#especially when he meets up with will and the juxtaposition between the silence for him and the frantic searching for will

[midnight-mismanagement]

Fics about Steve being taken to the Upside Down instead of Barb in season 1 always mess me up because they just highlight how tenuous all his connections are. Who is going to miss him? His parents who are on a business trip (and don’t ever seem to be around for whatever reason throughout the show)? His very new girlfriend Nancy? Probably her, but not the same way she missed Barb. His friends, Tommy and Carol? Maybe, maybe not. They were kind of jerks. They would notice but probably not search as frantically. Idk, I’m just having sad thoughts about this cause it makes more sense why Steve is acting more needy with Nancy in Season 2, because he’s left his friends, he’s fought a monster, and he wants for their relationship to work so much but it’s not, and he’s in a vulnerable position with losing his crown and Billy around, and then he is told right to his face that he never really was on the same page as Nancy. It was never working and he was trying to patch up cracks in a dam with glue and bandaids. He was more alone than he thought.

And then he has a new friend in Dustin, his only close friend, and he’s a babysitter, but by season 3 Dustin is gone for camp and the rest of the kids only visit if they want something, and Robin and him don’t really get along, so he’s extra desperate (and going completely against his advice to Dustin in season 2 of ‘not showing you care’) and it’s not working because he’s not honest (because who would want to be around him if they knew the truth) and he can’t build a connection and he doesn’t know what he wants. 

And then he tells Robin after being captured, tortured, and drugged by evil Russians, that this is the most he’s laughed in a long time.

And then she tells him she really likes him when she had only a few hours ago told him he was an asshole and they actually get to be friends.

And she makes sure he gets the job at family video so they can both work together again, and Dustin is around again, and he’s not alone.

Idk I just have a lot of feelings about Steve and friendship, and how lonely he actually was for so long, and how if he had disappeared or died in season 1, no one would have really cared that much. 

[shihalyfie]

The paradox of the relationship between Takeru and Hikari

The issue of the relationship between Takeru and Hikari has been a question of interest since the series first aired, and especially after 02, which prominently depicted them constantly hanging out together and clearly having some kind of relation to each other...and yet, strangely, very rarely having a real heart-to-heart or even talking to each other much at all. The constant juxtapositions of them standing next to each other all of the time in both the series and in external media, combined with the fact they’re so associated with each other in terms of being Adventure returnees and with Digimon partners with similar evolutions, makes one almost mentally geared to associate them with each other, and yet we never really get to hear what they think about each other in the entirety of Adventure or 02′s running.

Part of this is because Takeru and Hikari are the two most “difficult to read” characters in the 02 team -- Hikari because she compulsively suppresses any selfish or negative feeling she has, and Takeru because he covers up his problems with a smile and pretends everything is okay, until it’s not. And, as it turns out, that “gap in communication” exists between the two of them as well; in the web of 02′s relationships, it’s a strange mix between being “comfortable around” each other, and yet not truly knowing each other...

Disclaimer before we continue: With some exceptions related to unambiguous canon depictions, I try to write my meta about relationships between characters in such a way that both shipping readings and non-shipping readings are possible in most cases, and my main reason for this is that I very strongly believe that even if you do ship the pair in question, it’s rather reductive (and not very fun) to stop an analysis at “anyway it’s because they’re in love” or something and not go any further. If you don’t care for Takeru/Hikari as a ship, I hope you can take this analysis as-is, and if you do happen to ship it, I hope you can take my analysis of the gaps in their relationship as “things they would have to consider and overcome for such a relationship to be possible” (i.e. a possible fanfic prompt?) and not me trying to dismiss the ship as inherently possible or impossible.

A second disclaimer: A lot of the important key points below are heavily dependent on how they were presented in the Japanese version of 02, especially in regards to the key 02 episode 13. The American English dub took a very large number of liberties with a lot of the below aspects, so if you are reading this with only that version as a reference, please be aware that there may be significant differences for the sake of avoiding confusion.

Hikari didn’t get to spend much of the series with the rest of the Adventure group, having been a “latecomer”, but once she enters, it’s rather interesting how much Takeru doesn’t socialize much with her. Granted, part of this was because of the circumstances -- there was a lot to be done, and Hikari had a cold relapse not long after they’d entered the Digital World -- but you’d really think Takeru would be interested in at least socializing with someone who’s actually his age, and yet we don’t get any real depiction of doing so outside of discussing important matters. It’s not to say that they never had any kind of conversation offscreen, but by the time we get to the end of Adventure, we have zero scope of what they actually think of each other.

By the time we get to 02, it turns out that this is probably by design.

First of all, we very quickly learn that the two of them did not keep up between Adventure and 02 -- they’re meeting each other again for the first time in a long time, and the last time they did meet was when they were much younger (probably their last meeting being the one depicted in the flashback in 02 episode 27). This is understandable considering that, up until the beginning of 02, Takeru lived in Sangenjaya and not Odaiba, meaning that it wasn’t like they’d have opportunities to meet up much in real life either, but the point is that this is how little contact and how little involvement they’d had in each other’s lives up until this point.

So, once the plot of 02 kicks off and the two of them become active as Chosen Children again, the two of them end up hanging out a lot. So much that Daisuke starts accusing them of having something between them. And the two of them never say anything to really firmly deny him, which of course only makes him more confused and upset, until 02 episode 17, when the concrete connection between them is established to the rest of the 02 team, and it’s properly disclosed that they were part of a whole adventure back in 1999 together.

Takeru knew Hikari before, and she’s still the one he knows the best out of this team, and on Hikari’s part, Takeru understands the nature of “being a Chosen Child” in ways the others don’t, and both of them had that formative experience that the others don’t understand. But 02 is a series that’s not only about relationships, but also about the differing nature of relationships -- it’s true that, having known each other well beforehand and also being all-around decent people, the two of them would certainly have an extra level of investment in each other’s welfare, but...

In 02 episode 13, we learn that as much as Takeru knows Hikari, he doesn’t really know her, and on Hikari’s part, she’s still incapable of communicating the extent of her thoughts so that he can.

The conversation between Takeru and Hikari behind the school in this episode is the first time we get to really see an opportunity for the two of them to bare their actual emotions, but nothing that can be called a "conversation" is had between them. Hikari is still plagued by a compulsive desire to not be a burden to others, including the idea of “burdening” her brother, and, when Takeru finally prompts her on what’s going on, she says nothing that properly clarifies what she’s going through, nothing but a cryptic mention of the “sea”, a statement that she "might be going away”, and a reference to her brother having always protected her beforehand. Takeru takes it as a sign that Hikari’s become overly dependent on Taichi, and snaps at her angrily -- a persistent symptom of him being unable to regulate his emotions properly -- and, unable to handle it, runs off awkwardly, leaving her alone to eventually be taken away. Later in the episode, Takeru reflects that he’d basically just doomed Hikari by his own actions, and with his last words to her having been something awful.

Ultimately, some degree of progress is made in that Hikari realizes that Takeru reaching out to her earlier makes him someone she should be reaching out to for help -- in the end, nobody in the 02 group had yet been able to reach out to her emotionally because of how closed-in she was, and the only people she truly trusted with her feelings up until that point were Taichi and Tailmon. So in other words, Takeru is another person she can finally “trust” with her feelings and welfare. But while Takeru is finally able to connect to her in some sense with this, when the two finally close off the episode and return to the real world, everything ends in complete silence. They do not say a single word to each other. They’re getting by with a sense of “inherent trust”, and their disconnect was resolved with that alone this time, but this problem hasn’t been fully solved yet and will be rearing its ugly head again by the time we get around to the Jogress arcs.

And so the two of them return back to their “comfortable with each other” status quo -- but, again, 02 is a series that portrays relationships in a very multi-layered and multifaceted form, and being comfortable around someone still doesn’t necessarily merit emotional closeness (for instance, Ken was pretty clearly indicated as being “comfortable” and straightforward in terms of working with Miyako in 02 episodes 25 and 33, but there’s no doubt that Daisuke’s the one who was more properly addressing the things he emotionally needed most at the time, which could arguably be said to be exactly why Ken was having a hard time adjusting to him at first). We see them “go off together” to do...completely mundane and practical things, like discussing why they’re still able to come to the Digital World in 02 episode 22, or trying to have their Digimon partners evolve on their own in 02 episode 24 -- they’re not having any kind of emotional heart-to-heart, they’re just there.

When you look at the wider picture, you can see that Hikari and Takeru’s relative comfort around each other at this point is largely because they’re still not comfortable being alone with anyone else yet. So far, they kind of had a bonding (not really bonding) session back in 02 episode 13, and they hadn’t had anything of the sort with anyone else, and they’re still the only people who understand certain things relevant to the adventure in 1999 that the others don’t. They’re both still ridiculously closed-in and guarded, and not trusting anyone with their feelings -- they can’t even trust each other with their feelings -- so they’re getting by on hanging out with each other because it’s either that or go off to be completely alone. As the two most “emotionally isolated” people in this group, there’s a wall between them and the others, and that wall is only slightly thinner between each other -- and you can even imagine that they’re willing to hang out with each other because they won’t be bothering that wall and causing intimidation.

And by the time we roll around to 02 episode 31, we learn that, this whole time, nothing has improved. Takeru sees that something is going on with Hikari, but does and says nothing -- perhaps because he’s not sure what to say, perhaps because he’s afraid of lashing out at her again, whatever it is -- but he can’t and won’t speak to her nor address her feelings.

In the end, the person who does establish that ability to “communicate” with Hikari is not Takeru but Miyako -- an aggressive, in-your-face, overly honest person who gets straight to the point and refuses to hold back, whose messy personality causes Hikari to become assertive in handling her and allows Hikari to finally vocalize one of her truly sensitive feelings, and who’s able to use her immense emotional sensitivity to identify what Hikari needs and break through to her.

But just because Miyako ended up being the person Hikari needs to move on past this issue does not mean Takeru’s role wasn’t important, nor that Miyako coming into Hikari’s life means that all of her relationships are inferior or pointless -- rather, a recurring element of 02′s portrayal of relationships is that everything has a ripple effect, and that “opening up” one person’s heart allows them to open up to others as well (see how Daisuke reaching out to Ken eventually helped him reach out to the others in the group, how even in this very same episode Miyako expresses that this experience helped her understand Ken better as well, how Daisuke’s experiences end up giving him a healthier relationship with the rest of the group, how Iori and Takeru’s Jogress ordeal helps them both become better at reaching out to Ken...). Unlike how they’d both closed off 02 episode 13, Hikari and Takeru end this one by talking -- with Hikari’s newfound confidence from her dealings with Miyako allowing her to more openly speak what she’s thinking with Takeru.

One thing you might notice is that after 02 episode 31, Takeru and Hikari are never seen going off on their own together for the rest of the series -- because, again, their “latching” onto hanging out with each other at the exclusion of anyone else was because they were that isolated from everyone else, but not anymore! Hikari starts to hang out more with Miyako as the two of them become more comfortable hanging out after the events of said episode; after all, Miyako had come to understand the real reason why Hikari “keeps so much inside” and that she needs to actively reach out to her, and Hikari is able to properly trust Miyako with her feelings, meaning that now that Hikari is starting to open up, she doesn’t need to fall back on her “truce” with Takeru to get by. Which ends up leaving Takeru rather alone for the following set of episodes. Well, seemingly alone, but...

...he’s not truly alone, because this is also where Iori realizes that there’s a lot more going on with Takeru and that he needs to make a proactive effort to understand him, and it doesn’t take long for Takeru to realize what Iori’s doing (especially when Yamato tips him off that Iori asked about him in 02 episode 35). Once again, very much unlike Hikari, Iori is straightforward and to-the-point, and is much better at cutting through all of the complicated layers Takeru puts up in an attempt to cover up his emotions.

The rest of the series has them in significantly more emotionally tense situations than before, and while the fact they end up spending the rest of the series with their respective Jogress partners instead of each other is partially sheer pragmatics, it’s also how the two of them start taking a more active role in actually checking on the others’ emotions and communicating with them in regards to their feelings. This is a huge deal -- compare this to back in 02 episode 13 when they were practically the only people willing to have this kind of serious, emotional conversation with each other -- and said attempt at a serious conversation exploded in their faces. (The other time one of them had made an attempt at something vaguely resembling a heart-to-heart during that time was 02 episode 11, which also resulted in Takeru blowing up explosively.) But here they’re capable of communicating clearly and openly and making their positions known in a way that gets through to their respective Jogress partners’ issues, without being stifled by anything.

But, again: just because they don’t “go off together” anymore doesn’t mean they stopped being important people to each other or comfortable around each other -- it’s just that now they’ve stopped wandering off together for the sake of blocking themselves away from others, and no longer trapped in this strange, paradoxical relationship of knowing-but-not-truly-knowing each other they had all the way back in 02 episode 13. The relationship they had back then was something built off of coping mechanisms, and not something you could truly say was healthy, not when their communication was stilted and Takeru had snapped at her so badly -- but both of them learning to open up more and be more honest with their feelings means that they may well have an actual healthy dynamic going forward.

And for all it’s worth, we learn that they’re still on very good terms by the time of Kizuna, getting breakfast together in the opening -- but it’s left ambiguous if their reason for doing so like this was because they still have a penchant for particularly hanging out together, or whether it was just circumstance because they were free to get breakfast after the Digimon incident (they act independently for the rest of the movie). Moreover, their relationships with the others in the 02 group are still going strong, because as per the drama CD, Takeru’s happy to hang out with Daisuke like it’s nothing and actively join in to reach out to Iori (it’s said Daisuke was approaching Iori “first” despite Takeru being there, so both of them were hanging out independently and decided to pick up Iori together), and Hikari comes in with Miyako, expressing a very firm intent to hang out with her for their trip, and ultimately it’s established that them not being with the rest of the group at the time of the movie was sheer scheduling circumstance and not necessarily them going out of their way to operate away from them.

So in other words, whatever relation you can say they have at this point, or their ability to get along, is not based on them falling back on each other as an unhealthy coping mechanism of silence, but one carried out in a more genuine manner.

[fangirlovestuff]

Seasons of Love - Chris Evans x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this idea would not leave my head and i really like it so here i am writing it:) the years in the fic are according to chris’ birth year (1981). also, this is more chris centeric, which i haven’t really done yet and i liked how it came out, i’d love to hear your thoguhts on that if you have any! enjoy<3

Summary: the story of chris and you, told through specific seasons of your life. a fluffy (and a bit angsty) coming of age story.  

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: like one bad word i think, a teeny bit of angst

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Summer, 1998. 

It was a special summer. Chris always knew he'd remember this summer forever. It was the first summer he fell in love.

"Summer is full of possibilities."

You and Chris just finished hiking a trail not too far from home, your water bottles nearly emptied due to the heat, your clothes slightly disheveled. Not too different than any other time you did that together.

The two of you were sitting down under a tree, watching the view, when you spoke that sentence.

"It is," Chris agreed. He turned his head to look at you and continued, "that's kinda awesome."

"Yeah," you said softly, still not looking at him, "but it's also scary as fuck." You chuckled dryly. "It's our last summer. What if we don't make the best of it?"

"It's not 'our last summer'," Chris chuckled, "it's just…"

"Our last summer," you completed with a grin once you saw he was struggling to find the words, finally turning to face him.

"Whatever," he laughed.

"What do you want to do this summer, Chris?"

He frowned slightly. "I'm serious," you continued, "what do you wanna do? Really."

"I don't… know. Same old, I guess?"

"See, that's why summer is so scary!" you turned your whole body to face him now. "It feels like in no time, our entire lives will be just 'same old'. And we'll have endless possibilities, but it will still be just same old! I refuse to admit I'm that boring," you huffed, "at least for now."

"So, what do you want to do this summer?" Chris asked with a smile, amused by your antics.

"Something remarkable. Something I can tell my children about and say, 'when I was your age, I did…' whatever it is we'll do, you know?"

"I guess," he shrugged.

"Okay, so what's something you've always wanted to do but never thought you could?"

He pretended to contemplate it for a second, and before he could open his mouth you cut in, "and don't say something like eat only candy for a week! Something real," you pointed two fingers towards your eyes and then to him, as if to indicate you're watching him.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender, "something real."

A comfortable silence stretched over the two of you as you both thought about it. In truth, you both knew the answer. It was as clear as the summer sky stretching out above you. But in your still teenage minds, it seemed to be as heavy as the noon heat.

When your eyes met his, you laughed softly. "I feel like we were thinking about the same thing, which is kinda stupid honestly. I mean, why wouldn't we ju-"

He swiftly leaned in and planted his lips on yours, the kiss only lasting ever so long before the smiles you both sported got in the way. Your eyes were still closed when you spoke, but you could feel Chris' gaze on you when you started, "yep," you finally opened your eyes and smiled, "definitely thinking about the same thing."

That summer was made of so many forevers Chris truly thought it would never end. Moments that seemed to stretch on in the most beautiful of ways, as if the universe was giving you her blessing, giving you time.

You knew each other so well sometimes Chris thought you were more in his head than he was. And every time he looked into your eyes, every time you laughed, every time he kissed you, every night you spent watching the stars, every day you spent at the beach, or at home, or really wherever, he knew that fear of yours didn't come true.

You two did the most remarkable thing you could've – you've fallen in love.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Autumn, 2000. 

Autumn in LA was different than it was back home.

At home, his mom would probably be stocking up on candy for Halloween, and his siblings would be playing around with their dog in the fallen leaves, and he'd be forced to take a jacket with him even if it wasn't even that cold outside because people cared about him.

Not that in LA they entirely didn't, but it wasn't the same. Mostly because you weren't there.  

You two talked a big game, sure, always making plans to meet soon. But with the both of you being so far apart, and being so busy pursuing your dreams, it never came true.

And when it finally did, after a while, it wasn't like it was that great either.

"I don't… I don't think we… this-" you fumbled over your words and sighed. "I don't want to hold you back."

"I know. I don't want to hold you back either," he sighed, rubbing your arm in a soothing manner.

You were laying on the couch, his arm around you, pulling you close, and really, it was a weird position to be having this conversation in, but at the same time, he kind of couldn't imagine it happening differently.

He understood what you were trying to say. He thought you were right. But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt to hear it.

"I just… I don't think long distance works that well with us," you continued, and then sighed again. "Ugh, this is terrible."

"it kinda is," he chuckled quietly, and you slapped his chest lightly in annoyance. "You know I understand, right?" he said, more serious this time.

"I know. You know I don't really want to do this, right?"

"I know. But I know why you are."

"Good," you said softly. "My flight leaves tomorrow at 8, so we probably won't see each other in the morning."

"Okay," he replied, simply wrapping his arm tighter around you.

He didn't know if he dreamt it, but the next morning, in the early hours before the sun rose, you came into his room and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

"See you later," you softly whispered, and a few minutes later, the faint sound of the apartment door shutting reached his ears.

Fall at home was a fun time. Chris loved Halloween, loved watching the beautiful leaves fall, the world around him preparing for a winter's slumber. The air was crisp, the heat, on days when it appeared, wasn't as heavy, and the cold not that harsh. It was beautifully balanced.  

Out here though, he started seeing fall not from an outside perspective, but, in a way, from a tree's perspective.

The beautiful leaves fell, and he couldn't reach them again. He was left to stand bare against the oncoming winter cold, a sight that to an outsider would seem impressive, a feat of the majestic strength only nature can possess.

To Chris, it just seemed lonely.

He knew it was a natural process, drifting apart. Just like the leaves falling, it was somewhat inevitable, wasn't it? high school sweethearts were too lucky to be true. But that didn't stop a small but powerful part of him to hope. A hope that didn't come true, and now, where did that leave him?

If autumn at home was balanced, this autumn was anything but. It was almost as if he'd lost an organ, a limb. He couldn't balance the way he did before, he'd have to find a new way, but for now, he just existed in the unbalanced. It consumed his mind, what could he have done differently? Could he have stopped this?

Of course, these questions can't really be answered. Not by him or anyone else. So, he'd grow that limb back. Spring would come, and the leaves and flowers would blossom again.

But that fall, you two fell apart. And in those moments, the bareness of winter seemed insufferable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Winter, 2006. 

Winters always seemed long to Chris.

As a kid, it was because he couldn't really play outside as much, his mother fearing he'd catch a cold. So, he was sentenced to long days inside, which were often very nice honestly, hot cocoa and warm blankets never in short supply. But kids sometimes can't help but want what they can't have, can’t they?

Well, that notion clearly never left Chris, even if he's not a kid anymore.

Winters were always long, but without you, they seemed longer than ever.

You talked on occasion. You come from the same relatively small town, so losing contact wasn't truly an option, especially because you used to be so close. People would always joke about you being a package deal, hanging out together so much it became second nature.

