say he was almost excited - no, not the right word. He was intrigued when the theme was announced. He had made some research on his own and he had stumbled upon an interesting article regarding the frailty of a consumist economy which revolves around a single month of extreme consumptions, he would have been ready and enthusiastic to write about it. Ren got that part instead. Now that was luck.

Well, he better start to plan out his actions. First of all, he was going to complain to his friends: they were not going to understand him, but he still needed to get rid of some frustration. Then he would start right away. The deadline was two weeks from then and he needed to get properly organised to avoid spending too much time on this project. The sooner he turned it in the better.

---

It was not going as well as he expected. He thought everything would have run as smoothly as usual, but he should have taken some factors into account. The problem was that for the first time in his life, he found himself in the unenviable position of talking about a topic he had no knowledge nor experience of. 

His father and he never celebrated Christmas, or any holiday to be fair. Their house was the only one in the neighbourhood, or maybe in the whole city, which was completely missing decorations. Once he was asked how he felt about it, and the truth was he did not feel anything at all. His family was not religious, and not believing in Jesus Christ sounded like a perfectly good reason not to celebrate his birth to him. He did not mind his house keeping its sobriety either; being exposed to flashing lights for more than two minutes gave him a mild headache, actually. He never thought it was sad, or whatever people said about those who did not celebrate, it was just behaving like usual in a time of the year which was just like any other period.

Still, he was having some troubles doing his deed. He had decided to start off with the interviews, since he knew from the beginning he would have had to rely on other people’s experiences, and also he wanted to get rid of the most distressful part first. That turned out not to be a good idea too.

Well, to be fair he did not have a choice. He just seemed to be particularly unlucky with the people he met. He tried his best to select those who looked more likely to actually answer his questions, but these last days also did their best to remind him the one thing he’s not good at: understanding others.

He wanted to develop a good thesis, so his intention was to gather information from people belonging to different social classes, age groups, gender, occupation and so on; he had thought that, if he had been able to analyse the phenomenon through different perspective, he would have also found the key to see the whole picture. Apparently he could have not been more wrong. 

Apart from being dragged down a rabbit hole of war stories and memories of a long dead man by an old lady, witnessing a college student have a full on mental breakdown and having a business woman tell him that her children were ruining her life and their expensive desires were driving her crazy - that would have been helpful, if only he had got the part about the economy - he received the same answers from everyone. And those were not answers he could work with.

A lot of his targets claimed that presents were the best part - both receiving and giving. It made sense, at least the part about receiving, because he really could not see the appeal of wandering all day through the streets - oh, the irony - looking for gifts and getting crazy while trying, and probably failing, to figure out what someone might appreciate. Again, it could have been an interesting take to explore for the economic aspect, but he should stop thinking about that.

No, the tradition of presents was actually a decent starting point, maybe it was kind of shallow and too closely connected with the intrinsic materialism of a consumerist society - okay, enough - and it was not completely clear to him why everyone was so obsessed with Christmas and not any other holiday if it was just about gifts, but he could make it work. What actually bothered him was the other answer he frequently received.

It was lights. People actually told him that they liked the little lights all over the buildings and all the other decorations. Lights. Was he supposed to say that what made the population radically change its habits and attitude in the month of December depended on lights? What is wrong with everyone?

Exchanging presents and “festive atmosphere” really was all he got. He could feel his average grade suffer. He was not going to let it happen, let alone because of a social studies assignment on the magic of Christmas. 

---

It was his fifth day of scanning the streets for someone who would give him some good material to work on. He had been reviewing his notes and the night before he had had an idea: it was his last resort, but time was running fast. Reluctantly, he made his decision. He was headed towards the 3E building and he intended to make a truce.   

When he did arrive at the building he could not find anyone. Class E was definitely odd, but how skilled each of them appeared to be at getting through that hell of a path down the mountain was beyond weird if you asked him. Maybe it was for the better, he thought. He would have found another way, he did not need any help, certainly not from them. 

Just as he was about to head back he noticed someone walking out of the building and towards him. Isogai arrived at the spot where he was standing fast, stopping at an appropriate distance before speaking.

- Asano-kun, I didn’t expect to see you. Do you need anything?

He did not look too happy to see him there, but he was very polite, just like it was expected from him. Isogai also seemed eager to know what brought him there, which was legitimate; he swallowed down his pride and forced himself to do what he came for. 

- Actually, yes, I do.

Gakushuu straightened his back before continuing.

- I’m writing an assignment for social studies about the social effects of Christmas and I need to interview some people. I haven’t received any satisfying answer so far, so, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?

Isogai was surprised by what he could tell. Fair, he thought. He was not aiming at him specifically, but any 3E student would have had the same reaction. Or a way less polite one. He had to admit, he was quite content having met him: he did not insult him and sent him away, which was already a lot, and Gakushuu did have some sort of respect for him, if he could call it that. He acknowledged he was smart and most importantly he was skillful enough to be able to use his intelligence to do a good job as class representative. He was from class E, so he mostly despised him, but a little less than he despised the others. 

- Of course. What is it?

He had hesitated for a couple of seconds before pronouncing the words, and Gakushuu guessed he had debated whether he should indulge in their conversation or not until the very last moment. 

- Do you consider Christmas important?

Isogai pondered his words upon answering.

- My family is Christian, but I’ll admit we don’t give much weight to the ritual celebration. Apart from that though, we do take Christmas seriously.

Gakushuu nodded slowly. Not religion then. He had already figured that bit on his own, religion might have been a relevant fuel in the past, but it could not get such an effect in these times. It was time to ask the infamous question then: he really hoped he was not going to hear presents and lights again; this really was his last resort.

- If not religion, what is it that makes Christmas so special? How is it different from any other holiday?

Isogai took yet another pause.

- Well, it is the only holiday that brings my whole family together. On Christmas day no one is at school, or at work, and even if it happened before that we had to spend it in the hospital, we still were all together.

A small smile was forming on his face as the words rolled out of his mouth; he may have not even realised the corners of his mouth rising ever so slightly.

- We also usually get to eat a meal that is a little more elaborate than our usual, and since we cook all together too it’s another chance to spend as much time as possible with each other without worrying about everyday’s problems. It’s the one day we can live completely carefree. And since everyone else tends to feel more generous, they leave higher tips, which is convenient.

Family. Was that the key? It was the message that also laid under those college students who mentioned some dishes that their relatives were going to cook and that they were looking forward to eating. He should have understood before, he told himself, but he knew he could not. He just could not. He was never going to understand what it really meant, he knew because he had forced himself to do it before. Even those times he had tried to picture a cohesive family, he still did not manage to get past the notion that the concept of family itself is supposed to be on a higher level than most things. Why would something one had no control over ever be so important? How could relationships decided by casuality alone be more relevant than those born out of mutual choice? It did not mean anything to him. He was never going to understand. 

But at least he had enough material to write a good essay now. He could have just thanked Isogai and left, but there was that last sentence he had said. He did not think too much before opening his mouth again.

- Don’t you think that’s hypocritical?

Isogai now gave him a full, conscious smile, even though it had a shade he could not quite place: it looked almost sympathetic. He shrugged before finally replying.

- Maybe it is, but I’m not in a position to judge, if anybody is.

Gakushuu was not sure about what he should do with that statement. It was something to think about.

- Alright, that’s all I needed. Thank you, Isogai-kun.

---

Gakushuu did not write the essay right away. Instead, he took his time to adjust all the information he had gathered. He did not take any notes while talking to Isogai, but he soon realised that was not going to be an issue at all: he remembered all his words perfectly, he noticed, and he proceeded to write them down in the evening. 

Later, he caught himself thinking about that conversation more than once. They did not even say much, and he wished they had taken some more time. Speaking with Isogai again was something he would have liked; they did not have much in common, but he still thought they might have some interesting discussions, if only they had the chance. 

He actually ended up handing in his paper on the last day. It was not usual for him, or, to be honest, it should be said it had never happened before. He knew he had made excellent work.

---

It was not evening yet, but the sun had set long ago. The sky was clear and a soft yet glacial wind was blowing; Christmas lights seemed brighter when the moon was not high up in the sky, drowning the stars themselves with their overwhelming glow. After a careful analysis, Gakushuu was confident in confirming that he hated them, and the flashing ones still gave him a mild headache. How all those people could appreciate them was forever going to be a mystery. 

Mindlessly walking through the city centre, he was still thinking about that assignment. It had kept him occupied for a good portion of time,  and he was glad it was now something he did not have to worry about anymore. As he was passing close to a café, something at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped by the side of the street, unsure of the reason, and peeked through the café’s window: there he saw Isogai serving a couple of elders with a warm smile on his face. He was working hard, probably, no, surely looking forward to spending the next day with his mother and siblings. The man he had just served handed him what looked like a very generous tip, and his mind trailed back to that one conversation again. He could not understand Isogai’s situation either, he had to admit it, at least to himself. At the moment, it felt okay. Realising he could not understand everything for once did not feel like a tremendous crime he had to atone for. It actually seemed to him that he could empathise with Isogai, just for a second, and despite knowing it was nothing but an ephemeral feeling that was going to be gone in a flash, it made him feel well. Maybe poor people deserved rights, after all.

Then Isogai noticed and his face went pale. Gakushuu did not immediately interpret that reaction correctly, but he soon became aware of what his presence there had meant in the past: he thought he was going to tell his father about it. 

Isogai excused himself and rushed outside to meet him without even bothering to grab a coat and started talking before Gakushuu had the chance to clarify his intentions. 

- Asano-kun, I know I shouldn’t be working but I really-

- I’m not going to report you to the headmaster.

Gakushuu interrupted him immediately. Isogai did look significantly relieved.

- I was just passing by. But since I’m here I wanted to thank you for helping with my assignment. It was an interesting conversation.

Isogai’s eyes were wide open - he almost looked like a deer caught in the headlights. But soon he started to warm up and reserved him a smile similar to the one he gave to the clients in the café.

- Oh, I’m glad I was helpful. It was interesting indeed.

Gakushuu could almost feel himself starting to smile in the moments of silence that followed, which he hurriedly broke. 

- Well, it’s cold. You should head back inside.

He quickly said then. Isogai was almost shivering actually, but he looked somehow pleased. Gakushuu suspected he had seen him smiling, but he could not be sure.

- Yeah, that’s right. Merry Christmas then, Asano-kun.

He greeted him; his smile might have been brighter than those Christmas lights.

- Merry Christmas, Isogai-kun.

He really did not despise him that much.

---

After leaving the café, Gakushuu decided to head home. The walk was not long and he deemed it quite relaxing. He was not paying a lot of attention to the familiar buildings of his neighbourhood: everything was in place, just as it was when he had left the house in the morning. 

Except there was a difference, a small detail that could have gone unnoticed and that most people had surely missed, but which appeared like a massive change to his eyes: on his house’s front door there was a Christmas wreath. It was small and quite simple, but it was there. He stared at it for what might have been a whole minute before snapping out of the shock and entering the house. 