If Chris became too bored in his own house, or just plain tired of his siblings, it was the obvious thing to go to your house, and vice versa. Now, that refuge wasn't an option anymore.

At first, it was noticeable, like a gaping wound that wouldn't close that he couldn't help running his finger over, checking if maybe it healed already. Now, it was only a dull reminder of what used to be.

It's not like Chris didn't date. He did. And from what he heard (again, small town, friends from childhood. People always filled him up on what you were doing, even when he didn't ask.) you were dating too.

He really had no right to say that it bothered him.

You came up in his mind less and less, as time went on. But winters, being gray, and void of sun, full of storms, were always more introspective. That one especially, no one special really being in his life. Not that it wasn't fun, but he missed home, being grounded, happy. He was happy, in a way, just not the way he was used to.

It was full of contradictions, his mind struggling to make sense of his entangled feelings. You weren't there, and it hurt, but really it was so long since you've been there, and there's no one else at the moment, so was he just missing you or did he just miss loving someone the way he loves y- loved you?

The clean snow a perfect juxtaposition to his clouded mind, he decided to take a walk.

The streets were bustling as always, everyone walking around with a purpose, a destination in mind, which allowed Chris to slip between the crowds, unnoticed. He went to a coffee shop, got something hot to busy his hands with, and continued his aimless journey.

He ended up at a park, sitting down on a cold bench. He took a sip from his cup, wincing slightly at his still hot beverage, before sighing, closing his eyes for a split second before opening them again at the vibration of his phone.

Pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jacket, he held the cup carefully in his other hand as he opened the message.

Think of the devil. Although, you were anything but.

How are you?

Before he could type up an answer, his phone buzzed with another message.

I'll be in town in a week, thought we could maybe get a coffee, catch up. If you want.

He chuckled at the wording. Not a question, but a statement. Well, maybe there was some type of question there, between the lines, but to him, the answer was just as clear as the one to your question many summers ago.

Sure. When are you coming in?

Maybe, spring will be here closer than he thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spring, 2015. 

Spring was the season of rebirth, the blossoms thriving once more, the weather warmer by the day.

You once told Chris spring was your favorite season.

"Really?" he asked, turning towards you, "why?"

"It's a rewarding season. It's like… for the entirety of winter, the trees were standing bare, the animals were confined to their lairs, more or less. And now, they've made it to see the beauty, the profusion. The next year, they do it all again, of course, but spring will always be there to show them it was worth it. Plus, the weather warms up, but not too much, which is a blessing. Especially to your sweaters," you joked, referring to the countless ones you'd pretty much stolen.

But Chris knew what you meant. The blossoms of happiness were spreading out across his life these days. Not everything was perfect, of course, but it was as near perfect as it could be.

"So, what do you wanna do for your birthday?" you asked next, surprising him with the sudden change of topic.

"Uh, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it," he shrugged. "but there's a while yet. Why, you had anything in mind?"

"Not really," you said, "that's why I asked. Anyways, think about it, will you?" you smiled and patted his shoulder affectionately before getting up, probably to put your empty cup in the sink.

He didn't know the answer to that. He had everything he could want and more.

There was something inexplicably comforting about spring. As a kid, springs always seemed like endings to Chris. The end of the school year, the end of a long winter. Only as he grew older he realized that springs are also wonderful beginnings. It was a fresh start, but also respected the past. It seemed to value the experiences of the past, yet prompting you to open a new page, giving the opportunity to start again.

Chris took that opportunity with both of his hands, especially when it came to you. Sure, every spring there would come the time of his birthday, but that was minor. Really, he celebrated you, all year but in spring especially.

Spring was the season of going to concerts together, you laughing at Chris as he's doing his best not to get recognized in his cheesy disguise of sunglasses and a hat. It's the season of going on spontaneous picnics because, "look how beautiful it is outside, Chris!", and he can't tell you no about anything. It's the season of taking Dodger out for long, long hikes, so when he comes home he falls right asleep, usually in your lap. It's the season of going out in the afternoon and it's warm, but by the time you come back it's night and it gets chilly, so Chris gives you his jacket, teasing you about how you always forget your own.

It's the season of preparing for summer as well, going through the cabinets and moving the winter clothes to the back and the summer clothes to the front. It's the season of finally using the pool again, and inviting his nephews and nieces over as well, and watching you splash around with them, carefully of course. It's the season of remembering that first summer together, and how far you've come since, together and individually.

Growing up was never easy. Growing up together was insufferable sometimes. But you fought, and you grew, and you talked things out. Spring, in a way, resembled the fact that you could overcome anything. Even after the harshest winter comes spring in all of its glory, blossom and vibrant colors.

And so, you two set out for one more great spring, and everything that will come after it. Summer was full of possibilities, but together, these possibilities didn't seem all that scary anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

please tell me your thoughts<3 and stay hydrated besties!! btw, i opened a taglist for only chris & his characters fics so tell me if you’d like to join it / move taglists or really whatever you want to tell me i love talking to people:))

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12 @starlightcrystalline @procrastinatingsapphictrash

Chris & co. taglist: @patzammit 

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

A/N: Sihtric x OC pairing. This story takes place during the end of Season 4, when Sihtric is peak gorgeous masculinity. If you want to read the prequel one-shot, here it is

Warnings: Implied past sexual trauma and forced uncomfortable interaction.

Word count: 1,591

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Cwen opened the door to a Mercian soldier. She put on her best innocent expression and tried to be contrite and welcoming.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“We’re here for the child. Where is lady Ealfwin?”

“She is not here,” Cwen says with a convincing look of shock on her face. “She was already collected to be returned to her mother in Aylesbury.”

Stiorra approaches to stand beside Cwen.

“Collected? By who?” The soldier barked harshly. Stiorra puts a steadying hand onto Cwen’s back.

“I believe he said his name was Uhtred.”

The soldier lets out an exasperated sigh. Stepping down off his horse, he asks “You won’t mind that we search the estate?” It was not a question.

“Not at all,” answers Stiorra.

“Yes, we are just maintaining the estate in our Lady Aethelflaed’s absence now that Ealfwin has returned home,” Cwen adds.

The two women step aside to allow the soldier and another of his men enter the gate.

Stiorra keeps an eye and lends a helping hand to the soldier in charge on the main level. At the same time, Cwen climbs the stairs to follow the second man to the children’s bedrooms.

Everyone had been in such a flurry to hide. Cwen was unsure if their ruse would work. Had the beds been made or the children’s toys been left out? Was there any sign that more than herself and Stiorra were residing at the villa? That would be difficult to explain to the Mercian soldier she trailed behind.

She pauses to observe his search from the doorway. She has to restrain herself from breathing a sigh of relief at the state of the upstairs rooms. There was nothing to give them away.

Ealfwin had even remembered to bring her birds and their cage with her to hide.

“Is there anywhere else you would like to look? I can show you...”

But the soldier cut her off mid-sentence.

“That will not be necessary,” the soldier replies while stalking closer to Cwen who nervously backs into the corner near the door.

“What I would like you to help me with,” he said, “is explaining why two women remain here, alone, and did not choose to stay with their charge? Is that something you would like to help me understand?” he asks while bringing his hand up to lean on the wall behind Cwen.

There was the hole in their story. Why would they have let the child under their care be taken away without them going along as well?

Cwen could feel the man’s breath and smell the stink of a day's ride on him.

“Maybe, two ladies alone need someone else here to protect them.” The soldier paused here bringing his face within inches of Cwen’s down turned face. Her hands were wringing her apron and she almost brought them up to push against the closeness of the man.

Underneath the bed, supported with his arms and legs braced on the frame, Sihtric strained against keeping his position hidden and rushing to stop whatever unseen activity he was hearing.

“We are able to defend ourselves just fine, thank you.” He heard Cwen speak.

Her voice was quiet and he could hear her nerves which meant the soldier could as well. It made his teeth clench hard around the knife he held in his mouth.

The soldier spoke again, “Somehow, lady, I do not believe..”

But his words were broken off by his commander’s shout from downstairs.

“They’re not here. Let’s ride, Odbert!”

The soldier, Odbert, stepped back from Cwen and stalked past her out the door and back down the staircase.

Cwen took a moment to gather herself, eyes closed. She heard movement and knew it would be one of Uhtred’s men emerging from hiding. With a shaky breath, she opened her eyes.

Sihtric was standing several feet away from her, regarding her. Reading her in his quiet way. Cwen met his eyes and knew his question there.

“I am fine, Sihtric.”

He did not move towards her or question her further. He shifted his grip on his knife, now in his hand.

“I am fine,” Cwen speaks with a steadier voice. “It is not the first time a man has spoken to me in such a way.” And with that she turns her head to break his stare.

Those eyes that seemed more and more to watch her and know her without needing to speak.

But he did speak next. “And more than speak to you?” He questioned.

It was gentle and quiet. His eyes never left Cwen. Always observing and missing nothing. Especially where she had become concerned.

Cwen glanced back to meet his eyes before lowering them again and taking a steadying breath.

Then for the second time in that room, the pregnant silence was broken by a shout.

“Stiorra!” It was Uhtred.

Cwen took this opportunity to break from the room. She did not go down the front staircase and instead headed towards the back rooms and the entrance of the rear of the estate.

She paused outside at the corner of the building gazing into the field where she knew the children were hiding. It was such a startling juxtaposition that she stopped in her tracks. The feelings deep in her gut of anxiety, pain, fear. All brought about in that upstairs room. Next to the field, spotted with wildflowers and that had been home to so much peace and joy in the last few weeks. It still stood gentle but firm in all that splendor.

Upstairs, Sihtric visibly relaxs his jaw and rolls his shoulders back. He knew what had just transpired between them opened a new chamber in his heart for Cwen. He had been so close to giving up their charade and bringing that man to meet death for breathing a single word of mistreatment against her.

He sheathed his knife in its scabbard on the back of his belt and took a moment to breath. The voice of Stiorra, so proud of their ruse, drifted upstairs and Sihtric knew it was not the time to brood on his feelings.

Uhtred would bring news and there would be action. Of one kind or another. He walks out of the room and leaps over the railing landing before his lord.

“Where are the children?”

The group followed Finan outside to the field. There Cwen stands, a few feet from the house gazing at the field. Sihtric watches from behind the group as her shoulders visibly relax when the children emerge from the field. Ealfwin runs to her and Cwen scoops the young girl into her arms, turning and bringing them to meet Uhtred and the rest in the yard.

Sihtric tears his gaze from her to listen to his lord. But not before Cwen meets his eyes for a moment. She is trying to show him she is alright. And he knows she is. In this moment at least. He sees her strength. It is the moments when she may not be alright that he yearns to see. The realization startles him. But now is not the time for it. Now they must leave with haste. And so he places the thought aside.

There is a flurry of activity. Packing and discussion while moving. The men are used to such a life of pauses then action. The children and Cwen adapt quickly with the woman speaking clear and firm directions to Ealfwin and Aethelstan to gather their belongings and make to ride.

As they roll out of the gates, Sihtric glances behind to see Cwen astride her mare speaking to the children at the back of the cart. Giving them reassurance that these men will protect and guide them. That Ealfwin’s mother will meet them on the road.

Sihtric smiles at her composer, turns around, and follows his lord toward another unknown fate.

To be continued...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream

Please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list for this story or for all my work.

[mercurygray]

For the DVD commentary thing…I’m twisting the rules a bit because I’m terribly behind 🙈 Either (or both!) any and all rambling/facts/insight you want to do on the scene in the bar portraying Joan and Harry and/or the scene on the train portraying Joan and Nix. The juxtaposition between the two friendships and then obviously the overall juxtaposition between Joan x Dick and Joan x Anyone Who Is Not Dick is always fun to see!

Aw, this is a GREAT question. I knew when I started I needed to have at least ONE really strong male/female friendship in the fic, and while a couple of others have popped up (Johnny and Marj, Bill and Doris) Harry and Joan is my favorite, and Lewis and Joan happened when I wasn't looking.

When we first meet Harry, and the newly revealed Joan, it's in the officers club - and I talked about why I did that slow reveal in another post, here.

Harry is an important character here - he provides valuable insight into a person that Dick and Lewis really haven't met yet, and he vouches for Joan as being someone who is worthy of their time and respect. He serves as the bridge between the person she was to them before and the person she is now.

We learn later in the scene that Harry was like all of them once - that he didn't think she'd be worth much, and he was proved wrong. Even though they're very different and come from different backgrounds, they bond over the shared experience of being on the outside, Harry for reasons of class and Joan because of her gender.

So this relationship is one of mutual respect, and their vibe is very much 'I have your back, because I know you have mine.' (I'm realizing this helps the Bloody Gulch scene work later in the story - of course Joan would run out to support Harry.)

Joan and Lewis, on the other hand, become friends because they do share a background - Joan has known men like Lewis her whole life, and Lewis women like Joan. So when he throws a barb at her, and she reacts with a barb in kind, he knows he's playing with an equal - and that opens up a lot of space for him. They play with those assumptions throughout their relationship, and that shared background allows them a common set of language, experiences, and references to use and abuse. Lewis doesn't feel like he ever has to explain himself to Joan.

And there is this undercurrent of 'Yeah, so I do find you attractive' but with a side of 'and I know it will go nowhere, so I just keep making jokes about it.'

After you asked this question, I realized something:

Joan is always talkative with Harry and Lew. She's well spoken, she's funny - with Lewis she's even outright flirtatious. She knows how she stands with both of them and what they want and expect of her, so she feels free to talk. But when she has a scene with Dick, especially early in the story, she's usually silent, or she doesn't speak directly to him.

It's something that Marj calls her out on in chapter 18 - just talk to him already! And it's something that she wants to do - I think their first actual conversation is in chapter 19, and she makes this comment to herself that she finds herself wanting to fill up all his silences.

Because Dick Winters plays his cards real close to the chest, right? And she's not sure where exactly they are - she was his subordinate for a while, and now she's his equal. It's not really until the dance in Chapter 20 that Dick gets some questions answered and Joan gets a chance to see a different guy, and possibly someone who could, in time, see her as more than a coworker.

[evilzoldyck]

bro i love your phinks yandere fic,, i want more but im so bad at making up scenarios hh

it’s the high school setting isn’t it??? I am honestly so weak for that sort of au especially when it comes to the character Phinks. Lucky for you I wanted to write more of him!

Sitting meekly at the edge of Phinks’ bed your eyes wandered around his rather large and fairly neat room, a trait that you could not have expected from him. There was a few weights lying around the corner of the room along with some game consoles strewn carelessly on the floor and boxing gloves haphazardly thrown on his desk, other than that, his bedroom was kept pretty plain and devoid of any personal sentiments or style. 

This was the first time that you ever been into his domain and despite Phinks currently being occupied with calling back one of his friend for the time being, you could not find it in yourself to relax or mask your despondency of your current situation. Instead, you sat silently and found solace in playing with the edge of your sleeves to pass the time, hoping he would call the “date” short for today. 

Unbeknownst to you if you had looked up more slightly you would’ve noticed his eyes boring into your frame with a cold attentive sideways glare. Phinks ended the call as soon as the matters were settled and continued to observe you with a light frown on his lips as you gave no reaction now that you had his full, undivided attention. 

He hated it when your mind scattered elsewhere, especially when he was alone with you. The fact that he wasn’t the subject of your thoughts in your mind aggravated him to no end, makes him want to tie you up and fuck you silly until you couldn’t think of nothing else but him. 

“I’ll be heading off with some of the boys the next few days,” he nonchalantly announced as he sat down to lean back on his chair, acutely awaiting your behaviour. 

You gave a small hum at his statement, not even bothering to look up at him in the process to acknowledge him, creating a psychological distance between the two of you. Phinks gritted his teeth in agitation at your lack of response. Despite his previous futile efforts he tried once more to get across to you.

“I won’t be able to see you.” Again, the same hum of reply that sent him to grip the armrest in frustration. There is a barrier you were trying to form with him and you’d be stupid if you didn’t know that he could sense your dampened spirits ever since he called you over. Whatever it was, he did not enjoy this attitude coming from you and had far too much pride to directly ask you what’s wrong.

Phinks fluttered his eyes closed for a moment and ran his fingers through his slicked back hair, gathering himself together as to not do anything he might regret in the future. 

“You know what.” He suddenly stood up and stalked predatorily towards you. “Suck my dick.” 

You immediately recoiled back with a sharp whine as soon as he laid his large hands behind your back to pull you close into his crotch. Using the both of your hands to seperate and create some space between your face and his hips, you had finally looked up to meet his face for the first time during your tense interaction this evening. 

“You don’t want to talk so at least use those lips for something else,” he snapped  as his eyes looked down at you in a demeaning fashion, demanding for you to finally say something. For a moment your mouth gaped for a second before closing it back in haste as you looked back down to the floor from the intensity of his gaze.

Phinks growled in annoyance as he gripped your cheeks with one hand to forcefully lift your head up to make eye contact, “I know you’re upset so just fucking talk to me already.” 

It took all the courage for you to not start summoning tears into your eyes, Phinks had seen you cry too much times already and if he knew the reason behind it you might damage your pride even more than it was before. 

“It’s my birthday,” you softly replied as he let go of your cheeks once you finally answered. The stunned silence from him was a massive giveaway that he clearly didn’t know. You forlornly slumped your shoulders down wishing that you were anywhere else but here.

“You’re so stupid,” he flicked your forehead suddenly. “Is this what it was all about? Your birthday? Of course I knew.” You could tell that he was bluffing by the way he defensively crossed his arms and avoided your eyes. 

“You did?” You couldn’t help but ask curiously.

Phinks scoffed absentmindedly at your doubts despite being fully aware that the both of you knew that he didn’t knew the date of your birthday until now. Despite this, you knew he would go to great lengths to prove his innocence for he would not allow his ego to suffer just the slightest single dent or injure to incur. 

“Yeah,” he answered curtly when an epiphany struck him abruptly, “I even got you a present, wait here.”

Now that was suddenly a surprise for you. Phinks was definitely not the type to give out gifts for literally anyone, so when you watched him disappear from the hallway to retrieve the present you were more amused and puzzled than you were excited. Nevertheless, you stayed and waited patiently as you anticipated for his return. 

“Here.” Phinks handed you a mail package that appeared as if it was just delivered this morning and comfortably situated himself close beside you. He wore the biggest grin on his face and appeared as if he was immensely proud of himself. 

Not wanting to prolong this any longer you began to open the package only for it reveal a smaller rectangular one, except this time it had a brand name on top of the lid that you did not recognise with a beautiful glossy finish in juxtaposition with the matte box. Discarding the previous parcel, you carefully lifted the top to see a sheer, white lingerie intricately laid on top of a silk cover. 

You were left utterly speechless while Phinks looked smugly down at the beautiful pair of lace. “What do you think?”

What did you think? You didn’t know what to think, this was the first time you had ever been gifted such a promiscuous present before. However you knew you had no other choice but to gratefully accept it, and in a new deranged optimistic perspective, it was rather mildly pleasing to know that he thought of you.

You looked back at his satisfied face as you thanked him with a small earnest smile. Phinks suddenly moved closer until he was practically hovering his face over yours before nodding his head towards the direction of the bathroom. “Try it on,” he murmured huskily. “I want to see you how you look in it.” 

Your stomach dropped down to the floor at his imposing request. “Right now?” You whispered out, eyes widening at the suggestion, you knew all too well where this was going to go and honestly you would rather give it to him without a personal private show from you. Phinks said nothing in response and merely kept the smirk playing on his lips as you pursed yours to prevent a dejected sigh from coming out. 

As you stood up to change, you felt a quick slap to your ass. Turning around in shock Phinks feigned innocence and sweetly said, “happy birthday.”

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part three: falling fears

part one: falling flowers || part two: falling freedom

5k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >> 

“This is why I don’t visit.”

Arden’s voice brought Calum back to the moment. They sat in his car, parked just off from a coffee shop he and Ashton frequented for paparazzi walks. Calum turned to look at her; she kept her eyes straight ahead, staring at the two paparazzi that lingered on the sidewalk, ready and waiting to snap some photos for press. Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat. She’d just given him an answer to a question that drifted through his thoughts from time to time; unprompted and said with annoyance evident in her tone. She was stoic, a facade of calm covering her features as she lapsed into silence, offering no further explanation to her statement.

“You don’t visit Michael because of paparazzi?” Calum asked, trying to make sense of her reasoning.

“Among other reasons,” she said and turned to him. “There’s no privacy out here. It’s like they’re everywhere.”

Calum tapped his fingers on the wheel, still gripping it, even still buckled in although they parked minutes ago. Neither seemed in a rush to live their first contractual agreement. He contemplated her words and thought how best to respond. He understood where she was coming from, especially when cameras were ready to capture their every move lingering just in front of them. But there was more to it than that; a different side she didn’t know and hadn’t seen.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked and released his grip on the wheel, hand rubbing at his jaw then settling on his lap as she nodded; eyes interested and waiting. “Paparazzi rarely ever find us. It’s almost always set up. Called in and tipped off. Prearranged, just like this. They don’t get to have all of us. Not all of the time.”

Arden pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side, deep in thought at the shared secret. Calum waited with bated breath to know her thoughts. To see if she understood the implications he was trying to lay before her.

“I guess that’s true,” she said but then shook her head, deciding against it. “Except, if it isn’t paparazzi then its fans and if it isn’t fans then it’s management and social media and interviews and social climbers and everything is so invasive. Even when it’s all constructed and contrived. There’s always someone or something that’s in your face, using your name, controlling your life.”

Calum didn’t have a response for that. He frowned. Her words settled under his skin and spun his thoughts, bringing them to places he hardly ever ventured to. He had always done his best to live authentically past the glistening temptations of fame and the control that management hung over his head and heart. She was right in some aspects. But he didn’t want her to go into this situation feeling like she was already losing herself before even starting the game. He wanted to redefine it all; play by their own rules and stay themselves in the face of something fake. He blew out a breath and unbuckled his seat but Arden made no move to do the same. Her eyes just flitted up and down Calum, still waiting for his response to her truth.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he finally replied, the seatbelt sliding up and away from him, his hand reaching for the door handle.

“I’m pretty sure we just learned the hard way it is exactly that way.”

Calum watched her right hand settle on her left to twist the fake engagement ring around. It was a new nervous habit and a pointed reminder that her words were valid and they were living under a state of control. Her nose twitched and a sigh escaped her lips and for just a second Calum allowed himself to remember the sweetness he knew they tasted of. They hadn’t talked about that yet, or the fact they woke in the same bed with only underclothes on and no memories to speak of how they ended up that way. There was so much to contend with already it didn’t feel right to arouse new troubles and complications. Calum didn’t know how to get her out of the car but he could see the paparazzi were getting bored waiting; they’d stick around for the money shot of the ring, being the first to capture it would be considered an accomplishment in their world. But the longer they waited the worse the shots would be, the more invasive and irritated they’d get.

“Then let’s not let them have all of us,” Calum suggested and slipped her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. “Show the ring, give them that much. Let’s keep whatever’s real for just the two of us.”

That was the closest Calum had come to admitting there might be something more than a fake engagement in his thoughts. That only two nights ago he had felt like he was falling in ways he probably shouldn’t. That one friendly date and a fleeting kiss had worked their ways into his mind in unrelenting ways. He couldn’t tell her that, not when he wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, and not when they were supposed to be pretending. Not when he didn’t know where she was; if she was okay or not as okay. He could ask her but her ability to evade time and questions and circumstances was daunting. He caught the slight smile she gave him and although her eyes were blocked by the dark lenses of the sunglasses he could imagine they were softening. That the inhibitions she had might be calmed by his efforts.

She finally reached for her door handle and Calum took it as a statement of being ready to face it all. They exited the car and Calum didn’t just reach his hand out for hers this time; not like he did at the wedding. He slung an arm over her shoulders, pulled her close and kept her as hidden from the cameras as he could manage. Her hand came up to hold his, showing off the diamond in the afternoon sun. They wanted the ring, and they could have it. But they couldn’t have her.

They heard the snaps of the cameras, the distant calls of the paparazzi making mild remarks about their sudden engagement. They asked a few probing questions they knew they wouldn’t get answers to. Why haven’t we seen you together before? How long has this been going on? What does Michael think of it? Those were questions they would have to answer eventually. But conversing with paparazzi was never a good idea. Management would likely have them answered in a controlled environment and in any case he didn’t have the answers they wanted. Somehow, answering with it was a drunken accident didn’t seem like it would go over well in any sense. Calum could see the two men on the sidewalk, spared them one glance for a good face shot and tried to drown them and any remarks out as they entered the coffee house. Arden stayed tucked into his side and he hoped the cameras hadn’t gotten much of her face and that she was able to let their words fall away from her.

The line to order was long but it gave them a chance to step away from the cameras and find some semblance of privacy. Venetian blinds covered the windows to keep outside eyes from peering into the establishment. Even though they were out of the way of cameras Calum kept his arm around Arden and she kept herself glued to his side. They moved along slowly and Calum looked down at her and maybe she could feel his gaze and that’s why she looked up, or maybe she was looking up to find him just as he had looked down to find her. She was blushing and biting her lip.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” she whispered, going on tiptoes to better whisper in his ear. To a passerby it might have come off as affectionate. To Calum, with the way her lips nearly brushed his cheek again, it felt intimate. “It’s like… a game.”

He smirked but also felt a pull of remorse in his chest. He was glad it wasn’t so bad for her; it possibly even being in the okay category. But how quickly she was suckered into the game and picked up on it was disheartening. He refused to let them be pawns in a wider scheme more than was necessary. He had fleeting thoughts of shaking the groundwork of public relation stunts. He wanted to play exclusively by their rules while staying within the lines of the contract and meeting all the obligations. When listening ears were no longer around he’d mention it; among other things that needed to be brought up.

“We don’t have to play it their way, we can play it our way,” he suggested in an equally as soft whisper, pretending he was just placing a kiss on her temple.

All of these new forms of contact were coming quickly and winding Calum. His arm around her, hands held, lips brushing soft skin leaving him a bit breathless. The juxtaposition between such intimate embraces coming so quickly and two nights ago of such languid movements guiding them through uncertain territories was astounding. Arden nodded and tipped her sunglasses down, questioning him with an inquisitive look in her eyes. Calum didn’t have time to answer as the line moved along and they were suddenly at the front placing their orders.

With drinks in hand and the exit ahead of them Calum slowed his pace and brought Arden back into his side, knowing the paparazzi would be waiting outside for more. He knew damn well what they had given them so far was enough for a headline; something about the ring being in bold. But the photos were less than expected with her hidden face and his general lack of interest and enthusiasm. The pictures would likely zero in on the ring to catch interest and garner clicks. The walk back to the car came with a bit more vigor from the paparazzi as they realized the lackluster photos they got on the way in. They said things to try and rile Calum up, to get reactions and turn faces. But they remained calm and collected, trying not to make the obligatory event a spectacle. Calum was content to keep it that way until a fear struck through him and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“We need to give them something more,” he blurted out in a hushed tone and it was enough to have Arden pulling away from his hold. “They’ll spin this into something bad.” And they’ll make it your fault sat on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t dare say that.

He could already see the photos of his indifference—towards the paparazzi—being pegged as indifference to Arden. And she’d be dubbed as clingy for sticking to his side though that had been of Calum’s doing. They never showed the whole story, they rarely ever knew the whole story, much more content to run wild with wrong perceptions and lies veiled by half truths. Arden seemed to pick up on what he was implying and gave a small nod to show she was okay with whatever needed to be done. Calum didn’t want to give them too much, still wanting the power in their hands, determined to afford Arden at least a small margin of privacy. Her back was to the cameras when Calum gazed down at her, trying to convey love and admiration, and maybe not finding it all that hard to be convincing, as one snapped more photos and the other began filming the exchange. He pushed hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. Fingertips tingled at the contact.

In a quick and bold movement Calum tilted her face up, pressed his lips to her forehead and nearly forgot about the cameras on them. Playing and pretending was much easier than the nerves at the meeting predicted it would be. It almost felt real. If it weren’t for the incessant clicks of the camera and the blinding flashes he was met with when his eyes opened, he may have been able to convince himself it was just for them. That it was another moment where he could feel the wind at his back and know he was falling. He put another kiss to her cheek and was tempted to give her another real kiss, one more brief moment of sugar sweet bliss, but stole himself and backed away from that want.

“That should be enough,” he whispered and wished dark lenses didn’t guard her eyes. He would bet they would be glistening in the sunlight.

He took her back into his side and finished the walk to the car, helped her into the passenger seat and got himself behind the wheel. An eerie trepidation made way through him. He wondered if it would be enough. Surely, they would use the photos and video of the kisses. Rarely did he show affection in public with past girlfriends. The media would eat it up. The fans would react. Management would be satisfied and unable to turn words and views against her; for now. A new thought struck him, one born of the need to have something other than pretending between them. One that might afford them a chance to speak of all those things that felt unmentionable.

“You wanna go somewhere? Do something real?” He asked as he turned the key in the ignition and the paparazzi began to back off, noting it was time to pack up and head home.

“What did you have in mind?” Arden asked as she pulled her sunglasses up to rest on her head and Calum was met with sparkling and curious eyes.

“Can show you where I go when I wanna get away from everything,” he offered, he had never shared this place with anyone. It was a tiny solace and getaway; a secret offering of peace and quiet. He was inclined to share it with her, to show the pieces of himself that no one else was allowed.

“If all of this is going to last a year I think I’ll need a place like that.”

Calum lost his breath for just a moment at that statement. He had grappled with most of the arrangement in the moment and that night as he laid awake in bed. A year of publicity for him seemed minimal. He was used to the ebb and flow of press and stunts. Arden wasn’t. It was a sudden realization that she would have to put the rest of her life on pause for this. She wouldn’t be able to keep chasing her wanderlust and travel, he wasn’t sure where she stood with a job and education. But those would likely take a backseat. He asked her to do this and now he wasn’t sure if he was okay with all of those stipulations. And for a moment he wondered where she would stay, thought that maybe it should be with him to make things easier until he remembered Michael and the fact he would never be okay with it.

“We can share it,” Calum offered and hoped she would be able to find some semblance of peace and solace too.

“I’d hope my fiancé would share with me,” she joked with a touch of a smirk on her lips and a wave of her hand to flash her ring.

Calum laughed, feeling just a bit of the pressure for her life altering changes lifting from his chest. Making light of it felt good. Mocking it made it even faker than it already was. There was truth in jest but the facade of those truths made words easier and realities a bit less to handle. They went back and forth as he peeled out of the parking spot and headed for privacy.

“So you’ll take my last name when we get married, right?” He asked around a grin that hurt his cheeks.

They were pretending and joking and making each other feel better.

“Oh I don’t know, isn’t that a little old fashioned?” Arden said with a tilt of her head. “And it would ruin my perfect initials.”

Arden Brooke Clifford. Miss ABC. Calum shook his head through laughter as memories flooded his mind. He had forgotten of the times he teased her for it, melodies rolling off his tongue to get a rise out of her. He didn’t know how he could forget and he didn’t know why she reminded him; clearly, he was going to use that in the future. For now he just smiled and turned into his piece of heaven on earth. It wasn’t much by any means but he had a feeling Arden might appreciate it anyway. One of few reasons he never shared it was because he didn’t think anyone would make much of it. But with Arden’s outlook on all that LA was and entailed he knew her perspective would be different than people from his past. It wouldn’t be much compared to the places she’d travelled and everything she had experienced in those adventures but he knew it could hold its own—especially when she was seeking something real.

A run down diner with the best food Calum could find sat before them. He found it charming with its slightly crooked windows and doors that said push though they needed to be pulled. He could usually find a seat within the always nearly empty establishment. He typically picked one in the back where windows left the city behind him. He couldn’t hear past brick walls and the din of radio noise with patches of static. It helped drown out everything and bring him back to a time when a place like this was all he could afford; chump change in his pocket and notebooks with dreams written in lyrics in his hands. Arden was smiling fondly in the passenger seat and that told Calum his hunch was right.

This time she didn’t hesitate to get out of the car and Calum had to race to keep up with her. She made her way to the very last booth at the back and slid into the seat that viewed the wall and not the windows on the opposite side. It was exactly where Calum sat his first time stumbling into the diner. He settled for the other side where the window was in his line of sight and found it to not be so bad when Arden was backlit by a starting sunset. Afternoon had come and gone quickly and evening replaced it in soft glows. Their coffee was left behind in the car and menus placated their now realized hunger.

“I like it here,” Arden said after the waiter took their orders. “Reminds me of my first semester in university.”

Calum loved to learn more about her in way of her offhanded comments. He was learning the less he asked the more he could find out. It was as if the pieces of her puzzle fell together on their own. It was more experience and less questions that prompted her to share. He recalled she was dating Brett, the groom from the wedding, during that time. A silent jealousy simmered under the surface.

“You and Brett went to places like this a lot?” He asked and knew it was selfish that his place—now their place—could feel like it might be tainted by the thought of it. But he was such a Brett and it was hard not to hate the guy, especially when finding out he’d dumped Arden. Typical Brett behavior.

Her eyes shot up at the question and she shrank back in her seat as she shook her head in minute bursts. Calum didn’t expect such a visceral reaction to the question; felt a little guilty about causing it but it was swept away in the blink of hazel eyes.

“No. I went to places like this to not be around him, actually. Sometimes I just needed to get away,” she said as she looked up at him from under her lashes with knowing eyes. “I’d just find some hole in the wall away from campus to sit and sketch.”

New waves of memories came back to Calum and he was beginning to realize he did know her from the past better than he thought. He could picture the drawings hanging on the fridge and as time passed and her art grew it moved from magnets to frames in the hallway. He never saw her working on them, they merely appeared from visit to visit, a collection of colors dominating space in the house. The only way he knew they were hers was the tiny signature hidden within the shapes. There was one in particular that jumped to the forefront of his mind. Sunset on the beach; or that was what he took away from it. It was more on the abstract and impressionist side. But the warm colors came back in swirls of memories and made him smile. Her art was a pivotal piece of her and her heart. Rediscovering her made him warm, getting to know her now filled him with something unknown yet somehow familiar.

“When the band was first taking off it was places like this that I’d come to to write,” Calum said, enjoying the fact that even though their pasts were separated and distant they felt connected and intertwined.

“If you hadn’t brought me here, I’d find that hard to believe.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s just surprising. I thought you would’ve been partying or… something.”

Calum huffed out a breath and shook his head. Those days came later and at times he wished they hadn’t come at all. He licked his lips and let his teeth sink into his lower lip as he tried to figure out what to say. Those days were plastered online and in tabloids, he couldn’t exactly hide from them but he felt so removed from it; as if that person wasn’t him. He didn’t know how to answer.

“I guess I was wrong,” she said and gave him an easy out from where the conversation could head.

Calum appreciated her ability to pick up on when to ease up. There were people that came in and out of his life that didn’t understand that sometimes the past needed to stay in the past. Arden’s peg of social climbers clung to his past. He’d gotten rid of those people, cut back on partying and focused more on himself. It wasn’t a time he loved revisiting. He supposed Arden being so hard of opening up made her understand his outlook on that perspective.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Arden’s gaze never breaking from his. His fingers tapped the table. Paper placemats with advertisements and crossword puzzles sat in front of them, a small pile of multicolored crayons were deserted on the far corner of the table. Arden flipped her placemat to the blank side and reached for a crayon, giving Calum a smile before dipping her head down to concentrate on drawing. Her arm came up to block Calum’s view.

“Keeping secrets?” He asked, thankful for the sudden shift but couldn’t help but feel the double entendre of the simple question directed back to him and the silence they had lapsed into.

She nodded but didn’t look up at him; kept her eyes on her work. Her eyebrows furrowed and nose slightly twitched in her concentration. He asked if she would at least tell him what she was drawing.

“You,” she admitted nonchalantly and left Calum winded and grinning and wanting more than ever to take a sneak peek. “Sit still, no peeking.”

Calum went still as a statue at her command. A relaxed smile formed on his face as he watched her work. He couldn’t see the drawing but the red crayon in her grip was an interesting choice. Though the few different shades of blue and yellow still laying on the table would have been just as bold. It didn’t take her long to finish and look up with bashful eyes and blushing cheeks. He knew she was modest about it but her unrelenting hold of eye contact as she pulled her arm away to reveal the piece mimicked confidence so well he nearly bought it.

With just the couple of minutes she had taken to draw him she managed to make him recognizable and interesting. It was sharp and quick lines, angular connections and somehow soft eyes. Calum’s hand came up and hovered over it, eyes asking if it was okay for him to take. She gave her permission in the form of another nod and pulled the abandoned crayon off the paper. Just as Calum was bringing it to himself their waiter came out with their meals and broke the moment of awe he found himself in. He wordlessly and carefully folded it to fit in his wallet and tucked it away so it’d be safe from the food.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Arden asked as they started to eat. Her expression was guarded and her voice shook through the syllables. “About… us?”

“Not yet,” Calum answered quickly. “I didn’t know what to say when my mum called so I said I’d call her back. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with however we tell them. Maybe we should do it together.”

“Tell them about our drunken escapades together?” She asked with an incredulous arch to her brow as she shook her head. “I don’t want to disappoint my parents anymore than I already have.”

That statement caught Calum’s attention tenfold but much like Arden hadn’t pressed him, he wouldn’t pry; noting the restless fidget of her fingers bouncing her fork up and down. He figured she would tell him when she was ready. Just like at the wedding and in the car and even sat here at the booth. She was no open book but her pages could be read in small bursts of allowance.

“We can tell them whatever you’re okay with,” Calum offered.

“I’m not sure what I’m okay with.”

The contracts they signed included non disclosure agreements; to keep the facade from being known. In most cases Calum disregarded those when it came to family and the band if it ever didn’t concern the rest, knowing they wouldn’t share secrets. But if it was a secret Arden wasn’t comfortable sharing then he needed to consider her reasons. Michael knew but Calum didn’t know the circumstances between Michael and Arden and any discussions that may have taken place with them. Ashton and Luke had questions; enough to flood Calum’s phone with dozens of texts and voice memos. He hadn’t replied yet; once again wanting to be sure Arden was okay with the secrets being shared. He wouldn’t mind family and the band knowing. The contemplative expression on her face told him it wasn’t as cut and dry for her; he wondered why she didn’t want to tell the whole truth but in an effort to preserve the light mood and getaway they had found he changed the subject.

“We can figure it out later,” he suggested and the downtrodden mood suddenly dispersed as she broke from a haze of thoughts he didn’t understand. “Right now let's just enjoy some time away.”

She agreed to that with a timid smile and a whispered thank you. They spent the rest of the meal with idle chit chat and a determination to keep conversation away from the fears and troubles their situation plagued them with. They left when the sun was nearly set and the sky was dark purple, the air crisp and cool. Calum, without thinking, offered his jacket to her—never knowing how she could run around in tank tops and shorts when the temperature made him shiver past leather. With a blush and a shrug she accepted as they made their way back to the car.

“It was nice to do something real with you,” she said as they cruised down the highway, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

Calum couldn’t help but think of how real it had been and felt. His arm wrapped around her, lips brushing her face, sharing secrets and a special place, red lines on a placemat and tumbling fears shooting through both of them. It was calm and exhilarating. A perfect balance between the charade they put on for the paparazzi and the authenticity the diner brought them. Calum wanted to do something real in place of anything staged; wanted to find their own path to walk while simultaneously fulfilling written requirements. The next would be a social media post and thoughts of how to keep themselves real in the face of something so tailored and constructed were already surfacing in Calum’s mind.

Michael was outside when they pulled into his driveway and Arden slipped Calum’s jacket off. She gave it back with a bashful smile and leaned over for just a moment, another gratitude brushing across his cheek in a split second. He didn’t know why she was thanking him but he appreciated the feel of her words against his skin and the warm scent of honey and peaches that infiltrated his senses. He watched her leave, saw Michael lead her past the door and waited until it shut before peeling out. The quick drive to his place was silent aside from the hum of the engine. A hundred thoughts consumed him, some confusing and some that felt okay. The chance that something real—something more than a contract could control and define—might be blooming between them left Calum’s falling fears in a warm and airy embrace.

<< >>

If you’d like to be added to my tag list just let me know! 

Tagged: @rosecolouredash​ @irwinkitten​ @golden-hood @who-do-you-love-5sos​ @caswinchester2000​ @wildflowergrae​ @empathycth​ @cuddlemecalx @malumsmermaid​ @babylon-corgis​ @outerspaceisbetterthannothing​ @mariellelovescupcakes​ @xhaileyreneex​ @goth5sos​ @gosh-im-short​ @feliznavidaddycal​ @loveroflrh​ @findingliam-o​ @flowerthug​ @g-l-pierce​ @talkfastromance4​ @cashtonasfuck​ @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​ @wastedheartcth​ @calumscalm​ @notinthesameguey​ @akafeliznavidaddy​ @myloverboyash​ @treatallwithkindness​ @haikucal​ @wiildflower-xxx​ @calum-uncrowned @egyptiangoldhood​ @drarryetcetera​ @another-lonely-heart​ @megz1985​ @idk-harry​ @dinosaursandsocks​ @wildflower-cth​ @idontneedanyone​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @myfavfanficsever​ @stormrider505​ @karajaynetoday​ @333-xx​ @calumshpod​ @calumsphile​ @calumrose​ @mantlereid​ @hemmingslftv​ @sltwins​

[helloprettybb]

swindler’s trick

Here’s a periodical fic set in 1870, five years after the Civil War and takes place in England. Inspired by Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice, I tried to mimic the language but probably messed up. This is a Steve x stark!reader and Tony is Anthony because of the time period. Also, the reader is 20 and Steve is 31.