He found his father sitting on the sofa reading a book like nothing had happened, but he was the only person who could have put it there. 

- What does it mean?

Gakushuu asked as soon as he arrived in the living room, without bothering to greet him first.

- What is it? 

His father asked, his eyes still fixed on the book in his hands. 

- The Christmas wreath on the front door, what about it?

- I don’t know what you’re talking about. 

Gakushuu stared at his father for a handful of seconds, before huffing what sounded like a “whatever” and going straight to his room. There, he allowed himself to smile.

[queenbirbs]

waiting game | Ethan Ramsey x MC

AN - Literally couldn’t get this oneshot out of my head last night, so therefore I spent most of my last day off before Easter Hell Week writing it out. Because of course, why not? WC 3701 There’s a special place in hell for Harper Emery.  

It’s the fourth time the phrase has entered his head, but it hasn’t lost the fire behind it. He’s the leader of one of the country’s best diagnostics teams, he’s done a few tours with Doctors Without Borders. Last year, he even went back home for Christmas dinner with a family who would honestly rather receive more postcards from Mozambique in lieu of seeing him in person.  

And yet, this is possibly the most stressful thing Ethan’s ever dealt with. Wading through feces and garbage in a rural country would be more preferable at this point.  

The event room around him is gilded to the tee. Every table is draped in the finest cloth, the silverware sparkling in the light of the chandeliers, the plates filled with the highest quality catering. Extravagant centerpieces explode from the center of the tables, white orchids and white hydrangeas and white lilies spilling out from crystal vases. Some type of curly branch winds up toward the ceiling, breaking up the overwhelming glare of white.  

In the beginning, he tried to position himself just so, hoping the floral arrangement would hide him. Sitting down only served to make him an easy target, though, where any of the sharks could circle his table and feast upon him at will.

Glancing down at the scotch in his hand, he wonders how many more metaphors he can make before he has to cut himself off.

His current strategy is to keep moving, keeping himself between them with large, immovable objects. He learned his lesson with George Kadinskee, who shoved a table and chairs out of the way to get to him. It’s like being in a furniture store or a car dealership, watching the sales people discreetly chase after him.  

It’s all rather pathetic (and childish) of him, but he didn’t become a doctor to get hounded by insurance reps. And yet, here he was at a Banner Health function on a Friday evening, dressed in one of his finest suits, waiting for the earth to swallow him up.

He really just wants to go home to his dog and a documentary.  

“Doctor Ramsey!” a voice calls from behind him.  

Allotting himself a wince and a sip of his drink in preparation, he sucks in a breath and straightens his spine. It’s a good thing, too, because when he turns around he needs to cling to all the composure he can.

“Rookie,” he greets, taking another sip to wet his dry mouth, “what are you doing here?”

Sloane raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t comment on it.    

“Doctor Emery invited me. She said that the hospital could use some... younger representation.”

It’s his turn to shoot her a look.  

“Are you calling me old?”

“I think the polite term is ‘experienced’ now,” she responds with that low, pretty laugh of hers.  

He doesn’t choke on his drink, but it’s a damn near thing. “I’m sorry I’m late, though,” she continues, saving him from responding, “I had to get cleaned up and get all…” she trails off, waving a hand over her ensemble. “And my post-op was having some complications. I wanted to stick around until he got settled.”

Clinging to the life-raft of shop talk she’s handed him, he asks her about the patient, relieved when he catches the glint in her eyes, that bright flicker of discussing something she loves. Hospital talk saves him from making the inevitable ‘you look nice’ comment, which would be a paltry choice of words. She looks absolutely gorgeous, wearing a royal purple gown with a deep vee neckline. The material looks soft to the touch, the rich color complementing the russet shade of her hair. She normally wears it up, but it’s nice to see it down. His eyes follow the soft curls to the waist of her dress, where a section of thin lace does little to cover her pale skin, before the rest of the skirt continues down.  

“You should go get us another round.” At her stilted tone, he glances at the half-finished glasses they both hold.

“Why?” he drags the word out, blaming the alcohol for how playful it sounds.  

“Because there’s a middle-aged man that’s been eyeing you across the room for the past two minutes.”

He’s definitely blaming the next sentence out of his mouth on the alcohol.

“Are you sure he isn’t eyeing you?”    

Something akin to delight crosses her face, before she breaks into a chuckle and shakes her head.

“Oh, no, trust me. He’s definitely been admiring your backside this entire time, not mine.”

Ethan pointedly keeps his eyes up, because he’s a grown adult, and shouldn’t be tempted with the idea of admiring hers. (He’s done so before, but only from the comfort of the nurses’ station, and only when she’s distracted enough not to catch him. He is a grown adult, after all.) 

“Does he look like he plays golf instead of attending mandatory meetings?”

“Oh, yeah,” she nods, her gaze narrowing just beyond his left shoulder. “And his idea of a good time is yelling at wait staff.”

He chuckles at the matter-of-fact tone.

“You can tell that from across the room?”

“I waited tables in the Upper East Side in college. A sizable chunk of my debt is from buying new white button-downs when people like him threw food at me. I can read people like him a mile away.” Her eyes widen when she adds in a rush, “And he’s headed this way. Here!”

He takes the glass she all but shoves at him, steps around her, and tucks himself into the crowd hovering around the bar. Chancing a glance back, he sees her intercept George with an enthusiastic handshake. He watches as she lets herself be pulled out to sea into the awaiting sharks.

+

The bar takes longer than anticipated, but Ethan manages to secure two fresh drinks (and seven new business cards, which he will promptly throw in the recycling bin when he gets home). Fifteen minutes is a long time in the world of work functions, though, and he has lost sight of Sloane by the time he makes it back to the dining area. Across the ballroom, a live band has replaced the jazz playlist, and couples are moving across the dance floor.

Scanning the crowd, he finally spots a flash of purple, then a curtain of red flickering between bodies. She’s dancing with Anthony Fenton, Banner’s HR assistant and owner of three Teslas, which Ethan only knows because Anthony told him four times within their twenty-minute conversation earlier.

The song that’s playing crescendos, then eases down, the couples slowing as it peters out to a calmer song. Anthony’s hand moves from her waist to the small of her back, gathering her close to sway with her. Sloane settles a hand onto his chest, pushing back to make some space between their bodies.

It’s funny, because Ethan doesn’t see the venue change the lighting, but everything goes red for a moment.

He moves closer to the dance floor, trying not to feel like a chaperone at a school dance. Sloane is an adult, and a smart one at that, and is capable of making her own decisions. So, if she wants to dance with annoying assistants, or flirt with visiting paramedics or the other diagnostic interns, then she’s perfectly free to do so.

It doesn’t matter to him at all. (It does.)

He’s glad he’s watching them, though, because he gets to see the moment Sloane notices him. It’s been a few months since she started at Edenbrook, but it still gives him that same little thrill, that bite of pleasure, when she comes across him in the hallway, or in the cafeteria, or at Donahue’s, and he gets to watch her face light up.

“S.O.S.!” she mouths, begging for a save.

After she rescued him from George, he can’t just leave her to fend for herself, right?

Setting the drinks down on a nearby table, Ethan moves through the dancers with ease and sidles up to tap Sloane on the shoulder.

“May I have this dance, Doctor McTavish?”

She unwraps herself from Anthony and takes his offered hand within the span of one beat. Ethan thinks he mutters a dismissal to Anthony, but isn’t entirely sure about it.

Because he clearly didn’t think this part through. Enjoying Sloane from a permitted distance was one thing, but having her in his arms is a whole different ball game. He wonders if she can feel his heightened pulse where her hand grips his. (She can’t -- her fingers aren’t on his pulse point, but the curve of her lips says otherwise.)

They move in tandem with the crowd, more swaying than actual dancing. The music is just low enough for murmured conversation, which Sloane starts up with a suggestion of turning his people-watching skills on the dancers around them.

He points out the divorcees, the slackers, the ones that should be promoted and the ones that should be demoted. They bicker about an older couple near the very edge (she thinks they’re married, he thinks they’re just business partners). The current song slows and the two men in question share a gentle kiss, the shorter nuzzling the taller’s chest.

He runs out of observations soon after, too caught up in his private thoughts about the woman in his arms to spin any more yarn.  

“Wouldn’t you normally bring a date to a function like this?” she asks, honest curiosity in her voice.

He deploys his best weapon: deflection.

“Couldn’t I ask the same of you?”

She hums, tipping her head to the side as if in agreement. The action sends a cascade of curls to lay against her neck, that floral perfume of hers hitting him again.

“To be fair, I did ask someone, but he works fourth shift tonight and couldn’t make it.”

His brain doesn’t know how to handle that information; he gets a wave of disappointment that she tried to bring a date, then gets another wave of admonishment at himself for wanting her all to himself.

“You wouldn’t want to put anyone through this schmooze-fest, anyway,” he reasons.

“You’re right,” she says. “In the twenty minutes you were hiding at the bar, I was offered to go on three company cruises and seven golf trips. And I’m pretty sure one of those was a combination of the two.”

Ethan makes a face at the idea of a golf-cruise combo.

“I was not hiding. They only have two bartenders working for a full venue.”

“Your mouth is moving, but all I’m hearing are excuses, Ramsey,” she chides with a grin.

The tempo of the song they’re dancing to swells. Neither say anything, but both seem to know exactly what to do. He drops his hand from her waist and twirls her out, her dress floating out into the open space with her, before she comes back into his arms, holding tight to his hand.

There’s a callous on her right ring finger, resting just below the nail, from the way she holds her pen at work. The perfume he detected before drifts up to him, stronger now that her body has heated up. He spots the flush that blooms across her chest and neck, a result of the swing music the band has started up.  

He does not consider what it would be like to lay his lips there at the base of her throat and have a taste of her, to see if that pretty flush of hers would follow the trail of his lips.

“Let’s get some air,” he suggests, once the song is over and Sloane is panting from exertion and he is not thinking about other ways she could become breathless in his presence.

More dancers have joined the floor since they did, making their path out difficult. Ethan puts a hand on the small of her back, keeping her close to his side as they maneuver their way out of the crowd. Her skin is pleasantly warm under his fingers and covered in a light sheen of sweat from their activities and the close quarters of the dance floor.

She heads for the open balcony across the way and he follows, a moth drawn to her flame.

+

Outside, the city stretches out before them. To the south, Back Bay is a faint glow, leading the eye to continue left, where downtown shines bright. Cars are small dots of light underneath them, moving right and left, heading in and out of the city. Just on the edge of the balcony, Longfellow Bridge casts out into the darkness of the river. Despite the heat of the day, the cool night air rushes up to meet them.

Ethan catches Sloane rubbing her arms to keep herself warm and gives her his suit jacket to combat the cold. She tries to protest, but he silences her with another look, and helps her slip into it.

“My dad used to be the handyman for the local hospital where I grew up,” she tells him as she moves to stand at the edge. “During Christmas, they’d put these trees on top of the roofs, and he’d take me and my brother up there every year. It was only five stories high, but to us, it might as well have been the Empire State Building.”

“That sounds nice.”

She tears her gaze from the view over to him. He resists the urge to straighten his shoulders, suddenly feeling as if he’s been appraised.

“It was.” She seems to shift, as if deciding something unknown, and smirks up at him. “And then, you know, I was sixteen and wanted to impress a girl, so I stole my dad’s keys and took her up there with some hot cocoa and Bailey’s and one thing led to another…” she tips her head to the side again, laughing when he clears his throat.

“Well,” he starts, then realizes he has nothing to say to that (at least nothing that won’t seem like he’s offering to perform a reenactment out on this very public balcony with her), so he tries again. “Well.”

Nope, he’s got nothing.

Sloane takes pity on him and reaches out, patting him on his arm that rests next to hers on the railing.

“I’m glad I came,” she says, her face turned towards the open air. “I had a good time.”

“Despite Anthony and his two Teslas?” he can’t help but tease.

“Don’t forget his third one, though, back at his house in the Hampton’s.”

“Ah, of course. How could I have forgotten.” Finishing his scotch, he charges ahead: “I’m glad you came, too.”

He’s very glad he limited his alcohol intake, because when Sloane turns to smile at him, he can’t help but note that her eyes rival the sparkle of the city. And if he’d been drunk, he might’ve actually told her that. 

Instead, he offers his arm. “I think we’ve made a sufficient appearance. We should be able to escape from captivity now.”

Sloane sets her empty glass on a nearby table and links her arm through hers.

“If I’d had another three of these, I’d make a tiger noise right now.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

They make it to the elevator and down to the front lobby of the hotel without any incident. They, of course, have an argument at the curb about her borrowing his jacket for her trip home, since she forgot to bring a coat in her rush to get to the function.

“Here, at least let me get you a Lyft,” he offers as he hands off his ticket to the valet.

“Oh, no, that’s too much. It’s a nice night, despite the wind.” She slips free of his jacket, handing it back to him. “It’s only a few minutes from here to the T.”

“How far do you live from here?”

She glances back to the street, as if checking for something, before she answers, “I’m all the way across town, over near Fan Pier Park.”

He goes over her route home, recalling that the closest station to her is back on this side of the channel. Which means she’ll have to walk at least ten minutes to get home after her stop, all alone on a Friday night. “Don’t worry,” she continues, as if that’ll stop him, “I do it every night. We’re not that far from the hospital right now, and I make that walk at all hours of the evening.”

You’re usually with your roommates, he wants to point out.

She’s already angling her body towards the street, readying to make her journey home. “I’ll be okay, Ethan.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“You live in the heart of downtown. You could throw a rock and hit City Hall.”

“It’s… on my way.”

He gets another eyebrow raise for that lie.

“It’s not even remotely on your way. You’d have to backtrack.”

“Barely over a mile. That’s not the end of the world.”

“Doctor Ramsey--” she tries, but the valet interrupts their argument, waving over to where another woman has brought his car around.

“Come on, McTavish.” He doesn’t glance back to see if she’s following -- he can see well enough in the lobby’s tall windows as she huffs out a sigh and trails after him.

+

“It’s nice here,” she comments as they wait at a stoplight somewhere along Congress Street.

He’d opted for the side streets, instead of taking a chance with the highway and its propensity for wrecks inside the tunnel. It certainly has nothing to do with the route taking longer the way he’s chosen, thus an increase in time of being in Sloane’s presence.

“In my heated seats? Of course it is. Beats the hard, plastic ones on the T any day.”

“I meant here as in the city, Boston. It’s a nice change of pace from the… constant-ness of New York City.”

“Constant-ness is not a word.”

“It is a word when I’ve gotten off a fifteen-hour shift, then had to walk around in these heels all night, and then was bullied into a car.”

“I did not bully you--”

“Okay, you didn’t bully me. How about: arrogantly demanded?”

He hums, as if in consideration.

“I’ll concede to arrogantly demanded.”

That sparks another chuckle from her, grinning over at him from his passenger seat.

“But yes, I lived in New York City. Therefore, I get to say what it was or was not.”

“It’s rather constant here, too,” he points out. A chorus of honks back up his statement as two cars blow through a red, blocking the intersection when the traffic ahead stops.

“New York was such a high turnover city to me. I had seventeen different roommates when I was living off-campus my third year of med school. People would come from all over the world to chase their dreams. By three weeks in, they came to the realization that it was going to be a lot harder than TV made it out to be. Why would they bother trying to live in one of the world’s most expensive cities being a temp or a waitress, when they could be back in Minneapolis or Nashville or Rochester doing the same thing.”

“That’s… rather depressing.”

She shrugs at his summation.

“It’s just how it was. And why I love living here in comparison. Here, everyone seems a lot more… rooted. I mean, barring unforeseen circumstances, I’ll be here for three years for residency. It’s nice to have that, to have friends who are in the same boat as me.”

His mind unwillingly travels three years ahead, when Sloane inevitably goes off to Johns Hopkins or Vanderbilt or Seattle Grace, and he never sees her again. “People come here to stay here,” she continues, unaware of his sobering thoughts. “I like it.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, not trusting himself to ask if she can see herself staying here permanently. If she can see a place for herself on his team, because if she keeps at it like she has been, he can easily see her joining him.

He doesn’t want to hear her plans if her answer to that is no.

Instead, he flips on the radio. He taps along to the bass drums as she hums in time with the string instruments and he reminds himself that he cannot fall in love with her (not that it does any good).

+

“Nice place,” he says, and means it. The apartment building faces to the north, with a spectacular view of the harbor to the west. A doorman waves at Sloane as she starts to climb out.

“Thanks!”

“It might be rude of me to ask, but when I was in residency, I lived out of a shoebox. How did you all manage to secure a place like this?”

She glances over to the bay, biting at her lip, before meeting his curious gaze.

“We might have ganged up on the landlord and convinced him that our competition were communists.”

“Wow.”

“Well, ganged up is a strong term. But...yeah. First time I’ve ever been thankful I paid attention in that American History class in undergrad.”

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“Oh, Doctor Ramsey,” she says with a shake of her head, that familiar smile making its appearance, “if you’re impressed by that, you should see what else I’m capable of.” With that, she grabs her purse from the floorboard, thanking him again for the ride, before rushing up to the double doors.

Ethan stays, wanting to make sure she gets inside safely, and watches her chat with the doorman for a moment. He can tell when she notices him still at the curb, and flicks a hand up at her when she waves to him. He waits a moment longer, watching her turn and head deeper into the lobby, until she disappears into a waiting elevator.

“I can’t wait to find out, Rookie.”

[takingcourage]

A Prickly Diversion

Pairing: Jaime x MC 

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: Arden gets roped into yet another animal-related news story -- this time with Jaime along for the ride. 

Note: This piece is heavily inspired by a throwaway line from Jaime’s diamond scene in Chapter 6. In case you missed it, one tidbit to come out of the conversation is that Jaime “openly weeps” at pictures of baby hedgehogs. I’ve spent the better part of the past three weeks trying to work out how to turn that admission into a fic. Here’s hoping the result is enjoyable!  Even if it’s not, here’s some hedgehog cuteness for your viewing pleasure... 

“You’re such a lazy girl, Jinx,” Arden chastened as she returned to the living room. Kneeling down beside the couch, she smothered her face against the cat’s plush fur. Her short, polished nails made contact with Jinx’s chin, and soon the fluffy mass began to rumble in a satisfied purr. Arden settled her cheek onto the sound, sighing her own contentment.

No sooner had her eyes closed than the purring came to an abrupt stop, replaced by another noise altogether.

You’re using me as a pillow? How pathetic! Uprooting herself, the cat became little more than a blur as she dashed behind the couch.

“You and your mood swings,” Arden laughed, brushing a strand of fur from her cheek. She looked up to see Opie ambling toward her. 

Strange grumpy dog ran from nice lady. I help!

Lips cracking into a smile, Arden leaned down to scoop the puppy into her lap. “I should have started with you anyway. Your sister isn’t so great at providing affection."  

Opie propped his large paws on her shoulders before a broad tongue emerged to lick her cheeks. I help! I help!

With a laugh, she pushed the enthusiastic creature away. “Let’s stick to petting for now. I’ll take my bath later.”

The puppy hopped to the floor, returning to her side moments later with a chew toy dangling from his teeth. He dropped it into her feet before eyeing her for approval.

“Thanks, Opie.” Her smile prompted an enthusiastic wag of his tail. “I’ll treasure it.”

Arden was just getting to her knees to search for his toy squirrel when her phone vibrated across the end table. She caught it just before it fell off the edge. “If that’s anyone from work, I’m going to throw something,” she threatened while flipping the device right-side up.

Damn.

She flung Opie’s toy into the kitchen with a little more vigor than intended.  

“Hey, Aubrey. What’s up?”

The senior manager's greeting carried over the line. “Morning, Arden. I’m so sorry to bother you, but we’ve got a story coming out of Northbridge Zoo and Alec is convinced that you’re the only person who can handle it. The van is on its way to your apartment to pick you up -- it’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so.”

Knowing there was little use in arguing, Arden stood and made her way to the closet to find something that was both work appropriate and not too wrinkled --a tall order, even on days when she was anticipating going into the studio. “I’m sending him a glitter bomb. This is actually ridiculous.”

Aubrey’s deep breath implied agreement. “I tried to take it, but after the emu incident, he’s not letting anyone else cover anything to do with animals. Not that you don’t have a way them -- you’re great at dealing with animals -- but I don’t know why he thought he needed to bring you in on your day off to go look at baby hedgehogs.”

Her hand froze on the hanger, green sheath dress swaying wildly beneath the force of her surprise. 

“I can try talking with him again. It really isn’t fair for him to do this to you, especially when it’s just a routine visit and not an actual emergency.”

“No, it’s all good,” she answered quickly, tossing the dress onto her bed. “But if anyone asks, I need to make one quick stop on the way to the zoo.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Using one hand to corral the objects in her lap, Arden wrenched herself forward to prop open the front passenger door. Jaime was still occupied in the task of locking his front door, but she wasn’t in the mood to waste any time. The appearance of the very recognizable Northbridge News van was likely to cause a stir, especially among the handful of retirees in the community. If they made it out of this pick up without her father and half of the neighborhood coming out to investigate, she would count it a success.

“Hurry up!” she chided good naturedly as she warmed a fingerful of sculpting gel between her palms.

“Good morning to you too! Unusual ride.” If Alec has forced you into anything, he’s going to answer to me. “How ya doing, Tony?” he greeted as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Tony muttered something incomprehensible before backing out of the driveway. 

“So you got roped into this too, huh?” 

Arden combed both hands through her hair several times to add body, hoping that the resulting style looked something like her signature coiffure. This was about the level of effort she was used to putting in, but she didn’t typically have to factor bedhead into the equation. 