Summary: Steve Rogers needed to clear his head. Haunted from the war and his past relationship, Steve sets sail for England to reunite with an old friend and hopefully distract himself from his life in America. His distraction comes in the form of a beautiful young girl, who proves to be a worthy interest, but will she be enough to help Steve move on from his past?

Warning: poor attempt at victorian era vernacular, victorian standards, fake history, age gap

Word count- 10.6k

Stark’s manor is as ridiculous as the man himself. The large, four-story house resembles a castle with its multiple chimneys and towering peaks. The red roof is angled perfectly to deflect the normally gusty winds. Luckily for Steve, his arrival was met with a slight breeze and shining sun; a complete juxtaposition to the harshness of early Spring. 

Nevertheless, Steve isn’t the least surprised as he steps into the extravagant manor. If Steve thought the stone exterior was showy, then the interior was just unnecessarily grand. There were two large staircases that each met on the beautiful marble floors. Steve looks up and sees an intricate chandelier with crystals placed to look like falling rain.

Steve was so taken aback by the architecture that he didn’t notice the man standing at the door. He looks to be in his mid to late 50′s, with gray, balding hair. He stands tall and Steve assumes he’s the butler. 

“Hello, sir. My name is Steve Rogers. I sent a letter saying I’d...” Steve tries to explain, but the man cuts him off.

“Ah, Mr. Rogers. Anthony said he’d be expecting you. You can wait in the parlor.” the butler promptly says and walks away. Still caught off guard, Steve doesn’t notice the butler walk away until he’s at lease twelve paces away. Steve looks around confusedly, wondering where the hell the parlor is.

He wanders down a couple hallways and finally comes across what looks like a parlor. There are two single couches with a long, two-person couch in the middle. In the corner, there’s a grand piano that hardly looks touched. Above the stone fireplace, there’s a portrait of Anthony as a child and who Steve assumes are his parents. His father looks like a much sterner version of him and his mother holds a slight resemblance to him. Steve takes a seat in one of the chairs.

It feels like hours until Steve hears his name being called. He practically jumps to his feet and stands at attention. Then he looks and realizes it’s just Anthony. “At ease, soldier.” he jokes and Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Stark.” he replies and walks over to shake Anthony’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Anthony replies, a genuine smile gracing his face. He gestures to the chairs and says, “Let’s sit.” Anthony takes the seat closer to the entryway while Steve takes the other. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Steve responds. 

“It’s good to see you, Steven.” Anthony starts. It’s hard to believe they started as tentative allies and are now the closest of friends. Throughout the war, they had their differences, especially since Steve was a captain and Anthony was his First Lieutenant. But when the Civil War was coming to a close and the Union began steadily beating the Confederacy, the two men began to see eye to eye and became the strongest of friends. It saddened Steve when Anthony returned to England, but at least he had Margaret, or so he thought.

Steve replies, “Likewise, Anthony. I see you’re getting on well.”

 “My wife would have to disagree. I’ve been in the workroom so often, she’s threatened to board the door shut.” Anthony jokes. 

“Well either way, you seem perfectly adjusted.” Steve comments.

“Perfection is relative, old friend. You’ll understand when you find it.” Anthony advises wisely and as if on cue, an angel walks through the doorway. Well, not literally, but you are the closest thing to a saint on earth. 

With your smooth hands and polished nails, you don’t look like a servant, but for your status, you dressed rather simply. As opposed to a large, decorated dress, you donned a dark, modest gown. You dressed closer to a middle-class maiden than a noblewoman, yet Steve took note that no outfit could diminish your beauty. Instead of the intricate up-dos, he’s seen many high-class women wear, you have your hair down and pulled back.

Anthony notices your entrance and greets, “Y/n, dear!” 

Steve knew Anthony favored beautiful women, but he did not expect for him to marry someone so young. Steve’s seen his fair share of older men and young partners, but he didn’t think Anthony would be that kind of man.

Strolling up to Anthony, you greet him lovingly by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Turning to Steve, you acknowledge politely, “Hello, sir. To what name shall I call you?” The moment you address him, Steve forgets every word in the English language. His mouth runs dry and he starts to regret denying Anthony’s tea offer.

Your stunning beauty and air of confidence fluster Steve and he manages to stutter out, “I- I am Captain America Rogers. I mean, Steve Rogers.” Attempting to recover, he clarifies, “I’m from America and I served as a Captain in the Army.”

You laugh lightly and Steve could have sworn an angel acquired its wings. “Well, Captain America. I appreciate the background information, but I figured from your accent that you were not from here.” you quip.

Anthony glares as you and gently scolds, “He is an old friend, y/n. Please be nice.” 

You smile softly and tell him, “Oh papa, I hold no malice. It was a simple jest.” You turn to him and say, “But if any offense was taken, I do apologize. I’m aware that my tongue can be quite scathing.” 

Steve realizes that Anthony is your father. He feels foolish and a little disgusted at his previous notion. But now that he knows, he can see the resemblance. Not particularly in appearance, but in attitude. You both carry yourselves in the same charming, self-assured way, like you’re the smartest people in the room.

“No need to apologize, miss. I can handle a sharp tongue,” Steve’s formal tone dropping relatively quickly. Your eyebrow quirks and a small smile plays at your lips.

If you were caught off guard, you didn’t show it as you quickly respond, “Good, but do not worry. I can soften my tongue if the situation requires it.” Anthony shoots you another look, but you pay no attention, keeping your eyes on the American. Steve feels your eyes bear into his, but he can not break your gaze. His heart flutters for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Anthony clears his throat to break the growing tension. “Y/n, didn’t you say that Miss Natasha was taking you into town?” You turn to your father and smile.

“Why, thank you, father. If it weren’t for your keen memory, I would have gotten a lashing!” you kiss his cheek and walk over to Steve. “I apologize that our meeting had been cut short. I do hope we see each other again,” You kiss him on the cheek too and Steve prays that his face doesn’t burn on the spot.

His eyes follow you as you walk out of the parlor and out the door. “If you wish to court my daughter, all you have to do is ask,” Anthony states in an unamused tone.

Steve’s eyes snap back to the older man and he quickly explains, “Oh no, that is not my intent, Anthony. Besides, she’s your daughter.”

Anthony scoffs and replies, “She’s of marrying age and can do as she pleases. My only request is that you warn me.” Steve tries to counter him, but Anthony stands. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” He gestures to the man at the door and says, “Mr. Jarvis will show you to your room.” With that, Anthony leaves Steve alone with Mr. Jarvis.

-

Steve quickly learns the routine of Stark’s manor. Without Anthony’s wife, Pepper, and their daughter, Morgan, you and your father mostly kept to yourselves. Anthony stays in his workroom downstairs and would remain for hours on end, only appearing upstairs for meals. 

You spend most of your time in the library and occasionally walk the grounds. Steve doesn’t know what restrains him from joining you on your walks, especially since you granted him an invitation during his first dinner. 

Instead, he opted to observe you. He’s learned a great deal over the past few days. You chose to wear plain dresses and favored colors on the darker end of the spectrum. You and your father enjoyed battles of wit during meals with most occasions ending in a draw. You were very curious, or at least, toward Steve. You asked him a multitude of questions and even though Steve was happy to answer, Anthony shot your line of questioning down with a quick glare.

You read often, usually books on philosophy and tales of heroism over religion and spirituality. When you read, your lips would get caught between your teeth and you’d occasionally mouth some of the words. Steve could tell when you disagreed with a passage because your smooth forehead would slowly wrinkle as your eyebrows furrowed. Besides meals, the library was the only time Steve would spend with you. But unlike dinner, the two of you would sit in silence, just basking in each other’s company.

Nearly a week into his stay, Steve, out of stupidity or bravery, decides to join you on a walk. When you see him at the doorway, you remark, “Captain America! To what do I owe the pleasure.”

“I decided to take you up on your offer. I hope I am not too late being as it was last week,” he remarks cheekily. 

You smile happily, “Oh, do not worry about that, sir. Besides, your invitation was set to expire tomorrow.” 

“That’s good news, but I must ask, will that cursed nickname be going away any time soon?” he jokingly asked. 

Smiling, you reply, “No, it will not.” Stepping out of the manor, you question, “Shall we go?” Steve nods steps out, moving to your left side.

You start your usual walk around the grounds. The sun beams down on your face making your skin almost glow. Steve’s never been this close and he can see every detail on your face. If he thought you were beautiful from afar, he doesn’t know what to think now.

“How long are you staying here?” you ask, turning to Steve for the first time.

He sighs and absentmindedly replies, “I don’t know, actually.” His answer causes your head to tilt and brow furrow slightly so he reassures, “Don’t fret. While Anthony has granted me an eternal stay, I shall leave before the year ends.”

You shake your head lightly and explain, “Oh, I don’t worry, Captain America. I’m just curious as to why you’re uncertain.” Steve averts his eyes, unable to meet your intense, innocent ones. You seem to read his nervous body language so you change the topic.

“We don’t get visitors very often,” you comment. Steve relaxes a little and you add, “All I know is that you’re an old friend of my father’s.”

He answers the unspoken question by saying, “He was my first lieutenant in the Civil War.”

“Ah, I remember him telling of his time in America,” you remark. Steve’s eyes return to yours. He can see the excitement and eagerness as you ask, “What is it like? America?” 

Steve doesn’t know where to begin. From the bustling city life to the beautiful countryside, America is a diverse place. But then the memories come back and Steve hopes you can’t read the flash of sadness that spreads across his face. 

“Well, it is very beautiful,” Steve says simply. He can tell by your excited expression that you crave more, so he adds, “In some places, there are hills as far as the eye can see. There are also forests so dense that you cannot get through without a map.”

You seem satisfied with his answer and dreamily add, “I wish I could visit, but father forbids me from going beyond the moors.” 

Steve senses your disappointment and tries to cheer you up, “The moors aren’t too bad, Miss y/n.” He looks around at the scenery, searching for something to point out. He stops by the garden and hastily proposes, “The flowers are quite beautiful if you ask me.”

You let out a small laugh at his half-hearted attempt and concede, “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” You sigh a little sadly, remarking, “But it gets quite lonely up here.” 

Steve couldn’t control his thought process and lost even more control of his mouth as he asks, “I hope I do not come across as rude when I ask why you have not wed yet.” 

He already regrets his intrusion, but luckily, you don’t seem offended. “It isn’t rude, Captain America.” With that, he can see that you are in a joking mood. “Men want a woman with open ears and a closed mouth. Seeing as I have neither, men do not try and pursue me.”

You smile back at him, but unlike your usual smile, it doesn’t reach your eyes. Steve decides not to pry and comments, “While I do agree your mouth is rather liberal, I’d have to disagree about your ears.”

Your smile finally reaches your eyes again and you laugh, “Tell my father that.”

“Well, Anthony never was the most patient listener.” Steve states to which you clearly agree, if your loud and genuine laugh had anything to say about it.

Once your laughter dies down, you turn the subject to him, “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Steve questions, raising an eyebrow.

“No wife? Surely a military man such as yourself would have a mistress at least,” you comment curiously. Looking down, Steve smiles and shakes his head.

“Women were mostly found in the tents of upper-class men,” Steve replies ambiguously. He feared that if he dug too deep, it’d only dredge up his past. Maybe he was imagining it, but your knowing look made Steve think you understood his vagueness. 

The two of you continued your walk in peaceful silence. You broke the silence by asking, “You mentioned that women were reserved for upper-class men,” Steve nods in confirmation and you continue, “Am I to assume you are not of high status?”

Steve explains, “I was baseborn. In the Army, I quickly rose through the ranks which in turn, granted me a higher status.”

Steve fears your impending judgment, but instead, you go quiet and confess, “I was baseborn, too,” You avert your eyes as if it were a terrible secret.

“How so?” Steve questions, now completely intrigued. When you saw he only held curiosity, you returned to your relaxed state.

“My mother was a village girl. Father had an affair and when grandfather found out, he became furious. Father was forbidden from seeing my mother, but little did he know, that he impregnated her on their final tryst.” you tell, searching for any disgust in Steve’s eye. 

Steve tilts his head curiously and asks, “Is that why Anthony came to America?”

You smile at his interest and reply, “Partially. He always wanted to leave, but the death of his parents pushed over them edge. He was only seventeen and didn’t think he could run the business himself. He would have stayed in America if it weren’t for Obadiah Stane.”

“Who?” Steve questions.

“He was the second in line for the company. My father didn’t just leave the house behind, but the business. Father secretly suspects Stane killed his parents, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Where’s Mr. Stane now?” Steve asks.

“He’s in prison for embezzling money.” you reply.

“When Father received word that Stane’s business practices were less than humane, he had to come back. Being the sole heir, father was able to reclaim his title as lord of the house and owner of the company.”

“How did he find you?”

“With his father gone, he decided to reunite with his former love, but when he discovered her dead and me in her place...” You look off to the distance as if you’re trying to find the right wording, “He was surprised, to say the least.” 

Lightening up, you add, “Luckily, he met Pepper shortly after and they wed quickly. Then, they had Morgan and they lived happily ever after,” you end a little sarcastically.

Steve hums in understanding and asks, “Surely, it was difficult for you to adjust to life here.”  

“It still is. I’ve lived at the manor for nearly five years and I still forget frivolous things like which spoon is which.” Steve laughs heartily in agreement and you join in at a quieter tone.

“It is rather odd, isn’t it? A spoon is a spoon, what difference does it make!” he exclaims. This makes you burst into a very unladylike laugh, but you don’t care and neither does Steve. For once, it feels like you both met someone who understands you.

-

After the first walk around the moors, Steve has joined you on every other one since. Your topics ranged from philosophy to politics. Although he never cared about politics, Steve found himself captivated by your ideas. It saddens him a little that the world may never experience your brilliant mind.

To Anthony’s delight or dismay, you wordlessly invited Steve to your usual dinner banter. Although he is constantly left speechless and outwitted, Steve enjoys being talked into a corner. He loves the small smile and look in your eyes when you know that you have someone beat intellectually.

Tonight’s discussion had something to do with Descartes. Steve got lost the minute you brought up dualism and metaphysics. You’re in the middle of explaining how mental phenomena are non-physical when Anthony interrupts, “Mr. Rumlow will be joining us this Easter.” Your teasing smile drops and is replaced by a scarily sober expression.

Through gritted teeth, you ask, “Why?” Reading your body language, Steve can tell there’s something more beneath the surface.

“It’s business, dear.” Tony sighs exasperatedly. Steve can’t tell if he’s annoyed with you, the mysterious Mr. Rumlow, or both.

“And for how long?” You start cutting your food more aggressively than before.

“He failed to mention it, but I presume a quite long time,” Anthony responds and you scowl.

“May I be excused? I feel rather ill,” you announce but leave before waiting for a response. Steve feels an urge to follow you but is stopped in his place when his friend speaks.

“Do not mind her. She sees Rumlow as more of a fiend than a man,” Anthony says absentmindedly once you leave the room.

Trying to hold back any snark, Steve comments, “I could see that,” Anthony doesn’t reply, but from his small smirk, Steve knows that his sarcasm bled through.

They finish their dinner in silence. Once his plate is empty, Anthony gets up and leaves without saying a word. Steve glances at your mostly full plate and figures you must be hungry. Eating one last bite, he scoops up your plate and walks up the steps to your room.

After a few faint knocks, you open the door. You still hold the look of contempt that you had at dinner, but at the sight of Steve or the food, you brighten up. “Thank you, Steve. I am absolutely famished, but I did not want to face my father again.” 

You move away from the doorway and subtly invite him in. He hands you the plate and you sit on the edge of your bed. Steve pulls the chair from under your desk and turns to face you. While you eat, he asks, “In fear of angering you more, may I ask why Rumlow’s name caused such trouble?”

You set your plate down and tell Steve sincerely, “Our families have been business partners for decades. I don’t think father is too fond of him either, but he has to keep acquaintance with him.” 

Taking another bite, you continue, “His wife died years ago, and ever since, he’s looked for a wife in yours truly.”

“I take it he doesn’t handle rejection very well?” Steve suggests. For the first time since your sudden exit, you smile.

“No, he does not. Don’t get me wrong; rejection can be delightful, but it can only happen so many times before it becomes tedious,” you respond, lightening up even more. Steve gives a short laugh and gets up to leave so you can finish your meal. You ask quietly, “Can you stay?” Even adding, “Please?” Steve sits back down wordlessly and keeps you company.

-

“Y/n!” the little girl squealed as she ran from her mother and to you. Picking her up off her feet, you wrap Morgan into a hug. 

“How was the visit to your grandmother’s?” you ask happily. Steve hasn’t seen you this genuinely happy and giddy. He can see that you care about Morgan deeply. Today, you chose a lighter-colored dress with more embellishments and a larger petticoat than usual. Steve assumed it was Morgan’s favorite color since your dress matched the ribbon in her hair.

When you see Pepper approaching, you set Morgan down and greet your step-mother. “Pepper! We have missed you.” you exclaim, hugging her more reservedly.

“Please tell me that Anthony spent most of his time outside the workroom,” Pepper jokingly begs, even though she probably knows the answer.

You laugh politely and reply, “I would, but you know I mustn't lie, step-mother.” 

Pulling away from you, Pepper turns to Steve and asks, “You must be Captain Rogers. Anthony wrote that you were staying with us.” She plants two light kisses on each of Steve’s cheeks.

He’s about to tell her to call him by his first name when you speak up, “Please, step-mother, he goes by Captain America.” He looks at you and sees the mischief in your eyes. 

Pepper glances at Steve curiously and he explains, “It is a wretched nickname she has given me.” Pepper nods understandingly, knowing her step-daughter’s quirks.

Morgan asks impulsively, “Are you courting my sister?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Y/n bursts out laughing, dropping any attempt at civility.

Pepper can’t decide who to scold first, so she chastises, “Morgan, dear! We do not ask people questions like that,” Pepper tells Steve, “I do apologize, Captain. She is not even five years old.”

“No need, Mrs. Stark.” Steve dismisses with a wave of his hand.

You speak up, “Besides,” Crouching down to Morgan’s level, you whisper something to her. Steve strains his ear to listen, but can’t make out a single word. Pepper gives you a look when you stand back up. 

Instead of prying, Pepper decides, “Let’s get inside before you corrupt Morgan any further.”

“Oh, do not worry, dear step-mother. There will be plenty of time for that,” you say cheerily. Morgan and Pepper stroll inside while Jarvis brings their bags inside. When the door closes, you tell Steve, “I assume you want to know what I whispered in Morgan’s ear.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Steve jokes back. You smile and move toward him. Going on the tips of your toes to be near his height, you look like you’re about to spill.

Pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, you whisper, “It’s a secret between sisters, Captain.” Moving back to the bottoms of your feet, you turn toward the door, but not before giving him a cheeky wink. Oh no, Steve Rogers is falling in love.

-

Morgan and Pepper’s return seemed to lift your spirits enough to distract you from Rumlow’s impending arrival. You squeezed time with Morgan into your schedule, consequently lessening the time you and Steve spent alone. He didn’t mind, after all, she is your sister, but Steve couldn’t help but feel a little envious.  

Luckily, Morgan has grown quite fond of him. She includes him with as often as she can. Today’s activity is a tea party.

“Miss y/n, will you pour the tea?” Morgan asks, imitating her mother’s posh accent and miserably failing. You smile and rise from your seat.

“Anything for you, duchess,” you respond. Picking up the teapot, you walk around the table. 

Moving to fill Morgan’s teacup first, you begin to pour when she holds up a hand and commands, “Stop, please.” You and Steve struggle to contain your laughter as Morgan, with her pinkie in the air, lifts the cup to her mouth.

She holds back from making a face and announces, “Delicious!” 

“Why thank you, duchess.” You walk over to Steve and pour tea into his cup. You’re so close that Steve catches a whiff of your perfume. The closeness makes it hard for him to concentrate. He knows you can feel him looking, but don’t say anything, sending him a small, cheeky smile.

You pour your own cup of tea and before you could raise your cup, the clock on the wall chimes loudly. Turning to your sister, you question, “Duchess Morgan, don’t you have studies to attend to?”

Morgan pouts and replies, “I don’t need them.” You laugh heartily and crouch next to her.

You reason with her, “Morgan, your studies are very important. You don’t want me to become smarter than you, do you?” She concedes and hops off her chair before running out of the room. 