“It ended up being a kind of last-minute assignment,” she explained, adding to Tony’s curt nod. Her tone was casual, but guarded. She was aware that she’d be treading thin ice. “And I promise it’s going to be SO much better than the brunch plans we had to cancel to take it. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.” But, Arden? I’m still not happy about Alec treating you like this. 

“Always,” she promised, leaning up to slide her fingers through his hair. “Here you go.” His thick locks were still somewhat damp from his morning shower, and the mingled smell of shampoo and styling product wafted into her nose. When did he start smelling so good? She dismissed the question as quickly as it came. 

“What’s that for?”

“Just getting rid of my extra gel. Had to get my fingers clean.” Jaime allowed his hair to remain mussed, though he brushed aside the loose strands from his forehead. Returning the tube of gel to her backpack, Arden withdrew a pair of shiny packages. “And this is why! I can’t go eating Pop-Tarts with oily hands.” Keeping one pack for herself, she extended the other to the front seat. “Trade you for a coffee.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” A full tumbler appeared in the space moments later, and she accepted it gratefully. “I’m guessing it’s not your first cup.”

“Just my second. I tried to sleep in this morning, but Opie came and woke me up at, like, 7:00. He was all worked up because --” she caught her tongue, glimpsing Tony listening from the driver’s seat. “He needed food and a walk.”

I take it Jinx was hiding from him again?

“And Jinx climbed into the back of the recliner,” she confirmed. “Refused to come out until she heard me pouring food.”

“It sounds like an eventful morning.” And we should probably stop talking like this. Tony is going to get suspicious.

“Yep.” She let the word serve as answer to both points, turning her attention to the makeshift breakfast in her lap. 

They arrived at the zoo shortly after Arden had finished eating. She brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth, then set about applying a quick coat of lipstick. Her day’s look was verging on the simple side of what was acceptable, but Alec would need to be happy with whatever footage he got. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the quality of her work, but as soon as Aubrey had mentioned the specifics of the job, another priority had shifted into prominence.

“How do I look?” she asked Jaime as he exited the vehicle behind him.

Like half the city of Northbridge is about to fall in love with you. "Newsworthy," he responded noncommittally. "Still refusing to tell me what this is for? I'm going to find out either way."

"You know I like a little pizzaz." She threw him some jazz hands and checked her appearance in the side mirror a final time. Upon moving to the back of the truck, she tossed him a bag of equipment. "Here, take this. It'll be better if they think you're part of the crew."

He received the duffle without complaint and they made their way across the sidewalk, Tony taking up the rear.

"I'll go along with this on one condition,” Jaime agreed, hiking the bag over his shoulder. 

"Name it and we'll see."

His eyes rolled upward, as if consulting the sky for patience. "Since I'm technically "helping” you with a job, would you come help me out with something once we're done? I was going to ask you to come with me anyway, but this gives a nice chance for some reciprocity." 

"You've got yourself a deal."

"I think someone named Lisa is our contact person?" Tony provided, squinting into the canopied entrance. "That's probably her right there."

A tall brunette emerged from the shadows, hand outstretched toward Arden. "Ms. Gale! I'd recognize you anywhere. You look just like you do on television," the woman's smile revealed dimpled cheeks and Arden couldn't help feeding off her positive energy.

"You must be Lisa." She eyed the name badge and extended her hand for a firm shake.

"My four-year-old loves you."

See? I told you.

Arden resisted the urge to glare in Jaime's general direction.

"She's going to flip when I tell her I met you."

"It's always a pleasure to hear I have fans. What's her name?" Arden asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to distract from the overt delight in her grin. How long will it be before I’m used to this kind of thing?

"It's Evie," Lisa answered with obvious pride. “She’s a wildlife fanatic, so that story a few weeks ago -- the one with the emus -- it really won her over. Hasn’t stopped talking about you since.” 

"Well, I’ll see if I can give her a shoutout while we're on air."

"You're officially the sweetest celebrity I've ever met! Let's head on in." She waved them through, propping open the gate so they could follow her inside. "Animal lover too?"

Arden held the gate for Tony, dodging the duffle as Jaime walked in past her. "I do have a soft spot for them. I've got a dog and a cat at home to keep me company. Haven't been to the zoo in ages though -- honestly, it's been too long."

"Well, we're happy to have you here any time. Just say the word and I'll get you right in. Now, the hedgehogs are housed in our...."

Lisa's explanation continued, but Arden failed to hear it over the high-pitched screech coming from her right.

She snuck a glance at Jaime. Definitely worth keeping it a secret. 

Arden, you're the absolute light of my life. I’m still mad at Alec, but I may just let you off the hook about earlier.

"They have a full prickle of baby hedgehogs," she whispered to him as they passed through a corridor. 

“Is that what a group of them is called?”

“Uh-huh!” Her smile widened at his incredulous look. “I had to google it on the way so I’d know what I was talking about.”

“Let’s be real, Arden. You just wanted to think of puns in advance.”

She flashed him a sly smile as they followed Lisa into the learning center. That woman directed them toward the enclosure of African Pygmy Hedgehogs. Six bristly critters climbed around the habitat, spiky backs providing an adorable contrast to the soft curls of the wood shavings that surrounded them.  

“Aside from Evie, these are my pride and joy. Here’s Laurel,” Lisa pointed out the adult hedgehog, “and her babies, Tony, Steve, Natasha, Thor, and Hulk.” 

Great, I’m sharing names with a hedgehog now. Tony’s voice came from behind. 

Arden resisted the urge to address his complaint, instead asking,“Hulk? Not Bruce?” 

Lisa gave an airy laugh. “He’s always been the biggest, so it seemed more appropriate.”

“Well, they’re all adorable. Our viewers are going to love them.” Arden cocked her head toward Jaime. “What do you think?”

“Pictures don’t do them justice,” he answered simply, attention never wavering from the creatures before him. I'm not even going to hold you to that earlier agreement. We're even. More than even. 

Giggling, Arden turned back to Lisa. “This is amazing. No wonder Evie is wild about animals.” 

“Do you want to get to know them a little bit before you start filming? They’re going to be used with kids in our educational programs, so we’re trying to get them used to interacting with strangers.” 

Arden nodded, Jaime’s shriek ringing through her ears. I’m really going to have to tell him to stop thinking in sound effects. 

After a very entertaining half hour, Arden wrapped the segment. “Back to you in the studio. Stay sharp, Northbridge." She could feel Tony’s groan even before it became audible. 

"Evie's going to be saying that for weeks! Do you mind if I get a picture with you before you go?" Arden was only too happy to oblige. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Jaime was bursting with questions by the time Tony dropped both of them off at his house. “Be straight with me,” he began as the van pulled away. “What do hedgehogs think about?”

Arden followed Jaime into his truck, yanking the seatbelt over her shoulder as she rattled off the various things she’d overheard. “Laurel spent most of the time being worried about how their spikes looked. Hulk basically just wanted the green pepper you were feeding him. He was really into that pepper. And you remember when Thor rolled into the ball?”

“Yeah.” Shifting out of reverse provided him with the opportunity to meet her laughing eyes. 

“He just kept thinking, my feet are stuck! My feet are stuck! over and over. I almost died.” 

Jaime shook his head, lifting his hand from the gearshift to run it through his still-tousled hair. “That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

His free hand fell between them on the bench seat, and Arden’s eyes followed the motion keenly. Does he want me to hold his hand? She couldn’t deny that the prospect intrigued her, but what if she was misreading the situation? Aware of his gaze, she scratched her cheek to diffuse the tension. 

Jaime cleared his throat. “Anyway, It’s a good thing we’re about to go mix things up with some manual labor.”

“I’m not about to do manual labor, am I?”

“Nah, you should be fine. I’m just bringing you along as a second pair of eyes. I’ll be doing the heavy lifting myself.” 

“That’s a relief,” she said, gesturing toward the skirt of her dress. “What’s the job?” 

"Remember that wedding that I helped with a few weeks ago? The couple asked me to install a mantelpiece in their new house and it's a lot easier with someone else there to make sure it’s straight. I might have you hold something in place for a minute, but it’s nothing too strenuous."

"You probably just want me to come along and drool over your muscles," she accused only half jokingly. Somehow the laugh stuck in her throat as she thought about the sight of his toned body. His v-neck wasn’t going to do much to conceal how ripped he was if there was actually any heavy lifting involved. 

"Please keep the drooling to a minimum, at least as long as we're in their house. I don't want them coming home from visiting family to find that I've left a trail of slime in their living room."

"Of course not. I'll just have to bottle up all of my awe, I suppose."

“It’s probably for the best.” They fell into easy banter for the remainder of the short drive, though Arden’s attention was divided once they pulled into the sprawling subdivision on the west side of town. The wedding venue had been enough to convince her that the couple had great taste, but somehow she hadn’t expected their neighborhood to be quite so upscale. 

“Wow,” she whispered, unable to keep her eyes from traveling up to the shutters of the second-floor windows. They pulled into the driveway of a brick house that could have easily held twenty copies of her apartment. 

“Nice, huh?” 

“I don’t think a place this big could ever feel like home,” she admitted, removing the seatbelt. 

“They’re planning to do a lot of entertaining,” he told her by way of explanation. “Receptions, fundraisers, stuff like that. A lot of this is just for show.” Jaime slid a spare key into the deadbolt. 

“I mean, it’s gorgeous, but a little much for me.” 

“Me too. You’ve seen my house,” he joked wryly.

With the click of the lock, Arden suddenly felt like they were trespassing into something sacred. This was the couple's home. Their home together. 

Even as they crossed the threshold, her overactive mind was running wild, picturing what it would be like to be entering a home she shared with Jaime. She’d come home from work to find him sketching out project designs in the dining room. He’d smile up at her and -- 

STOP! She snapped down on her inner cheek to halt the progression of that particular train of thought. You can't just go in and pretend that this is your house. You certainly can't go in pretending that Jaime is your... anything -- other than a friend.

Looking for any possible excuse for a distraction, she cast an appreciative eye over the decor and wandered ahead so that Jaime couldn't see the war that was happening on her face. "Jaime! Have you seen the kitchen? They have shiplap on this wall! I think I'm in love." Oh. Poor choice of words.

Jaime didn’t seem to notice the slip. "You wanna take a quick tour before we go to the living room? The Sanbornes won't mind. I've been in and out of here for a lot of projects to get things ready for them to move in. I could show you some of my handiwork."

"If every room is as good as the kitchen, it's going to knock my socks off."

"You're not wearing socks."

"Then you'd better hope it's impressive enough to knock my shoes off."

"It is," he uttered with confidence. Arden followed him through the lower level of the house, wondering just when his assured cockiness had crossed the line from slightly annoying to devastatingly attractive. 

Arden, get a grip. This is Jaime. You need to calm down. But the mental pep talk wasn’t enough to quiet the pounding of her heart. 