Watching her leave to make sure she doesn’t run back, you stand up and sit back in your chair. You take a sip of tea and notice Steve is looking at you dotingly. “What?” you ask, laughing into your cup.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re a really good sister.” Steve comments. You scoff lightly at his compliment.

“Thank you, Steve. But it’s not difficult when she’s such a good kid,” you reply and Steve nods in agreement. For some reason, Steve can’t help but imagine you as a mother. You’d probably read to them before bed and when you were done, you’d go to him. The two of you would share a bed like husband and wife and you’d never have to worry about pompous suitors or ridiculous social expectations. He’d hold you in his arms like he yearned to do the moment you met.

Steve’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears cursing at the other end of the table. He looks up and sees your skirt covered in tea. “Are you alright?” Steve asks. 

You laugh out of embarrassment and reply, “Yes, I just spilled tea all over my skirt. Can you hand me the cloth over there?” You point to the towel near him and Steve grabs it. Instead of handing it to you, he squats in front of you and dabs your skirt clean. If you had any protests, you didn’t say them as you sat patiently and let him dab your lap.

Steve continues to clean in silence when you interrupt absentmindedly, “You know, Morgan is one of the few people who don’t look down on me.” Steve’s hand stops and he looks up at you. You’re looking away from him and you have a distant look on your face.

“Why is that?” Steve asks, causing you to laugh lightly.

“Well, how couldn’t they? I’m a peasant girl born out of wedlock.” you roll your eyes, but Steve could see some hurt behind them. He places the towel on the floor and moves his hand so it’s covering yours, which are resting on your abdomen. You don’t retreat, which surprises Steve.

The intimate moment is broken up by Mr. Jarvis walking into the room and announcing, “Miss Stark, your father requests your presence.”

-

It’s a fair, sunny day so after days of begging from Morgan, Anthony finally conceded and decided that the whole family will attend the Spring Awakening Fair. Stepping onto the grounds, you look ethereal in your light, flowy dress.

“Let’s go before father buys Morgan the whole fair,” you announce, grabbing Steve’s hand without any hesitation. Steve feels his heart do a flip before he follows you away from Pepper, Anthony, and Morgan. Strolling around, you light up when you see a medium’s booth.

Raising an eyebrow, Steve asks skeptically, “You believe in psychics?”

“Nope,” you reply happily and before Steve could process your answer, you pull Steve’s hand and half-drag Steve to the booth.

“Hello, miss. Would you and your betrothed like to have your auras read?” the medium asks. Before Steve could correct her, you interject.

“Yes, please.” You sit down and Steve follows suit. 

“Hold each other’s hands and stare into each other’s eyes.” the medium instructs. Steve grabs your other hand and turns to face you. He’s never allowed himself to look at you for so long, but now that he’s technically supposed to, he gives himself a pass just this once. Steve takes in every detail of your face so that he can remember every feature when he goes to sleep. Maybe if he collects the perfect picture, you will invade his dreams more often.

“I’m sensing...” the medium starts and Steve could see you struggling to hold back laughter. Luckily, the woman’s eyes are closed as she continues, “You miss, have an indigo aura. Yes, yes. You are a kind and intuitive person, who values intelligence and love. You seek peace in your life and while you’re a little vulnerable, your partner can help with that.”

Steve didn’t believe in psychics, but that was a pretty accurate assertion. So that the psychic can’t hear, Steve mouths, “That was quite accurate, was it not?” You scrunch your nose and shake your head. Before you could mouth back, the medium continues.

“You sir, have a blue aura. I see...” the medium says, “Mostly royal blue, with hints of dark blue. You are open-minded and generous, but the hints of dark blue show that you are scared.” You tilt your head in confusion and Steve shrugs. 

“Something has happened in your life to cause distrust and a need to control. Perhaps your partner could help clear the dark blue from your aura. You two have very compatible auras. Sometimes, you miss, will feel overwhelmed, but your partner’s calming aura shows that he will be able to soothe you. I expect the two of you to have a long and loving relationship.” the medium finishes and opens her eyes. 

You notice that she opened her eyes so you nod enthusiastically and say, “Thank you! That was very eye-opening.” You drop a few coins into the jar and walk away from the booth.

Once you are out of ear-shot, Steve asks, “Do you believe it?”

“Hm?” you ask, initially confused, then you realize, “Oh, the medium? No, no.” you shake your head as if you’re trying to get rid of the notion itself. “The idea that auras follow us around is illogical.” Steve hummed in agreement, but if he squinted, he could almost see an indigo halo around your head.

“Is that y/n y/ln?” a voice says behind Steve. He turns and sees a young man. Steve wonders how he knows you but judging from the look on your face, you aren’t pleased to see him. The man approaches and you quickly don a fake smile.

“Aldrich Killian!” you announce overenthusiastically. “It’s been so long.” Aldrich pulls you into a hug that lingers too long in Steve’s opinion. He finally pulls away after what felt like hours.

“It really has. How are you?” the man asks. He’s small and fidgety like he’s scared of the mere existence of you.

“I am amazing. May I remind you my surname is Stark?” you ask teasingly, but Steve can see the tension beneath your eyes.

��Yes, how could I forget! You became your father’s charity case.” Killian replies, smile bright as before, but his words still cut sharply.

The insult doesn’t phase you as you match his tone, “Well I’d rather be his charity case than be stuck with the likes of you.” 

Aldrich doesn’t respond and instead turns to Steve. He asks, “And who is this?”

“Captain Steven Rogers.” he introduces, maintaining his stoicism. Aldrich grabs Steve’s hand with both hands and shakes it aggressively.

“It is great to meet you, sir.” Aldrich states. After a few violent shakes, he finally releases Steve’s hand.

He apologizes, “I’m sorry for taking up your time, y/n.”

He starts to walk away and you call, “Hey, Killian!” He turns back around and you drop your smile. “Please give Steven’s watch and my necklace back.” Steve looks down at his wrist and realizes that his watch really is gone. Aldrich comes back and Steve watches as Aldrich’s sheepish act disappears and is replaced by contempt. You hold out your hand and Killian drops the jewelry into your palm.

“See you’ve taken on the family business,” you taunt, “How is your father, by the way?” Aldrich scowls and Steve assumes that whatever happened isn’t good. Your hand on Steve’s wrist snaps him back to attention. You hold his wrist up so you can put his watch back on.

“You’ve gotten better, Killian. But your hugs still linger too long and you shake men’s hands too fiercely.” you comment absentmindedly as you clasp Steve’s watch around his wrist.

“Oh, y/n. I only linger that long for you,” Aldrich comments creepily. Steve sees your smile falter slightly before returning, a little smaller.

“Whatever you thought we had simply didn’t exist.” You grab Steve’s arm tightly and tell Killian, “We better head back to the manor,” You turn around to leave Aldrich alone before he gets one final word in.  

Killian yells behind your back, “You can put on a fancy dress and expensive jewelry, but you’ll always be one of us.”

You hand Steve your necklace and ask, “Can you put this on for me?” Steve nods and you turn your back to him. He finds it harder than it should be to clasp the necklace, but the intense smell of your perfume is slowly overwhelming his senses. 

To ground himself, Steve asks, “How did you know he stole from us?”

“It’s a common swindler’s trick.” you state. You feel the chain drop onto your neck and you turn to face Steve. You continue, “You greet the person enthusiastically to give yourself time to steal. While you’re stealing, you distract them with flattery and small talk. They don’t even realize they were robbed and by the time they do, you’re far gone.”

Steve is stunned by your extensive knowledge and bluntly says, “You know a lot about that.”

You laugh and admit, “Let’s just say, I have some experience.” You, a thief? He could just imagine a younger you going around picking pockets, distracting people with your effortless charm.

Steve furrows his brows and asks, “Were you like him?”

“Oh, heavens no. At least, not that bad. I knew who to steal from who not to.”

“And who deserved theft?” Steve asks, not out of judgment but actual curiosity. 

“The usual. Rich arseholes who treated anyone of a lower socioeconomic status like dirt.” you answer casually.

“So you were a Robin Hood?” Steve jokes.

“Sure, but only for a short while. When my grandmother found out, she was furious and banned me from meeting Killian. In hindsight, that was one of the best decisions she’s ever made, but at the time, I was heartbroken.” you explain.

“What made you change your mind about him?” Steve questions.

“I saw the vile ways he treated women he sought after.” you answer simply. There is probably more to that response, but Steve decides he shouldn’t pry. 

Instead, he nods and holds his arm out. “Come on, let’s trick some more psychics.” You smile and grab his arm. 

-

“Y/n, dear. Rumlow will be here any minute. Are you ready?” Anthony calls upstairs. Steve’s standing beside him at the bottom of the stairs. The days after the fair had been amazing. You and Steve spent incalculable amounts of time together. He was surprised that no one mentioned it since you aren’t officially courting. Your spirits were extremely high, until this morning when you remembered who was arriving.

“Yes, father. Be down soon.” you respond back. Anthony huffs exasperatedly and goes toward the parlor, leaving Steve alone at the base of the stairs. He hears shuffling and a couple thumps upstairs, before you yell, “Okay, I’m ready.” he turns and his breath is taken away.

Steve Rogers is a simple man. He’s straightforward, hard-working, and sharp. These traits helped him through school and shot him up the ranks in the Army. He became one of the youngest captains in the Union army. He battled Confederates, god damn it!

But... you’re so beautiful. Sauntering down the stairs, you look like an angel coming down from heaven. Steve takes in your appearance. Your dress is a deep green color that matches the jeweled choker around your neck. The large skirt is a stark contrast to your usual demure day dresses and Steve’ realized yet again that your beauty is ever-present. No matter your wardrobe, the essence of you shines through. Your hair is higher than normal, with elegant curls resting on your shoulders. The chandelier above your head only adds to the natural glow of your aura. He could hear the light tapping of your heels on the grand marble stairs until you took your final step before him.

“Hi,” you greet meekly as if you’re the one that’s intimidated. 

Steve, in his rather plain-looking dress clothes, replies, “Hi,” Steve’s eyes linger a little longer than seems appropriate, but you don’t appear to mind, in fact, doing the same thing in return. Your silent exchange is broken by the sound of horses outside. 

“Sir, Mr. Rumlow is here.” Jarvis calls, alerting your father who strolls in from the parlor. Steve catches a look of disgust grace your face before it quickly changes into a wide, fake smile when the door opens.

“Mr. Rumlow.” Antony greets, holding out his hand. 

“Mr. Stark.” Rumlow shakes his hand in return. As they exchange pleasantries, Steve looks the man up and down. He looks to be about Steve’s age, maybe a tad older. He has harsh, dark features that only further Steve’s already tainted view of the man. 

“And who must this be?” Rumlow asks, turning to Steve.

“Captain Steven Rogers,” he responds and Steve could’ve sworn he heard you chuckle quietly after using his rank. Maybe that was low of him, but he was still quite wary of Mr. Rumlow.

“Pleasure to meet you.” The exchange is short before the man turns to you. Almost like a wolf who’s spotted his prey, Rumlow’s eyes darken and his slightly genial smile resembles more of a snarl.

“Miss Stark. Why, you look more and more beautiful every time I see you.” Rumlow compliments. You give a quick curtsy, smile dropping ever so slightly. Steve’s hands ball into a fist quickly before he forces himself to relax his hand. “I am surprised a man hasn’t made a bride of you yet.” Steve had to will his feet to stay or else the dinner party would have ended embarrassingly quick.

“Well, a woman’s role isn’t just to marry, is it?” you reply, still holding that bright, wide smile. Rumlow laughs as if you said a joke, but Steve knows the sincerity behind your words. His disgusting laugh further cements Steve’s idea that Rumlow is not a good man.

Anthony, seeming to sense the burgeoning tension, announces, “Dinner will be ready shortly. Shall we?” Everyone follows him into the dining room, with Rumlow charging forward before anyone even had the chance to move. 

Entering the dining room, Steve sees that Rumlow has already taken the spot beside Anthony. Steve sits across from Rumlow and you sit beside him. After the wine is poured, Steve grabs his chalice and takes a slow sip. He watches as Rumlow takes one long swig before requesting more. You and Steve share a look of both amusement and concern, knowing where the night is headed.

Anthony and Rumlow start to talk business so to save yourself from boredom, you talk to Steve. “I wish Morgan were here.”

“Yes, if it weren’t for her cursed bedtime.” Steve replies jokingly to test what mood you are in. You roll your eyes, signaling to Steve that you’re at least somewhat yourself. 

“I know Pepper isn’t much of an admirer of Rumlow either, but it’s a shame that she was granted an invitation out of this.” you admit a little glumly.

“Well fear not, Y/n. You still have me.” Steve encourages and you shoot a smile back. You and Steve continue to talk quietly until your conversation is intruded by plates being placed in front of the two of you.

Rumlow’s lack of table manners is extremely apparent as he gorges on the food. You stifle a laugh by lifting your napkin to your lips, but Steve catches you and bites his lip to contain his laughter. Dinner is fairly uneventful, while Anthony and Rumlow continue to talk and you and Steve share stories. It’s almost as if the two of you are alone on a date until you’re interrupted by your father.

“Y/n, after dessert, would you mind showing Mr. Rumlow around the manor?” Anthony tells, more of a command than a request.

Attempting to keep your tone light, you reply, “But father, hasn’t he been here before. I’m sure the manor hasn’t changed too drastically since he’s been here last.”

Before Anthony could respond, Rumlow interrupts, “Oh but Miss Y/n. I would love to refresh my mind on all the beauties this place has to offer.” Something about his wording and his intense gaze toward you angered Steve and he felt his grip tighten around his fork.

Pretending to give in and not still be utterly repulsed by the idea, you concede, “Well, okay. I look forward to it.” Rumlow nods and continues down to his dinner plate. Steve looks over at you, but your gaze is down. Steve decides to leave it alone when he feels a soft hand reach for his own. You still aren’t looking over at him, but your brow is furrowed slightly as you eat. Steve encompasses your hand in his and it appears to ease the tension slightly.

-

Steve doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of eating, opting to hold his silverware with his left hand instead. The other men don’t appear to notice, as Rumlow’s mind is only on the excursion he was promised. Sadly, after dessert is taken away, Steve has to release your hand as you and Rumlow leave the dining room. 

Watching you leave, Steve gets an uneasy feeling and quietly excuses himself before walking out. He tries outside first and it doesn’t take long before he’s alerted of your presence.

“Get your hands off me you loathly poltroon!” Steve hears you yell. He turns the corner and sees Rumlow grasping your wrist tightly with no intent to let go. Without thinking, Steve runs toward you and shoves Rumlow away. 

“You disgusting rapscallion! Is that how you treat a lady?” Steve bellows angrily and punches Rumlow in the face. Turning to you, he softens instantly and questions, “Are you okay, Y/n?” 

You break your disgusted look at Rumlow and tell Steve, “Yes, let’s just please leave.” Steve ushers you away. You don’t say anything as you stomp towards the gazebo.

Steve could feel the anger emanating from your body. For the second time, he asks, “Are you sure you are okay? Because that man is-”

“Do you know why filthy men like Rumlow seek me out?” you interrupt angrily. Steve’s never seen you so mad, but now he knows to never cross you. 

Continuing, you shout, “It’s not for my brains or my character, but my dowry. To them, I’m just a prize to be won! Did you know that my estate is worth a small country? But since I’m a woman, all of my fortune will be a man’s, and every single one I have come across thinks it will be them.” 

Once you get that off your chest, you start to settle down. Sitting down on a bench, you hang your head a little and state, “All anyone sees is an inheritance with a pretty face.”

Not knowing what to say, Steve removes his jacket and sits beside you on the bench. Your once intricate up-do is falling around your face, which is good in Steve’s opinion since he never liked that hairstyle in the first place. The bottom of your skirt is muddy from walking through the grass. “I’m sorry.” Steve meekly apologizes while handing you his jacket. You thank him quietly and throw it around your shoulders. 

Removing your shoes spitefully, you scoff, “It’s not your fault all upper-class men are greedy little pricks that only care about their appearances.” Steve lets out a noise, resembling a snort more than a laugh. He knew that far too well from his time in the Army. Even though the higher rank came with privileges, Steve occasionally wished he was still a private, realizing there were too many poncy majors and captains.   

“If it’s any consolation, I think there’s a lot more to you than your money.” He hears you sniffle, but your eye line remains down. 

“Thank you, Steve.” you reply, eyes still down and watery. Your head hangs down in dejection.

Sensing your sadness, Steve asks, “Would you like to hear why I actually came to England?” Your eyes move up to his and you sit up straight, nodding quietly. Steve sighs and begins his story, “During the war, I met a woman named Margaret Carter. We had a brief courtship and married quickly, but since I was mostly in battle, we hardly saw each other.” 

Steve sees that you’re actively listening so he continues, “I thought I had met my soulmate, but I was young. A fool, really.” Steve looked down, finding it difficult to continue the story. 

He clears his throat and tells, “Marriage would not be easy and I knew that. But I did not predict its difficulty until I truly experienced it.”

“Did you fight?” you ask quietly, breaking your silence.

“No, but that would have been preferable. War affects everyone differently, y/n. You have to understand that. I was withdrawn, avoidant and I- I just became a different man and...” Steve trails off, scared of your reaction. 

You place your hand on his and assure, “I promise, Steven. Nothing you can say, could change the way I see you.” You’re listening intently, eyes wide with eagerness to hear his story. 

“I was away very often. After the assassination of Lincoln, I was offered a position as head of security for the next president. She said it was okay, but...” Steve feels you hold his hand tighter, grounding him. “During my long bouts of absence, it was only natural that she found someone else. She continued her tryst for nearly two years before she informed me.”

“How did you react?” You ask quietly, your faint voice cutting through Steve’s foggy recollection.

“That’s the issue. I didn’t react much at all. I simply left and stayed with my close friend until the divorce settled. It was long and tiring, taking over two years. Nobody knew the true reason for the separation as we feared out tarnished reputations. Months later, I learned from an old friend that Peggy was to engaged to be married with that man. I knew I couldn’t be in the same place when they wed, so I left.” Steve stayed quiet and you followed suit for a couple moments.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize, like you were the problem. Sympathy etched onto your face and soft, delicate features turned down with sadness.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve reminded with a small smile to lighten the mood a bit. You bit your lip, drawing attention to them and reminding Steve just how much he yearns to kiss you.

“I know, but still. I don’t see how a man like you deserved such hardship.” you shed a tear and Steve is touched by your empathy toward him. Gently wiping the tear off your cheek, Steve boldly keeps his hand rested on your face. You don’t seem to mind, looking up at him through your slightly wet lashes.

“But if it weren’t for that trouble, I would have never met you.” As if the spirit of Cupid himself possessed Steve, he boldly confesses, “Darling, I would endure ten times the hardship if it meant I could meet you.” Steve felt a pang of fear, worried that he came on too strong and risked losing your friendship. But if the small gasp and softening of your eyes indicated anything, then you liked it. Now’s your chance, Steve. You look so sweet, so raw, so perfect. 

Steve feels the atmosphere shift as he leans toward your face, his thumb softly brushing your lip. You mirror his body language and lean towards him too. As if the universe were pulling the two of you together, Steve could feel himself fall into your sweetness; your auras melding with each other. Steve is inches away from your lips when he hears the clanking of hooves in the distance and instantly, the magic dissipates. 

The two of you break apart instantly as if nothing was about to happen. You smooth out your dress and clear your throat. Steve wants to stay. He really does, but he knows the kinds of rumors that could emerge if he’s alone with you any longer.

“We better go inside,” Steve suggests and you nod. Getting up, you leave the gazebo before him and he follows suit. 

-

Much to Steve’s delight, Rumlow immediately left for home. After talking to an angry and frustrated Anthony, Steve walks up to his room. Walking up the stairs, he glances at your room and is almost tempted to go in, but he forces himself to turn the other way.

He can’t believe he almost kissed you. You were so close and your lips felt so smooth under his finger. Oh, how he wishes they were against his own. Steve wonders if he will ever have another chance or perhaps, you may try to forget it altogether. Steve feels like such a fool for letting himself fall so hard. But how couldn’t he when you’re just so... you.

Steve hears a knock on the door and answers, “Come in.” When he sees you step through, he stands to his feet. His jacket is slung around your right arm. You’ve changed into your nightdress which is covered by your robe to preserve your modesty. Still, Steve makes a point to keep his eyes on yours.

“Here’s your jacket.” you say meekly, still standing by the door. Steve walks over to grab it from you. His fingers brush against yours and he yearns to lace his in yours but refrains from doing so. 

“You could have waited till morning to return it.” Steve states honestly, trying to not jump to conclusions as to why you came at such a late hour.

“I know,” you reply simply. Steve hangs the coat on the coat hanger beside you and closes the door, just in case anyone happens to walk by. You’re still standing as if you’re expecting something.