"What do you think of the crown molding in here?" Jaime inquired, flicking on the lights to the study. 

"It's too much."

"Really? I think it's pretty classy, myself."

"Sure, it's classy, but can you imagine what it's like to clean that much decorative wood? You'd spend a full day of the week just going around with a ladder and a duster."

"So you don’t dislike the look, you're just too lazy for that kind of upkeep." It was a statement rather than a question. Arden showed him the tip of her tongue.

 I'll have to remember that.

"Why would you want to remember that?"she wondered aloud.

His cheeks heated under her curious eyes. "It just seems like a good thing to keep in mind." If we ever have a house together, I’d want to make sure you liked any changes I made. 

Why is he thinking that way too? The desire to bolt from the room coursed fire through her blood. Her only option was to pretend she hadn't heard the thought, but the state of her face was likely to have already given her away. "It's nice though," she choked out finally, uncertain whether the words would prove convincing. 

Jaime worked his jaw, but moved on to the hallway. "Being in other people's houses just always reminds me of the projects waiting for me at home. I need to refinish the hardwood floors in the living room."

"You've been talking about doing that for years. That and getting rid of that  wallpaper you hate in the dining room. And refinishing the entire guest bathroom. And tearing out that wall to open up the downstairs."

"What can I say?” The boyish charm in his brown eyes was enough to stutter her pulse. “I've got a lot of plans for improvement.”

"I don’t need much.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d had a chance to think them through. Mortified, took a gulp of air and added, “My apartment is all the home I need for now, especially with Jinx and Opie.” There was no way she was ceding that kind of ground to him this afternoon. Not when her mind was already set on betraying her into thinking that there was something more than friendship behind his every action.  

What do you want, Arden? How long are we going to keep playing these games?

Mouth dry, she stumbled over her question. “Should we get going with that mantlepiece? I don’t want to take up your whole day.”

Jaime’s gaze was pensive. “Sure,” he tried, “let’s head back to the living room.” She could have sworn she heard disappointment in his tone. 

That's just the emotions talking, she told herself. Those hedgehogs broke you with their cuteness.

But the hoglets, cute as they were, couldn’t explain why so many of their recent interactions had left her with uncertainty. No, Arden thought with a pinprick of realization, this is something WAY beyond hedgehogs. 

She wasn’t sure exactly what that something was yet, but she intended to figure it out. 

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 10: Dawning Surprise Pt. 1

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Zavala rolls over as the sun’s light begins to brighten the horizon, bright eyes opening without the pressing of his Ghost for once. And, as if sensing his gaze upon her, Suraya shifts down into the blankets he’s displaced in the movement. No conscious thought dictates how his Light responds to her, but it does: a warm, comfortable tangle that’s not quite Arc, Solar, or Void in particular. She presses herself into his embrace without so much as opening an eye or twitching in an attempt to wake.

Today is the day.

He smiles into her short hair, sliding his hand down her arm to loosely take her hand in his. A sluggish swipe of her fingers, aiming to soothe, convinces him to close his eyes once more. He has time, for once, to enjoy this quiet, peaceful moment. So he does.

Until the even, deep breaths of his partner lull him back to sleep.

-/

More than anything, Amanda wants to be excited for this.

And she is excited for this. For a lot of reasons.

It’s like a family gathering, but a fusion of her strange version of normal and the kind of normal she's dreamed about. She gets to spend the night at Marc’s place tonight, to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of the other with her found family. It's a balm against the yucky feelings that come, the thoughts of people she's lost, the family that has passed on without her.

But, this time of year is just hard. She misses her parents and Cayde, and in a different way she misses Sloane. Sloane knows she struggles. And it's for that reason, as Amanda sits in the Hangar, arms crossed, waiting for this delivery Ikora insisted could not wait, that Sloane is messaging her back with nearly no delay.

Bitterly, Amanda bites back the thought of asking her why she can't just be there, if she's going to be free for most of the day. She knows Sloane takes her duty seriously, Amanda admires that about the Titans in her life.

It just sucks, sometimes.

She scoffs loudly into the empty Hangar. Everyone in Tower Control is squirreled up in one of the offices, and of course, Amanda is the only one on the ground in the Hangar so there's not even anyone to shoot the shit with and distract her.

Just Sloane telling her that whatever Ikora needs her to receive certainly must be important.

She types back a snarky, "She's lucky I'm not drunk off my ass on your Dawning Present, making me come down here at first light."

Sloane's reply is a steady, insistent, "It's nine in the morning. That's a late start."

"I know," She keys back, grousing, "But I either sleep til noon or I wake up at 04:00. You know me."

The next time her tablet beeps she can hear the warm sound of the Deputy Commander's voice in her mind, a simple response. "I know."

Amanda tries to wrap that comforting tone around herself like a blanket, to let it ease her grumpy irritability. It works, for a bit. But the cold is bothering her leg, and without the traffic (thrusters sending jets of warm air through the half-open space) it will never warm up, and she'd really like this to be over sooner rather than later.

Luckily enough, a cargo ship docks and unloads rather quickly, its crew staying with the city swapping out with a new team headed out despite the holiday. At least she wasn't one of them, she thought, watching a broad-shouldered woman with a dark tinted visor head toward the Tower proper. One of the techs unloaded a crate - not too large, still manageable - onto her workbench.

"That the package for Ikora?" She drawls to the tech.

"Yes ma'am."

She gives him a mock salute, never quite getting with the military's formalities, even when she served. "Thank ya kindly. Now get on outta here, I'm sure y'got better places to be."

The tech nods. "Happy Dawning."

Amanda's already hefting the crate into her arms, intent on getting out of this Tower before noon. Ikora is the hurry up and wait type - Warlocks - and Amanda has places to be. "Happy Dawnin'," She calls over her shoulder, and despite the fact that she's rethinking how manageable this crate is (she's sure it's full of books now and she's not particularly thrilled about it), the sentiment is heartfelt. Genuine.

Across the Tower, however, Ikora is livid. She understands that people want to go home to their families, she's… looking forward (and she can all but feel the enthusiastic encouragement radiating from Ophiuchus at such a thought) to her plans, too.

But!

The delivery was supposed to happen at approximately noon. They knew better, everything was on a strict timeline. Zavala and Suraya weren't due at the Kay household until around noon, and she had to keep Amanda occupied until at least one. To give everything a chance to happen naturally. To do it right, no interruptions.

And, Zavala insisted, to give Suraya a moment to process, good or bad - Ikora scoffs at that, she doesn't understand why he has it in his head that she'd even consider refusing him - all the emotions that will certainly overwhelm her.

So when Amanda drops the crate, unimpressed, at her feet at a quarter past ten in the morning, Ikora blinks in surprise before channeling her fury into sedate composure. It’s not Amanda’s fault.

"It's early."

"Yeah," Amanda barks "It's a good thing yer not busy, then," She continues, annoyed, gesturing to the Bazaar. It's empty. Even the Ramen Shop is closed. “I’m gonna go. I was originally supposed to meet Zavala and Hawthorne earlier so it works out.” She waves, not bothering to wait for a response. “See ya tonight,” She calls, turning away.

“Wait!”

-/

Most lazy mornings, for them, are defined by the time of day alone. Suraya would take an extra hour to lay in bed - even against his advice that she should rise and get ready for the day - when he came home at dawn, or he’d force himself awake early when she came back from a civic emergency, as cool and radiant as the streaks of light that would soon become the dawn.

This is far slower than usual. Where normally he’d have her bare and panting beneath him from teasing touches, he hasn’t stopped touching her face. Fingers trail across her jaw, and while it’s not terribly erotic, the effect it has on her is beginning to bleed into exactly that.

First, however, she pulls back - it’s more like pushing her head further into the pillows - to look up at him, her own fingers finding his jaw, meeting his gaze. It’s heavy. Serious but not sad, almost dazed. “Are you okay?” She asks, her features flickering with concern.

Blinking in surprise, he nods. His fingers trail down her neck, across her sternum, the backs of his knuckles pressing ever so slightly into the warm skin above the neckline of her shirt. Over her heart.

“I love you,” She whispers, cutting through whatever thoughts are running through his head. “I’m excited to share this with you.”

His lips quirk up, showing her the slightest hint of his teeth. For a man who smiles mostly with his eyes, she cherishes these moments in which she can see his unveiled expressions in their entirety. But then, his eyes slide shut, and instead of seeing his emotions, she can very nearly feel them. The Light is funny like that, like an extension of self, molding to his will. She gasps against it, the way his hands seem to pulse - electric, expressive - and lend to his feelings. This is not the playful Arc energy he pulls out to reduce her to a sobbing mess when she’s wound up and bratty. This is pure emotion. Deep-seated, unadulterated feelings channeled into a current that translates into the hair on the back of her neck standing on end when he hauls her against him as though she is weightless, thanks to the pads of his fingers sliding down the skin beside her spine.

She pushes up against the hand that’s covering her heart, away from the one he’s wrapped around her back and she’s kissing him back. It’s not the same as two Guardians sharing their Light in some kind of intimate feedback loop, but she hears the broken gasp, the half-buried sound in the back of his throat and it reaffirms what she knows. This is no battle for superiority. Their differences are what balance them, what brings them to even ground. He is attracted to her as she is, for her simple humanity, and the complex feelings she can inspire without showering him in the Traveler's gifts.

They take their time. After all, they have plenty of it, with only abstract plans during their well-deserved reprieve. Suraya misses the pale white blink of a notification on her tablet nearly an hour later when Zavala rises, a question in his gaze as he tilts it towards the shower. She's too busy, abandoning the sheets to follow with a grin.

The message goes unanswered.

-/

In their younger years, or at least his, Devrim thinks, stretching his back, Marc never used to get up before ten in the morning. Even when they were having a dinner party. He'd stay up until dawn preparing the night before if he had to, though he'd eventually got it down to a science (having a child does wonders for developing time management skills).

Now, Devrim reaches for the other side of the bed - such a far cry from a patched up cot in a secluded nook - to find it cool and can't help but smile to himself. The clock reads half eight. It's late for him but still early.

The hardwood floors betray the weight of his husband's footsteps. "Planning to sleep the day away, darling?" Marc asks, arms crossed as he leans in the doorway.

"You'd come wake me eventually, I'm sure," He lilts back.

Marc nods, words clearly failing him. It spurs Devrim into action, pulling back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn't bother to slide his feet into the slippers waiting for him, instead opening his arms to pull his husband in. Letting Marc rest his head on his shoulder, breathe deep to smell sleep and yesterday's cologne on the skin of his neck, Devrim exhales contentedly.

"I've missed this, Marc," He says, and it's meant to sound adoring and sweet, not emotionally compromising as if he's at the end of his rope.

But, to his credit, his husband laughs, and the rumble of his chest against Devrim's soothes him. "I know," Marc agrees. "We're going to do this more often from now on."

"Abusing your new powers already?"