Steve stands before you, but you don’t retreat, instead, looking up at Steve. “Rumlow has left for town,” you inform him. He knows and you know that he does, but he assumes you only said that to break the palpable tension.

“Yes, I heard he sent for a carriage the moment he hit the ground,” Steve half-jokes. You let out a short laugh, one to show him you read the humor but it was enough to tell him you didn’t feel it. He can feel your uneasiness from the way your hands are fidgeting to the constant flickers of your gaze to the ground. Your usual confidence is replaced with insecurity and unsureness. 

“Shall we talk about what was about to happen?” you question. Thank the heavens that you are the one who brought it up, for Steve doesn’t think he has the assuredness to do it himself.

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Steve remarks. He’s about a foot away from you, but he could feel himself yearn to move closer. “I hope I did not bring you discomfort. I simply had to ease the weight on my soul,”

You shake your head and respond, “No, Steven, it was welcome really. I just wish we weren’t interrupted.” Your candidness startles him slightly. While you’ve never been mistrustful, he’s never seen you this open.

“Those damn horses,” Steve says, lightness entering his voice. You smile the widest he’s seen you smile since Rumlow arrived. 

“Yes, if it weren’t for those wretched creatures...” you drift off as if there is a thought in your mind that you’re too reserved to say out loud. Steve takes a step towards you and brings your hands up to his. You gladly take them and Steve feels your delicate fingers slip into his perfectly like they were always meant to be there. 

“May I do this?” Steve asks, almost like he’s asking himself. You nod, biting the corner of your lip lightly. You look like you’re having an inner battle of sorts and before Steve could decipher the turmoil, he feels your hands grip his shirt and pull him towards you. Steve realizes just in time as you capture his lips with yours. 

The kiss is desperate and heated, but not devoid of love and yearning. Steve feels like his whole life has led up to this and in a way it had. He moves his hands down towards your waist and pulls you flush to his body. You let out a startled gasp, but continue to kiss him as passionately as before. Your hands are still gripping his shirt harshly, but he couldn’t care less. He never liked this shirt very much. You pull away a little to catch your breath. Your cheeks are flushed and lips are a little plumper and Steve can’t stop the pride from swelling in his chest at the thought that it’s his doing.

“I apologize. That wasn’t very lady like,” you tell him breathily, smoothing your hands over his shirt. He may or may not appreciate the way your hands linger over his chest for a few extra seconds.

Steve smiles and says, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t really care.” He reconnects your lips with the same vigor as when you initiated it.

-

The next morning, Steve wakes in his bed alone. He wanted to let you stay the night, but he knew the uproar that would be caused if your lady’s maid found an empty bed. Walking down to breakfast, Steve sees that you’ve made it down first and have already begun eating. Looking up from your eggs benedict, you give him a small, knowing smile which he returns. Luckily your father doesn’t notice anything as he continues to read the paper.

Steve takes his usual seat across you as a full plate is set in front of him. He starts to eat, occasionally sneaking glances toward you. He can’t get the image of your speckled pink cheeks and wet lips out of his mind and he hopes he never does. 

With about two-thirds of his plate empty, Steve hears a sharp knock on the door, followed by the door opening. He can make out Jarvis ask, “Mr. Parker?” before he hears footsteps come toward them while Jarvis continues, “Sir, they are dining at the moment, if you would wait-” Before Jarvis could finish his statement, a young man enters the dining room. He looks to be about your age, maybe a bit younger. Judging by the instant joy on your face, you know him well.

You immediately stand up and exclaim, “Peter!” Your fork almost clattering on the ground in the process. You have no hesitation when you run over to the boy, whose arms are open and inviting. Steve watches as Peter wraps you in an embrace. Guiltily, he feels a pang of jealousy when he sees you in the young man’s arms, but forces the feeling away.

“Y/n, I’ve missed you!” Peter replies happily and releases you. Steve’s displeasure must be apparent because he catches Anthony smirking beside him.

“I’ve missed you, too. When did you come in? How is Cambridge?” you ask excitedly. Your giddiness is apparent as you fire questions at Peter, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too! I took the first train from Cambridge the moment break started,” Peter rambles happily, “As for school, it’s truly amazing, y/n. The classes are rigorous and I’ve met the smartest men.” 

“None smarter than me, I hope.” you jest, and Peter laughs along. The two of you seem really close. Steve can’t help but wonder if there’s more beneath the surface. You said that no man was courting you, but maybe it’s because you were waiting.

“Of course not. I’ll never meet a person with more wit than you.” Peter compliments. Anthony clears his throat behind you and Peter turns to his mentor.

“Oh, except you, Mister Stark.” he tries to recover, but Anthony doesn’t buy it. Nonetheless, he hugs the boy reservedly, a stark contrast to your embrace. Steve, who only stood up out of courtesy, feels like a stranger witnessing a family reunion until the boy turns to him.

“Captain Rogers!” Peter exclaims, quickly walking over to Steve. He grasps his hand and gushes, “I am a huge admirer. Your siege of Fort Beauregard is simply inspiring.” He’s shaking Steve’s hand wildly and if it weren’t for the underlying feeling of jealousy, he’d find it endearing.

“Why, thank you.” Steve replies curtly, causing your eyes to flicker over to him. You raise an eyebrow, seemingly suspicious to Steve’s behavior, but Peter doesn’t appear to notice. 

“So, where are you staying?” Anthony asks. Peter releases Steve’s hand and turns to his mentor. 

The boy’s face goes red and he stammers, “I-I thought I could stay here. I apologize for not writing ahead. My excitement got the better of me and I figured that a surprise would be enjoyable, but I see how this could be abrupt and uncalled for and I understand if you wish to have me leave, but my aunt-” He’s caught off by Anthony’s laugh.

“I only jest, Peter. I forget about your testy nerves. Of course, you may stay.” Anthony assures as Peter’s chest falls in relief. 

“Shall I show him to his room?” Jarvis asks, standing at the doorway.

“No need, I’m finished with breakfast. I will do it. Come, Peter.” Anthony beckons the boy, who immediately deserts his position in front of Steve and goes to the older man’s side in a matter of seconds. They leave and Jarvis follows behind them. 

“You can stop clenching the tablecloth, Captain. Peter left.” you joke, turning your attention to Steve. He looks down at his hands and sees the white fabric bunched between his fingers.

“I wasn’t.” Steve responds meekly, sitting back down. Scraping his plate, he clears his throat and says, “So, um, Peter is a nice fellow.” You burst out laughing and walk over to Steve.

“Are you jealous?” you ask teasingly. Steve rolls his eyes to contain his annoyance at how right you are.

“No, I’m just curious about your relationship with him.” Steve says. It’s quite obvious that he’s full of it, but you have mercy on him and avoid further teasing.

“He was my best friend in the village. When father found me, I convinced him to help Peter with his education. He’s quite bright, but sometimes acts like a total dolt.” you explain. Steve eases a little at your explanation.

“So, you’ve never considered courting him?” Steve asks sheepishly and you laugh again.

“No, of course not! Besides, he’s engaged to Miss Jones.” you tell him. Steve fully relaxes into his seat. “Also...” you start, taking the seat next to Steve and turning to face him. “A different man has stolen my heart.”

“Oh, and who must that be?” Steve plays along.

“His name is Captain America,” you tell him and Steve gives you a pointed look, which you ignore. “He’s strong, smart, funny.” 

“Is he handsome?” Steve turns slightly so that he can face you head-on.

“Devastatingly so,” you reply. Steve takes a quick glance around the room to see if you’re really alone before capturing your lips with his. The kiss is brief and sweet, unlike last night’s passionate affair, but it still affects his heart the same.

-

It’s a lazy day spent under the large oak tree. At mid-day, the weather has decided to give its mercy, holding back its usual treacherous winds and low temperatures that accompany spring. 

Your head is resting on Steve’s lap as you read, your knees propped up and your book resting on your royal blue skirt. Steve strokes your hair gently, occasionally brushing over the loosely tied indigo ribbon. His navy jacket is discarded a few feet away from him and his white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. 

The two of you have announced your courtship to the family last week, although it has felt it’s gone on since Steve first arrived. You’ve stolen his heart, whether you intended to or not. Steve never thought he could be so smitten with a person, but how could he not be. Your charm and beauty grow tenfold every time he’s with you.  And now that he knows you share the feeling, he has no hesitations in the showing of his affections.

“Come to America with me.” Steve says, speaking for the first time in a half-hour. 

“Pardon?” you ask as if you can’t believe the words he just uttered.  You sit up and face Steve. Closing your book, you move your full attention to him. 

“Come to America.” Steve repeats. “I have some business I have to attend to and you’ve always said you wanted to go.”

“Yes, but Steve. What would people say if an unmarried man and woman went away together?” you ask, not caring yourself but knowing the weight of everyone’s judgment would be too great to bear.

“But we wouldn’t have to worry about that. Y/n, I have loved you since the moment we met and it would be an honor if you made me your husband.” Your jaw looks like it’s about to approach the floor, so he continues.

“We could build a house on the plot of land down the road so you can still be by Morgan. It would not be as extravagant as this, but it would be enough.” Steve finishes hurriedly. You’re still silently gawking and Steve’s heart starts to rise anxiously. “My dear, please say something so I don’t think I’ve gone mad.”

“Oh Steve, I’d love to!” you exclaim, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him against your body. With your face buried in his neck, you confess, “You have brought me more joy in these past months than in all my years.” 

Steve moves away to face you. The smile on your face is unmatched and his heart soars at the idea that you will be his forever. “I love you, my dear.” 

You lean closer so that your foreheads are touching. Whispering against his lips, you retort, “I love you the most.” Before Steve could protest, he feels you grab his neck lightly and press your lips against his. Steve cups your cheek gently as he kisses you back. The taste of herbal tea and the smell of your perfume invades his senses. He’ll never get sick of kissing you.

The two of you go inside and announce your engagement to the family. The celebration dominates the rest of the day and unbeknownst to Steve, his dark blue jacket still lays beneath the oak tree and it was never seen again.

[vampire--dad]

WHATS UP Y’ALL I’VE FINALLY MANAGED TO WRITE SOMETHING This is the introduction to my Winged!Coën AU! I’m probably going to leave this just as a collection of short stories rather than a full-fledged fic. If you’d like to send me some prompts or general questions about this AU, I would be absolutely delighted to answer them!

------

It wasn’t long after Geralt and Jaskier had returned to the keep with Geralt’s child surprise that Lambert had returned, too. Geralt had contacted all of them, knowing that even he and Jaskier couldn’t raise and train a child on their own, let alone the feisty young girl that he had finally found in Brokilon Forest. They all made for the mountains, unused to seeing the castle this early in the year. Eskel was the first to arrive, even before Geralt and Jaskier, and to his surprise he didn’t mind the days he spent alone with Vesemir. They spent most of their days after training reading quietly, a much needed juxtaposition to his brothers’ typical rowdiness. Even if it wasn’t winter, he was glad to be home. 

But Lambert didn’t return alone. With him came another witcher, but not another wolf. Instead, a griffin by the name of Coën now resides within the keep. Eskel can’t particularly blame him for wanting to come here after hearing that Kaer Seren had fallen, but something about him is… off. Not only are his looks peculiar for a witcher, with scarring across his cheeks from childhood diseases and constantly bloodshot eyes, Eskel has grown wary of the way he behaves. He’s polite, gracious, incredibly skilled, a brilliant teacher to Ciri, but... he’s a little too reserved. It’s more than simply wanting privacy. It borders on standoffish, the kind that makes you wonder what they’re hiding. Eskel tries to ignore it, after all, if Lambert of all people can trust him, then Eskel can too, but something about the griffin has him on edge. That’s why he makes a point of being nearby whenever the griffin is around Ciri. 

Coën is more than aware that Eskel doesn’t trust him. He feels the wolf’s eyes on his back when he trains with Ciri in the courtyard, hears the pause in his step every now and again to cast a suspicious glance at him. And he understands. Eskel has every reason not to trust him, especially around Ciri, as do the others. Even Jaskier, the sweet and cheerful little man, is wary of him. He supposes they’re right to be. He has a secret that only he and Lambert know. The red haired wolf was never meant to find out, but after an incident with a wyvern, he had no choice. Despite this, he has come to trust Lambert. Even around his brothers, Coën knows Lambert will keep his promise to not say a word. The only thing the griffin has to worry about is being caught. 

He sneaks out under the cover of night and wanders deep into the forest before removing his medallion. The necklace retains a powerful glamour. With it hanging around his neck, he appears as an ordinary man, aside from the telltale eyes of a witcher, but as the chain passes over his head, black wings appear on his back. His feathers are long and thin, they shine under the moonlight, resembling that of a raven. He tries not to think about how he got them too much. Those are memories he would much rather forget. 

He stretches his wings, flapping them gently and smoothing some feathers back into place. They reach at least six feet either side of his body and brush against the floor when he folds them against his back. If they weren’t such a burden to keep hidden, he’d think they were quite beautiful, really. The only pleasure he can gain from them is flight. It took him years to learn, and far too many near death experiences, but now he aches to slip into the night and soar through the cool air. He shivers with anticipation and with that, gives one great flap of his wings and takes flight. 

“Eskel. Come here, look.” 

Geralt stands by one of the few windows in the keep, his arms folded as he stares out at the forest below them. Eskel moves to his brother’s side and looks out the window with a frown. 

“What am I looking at?”

“Hold on. It’ll come back up.”

Sure enough, a winged figure rises from the trees and soars high above the forest. Eskel watches through narrowed eyes as it carves an arc through the air before falling gracefully back into the trees. 

“Harpy?” he asks.

“Must be.”

They don’t usually come this far north, but he supposes one can be driven by hunger, or by force. Eskel was hoping for another quiet night in the library, but apparently that’s not an option.

“We need to deal with it before we think about taking Ciri down there,” he says. “I’ll go. You should stay here with her and Jaskier.”

Geralt opens his mouth to protest, but Eskel stops him with a look. He can’t really object to staying at home and relaxing with his lover and his daughter. He nods shortly and steps away from the window. 

“Good luck.”

The crossbow bumps against the swell of his shoulders as he follows the path from the keep. In truth, he hates to do this. The harpy appeared to be enjoying itself, reveling in the cool night air as it flew. He hates to take that away, but he has no other option. He needs to get it away from the keep for Ciri’s sake, and his only option is shooting it down. If he tries to get its attention, it will attack him or bolt without giving him the chance to drive it away.

Deep within the forest, he spots the winged figure again. Even his sharp eyes can’t make out much more than a vaguely human shaped body and a pair of wings. Eskel pulls the crossbow from his back and loads a bolt with a sigh, reminding himself that this is what he’s made to do, no matter how cruel it may seem to him.

The creature traces loops through the air, slipping in and out of sight among the treetops. Eskel tracks its path with the crossbow. It isn’t an easy shot, but he has to take it. He aims a little ahead of the creature and lets the bolt fly. It curves slightly with the wind, whistling through the trees, and strikes its mark. Eskel watches as a sleek black wing crumples against the body it’s attached to and the figure plummets, crashing somewhere in the distance and crying out in pain. Eskel grimaces at the sound and forces his feet to carry him towards it, preparing himself for the sorry sight he’s about to meet. 

Coën sucks gulps of air into his lungs, trying to keep his hands steady enough to flatten out his wing and assess the damage, but even the slightest movement sends pain searing up and down his spine. His long black feathers are slick with blood. The bolt passed straight through and left a gaping wound at the top of his wing, tearing through muscles and tendons. It took all the strength he could muster not to scream too loudly. His body is littered with cuts and bruises from the fall. But the pain is nothing compared to the truth that comes with it.

They saw him. They may not know it was him yet, but they’re going to, and they’re going to think he’s a monster. He’s not in any state to run and the trail of blood he would leave behind would lead them straight to him. There’s no point. He’s done for. 

Coën hears him before he sees him. He can tell by the weight and pace of his footsteps that it’s Eskel. Of course it’s Eskel, the one who trusts him the least. He sighs, his uninjured wing shaking slightly with fear as he tucks it carefully against his body. He hears the wolf inhale sharply, shocked as Coën turns his head with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a grimace. His heart is still racing, his breath shallow and shaking. 

“I have to say, that shot was impressive,” he pants, trying to ignore how weak his own voice sounds. 

Eskel doesn’t respond. Guilt has latched onto his throat and every word he thinks of saying is choked back down. Things have fallen into place. This is Coën’s secret. He’s no monster, or wouldn’t wear the medallion of a witcher. He’s not cursed, or the wolf’s head around his own neck would be quivering at the presence of magic. No, this is something else entirely. Something beyond Coën’s control. Something that he hid because he was ashamed and scared. The guilt Eskel felt before is nothing compared to what he feels now. No matter how little trust he had for Coën, he didn’t deserve this, and Eskel can’t leave knowing this was his doing. He has to do something. Anything. Shrugging the small pack off his back and leaving the crossbow against a tree, he steps forward. The fear in Coën’s eyes only makes him feel worse, but he pushes on. From the bag he pulls a roll of bandages, which won’t do much, but hopefully he can stop the bleeding, and a bottle of Swallow.

“What are you—?”

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says suddenly. Coën blinks at him, the fear beginning to leave his eyes. He thrusts the potion into the griffin's hand. “Just let me help.”

Coën searches Eskel’s expression for a moment before closing trembling fingers around the small bottle and turning away. Eskel hesitates, unsure of what to do, then begins to gently flatten out his wing and wrap the bandages around his feathers as tightly as he can without disturbing them. Blood has already settled into the fibres, staining them even darker than they were before. Silence rests over the pair. The griffin swings his head back and drinks the potion in one go, ignoring the horrible taste it leaves in his mouth. It isn’t until Eskel begins to wipe the blood from the skin of his back that Coën works up the courage to say something.

“So do you want an explanation?”

“I shot you. I didn’t think it was exactly my place to ask for one.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“... Yes.”

Coën pauses and for a moment, Eskel regrets asking. He knew it couldn’t have been a pleasant story, but the way the griffin’s face falls and he looks off into the night makes his gut twist uncomfortably. 

“There’s no gentle way to put it. When I was around ten years old, I was kidnapped by mages,” Coën starts. “They’d been banished from their guild and they were performing experiments, mostly on children.”

“That’s... vile.”

“Yes, but hush.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. They had some idea of creating a group of enhanced warriors to exact revenge and overthrow the guild they had come from— or something like that. I would have been the first of them, as none of the children before me had survived. They gave me… these.”

Coën stretches his good wing carefully, smoothing out the feathers and picking a leaf from between them. Eskel carefully tucks away the thought of how stunning they are into the corner of his mind. Not now. 

“My mentor, Belvic, caught word of a tower outside of town. I don’t remember where exactly, somewhere in Poviss. The villagers had heard screaming coming from there. He cut every last one of the mages down and then he found me. The rest is pretty self explanatory.”

Eskel is quiet for a moment, wondering if he should press further. 

“You must have been eleven or twelve when you began the trials… that’s older than most,” he says carefully.

Coën nods. “I was. I don’t really remember why they made me do it, I think Belvic tried to stop them. No one thought I was actually going to survive.”

“And… these?”

Eskel gestures towards Coën’s injured wing. The griffin only raises an eyebrow at him, prompting him to say more.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you still have them,” Eskel scoffs gravely. “How did they handle you having these?”

“I’d say they handled it well,” Coën answers with a wry smile. “They wanted to remove them. Belvic stopped them, said I didn’t deserve to suffer even more than I already had… My medallion keeps them hidden. Belvic didn’t make me do the Trial, said I’d already shown the courage to have earned my medallion.”

The far off look in Coën’s eyes gives the impression that Belvic was much more than just a mentor to him, as Vesemir is to Eskel. He doesn’t yet have the courage to ask what happened to him. 

“Where is it?” Eskel asks.

“What?”

“Your medallion. We need to get back to the keep, I can do more for you there.”

Coën seems to frown slightly and his gaze falls and lands on the forest floor. Eskel can practically see the turmoil in his eyes before they leave his sight. 

“Why are you helping me, Eskel?” he asks quietly. 

That’s what Coën doesn’t understand. He expected to be treated like a monster. He expected to be told to leave Kaer Morhen without a second thought, or worse… Receiving the opposite response makes no sense to him. The wolf is silent, his brow furrowed as he struggles with how to answer. 

“Because I hate hurting things— or people— that haven’t done anything to hurt anyone,” Eskel says at last. “I don’t want to hurt something for the sake of hurting it. That’s horrible. I’m not going to do that. And now that I understand why you always seemed like you were hiding something and… look, you didn’t deserve to get shot for something you had no say in. I just… I feel bad, alright? Just… let me.”

Coën pauses for a moment. The guilt in Eskel’s voice is just about enough to convince him, and the sad look in his eyes, a deep ache that has plagued him and every witcher to walk this land for years, is the nail in the coffin.