"Please, I've always had some pull," He leans back, fingers cradling the scruff on Devrim's jaw. "Now," He presses a kiss to his lover's nose (as there are rules about kisses before brushing teeth), "Wash up. I'll make breakfast and put the kettle on."

-/

The word leaves Ikora's lips like a whip-crack, harsh and serious. It strikes the shipwright like lightning. She recoils, visibly, as though she’s going to be struck.

"What's wrong?"

"I-" Ophiuchus appears beside her, shell orbiting his small body in momentary concern, "I think I should bring them something, and I'm not sure what."

Amanda's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Ikora, you have a bottle of that fancy dessert wine behind you."

"It's for someone else."

"It's not. That's Marc's favorite."

Ophiuchus rolls his optic obnoxiously and Ikora gives him a scathing glare for it, as if encouraging him to do better than that.

"She's nervous about later?" Ophiuchus tries. He can feel Ikora's wrath, but the Warlock doesn't contradict him. It's not like she had any quick lies available that didn't nearly lead into the truth.

"Uh… huh," The younger woman's arms cross. She doesn't buy it, that's obvious. "What the heck is goin' on?"

"Nothing," Ikora lies, too fast and very obviously. "It's just-"

"Just?" Amanda holds out her hands as if expecting an answer to drop from the sky and into them. When it doesn't, she produces her tablet from a pocket near her bionic knee and sends out a message.

"What are you doing?" Ikora asks.

"Askin' Hawthorne what the heck is goin' on around here. Why can't-"

Ikora sends a panicked glance to Ophiuchus who dips in a nod and disappears without a sound.

"You know I can just call her-"

"No!"

Amanda shakes her head. "What's the big deal? You're acting really weird and honestly, it's kinda freakin' me out. I planned everything with them. Marc won't mind if I come by early, I'll-"

"Amanda." Saladin's deep voice is soft but commands attention. "Stop pushing her. I'll take you for brunch, we can go over together, afterward."

Amanda looks between the two of them, Warlock, Titan, then back again. "You're kidding me."

Saladin, unlike Ikora, does not betray a single emotion on his face, his eyes hard - always eased a bit when it comes to her, but she's always been treated like the Tower's collective kid. Amanda knows he isn't kidding.

But she's also not the fourteen year old girl she was when he'd distract her with ice cream or an errant wolf cub smuggled inside the walls to keep her out of trouble. Smiling far too wide, Amanda nods. Ikora catches on just as the Shipwright opens her mouth, and if Amanda were looking at her, she'd see the comical widening of her golden brown eyes.

"Okay. We can go to breakfast," She gives Ikora a challenging look before turning her beach-glass gaze upon the last Iron Lord. "But only if we invite Shaxx, too."

Ikora closes her eyes and counts to ten in three dead languages before she opens them again. Saladin is still staring Amanda down, and to her credit, Holliday hasn't budged.

"Alright," Saladin acquiesces. "We'll invite him."

She staggers backwards, in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," He confirms gruffly. Though subdued, his aggravation is palpable. "Now go get him before I change my mind."

Scampering off, Amanda leaves the two of them to go get the Crucible Handler for what will likely be the most uncomfortable meal in history.

Saladin is eyeing her with an unreadable expression and Ikora sighs. "My attendance is mandatory, isn't it?"

"You're a sharp ally," Saladin answers.

"It's a yes, then," Ikora retorts.

After a few silent moments, Ophiuchus appears beside her, drifting in a relieved sway. "All taken care of. She was already filtering both their messages, no harm done."

"Good. We're about to go to brunch with Amanda and Saladin-"

"Oh, I cannot wait to find out what little secrets we've been keeping!" Shaxx bellows from the courtyard, disrupting some innocent pigeons roosting on the railings.

"And Shaxx?" Ophiuchus betrays both shock and concern.

His Guardian doesn't blame him. They don't have to look at Saladin to feel him scowling.

-/

Suraya lets herself in, Zavala hot on her heels. He pulls the door shut behind them while she removes her boots and jacket, hanging the latter on a hook. It's warm, the sound of the fireplace in the next room over is quaint and comfortable, and the house is wreathed in warm lights and tasteful Dawning decor.

"Dad," She calls, loud, when Marc doesn't come to the door like she expects, "We're here!"

Turning to Zavala, who doesn't appear flummoxed, she comments at a lower volume, "That's funny, he must be in the kitchen or something."

Zavala hums, non-committal, and Suraya wanders down the hall that runs parallel to the kitchen and into the heart of her family's home.

"Dad? This isn't funny," She says, pausing a beat. Still no answer. "Dad!"

The sound of footsteps at the end of the short hall stops her in her tracks.

"Do calm down, Suraya, I'm right-"

Though she has her back to him, Zavala knows the expression she's making; Can see how her shoulders rise in surprise, elbows angled out. Knows that she's clasped her hands over her chest in surprise at the sound of his voice.

Zavala knows how much she wanted this. She could blame it on the City or on him, for reawakening long-abandoned wants and needs, but he wants her to have this. She deserves to have everything.

Her lips move, words failing her for only a second, and then, far differently from before, hinging on a sob, she cries, "Dad?"

For being a self proclaimed old man, Devrim doesn't falter when she launches herself at him, grunting only at the impact of his fully-grown child tackling him in a hug that sways at the start like a dance.

It evolves into a tighter, closer embrace, and the scant sounds of sobbing.

"Oh, don't cry, darling," Devrim tuts, rearing back to brush away her tears. It does nothing for his own state, to see her so unguarded, in a way she hasn't been with him in years. He clears his throat when he feels it constrict. "You're liable to make an old man join you."

Between shaky breaths she ducks her head, admitting, "I've just wanted this for so long," To the collar of his shirt.

Marc peeks from the kitchen, swiping a hand across his cheek to erase a tear from sight before nodding to their other guest. He slips from sight.

"Alright you two," Marc chirps, sunny and bright, the only man Devrim has ever encountered who can laugh and cry all while speaking in complete sentences. "I'm feeling left out."

Three steps is all it takes for their unit to be completed and whole for the first time in nearly two decades. It sets Suraya off anew to have both her parents embracing her without having to court fear that came with sneaking into a City that cast her out, or the anxiety that always bubbled up because she was selfishly endangering her family.

They stay that way, until a timer beeps in the kitchen and Marc scuttles off after whatever he’s preparing for the evening's events. This time tomorrow, he’ll have the kitchen on lockdown, preparing a huge feast, but tonight is a far more casual affair.

Devrim pulls back from her finally, looking at her expectantly. “How?” She asks, the initial shock finally starting to wear off.

“You know how,” Devrim answers, voice dipping lower, eyes flicking to the doorway down the hall, closer to the door that leads to a spacious living room. “I believe he meant to give us privacy.”

“He’s a good man,” Suraya whispers.

“He is.” He pats her cheek once and nods towards the way she’d came. “Perhaps you should see if he’d like a drink?” Her lips part into a smile, and he chuckles, unable to help it. “Off you go,” He says, nudging her on.

Marc creeps quietly from the kitchen. He’s waving his hands in a frantic combination of nerves and excitement, and Devrim gives him an expectant nod. A quiet shimmer happens above their heads. “The other door is cracked,” Zavala’s Ghost says, regal and elegant in her delivery, but also jittery and hyper, like a hummingbird. “Shall we?”

[reddieorrnot]

Hey! I saw your post about byler request. Im craving a pinning Mike fic. Usually will is the one doing the pinning. Maybe after the move and will visits for the holidays and mike is whipped and trying to court him. I want mike to court the fuck out of Will

those who ask shall receive! it’s a bit iffy, i had a bit of trouble with pinning mike. hope this is alright! 

Will sat on the basement floor, legs crossed, and grin plastered upon his face. Happiness radiated off the scene before him, as he watched Lucas kiss Max on the cheek, and her eyes lit up. His group of friends and had all come together for a Christmas Eve party at the Wheeler house, as Karen Wheeler had openly accepted to be hostess. And considering the delightful pine scent in the atmosphere, the warm fire, and delicious food, the mother had done well. Everyone was laughing and smiling, all having a joyous time. Will felt safe, comforted, and most of all… home. He had gotten to choose the next Christmas movie for the party to watch, and he gleefully suggested A Christmas Carol. There was one thing off though, something he couldn’t explain. As Will tore his eyes off the couple before him, he slowly turned over to face the night’s mystery. As expected, Mike Wheeler was staring at Will. As Mike made eye contact, Will swore a blush made its way onto his face as Mike looked away. It wasn’t the first time that had happened today. Will had caught Mike staring at him multiple times, and it appeared that no matter how many times Mike’s actions were revealed, he wouldn’t stop. Will looked back to the gift exchange occurring and thought about all the other things that had happened leading up to that moment. 

***

When Will had first arrived, Mike wasted no time to hug him first. Will, Eleven, and his family barely had their feet through the door before Mike engulfed him. It was a hug that felt starved, desperate. As if being put before Eleven wasn’t already a surprise, the way Mike held WIll and brought him closer was enough to shock the boy right there and then. When Will finally felt like it was the appropriate time to pull away, Mike had fumbled over his words, struggling to put together a coherent sentence. It was confusing but all the more entertaining for the Byers boy. 

“I… I missed you, Will.” Mike finally muttered, low enough just for Will to hear. Will turned his head to see where Eleven had gone, his eyes landing on her in the arms of her redheaded friend. Will let out a dreamy sigh, returning his gaze to Mike. Mike’s words rang through his ears, words that he never thought would mean anything. Will pictured Mike missing Eleven, not him. But his words said otherwise, making Will’s heart speed up. 

“I missed you too, Mike.” He said bashfully. A smile crept onto Mike’s lips, and as the others came to greet him, it never faltered. 

***

After greetings and welcomes, everyone split up into doing their own thing. The adults found a home in the dining room, sipping wine and conversing. Nancy and Jonathan hung out in the kitchen, and Will and his friends sat in the basement. They were playing a game of twister, Mike and Lucas currently on the mat. Dustin was calling out the directions, laughing in-between turns because in his words, “You guys look so stupid!” 

Lucas was having a lot of fun, smirking as he moved with ease. Mike, on the other hand, looked far too determined for such a silly game. He kept mumbling about wanting to win, and badly. Lucas simply made a joke out of it, with Max building on the teasing. Unfortunately, Mike didn’t get what he wanted for once. When he was told to move his right hand to a blue dot, Mike slipped due to the difficult instructions. Lucas hollered with laughter, calling himself the king of twister. 

“Good job, Lucas!” Will smiled and gave Lucas a high five. 

Lucas was overly happy though, as he ignored the high five and pulled Will in for a hug instead. Will simply accepted the gesture and hugged him back. Over Lucas’ shoulder, Will noticed Mike pouting at the scene before him. Will was taken aback, no one could be pouting over losing to twitter, that was overly dramatic. And when Lucas pulled away from the hug and took Dustin in while singing his own triumph song, Mike looked away from Will and at the ground. Will felt like he was supposed to be getting something, but ignored the feeling. 