“Alright. On one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Lambert is the only other person who knows about these. I plan on keeping it that way. I don’t even want him to know that you know. Understand?”

[vesperstalksclones]

Cody x Reader

(18+)

Some smutty angsty sexyness that is Cody. My FIRST EVER fic written down properly and posted for the world to see. A story of a gal who was hurt by one man, but will be healed by another.

○○○

"Umf!"

My breath rushed out of my chest as he pushed me down on to the bed. 

He loomed over me, predatory, menacing,... eyes of hard amber perusing my naked flesh, like a great beast considering the first bite of of his meal.

How I wanted him.

Cody.

He prowled up my form, muscles rolling under the bronzed skin. Spreading a scarred paw across my abdomen, he skidded it firmly upwards, the drag of the calloused fingers trailing tingles of delight in their wake. Upon my sternum. Between my breasts. He pressed his weight there upon my collarbone, while the his other hand dragged my knee to the wayside. Spreading my intimacy wide open before him he squirmed his thighs under mine, and flexed his hips outward. The result sent my insides fluttering like a caged bird, as his pelvis pressed forcefully against mine, crushing his solid member against my already eager sex.

My shuddering breath caught in my throat, and instead escaped as a groan so wanton in its tones it could've made his chaste monk of a general go scrambling for a clean pair of trousers.

He grinned, obviously pleased with my reaction.

"Is that so, Ad'ika?" The oppressive hand left my chest and slunk up across my neck. "You want me rough and angry?" 

His lilting baritone voice caressed my ears. Tantalizing is its veiled meaning. 

His hand darted under the nape of my neck, filled itself with my loose tresses, twisted and hauled at me firmly. I couldn't help but obey his touch, my body arching under his.

"I am not a gentle man…"

My hands groped at his skin, searching the sinews of his neck and then the muscles of his shoulders and back, seeking a sturdy hold I could use to pull him closer to me, whimpering all the while with my eagerness. 

Cody took the opportunity to thrust an arm underneath me to maintain the curving slope I had offered him. Dipping his head he tasted my lips, and neck, licking and biting his way southward. 

As I wriggled against him, my heart raced, hammering against my ribs. He was fierce and dangerous and I was utterly at his mercy.

Cody was soldier born and bred. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, and thusly force and violence had been taught to him as the appropriate solution for every situation. It showed through in his attentions.

He was an alpha male. 

Proud. Regal. Dominant. 

He had watched me for so long, perfectly posed during briefings and meetings, so serene and dignified. But his eyes. They would occasionally meet mine across a holo display, and my insides would clench violently. Those golden gems positively dripped with a primal desire, whether to mate or to feed I wasnt ever sure, but he distinctly reminded me of a monstrous lion-cat I had seen caged at the grand zoo on Couresant. The great male had regarded me as a snack, protected by the durasteel bars. Knowing I was beyond his reach, he had silently paced and imagined the taste of my flesh. And thus was the Commander of the 212th. Pacing safely behind his bars of self discipline. 

Wanting.

Hungering. 

It had haunted me until I couldn't function at my duties knowing he was nearby. And then couldn't sleep when the honey eyed fantasies besieged me. And THEN further struggled at work for the exhausted hangover that resulted. Damn him and his fucking beautiful eyes and the fucking cycle of self torment they set in motion.

His mouth had reached my breasts. He paused and buried his face there, rubbing his cheeks in to their fullness and drawing in deeply of my scent, his exhale fanning a hot breeze across the soft skin and tickling at the dusky pebbles waiting there. He  nibbled his way to the treat, groaning with approval. He captured the firmness of my nipple with his teeth, giving a few experimental tugs before pinching hard. I jumped against him and yelped. Cody answered my bucking by grinding himself against me, his rigid cock finding its way between my slick folds and nudging the most delicious friction against the bundle of nerves hidden there.

"Codeeee..." I pleaded for nothing in particular. I watched as he mouthed at my breast, then took as much as he could in to his maw, sucking hard and lathing his tongue against the firm bud as if he sought to erase it from existence.  I gasped out praises as I raked my nails over his scalp and gripped at his thick dark hair. 

His hand crept between us, and he lifted away from my belly, fisting his member. A few eager strokes smeared my wetness along his length and, satisfied with the preparation, he pressed its throbbing head against my entrance. I sucked in a shaky breath as he began to sink in to me, relishing the stretch of my muscles around his thickness. Without warning he slammed against me, burying his entire length inside as his hips met flush with my thighs. I twisted with a shriek of surprise at the sudden invasion, pulling free of his mouth, the cool air causing goosebumps to rise on my wet flesh. 

Without pause, the Commander withdrew and surged in to me again, and again, bracing his arms by my ribs, setting a grueling pace as rough and as angry as he had offered. My fingers kneeded at this forearms, scrabbling for purchase on the satin wrapped stone pillars, mewling and calling to him with every bone shaking thrust. 

"Fucking hell woman!" Cody snarled from his chest, his rasping breath giving his deep voice a gritty edge infused with sticky, heady lust. "I've to fight to get inside you, you're so tight!" The best answer I could manage was strangled croon as I reached for his face.

His big hands snatched my arms away, strong fingers shackeling around my wrists and pinning them beside my head. He dropped his sweat soaked forehead to my shoulder and rammed in to me with every ounce of his body behind it. My muscles clenched at him like a greedy fist and he pushed back against them, uttering a deep animalistic grunt in my ear.

That noise proved my undoing. It ricochetted around in my mind and knocked loose something long ignored. A memory tucked away in the darkest recesses, and for a moment the world warped. Another man was on top of me, pinning my arms, his body heaving against mine. He had pressed his face to my neck, unwilling to look me in the eyes. He made no noise except for his grunts of exertion. And I had silently cried.

Cold fear began to seep through my gut, electric tingles of anxiety spreading out from my navel. 

"Co…. Cody…"

Please, let me see your eyes. I need to know your here with me. His teeth scraped my neck in response.

"Cody…." I pleaded.

Look at me. Answer me. Please… anything! Just chase that fucking image away!

"CODY! CODY STOP!" 

Cody froze, every muscle taunt and straining. His head snapped up, eyes wide. 

"What?! What's… Ad'ika, why do you look at me that way?? Have I hurt you?"

His brow knit with worry. And then, after a moments thought, in to his eyes… those magnificent honey colored pools… seeped horror. He pushed up off of me, shame washing over his features. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry cyare! I thought that.. this is … is what… you.." he stammered. He was shaking from head to toe. 

"No Cody! Don't think that!" 

It was what I wanted. He was what I wanted. I had led him to my bed by my own hand. I knew Cody wasn't a cruel man. Tough and hard yes. Severe, sometimes. But abusive? Not for a hot second. I couldn't let him even entertain the thought that he had done wrong by mounting me. He slid further away and I lunged for him, catching his shoulders in a death grip. 

"I got inside my own head for a moment.. And I frightened myself. I just needed to see your face and put it back where it belongs. Please don't think like that..." I pressed my forehead to his, our eyes almost close enough that the lashes could have tangled.

"...ever!" I kissed him gently, very aware that I had frightened him far more than I had myself.

Cody settled on his knees, searching my face. His own was still etched with worry: his forehead wrinkled, contorting the scar that twisted around his left eye. His full lips curved in to frown.

"What are you afraid of, cyar'ika?" He whispered. I lowered my eyes, afraid that he might see the truth festering there. "What's been done to you? Tell me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck. Pulling myself against his thick chest, I sighed. 

"I won't tell you, Cody, not right now. Especially not while you are trying to make love to me… and I've emotionally kicked you in the nuts." 

Maybe not ever. I don't want him to know. I dont want whatever he and I might have to be tainted by such a shadow. Especially one that I had thought had been put to bed.

He framed my face with his hands and tilted it to his. 

"What do you need from me?" He whispered softly against me. At least the fear had abated, and now he wore concern, and tenderness. Such a juxtaposition from the man who had raged on top of me only minutes ago. 

"Just talk to me, love. Let me see your face so I can watch you enjoy me." I was relieved that he accepted my silence about the matter.

He regarded me for a moment.

"You still want me to touch you?"

"Umh" I nodded.

"You're not frightened of me?"

"No."

He sighed with relief, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and pulling me in to a tight embrace. He tipped forward with me, supporting some of his weight, but laying most of it on top of me. 

We stayed like that for a while, kissing and whispering about nonsense. I marveled at his heft upon me. It could have been oppressive, but instead I felt safe. Protected. Anchored to something real.

It was when Cody began nuzzling at my neck that I noticed he was hardening against my thigh. Lifting his hips, he made room for his fingers to creep between my legs, praising my softness and promising to thoroughly wear me out. 

He pleaded for my readiness as he caressed my clit, demanding for me to be wet and eager so that his cock wouldn't bruise me.

When his thick fingers delved inside of me, his thick knuckles flexed against my opening, and the rough pads searched for the bit of flesh within me that bit like lightning when caressed properly. 

He watched my face, just like I had asked, admiring every blush and wince as I rolled my hips in time with the rhythm of his hand. 

I begged him to enter me, to thrust deeply and hard enough to split me in two. To mark me, and claim me for himself. 

 Scrambling to his knees, he hauled me up against his chest, palmed my ass with his hands and lifted me above his waist. Positioning me above his twitching member, he lowered me slowly, allowing my body weight to impale me upon his rod. I groaned as his hard flesh parted me, feeling the ridge around his head slip inside, followed by the shaft of his raging erection. He filled me to bursting, connecting us in the most primitive and visceral way. 

"Cyar'ika, that is my cock that sits inside you. You were made perfectly for me," Cody gasped against my mouth. "and I will fill every space within you so that there will never be room for anyone else!"

His arms wrapped around my waist with a steel grip. Arching his back and flexing his hips he raised me off of his lap, and hesitated only a breath before slamming me down, seating himself fully within me. I kissed him again and again until his thrusts became to vigorous to manage. All I could do was simply hang on, and loose myself in the feeling of his hard body. 

"Who fills you, woman?" he growled, "Who will you think about in the night?"

"Ah! Cody!" I sobbed, quickly loosing the ability to form proper thoughts. He growled deep in his chest, rapidly giving in to his hunger, staring in to my eyes as he bared his teeth, unwilling to hide his grunts and groans as he did before. 

My body was becoming frantic, begging for this male to push me over the edge and snap the tight knot that was building below my navel. I felt myself sinking under, drowning in the sensations he was driving between my thighs. 

"I'm close Cody!" 

He fought to keep his eyes focused on mine as he hammered his cock in to me. 

"Come for me, ad'ika!" He roared, half commanding half pleading. He rammed himself in viciously enough to make my head whip back. Liquid gold flooded through my veins as my climax spilled around his member. The edges of my vision darkened and stars exploded in front of my eyes. I had the feeling of falling, of the room spinning around me even as Cody's strong arms held me in place. 

Cody thrust within me again with equal strength. Another. And on the third he dug his fingers in to my hips painfully, an oath to some long forgotten god torn from his lips, snarling like a mating loth-wolf as he emptied himself in to me.

In the shadow of his release, Cody's strength waned. He slowly sunk forward, heaving ragged breaths so hard he almost seemed to be sobbing. I combed gentle fingers through his hair, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air on my skin as it swirled around us, lulling us two poor broken fools in to oblivion.

○○○

We had awoken in the early hours, Cody needing to return to his barracks to prepare for the coming day. He dressed and kissed me sweetly, apologizing for his duties that pulled him away. As the door closed I pressed my face in to the pillows where we had slept. They were spiced with the scent of the Marshall Commander, mingled with the salty aroma of sex. I wished for him to be there when I woke up. That he didn't have to be a soldier. That he didn't have to risk his life in another man's war.

○○○

I became aware of daylight on my eyelids.. My mind was foggy and slow, as if it was trying to swim through mud. There was something going on that was strangely out of place in my comfy bed, and disrupting my slumber. As I crossed the threshold in to wakefulness a moan escaped my throat and my jaw fell open. I tried to make sense of the smartly groomed head nosing between my legs as a tongue firmly scrubbed across my already alert clit. 

"Good morning love…." he emphasized the pet name I had used the night before,, grumbling in to my over eager besh & winking one of those gorgeous golden eyes. "Good news…. I've the day off…" 

~Fin~

[onceinabluehanguangjun]

into you like a train (3/5)

warning: minor mention of a past injury

previous | next

ao3

The next day passed in silence. 

No rambunctious man came knocking on the door and Lan Zhan took this as a sign that he could actually finish grading his papers. He sipped his tea and made sure he ate and kept his mind busy until night. He didn’t let himself think about Wei Ying until he was in bed again and his face wouldn’t leave Lan Zhan alone. He was good looking and kind and probably thought Lan Zhan was too weird to speak to.

Which was fine. Normal. It happened.

The day after that, though, Lan Zhan decided to go on a walk and attempt to enjoy himself since he would only be here for a couple more days. There were tons of paths around the cabin and the snow was beginning to melt, so it wasn’t as cold. He bundled up nonetheless and put in only one of his earbuds so he could still be aware of his surroundings. 

It was going pretty well and he managed to feel relaxed despite the fact he was in the middle of nowhere. He supposed it helped that he’d met Wei Ying and learned how tight-knit this community was. It felt safe to wander around in. Which is the mindset he had up until he heard rustling in the trees and something rammed onto his leg before latching on.

His first instinct was to kick whatever it was away from him, but he thankfully had the foresight to look down first and managed to stop himself once he realized it was a child. Lan Zhan stared down at it as he caught his breath and the child stared back with wide, tearful eyes.

“What…” he trailed off, blinking down at it. Only that apparently didn’t sit well with the child because it immediately started crying. So much for relaxing.

He had about a full five seconds to worry about being accused of kidnapping before he heard another voice.

“A-Yuan!”

Within a few seconds, Wei Ying burst through the trees and skidded to a stop once he saw the child in question, catching his breath. He spared Lan Zhan a glance before he walked up and pried the child off his leg, hiking him onto his hip.

“What did I say about running off in the woods like that?” Wei Ying scolded.

“Don’t,” the child, A-Yuan, whined out. Wei Ying sighed and shook his head.

“Yeah, don’t, so don’t do it. You could run into a wolf that’ll snatch you up and steal you away and you’ll have to live in a cave and become a wolf yourself. Is that what you want, to become a little wolf-man?” Wei Ying told him, poking him in the stomach. A-Yuan gasped and dramatically hid his face in Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“No wolf!”

“Then don’t run away from me,” Wei Ying told him, “I should get you a leash.”

Lan Zhan blinked between the two, trying to make sense of it. Wei Ying, the drunken primary school teacher who makes pastries at the crack of dawn and goes grocery shopping for candy and energy drinks and spent hours with him a couple of nights prior, had a little boy. Was there anything this man could do that wouldn’t throw Lan Zhan off?

“I’m sorry, again, he gets excited when he sees animals in the woods and runs off sometimes,” Wei Ying said to him, laughing slightly. It wasn’t the big boisterous laughter from before though, it was a little uncomfortable. “I’m really ruining your vacation, aren’t I?”

Lan Zhan swallowed softly and thought about his brother’s words. Maybe it was fate. Maybe he wasn’t annoying him.

“No,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying blinked in surprise and then his smile broke out into the real thing.

“Good,” he said, carefully putting A-Yuan back down. He immediately latched onto Wei Ying’s leg and looked up at Lan Zhan with big, piercing eyes. Lan Zhan had never really been around children that little before, not since he was one. Even the kids he student taught were much older. “If it makes it any better, he only hugs the legs of people he likes. So at least we know he has taste.”

“He’s yours?” Lan Zhan asked despite his better judgment. Wei Ying put a hand on A-Yuan’s head and puffed out his chest dramatically.

“I gave birth to him,” Wei Ying said. Lan Zhan blinked and the other man divulged into laughter. “By proxy, of course.”

So he was married or perhaps had a girlfriend. That meant it didn’t matter whether Wei Ying was aesthetically pleasing or not. For some reason, that didn’t make Lan Zhan feel any better.

“Tall gege,” A-Yuan said, pointing up at Lan Zhan. Wei Ying grabbed his hand to stop him from pointing at him.

“Yes, very tall gege. Giant gege. Skyscraper gege,” Wei Ying said, winking at Lan Zhan as if they had some sort of inside joke, “Isn’t that right, Gege?”

Lan Zhan blinked and felt his ears grow warm, his hand clutching his phone a bit tighter at the tone of his voice. Wei Ying laughed, but he didn’t mention anything about Lan Zhan’s reaction if he noticed. 

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed. Wei Ying smiled so brightly his eyes squinted and he scrunched up his nose. It was overwhelmingly cute in a way Lan Zhan had no idea how to handle.

“But let’s just call him Zhan-gege,” Wei Ying said. A-Yuan nodded. “Alright, well, I don’t want to bother you anymore and I promised this one lunch, so,” Wei Ying said, getting a better grip on A-Yuan’s hand so he couldn’t run away again, “It was nice seeing your face again, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan stayed still as Wei Ying went to walk away, but A-Yuan seemed to root himself into place with his eyes on Lan Zhan. It was a little awkward and disjointed, the two of them silent and just blinking at each other. Wei Ying snorted.

“A-Yuan, come on,” he said. A-Yuan looked up at him and then back to Lan Zhan and then looked back up to Wei Ying before waving at him to come down. Wei Ying smiled and crouched down, letting A-Yuan lean close to his ear.

“Zhan-gege’s all alone,” he not-so-quietly whispered. Lan Zhan instantly felt uncomfortable at that, but Wei Ying didn’t seem to think it was an accusation. He just rolled his eyes.

“Some people like taking walks alone,” Wei Ying explained, “Shushu does that all the time.”

A-Yuan looked back to Lan Zhan and then leaned to whisper again. “Zhan-gege eats lunch all alone?”

Wei Ying looked up to Lan Zhan for a moment. He seemed to be trying to say something with his eyes alone, but Lan Zhan didn’t know him well enough to translate.

“A-Yuan, let’s not bother him, okay?”

“But he needs a friend,” A-Yuan said, insisting like Wei Ying clearly wasn’t understanding. Lan Zhan was beginning to feel like this child was given a script directly by his big brother to guilt him into spending more time with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying sighed and stood up straight, looking at Lan Zhan. He looked so grown with A-Yuan there, it was a weird juxtaposition from the lively and childish man he’d seen every other time. It was intriguing.

“Feel free to say fuck off, but would you like to join us for lunch?” Wei Ying said, giving a small smile as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, “No hard feelings if you don’t want to, but I thought I’d ask.”

Lan Zhan swallowed softly and looked down to the little boy who was looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. He thought about Wei Ying saying how most of the children up here don’t venture down the mountain for most of their lives, they don’t meet new people very often. He thought about his own childhood, how his uncle had kept them under strict rules to keep them in line and kept them away from others, and how that probably led to him being so inept at social interaction. Maybe… Maybe he could convince himself he was helping.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan agreed. Wei Ying’s eyes widened and then he smiled, looking so completely and utterly thrilled. It made Lan Zhan’s stomach hurt, honestly. Just… not in a bad way.

“Ah, it’s A-Yuan’s little face, isn’t it? Hard to say no,” Wei Ying said, reaching down to squeeze A-Yuan’s face in his hand. “Well, let’s go.”

Lan Zhan awkwardly followed them, listening to them both talk like it was just easy to rattle off a conversation like that with no fear of rejection. A-Yuan would ask a question and Wei Ying would immediately have an answer, regardless of if it made sense or not. 

“Baba, what’s that?”

“Ice, you know that.”

“Why?”

“Because the snow is melting.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s getting hotter.”

“Why?”

“Because the temperature is never the same, changes every day.”

“Why?”

“Climate change, probably.”

“Oh.”

Lan Zhan thought about when he was little and if his uncle had allowed him to ask why that much. He couldn’t imagine that he had, especially since unnecessary noise wasn’t allowed. A-Yuan clearly didn’t have that rule as he asked questions and, when he didn’t have anything to ask, he would hum a little song he made up as he led the way.

Wei Ying bobbed his head along to the song, approving of it and not scolding if it was off-key or annoying. He just let it happen. Lan Zhan immediately felt his heart clench as he thought that he was probably a very good father.

“Zhan-gege,” A-Yuan said, looking up to Lan Zhan all of the sudden. It scared him a little. What if he didn’t have answers like Wei Ying? “Do you know my song?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Wei Ying cut in.

“Shh, Baba, don’t interrupt big kids,” A-Yuan said, eyes wide as if he was truly scandalized. Wei Ying smiled and looked over to Lan Zhan, miming a zipper over his lips. “Zhan-gege?”

“Which one?” Lan Zhan asked slowly. A-Yuan took a deep breath and sang a little tune about the snow falling. Simple, childlike, wordy. 