***

After the games, the party simmered down. The teens sat on the couch and snacked on the occasional treats Nancy or Jonathan would bring down for them. Soon the conversation steered in the direction of school. Eleven was talking to everyone, explaining how things were now due to the absence of her powers. She briefly spoke about what a good teacher Will was, helping her catch up on school material. The compliment brought up a giggle from Will, who was flattered. He went to deny the statement but was cut off.  

“Yeah, well, Will’s always been one of the smartest out of all of us,” Mike announced. It was random, unnecessary in a sense. Everyone else must have felt the same awkwardness as Will, because before anyone replied, there was a beat of silence. Mike seemed undisturbed though, letting his statement stand forth proudly. The heightened attention made Will nervous, and after a few seconds, everyone began to agree with Mike. 

“Thanks, guys.” Will chuckled, letting his eyes linger a bit longer on Mike. Will didn’t consider himself one of the smartest of the group, they were all intelligent. But the comment still boosted his self-esteem a bit, miraculously. 

After a few minutes had gone by, bouncing from topic to topic, Will felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“You know… You look really nice tonight.” Mike’s voice was soft, his words caught Will by surprise yet again. Not just because it was from Mike, but it was rare for anyone besides his mother to compliment his appearance. Matching Mike’s gentle tone, Will meant to accept the compliment but failed. 

“I don’t really think so… I forgot to plan out a good outfit for tonight…” Will tugged at his pale yellow sweater, referencing it. It was true, Will had spent so much time helping Eleven get ready (willingly) that he had forgotten about himself. He had settled for a pair of dark wash high rise jeans and a yellow pullover as previously stated of a yellow hue. The other boy’s outfit differed. Mike had a pair of khakis on, paired with a striped t-shirt. To top it off, he had added a black bomber jacket, it was a new style. Will wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Mike was the one who looked really nice tonight. 

“No, no. I really do think you look good.” Mike insisted. Will searched for some sort of pity in Mike’s eye, some sort of indication that his words weren’t from the heart. All Will saw was a glimmer of adoration, this made Will’s heart sting. He chose to ignore the unspoken tension between the two, and just gave Mike a smile. 

“Thank you, Mike.” 

It seemed to be as if Mike was going to say something else, but he was interrupted before he even began. Eleven had grabbed Will’s wrist, pulling him to his feet. A playful expression danced upon her face, leaking into an enthusiastic smile. Will was nervous about what was to come next. 

“Max put on the Girls Just Wanna Have Fun track! We love this song! Sing with me?” 

For a second, Will was in an indescribable state of embarrassment. There was a part of him that wanted to deny that he had ever even listened to the song and that he would never sing along to such a feminine song. But a deeper part of him ached to sing with Eleven, perhaps even Max. A part of him wanted to have fun, despite how… gay it would make him look. After the internal dispute, Will nodded at Eleven and returned her excitement. His friends were never ones to make fun of him, he had even thought about coming out to them. But it was too soon, Will wasn’t ready. He hoped his little performance with El wouldn’t give it away itself. 

Before he knew it, Will was dancing around with Max and Eleven, singing along, and giggling. Dustin and Lucas shouted out lines here and there, surprising Will by knowing anything besides the chorus. When Will didn’t hear Mike’s voice for a while, he turned to see what the boy was doing. 

Mike was looking straight at Will, with a foolish grin on display for everyone to see. Mike’s eyes were wide with awe, and Will felt his face get hot. He didn’t want to assume anything, but it was obvious that if Mike were to stare any longer, he would start to drool. Luckily, the song was ending soon anyways. Will let out one last line, then collapsed into a group hug with his girls. 

“I didn’t know I was attending a concert?” Dustin joked, putting a confused face on.

“Me either? When did I buy the tickets?” Lucas played along. 

Their comments threw Eleven and Max into yet another fit of giggles, they told the two that it was even better than a concert. Will gave himself the dare of looking back at Mike, and he did so. 

Mike was still looking at him, and after a moment's hesitation, he breathlessly said, “Yeah… even better than a concert.” 

Will pretended like he didn’t hear it, but he couldn’t hide the smile that made its way to his face. 

***

A Christmas Carol played on the television, as Eleven passed around the bowl of popcorn. Will was brought back to reality and remembered where we was. He wanted to kick himself for thinking so much about everything that had happened with Mike, that he had missed the first two minutes of the movie. He pushed those thoughts aside and grabbed a handful of popcorn. 

***

They were about thirty minutes into the movie, and about 20 remarks telling Dustin to stop commenting on everything had been made. Every time someone told him to shut up, Will couldn’t help but laugh. They all knew Dustin wasn’t going to quiet down soon, but they still tried. At some point in the movie, Will felt a nudge in his side. 

“Come with me, I’ve got something to show you,” Mike whispered, beginning to stand up. Will didn’t want to miss anything from the movie, but Mike sounded urgent. So as quietly as possible, Will stood up from where was previously sitting on the floor. Max noticed them leaving, but didn’t say anything as she turned back to the movie. Mike didn’t say much as he led them out of the basement, and straight upstairs. Will took this as a sign to not say anything either, so he kept quiet. But when they had gotten to Mike’s room and there was still a blanket of silence between the two, Will finally broke.

“What did you have to show me?” He asked. Will looked around the room, it looked was neater than usual. Mike must have cleaned it up recently. It didn’t make much sense though, considering Mike never cleaned his room. Everyone knew Mike didn’t mind there to be a mess where he slept, Will, contrastingly, enjoyed a cleaner environment. 

“Well… I know we’re supposed to do it later but…” Mike kneeled down beside his bed, reaching underneath it. What he pulled out made Will’s heart flutter. In his hands was a nicely wrapped present, with a blue bow on top. Will could tell just by looking at it that Mike hadn’t wrapped it himself. Mike must have noticed what was running through Will’s mind because he chuckled and spoke again.

“I tried to wrap it myself, to like… impress you or whatever,” Will’s mind lingered on the idea of Mike trying to do something for him, “But I failed horribly. Got Nancy to wrap it instead, she even added the bow. Isn’t that cool?” 

“Yeah, it’s a nice blue.” Will felt like an absolute dork complimenting the bow, but he was at a lost of words. Mike didn’t have to get him a present, and he especially didn’t have to go to the means of wrapping it. Mike never tried to wrap anyone’s presents. “Thank you, Mike.”

Mike chuckled and brought his hand to the back of his neck. An indication of nervousness, WIll thought. “You don’t get to thank me yet, you haven’t even opened it!”

Will nodded and began delicately unwrapping the gift. Before him was an art kit, filled with colored pencils and sketching ones. Had it been any kit, Will would have been thankful. But it had been a specific one, an expensive one, that WIll had wanted for months. He didn’t bring it up too often though, maybe mentioned it once or twice. So as he traced his finger along the packaging, he filled with shock. 

“How’d you remember I wanted this? Oh my god…” 

Mike sat down on his bed and looked at the ground sheepishly, “I pay attention to you, Will. Always have.” 

He didn’t mean to, he really didn’t, but Will couldn’t control the scoff he let out. Mike’s words contradicted his actions for months prior to Will moving, when he had been all over Eleven. They had broken up sometime between the move and the Christmas Eve party, but Mike’s behavior was still something that happened. “You didn’t pay much attention to me when you were with El…” 

Mike groaned, letting out a sigh. “I know. And I’m really sorry about that. I was a complete asshole and you never even got to hear me apologize, so I’m saying it now.” 

It was simple, but self-aware. So Will accepted his apology. “It’s a few months late now, Wheeler. But I’ll take it.” 

Mike laughed and shook his head, “I really am sorry, Will.” 

“Hey… it’s okay. You’re just a teen boy, it’s basically expected.” 

Mike smiled, “Get used to it because you’re this teen boy’s best friend.” 

Will simply rolled his eyes and returned to look at the present, baffled once again. 

“The day you said you wanted it, I wrote it down somewhere. I kept track of its price and saved up on the side.” 

Will didn’t tear his vision from the gift in his hands, “But why?” 

Will didn’t get a response, instead, he got a Mike who looked at him with big puppy eyes. Will’s gut knew what that meant, but he needed further confirmation. So Will slowly made his way to Mike’s bed, and sat down next to him.

He repeated himself, “Why?” 

“Because I like showing I care,” Mike answered simply, it was a hollowed-out reply, like the surfaced version. Will took a risk and pressed firmer on the topic. 

“Is that it?”

The room went quiet, all the noise from the party beneath the two boys being muffled. The room felt like a bubble, something like their own world. Mike must have felt the same safety because he finally continued to speak. 

“Because you matter to me. Because I care that you get what you want for Christmas, and that you know I’ve missed you, that I get to be the one to hug you and impress you by winning some stupid party game. I care that you get to know you look good and all of that. And… and…” 

Will swallowed nervously, his insides feeling like bundles of nerves. His eyes bounced from one attribute on Mike’s face to the next anxiously. He looked at how Mike’s eyes glimmered in this lighting, and how his freckles laid upon his skin. And lastly, he looked at how soft and gentle Mike’s lips looked. 

“And… what?” Will whispered unintentionally, his heart racing to such an extent he hoped Mike wouldn’t hear it, 

“And I care that you know I like you.” 

All night people had been grabbing Will and pulling him into things. Mike pulling him into a hug when he had arrived, Eleven pulling him up to dance, Lucas pulling him into his victory celebration. All were completely okay, Will found happiness in all the actions. But his favorite by far of the night, was at that moment. When Mike laid his hand on Will’s cheek, and slowly pulled him into their kiss. 

It wasn’t fireworks, or explosions. There was no fire of desire that got put out. It was home. Mike’s lips were as soft as previously assumed, and his thumb caressed Will’s cheek in a way that made time stop. It took a second for Will to kiss back, primarily because a boy he had been secretly crushing on for years was kissing him, and secondly because said boy was Will’s first kiss. But when he finally realized that even though this was Mike, it was also his best friend. Everything was always okay with his best friend. Will kissed Mike back, following in the same pattern of his movements. After a bit of time, Mike finally pulled away. The ball was in Will’s court, him kissing back could have meant anything, what really mattered was what he’d say to Mike. 

“You tried to impress me with winning twister?” Will realized with a laugh. 

Mike simply rolled his eyes and brought Will in for another kiss.

[tamemaki]

#1 and 16 KomaHina for smutty prompts?

Warning: Rated E, for Explicit Sexual Content & Swearing, please be careful! / words, 2.1k / post-SDR2 future foundation ♥

(1; grinding, 16: edging / orgasm denial)

“K-Komaeda.“

Damn him. God damn him and his fluffy head of hair, as his head is nestled between his shoulder and his neck. He’s sucking on Hinata’s skin like some sort of animal, coy and marking, his own slender hands lifting at the hem of his dress shirt, crawling all over Hinata’s waist.

Ever letting Komaeda into his office was his biggest mistake mistake mistake. The biggest mistake of his post-apocalyptic, post-killing game, post-biggest-most-awful-event-in-human-history-ever-ever-ever life, after he’d decided to let…

Well…

After the whole giving an organization the rights to do whatever they pleased with his head in the pursuit of true hope, thing. That was… still pretty bad on the scale, as far as everything w-went, fuck, but this?

Maybe not a close second, but it’s still somewhere up there, Hinata gasps as the boy above him grinds downwards-

and he can swear he feels Komaeda’s smirk seep against his skin.

“H-Hinata-kun.” He can hear him moan, a whisper breath warm against his ear, as he tightens his grip on the back of Hinata’s swivel chair, grinding his pelvis down, and Hinata feels his hips jerk up by instinct, trying to meet the sweet heat of the other boy’s motion.

It’s fucking hot in the room, suffocating with the boy squirming on his lap in the office. He can’t fucking remember what the hell he’d been working on just twenty minutes earlier, when he’d let this innocent little monster walk into his room with water and a “How’s your day been, Hinata-kun?”, before he immediately slinked over and made his way onto Hinata’s lap. And Hinata had let him, wrapping his arms around his waist to listen to Komaeda’s rather mundane but charming story about the cafeteria worker who had smiled at him this morning, how it’s brightened his day hopefully, complete with a hand-clap and all, when all the while shifting around in Hinata’s lap, chasing the slow building as he fidgeted in his seat and tried his best to stay sane-

When the making out started.

And then he was hard.

And well.

Then.

And well then

“F-fuck.”

Hinata breathes, into Komaeda’s neck, and the boy ridges against him, the boy’s own charming, enthusiastic hardness pressed against his leg, eager to please. Komaeda’s on top of him laughing, breathy, trying to chase the friction of his jeans against Hinata’s thigh. When the boy arches and lets out a moan right in front of him, that’s when Hinata’s about two seconds from done.

Komaeda draws back, comes up from Hinata’s neck, and looks down at the markings on his neck fondly. He traces his fingers over them, normally pale cheeks flushed pink and chest coming up and down.

His expression is pleasant- breathless- as he presses his forehead against Hinata’s and his eyes cloud over in that overly fond, lash-dripping expression. Love. That Hinata loves. That spurs Hinata on, the excited eagerness that Komaeda bathed him in.

It’s embarrassing, but it gets him going more than anything else. The way the boy strove to please, how he bathed him in praise and affirmation. Komaeda’s not a wordsmith, and what comes out of his mouth can be pretty damn terrifying sometimes… but Komaeda was expressive, and he never kept anything in.

When Komaeda was happy, it was impossible to miss. When he wasn’t, he was a challenge and a half.

Komaeda was passionate, he did what he wanted, and God knows Hinata might have needed it. Maybe Hinata was pitiful, to be a man who still needed to have his ego pumped every once in a while.

But maybe it was normal, and everyone needed to feel loved. Needed. Like they were worth loving. Like they were worth something.

Like they could do anything.

And sometimes, Komaeda, who had his own faith and challenge was exactly what he needed to push him off the edge and out of his comfort zone.

Just…

Sometimes it lead to make out sessions in the office, hard and clumsy hands as they’re strutting against each other trying to push each other to reach that something and honestly Hinata is pretty sure that’s not what he’s supposed to be doing. Pretty sure there’s many things he should be doing, but Komaeda, flushed and muffling his whimpers, on top of his papers, on the top floor of the Future Foundation building was not one of those things.

“C-close.” He hears Komaeda whimper, suddenly, on top of him as he keens into his neck, and it’s really bad for the coiled dissipating pressure in his stomach as he rutts against Komaeda. Hinata only nods, trying to focus as the boy starts kissing him softly, before melting open mouthed, drinking in the other boy’s breath, edging himself forward, chasing the other’s lips and the feeling travels into that heat between his legs. “Komaeda.” He groans, and feels the other’s smile on his neck. He nudges Komaeda into position, so each thrust forward grinds just right, and Komaeda let’s out a gasp that has Hinata groaning.

It’s so close.

His boyfriends eyelashes are flirting against his forehead, eyes shut, losing synchronization against him. Mouth hanging open and arousal in his breath and panting and grinding is so hot and Hinata’s trying to-

A few more-

J-just-

Hinata jerks forward, the pressure’s just about to peak- when his hips are pinned down by Komaeda’s hands. He almost cries out, in expectation, disappointment, before his wide eyes stare at his boyfriend who’s looking away to the door of the room. His brain slowly registers the ring of the phone in the background. It doesn’t stop him from giving his panting boyfriend the most bug eyed what did you just do stare that he can muster, because Komaeda broke them both and Hinata’s so-

“Oh.” Komaeda laughs. “It’s just the phone.” He says. The fluff haired boy leaning back, playful fingers trying to fumble with the phone but Hinata’s not having it. Not disconnecting to connect to whatever bastard was on the other side of the phone, that god sent down to smite him after having sent Komaeda to him. Probably also to smite him.

The boy was going to be his downfall. He was almost sure of it.

Did he care?

Maybe once upon a time.

But the phone doesn’t stop ringing, so Hinata hitches up Komaeda’s legs, carrying him off his chair and Komaeda’s legs move from around his waist, to one in between, snug against him. It’s nice like this, pressed against the other boy’s chest and he seems pleased, as he picks up the phone.

Hinata’s about to stop him before Komaeda says “Hello?”

There’s a silence on the other side of the line before a monotonous voice mutters.

“Why are you there?”

Oh. Togami.

He groans internally. Why couldn’t it have been Naegi or something?

There’s a bit of a shuffle on the other side of the line, a mumbling, he hears the phone travel through space and then a lighter voice enters the line. “Hello Komaeda-kun! Togami-kun says he has to go.” Naegi’s voice drawls off, as he seems to follow the other man out of the room before the door clicks shut, before brightening again.“Is Hinata-kun here?” Naegi takes over a more serious silence, and Komaeda passes the phone onto Hinata, before settling into a relaxed press into his leg, breath returning calm but heavier.

Hinata feels his own breath weigh again, and when he speaks into the phone, it’s a bit throatier than he intended.

“Hello?” He says, slowly sliding against the boy before him again, as they settle into slow presses back and forth. It’s pleasant, not overwhelming. He can feel it building, the feeling of pleasure in his groin, and then it stops. When Hinata looks at the boy again, it seems like Komaeda’s had enough. His hands are travelling down, and Hinata’s eyes widen as the boy slowly unloops the front of Hinata’s belt, before staring at him with a half-lidded expression, and Hinata’s throat runs dry.

“Hello Hinata-kun!”

“Uhuh?”

Uhuh. Uhuh. That stupid sound is all Hinata can make out before Komaeda drools onto his hand, forcing eye contact the whole way through, before his slender hand travels down and-

“I think Togami-kun just wanted to ask for a progress report?”

“Uh-Uhuh.” Hinata says, cursing the way his breath jolted when his boyfriend’s hand made contact with his dick.

There’s a silence on the receiver. “So?”

“Oh- uhh-” Hinata breathes, or at least tries to, as his boyfriend starts to unzip at his own trousers and- god, Komaeda’s dick strained against his boxers like tha- “Yokohama’s good.” Hinata says. Like a normal human being.

It’s good. Yokohama’s doing great. It’s chill. It’s really fucking chill. Peachy.

“Ah, so the impact assessment on Yokohama’s nearly done?” Hinata hears an enthusiastic chirp on the other side of the line. “That’s great!”

“Hinata-kun, good job.” The cheery whisper beside his ear causes him to shiver in closed-eyed sensation. Hinata’s not sure if this ego-spoiling is necessary as his boyfriend’s pumping him for all he’s worth. Hinata angles up his hips as Komaeda busies himself, lavishing his neck with his tongue. Like everything else, it adds to that swirling sensation in his gut. When he opens his eyes, he sees Komaeda exposed to the air.

“W-well… Sorry for interrupting you, anyway, Hinata-kun, you’re probably really busy. Say hello to Komaeda-kun for me! Both of you, do your best!”

And the line drops.

Hinata clicks of the phone back into the receiver, hovers above Komaeda who stops his ministrations for the moment, to give the most sickeningly cheesy look he can muster. Komaeda’s spoiling him today, with attention and affection, and it’s a lot.

As embarrassing as it is, he appreciates it. Needs it.

“You’re really killing me, here.”

“Anything for the Ultimate Hope, right?” He leans in, Hinata feels his face flush.

Bumping his forehead forward, strands of Komaeda’s hair falling to the side of his face… he takes Komaeda in his hand, earning a delightful shiver. Komaeda returns the favour, and it’s a room of focussed silence but for the punctuated grunts and shaken breaths. When Komaeda’s breathing heightens, when he starts to shuffle on the desk, lets out a moan and buries himself into Hinata’s neck, he knows Komaeda’s close. If his own breathing is any indication, he was too. Synchronization, of messy movements as Komaeda comes undone before him, wrist going halfway, but more than anything, it’s when Komaeda looks up and smiles-

“Hinata-kun?” Breath haphazard. He’s glowing. 

“Yes?” Eyes half lidded, Hinata reaches out to stroke his cheek

                                                                                          when the door unclicks.

Whizzing around, Komaeda hand comes off of him immediately, but Hinata’s not quick enough to let go before Komaeda’s shuddering into him- hitched breath as he jerks into Hinata’s palm and he can feel the thick, viscous sensation dripping pooling in his hand.

How Komaeda can suddenly be breathing so calmly, nuzzled into him, is beyond him; skilled fingers tucking- forcing- Hinata’s hard, weeping-in-disappointment pre-cum sheened cock into his trousers, before tucking himself in so put-together is beyond his imagination.

The sole zip in the silence is the most saddening sound in the world.

There was absolutely no win, today. Not for Hinata, currently hard and engaged in a staring showdown with the most unimpressed gaze he has ever met in his life. The stars had aligned in the most saddening astrology forecast for him. He’d been doomed from the start.

This was the worst.

At least Komaeda had been able to…  

But Hinata…

There was no happy ending for him here.

It was so unfair…

As his boyfriend steps away from him, dusts at his jeans, runs a hand through his hair with what Hinata knows is a pre-cum stained hand, how he can manage to smile… Komaeda must be wearing his lucky underwear, because Hinata can’t see any of it through his jeans but he knows. He knows, in Komaeda’s shudder, what happened.

“Hello Togami-kun! Ah… how wonderfully unexpected!” He might look clean, but his breath…

A dead giveaway.

And Togami knew.

Togami.

“I’ve just finished with Hinata-kun, so he’s all yours.”

How Komaeda kept composed under Togami’s stone gaze is a talent that apparently evaded the Kamukura project because Hinata felt like he was going under just staring at his desk.

“See you tonight, Hinata-kun!” A cheery call, and with a wink, the door slams.

Togami raises an eyebrow. “Hard work?”

It makes Hinata want to groan, the fact it’s not the hardest thing he has to deal with, unfortunately.