“And it hits the ground and it sticks to the grass and the trees and the stuff,” Wei Ying sang along, leaning towards Lan Zhan and nudging his shoulder. Lan Zhan’s face felt warm.

When A-Yuan finished, he looked up to Lan Zhan.

“I don’t know it,” he admitted, “But I can learn.”

A-Yuan nodded like that was a valid response which was exciting enough, but the look on Wei Ying’s face made Lan Zhan feel like he was short-circuiting. It was something that seemed to be sheer adoration and soft and warm and for him. It was too overwhelming and Lan Zhan turned his eyes to the ground.

“Zhan-gege,” A-Yuan continued.

“Mn?”

“Wanna see the snowman me and Baba made?” he asked. Lan Zhan looked at Wei Ying who was already pulling out his phone as if to find pictures.

“Sure.”

“Baba,” A-Yuan said, reaching up for his phone, “I can do it.”

“Oh, you can?” Wei Ying teased before handing it to him. They both watched as A-Yuan carefully held the phone and went to the pictures, finding it easily. “Guess you can.”

“Zhan-gege,” A-Yuan said again, reaching up to him with expectant, grabby hands. 

Lan Zhan looked to Wei Ying for permission and he held his hands up like he wasn’t a part of the equation. A-Yuan continued to wait patiently to be picked up until Lan Zhan did his best to do just that. When Lan Zhan looked over to Wei Ying for approval, all he got was the man smiling forward and continuing his walk.

“See, look,” A-Yuan said, showing him the pictures of him with a snowman with a smile that seemed to be a direct imitation of Wei Ying’s. 

“Mn.”

He slid to the next picture which was a selfie with Wei Ying, A-Yuan, and the snowman. A-Yuan started to tell him about it with a sea of breathy, disjointed sentences that only made a little bit of sense. Lan Zhan nodded along and it was enough. He was beginning to think that children were much easier to be around than adults. They didn’t require that much input.

Before Lan Zhan even knew it, they were towards the bottom of the mountain and at a little restaurant. It was a part of the same circle of shops that the tea house was and was probably a way for the people on the mountain to make money. A-Yuan pointed excitedly at a fish tank the moment they walked inside the restaurant. 

“Zhan-gege, look!”

“I’ll get a table,” Wei Ying said, leaving Lan Zhan with a toddler on his arms and an allegedly mesmerizing fish tank. He tried not to be overwhelmed by that responsibility.

“Hi, fishy,” A-Yuan cooed, his voice soft as he reached out. Lan Zhan caught his hand before he could touch the glass.

“That scares them,” he explained. A-Yuan nodded thoughtfully.

“Sorry, fishy,” he not-so-quietly whispered, “Zhan-gege, Zhan-gege, Zhan-gege.”

“Hm?”

“What’s its name?”

“I’m not sure,” Lan Zhan answered honestly. A-Yuan pouted for a moment.

“Can I name them?” he asked. And Lan Zhan didn’t see why not.

By the time Wei Ying came to lead them to the table, they’d compiled the names Fluffy, Fire, and Fins for three of them. Fire (a bright orange goldfish) was only allowed to be said in an angry voice, of course. He was a little sad to say goodbye, but he waved at them nonetheless. And, yes, Lan Zhan was convinced that children were better than people at that point.

Lan Zhan put A-Yuan down in his chair and he sat politely, eyes focused on the screen of Wei Ying’s phone. He opened some game on it and was immediately entranced. Which left Lan Zhan to have to make conversation with Wei Ying.

“He likes you,” Wei Ying reiterated, smiling, “He’s usually shy.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, tilting his head, “What do you like to eat? We’ve talked so much and I’ve never seen what you eat.” 

Lan Zhan didn’t think they’d spoken that much all.

“I don’t eat meat,” Lan Zhan said softly, “But that’s my only restriction.”

“Ah, okay, okay, I can work with that!” he said excitedly, looking through the menu. Lan Zhan blinked and grabbed his own menu, carefully opening it. He wasn’t sure if Wei Ying was planning on finding him something or not. 

And, honestly, it was a relief when Wei Ying did order for him and Lan Zhan didn’t have to worry about it.

“So, Lan Zhan, how do you like it here?” Wei Ying asked. 

Lan Zhan thought about it for a moment. It was quiet and peaceful, which was good. The people, so far, were nice enough. All of his panicking so far was his own fault. Really, the only bad thing was that it wasn’t home.

“It’s nice.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I first moved here. I promise it grows on you a whole lot more the longer you stay. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Wei Ying said decidedly, smiling as he looked over to his son. When his eyes came back to Lan Zhan, he leaned forward and made that face like they had an inside joke again. “Well, I’d like to travel more, but don’t tell him that.”

“Gusu is nice,” Lan Zhan said slowly, “Child friendly.”

Wei Ying raised an eyebrow and sat up straight. “Lan Zhan, is that an invitation?” Lan Zhan’s eyes drifted anywhere but at him, desperate to seem casual. It wasn’t an invitation. Or, at least, he didn’t think it was. “I’m teasing! Yes, I’ve been to Gusu, it’s nice. The liquor there is the best I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t drink,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying’s eyes widened a little and he laughed.

“Oh, then why did you put up with me?!” Wei Ying asked, laughing enough to get A-Yuan to look up at him, “You’re far too kind, Gege.”

Lan Zhan waited for a moment to try and gauge if the question was meant to be rhetorical or not. When Wei Ying didn’t say anything further, he decided it wouldn’t be terrible to answer either way.

“I didn’t want you to be cold,” he said‒if only because it sounded much better than saying he didn’t want him to die and freeze to the front door. For his part, Wei Ying smiled so wide his eyes formed little crescents and he gave that blissful little hum that made Lan Zhan feel at home.

It took Lan Zhan until the food came before he realized that probably wasn’t a good feeling to have for a man who was probably in a committed relationship with a son who also happened to live two hours away from his home.

And yet…

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, try this,” Wei Ying said, leaning over the table with a spoonful of whatever sort of congee he’d gotten. His fingertips touched the bottom of Lan Zhan’s chin and he found himself opening his mouth and letting Wei Ying give him a taste. It was strange and his eyes scanned the room once he sat back, expecting judging eyes to be on them. Instead, no one was phased. “Good?”

“Mn.”

“Baba, my turn,” A-Yuan said, opening his mouth wide. Wei Ying laughed softly and got a spoonful of A-Yuan’s own meal before shoveling it into his mouth carefully.

“Good, A-Yuan?”

“Mhm!” A-Yuan said, nodding as he did his best to chew with his mouth closed. Lan Zhan found himself grateful for that. He hated the sound of people eating.

“Try yours,” Wei Ying urged, eyes shining as he gave his attention back to Lan Zhan. The more he kept his attention on him, the more he found himself rather okay with it. Maybe even preferring it. That was strange.

Still, Lan Zhan looked at his own meal of what seemed to be primarily tofu and beans. It wasn’t too different from what he’d feed himself, maybe a bit more red-tinted than he’d typically choose. He grabbed his spoon to take a bite and‒

“Do you like it?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan froze a bit as his mouth started burning. He swallowed it nonetheless, but he was sure he wasn’t subtle enough when he immediately grabbed his glass of water. Wei Ying just laughed. “There’s no way that’s spicier than mine!”

And maybe it wasn’t and Lan Zhan had simply been too distracted to notice that time.

“Let me try,” Wei Ying suggested, opening his mouth in a childish way that seemed to mimic A-Yuan more than anything. Lan Zhan, despite the burning in his mouth, found himself fighting a smile. 

In the most out of character move he’d ever make in his life, Lan Zhan found himself taking a spoonful of his meal and feeding it to the man across the table. He was sure his face was on fire, but Wei Ying didn’t notice as he tilted his head left to right as he weighed if it was hotter than his or not.

“Hmmm,” Wei Ying hummed, “It’s definitely not hotter than mine, but, if it’s too hot, you can switch with A-Yuan.” Lan Zhan stared at him with a blank expression which just got Wei Ying laughing. “I’m teasing!”

“Zhan-gege,” A-Yuan called, reaching over with a spoonful of his food.

“Be careful,” Lan Zhan said mindlessly as he scooted the chair in a bit more so he wouldn’t fall, still taking the bite he was offered. A-Yuan smiled all bright and sweet. “It’s very good.”

When he looked back to Wei Ying, he got that soft little look again that made his heart beat a bit oddly in his chest. He turned his eyes down to his food so he didn’t have to focus on it.

“If it’s too hot, we can ask for something else,” Wei Ying offered. Lan Zhan shook his head. There were a lot of things he’d rather do than send his food back for something else, including skydiving or giving a speech in front of the entire country.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying said, voice teasing and sweet.

For the first time in his life, a meal wasn’t silent. Sure, Lan Huan had loud meals with his friends sometimes, but never ones that included him like this. A-Yuan and Wei Ying both kept him in conversation, a constant stream of ‘Gege’ all meant to make sure he knew he was being spoken to. It was better than going on a walk by himself.

Lan Zhan ended up paying despite protests from Wei Ying‒”I invited you!” “You paid for tea.” “That’s not at all the same amount of money as a meal for three!” “Mn. Too late.” “Lan Zhan!”‒and they left to head back home. A-Yuan was a bit quieter this time and Lan Zhan almost asked if something was wrong, but Wei Ying beat him to it.

“Come here,” Wei Ying told A-Yuan, crouching down in front of him. Lan Zhan watched as he used his sleeve to wipe his nose and then fixed his little scarf around him, tucking it into his jacket. “You want me to carry you?” A-Yuan shook his head which earned a raised eyebrow from Wei Ying. “You want to walk?”

“Zhan-gege,” A-Yuan said, holding his arms up to him. 

“Eh, A-Yuan, let’s not bother Gege, okay? He carried you already,” Wei Ying said.

“I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan offered. Wei Ying looked up at him.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, if you keep this up, how am I supposed to let you leave?” he teased. Lan Zhan decided any answer he had to that wouldn’t be a good one and instead just picked up A-Yuan. “You’re smiling again.”

Lan Zhan ignored him again, letting A-Yuan lay his head on his shoulder as he continued to walk. Wei Ying laughed and kept up the pace.

“Are we just going to Jiejie’s cabin?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan looked at him over A-Yuan’s head.

“I can walk you home if you’d prefer.”

Wei Ying just smiled at him and shrugged. “Either way, I don’t mind. Whatever means I get to bother you longer.”

“You don’t bother me,” Lan Zhan said. I bother you, he didn’t say. 

"I keep telling you, Lan Zhan, I'm very annoying," Wei Ying teased, though Lan Zhan was beginning to think they weren't jokes. Maybe they had more in common than he originally assumed.

"Mn, as am I." 

"No, you're not, you're perfect," Wei Ying laughed. Lan Zhan kept his eyes forward.

"Then so are you."

Wei Ying took a deep breath, loud enough for Lan Zhan to notice, and let himself laugh it off. Again, Lan Zhan couldn’t help but notice how much his presence was a welcome one. In fact, he didn’t want him to leave. The only other person with who he’d felt so comfortable was his brother. It was strange.

Was this the way Lan Huan felt about everyone?

“Did he fall asleep that quickly?” Wei Ying asked softly, leaning close to check A-Yuan. Lan Zhan craned his neck to see he was indeed sound asleep, eyes closed and breaths even. The adoration Lan Zhan felt was only broken by the close proximity of Wei Ying’s breath on his jaw. “I can take him.”

“Wouldn’t that wake him?”

“Maybe, but he was just being a brat when he wanted you to carry him. Don’t feel obligated to,” Wei Ying insisted. Lan Zhan shrugged carefully.

“I don’t mind.”

Wei Ying’s fingers grazed his spine as he put some space between them again and A-Yuan’s presence was the only thing that kept Lan Zhan from shivering. It still covered his body in chills that didn’t make sense. He looked over to Wei Ying again and noticed the way the sun shined through the trees and seemed to capture him perfectly. Maybe aesthetically pleasing was too modest for him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said, sighing loudly as he threw his arms out. Lan Zhan nearly shushed him so he wouldn’t wake A-Yuan, but the boy didn’t even stir and he had to assume he was accustomed to a father that spoke this much. “You are far too much.”

“Too much?” Lan Zhan asked carefully.

Wei Ying looked at him, exasperated almost. That almost sick feeling knotted in his stomach all over again.

“You watch over me when I get drunk and nearly ruin your vacation, you entertain me when I talk at you for hours, and now you’re entirely unphased and kind to my kid? I’m only one man, Lan Zhan, and you’re simply too good to be true,” Wei Ying stated. His tone of voice sounded like he was complaining, but his words and his smile told an entirely different story. Lan Zhan had no response.

“Mn.”

Wei Ying laughed that warm laugh of his and it led into a groan, his head tilting back. His face was flushed a deep red. This time, it was clear it had nothing to do with the cold or alcohol. Lan Zhan couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

“What are you doing to me?” he asked. It was a question Lan Zhan was convinced was rhetorical. Wei Ying was in a relationship with a child and lived on his mountain that people never moved away from‒Lan Zhan had done nothing to mess with any of that. It wasn’t a real question.

So Lan Zhan didn’t answer and they finished their walk to the cabin.

Wei Ying used the key to unlock the door and Lan Zhan took A-Yuan to the bedroom without thought, laying him on the neatly made bed. He carefully moved the blankets to cover him up and Wei Ying grabbed the pillows to make a barricade between his son and the edge of the bed.

When they found themselves back in the main room, Lan Zhan found himself face to face with this man who was somehow both the most comforting and most anxiety-inducing man he’d ever met. Wei Ying stared right at him, not wavering from eye contact even a little. Lan Zhan waited for him to speak first.

“My adoptive mother doesn’t like me,” Wei Ying said. It came out of seemingly nowhere, but Lan Zhan stayed silent. “She’s convinced herself that her husband had an affair and that I’m the product of that affair, so she takes it out on me. Always has, probably always will no matter what. It’s fine. But… When I got a bit older, I learned it didn’t matter what I did because she would hate me no matter what. So I spiraled. Got kicked out of boarding schools, isolated myself, lost contact with my siblings, was just reckless and caused a lot of collateral damage. Got in a fight one night and Wen Ning tried to save my ass, but he got pushed and slammed his head on the edge of a concrete slab. He was unconscious for days because of brain swelling. And even then, he and his sister picked me up, dusted me off, brought me home, and helped me to get my shit together. I’m still trying to make up for the trouble I caused, but… Anyway, that’s why I was so drunk I couldn’t stand it. Anniversary of the day I nearly got my best friend killed, so, you know. Bad coping, whatever.”

Lan Zhan blinked a few times and he took in the words he was saying. Honestly, the drunk version of him didn’t seem like the type to get into fights. But, then again, maybe that spoke of his progress. He hadn’t seemed like that since he met him, either. He was kind and friendly and a good father.

“Date number two, so there’s your answer,” Wei Ying offered, voice a bit softer. It was only then that Lan Zhan realized he should’ve probably responded.

“Date number two?” Lan Zhan echoed instead of anything relevant. Namely, because every date he ever recalled had been uncomfortable and awkward and, so far, the two “dates” he’d had with Wei Ying had only gotten awkward when he realized they were dates. Wei Ying smiled and let out a breathy laugh, shrugging. 

“Or something, I guess,” he said, still searching Lan Zhan’s face for something, “I stopped drinking every other night of the year, though, just so you know. And-and one day I plan to stop drinking on that day, just, so, like, you know you’re not getting into something toxic. If you want to get into something at all, that is. With me, I mean. Like, a thing.”

Wei Ying spoke a lot, often in circles, and yet that was the first time Lan Zhan hadn’t quite understood.

“I’m sorry?” he said. 

“You still like me, right? That’s what I’m asking,” Wei Ying simplified. Lan Zhan found himself nodding before he could even really think too much about it. It earned him that bright smile as Wei Ying relaxed a bit more. “Good. Cool. Awesome.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying stood there, his fingers tapping against his thighs as he looked at Lan Zhan. It was almost distracting, but, considering Lan Zhan’s sole focus was on him anyway, it didn’t really matter. Still, his eyes went to them, watching the way his hand moved. Did he do that before? Instinctually, Lan Zhan’s thumb rubbed between his fingers.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. Lan Zhan’s head lifted to look him in the eyes again, but he didn’t even get to see what his name was called for before lips were on his.

Lan Zhan had never been kissed before. He’d gotten close to it, but he usually stopped them with polite declines. This one, for some reason, he wasn’t so eager to decline. The whole process seemed to slow his brain down. Wei Ying’s lips were warm and comforting, similar to his voice and his laugh and his smile. It was fitting and safe and maybe Lan Huan was onto something when he tried to tell him how nice it was to have someone to kiss.

Wei Ying broke the kiss only a few moments after it started, keeping it chaste and experimental and it took a few seconds for Lan Zhan to open his eyes again. When he met his gaze, Wei Ying was smiling at him in the most hesitant way he’d seen since he met him.

“Was that alright?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan nodded once before he remembered that there was a whole child right in the next room.

“Aren’t you married?” Lan Zhan asked. Wei Ying’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

“What? Where did that even‒Oh, A-Yuan, no. No, no, no. I’m single. Very single. So single,” Wei Ying insisted, nervous laughter bubbling out of him, “Ah, Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you let me carry on that way thinking I was married, how shameless.”

Lan Zhan’s face grew hot at that, feeling a bit ashamed now that he thought about it. Perhaps he should ask that question earlier next time instead of letting what he thought was a married man insist they were going on dates. If there was a next time, that is. He didn’t really anticipate that happening considering it took so many years for Lan Zhan to even find this one person.

“He’s adopted. When I first moved here, I got really close to one of the older women who had lived upon this mountain her whole life. She raised A-Yuan, but when she died, I took him on full time. Sort of. It’s sort of a communal thing, really, but he calls me Baba and spends most nights sneaking into my bed, so he’s basically all mine,” Wei Ying explained, his normal teasing air coming back. He reached forward to nudge Lan Zhan, but kept his hand on his arm. “You’re silly.”

“I’m not‒”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying laughed, his hand sliding down to Lan Zhan’s. He grabbed it and squeezed tight. Lan Zhan’s heart was slamming into his chest and his head was spinning and his stomach was tied in knots and yet he wanted none of it to stop. “Ask me anything and I’ll give you the answer. I’m sorry I confused you.”

Ask me anything, Wei Ying said. Lan Zhan swallowed as that sentence looped in his mind and he thought about, well, everything. Everything his brother told him, everything he’d read in stories and seen in movies, everything he’d never felt before, everything he’d convinced himself were lies. And yet here he was, wanting to kiss this man again simply because it felt nice. That was overwhelming and he decided he would think about it later instead.

Which, in itself was impressive.

“Can you kiss me again?” Lan Zhan asked instead of asking something about Wei Ying’s life. He’d learned a lot in the last few minutes, more than he’d learned in the many conversations he’d had with him before. He could take a break, couldn’t he?

Wei Ying smiled bright and nodded, leaning into him.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

[normiewrites]

okay anon here to request all the deku smut. gimme broccoli boy being dirty af. like cum on my chest, but also gimme all dat praise for taking hero dick so well.

can i just say... imagine pulling on deku’s long hair during sex?? i needa find me some fan art 🥵

Warning(s): nsfw, blowjob, grinding, choking, hair pulling

Haircut - Izuku x (fem)Reader

You ran your fingers through his green hair, letting the curls wrap around your finger and pulling your finger away, watching as the curl slid off and bounced on Izuku’s head. You found it addicting to play with his hair, especially as it grown longer, a result of Izuku’s neglection. You felt a small nudge against your body, hearing a soft hum as the man moved against your body. Izuku’s arms that were wrapped around you tightened softly, feeling a small breath breeze against your collarbone as the broccoli woke up. You were feeling particularly needy in the evening, but when Izuku came home exhausted from work, you couldn’t think of anything else but cuddling him to sleep. After a while of comfortable silence and a yawn, he broke it up.

“I need to cut it” he mumbled softly against your skin, the vibrations sending tingles down your body.

You pouted softly, continuing to play with his hair as you questioned, “Why? It’s so fun to play with.”

His soft chuckles against your exposed skin reminded you of your neediness a few hours prior, now tangling your legs further with his as you heated up slightly.

“It keeps getting caught in my suit, plus it’s a tool for a villain, it hurts when someone pulls it” he said, now pushing his face further into your neck, his eyes still closed.

“Oh really? Well you moan like a wild animal when I pull it” you whispered softly into his ear, chuckling as he held onto you tighter and you could feel how heated his cheeks became.

You continued to play with his hair, pouting softly as you already knew you were going to miss it, but he was right and you both knew it.

“Come, baby, I’ll cut it. Free of charge” you said before getting out of his grasp.

A soft whine left his lips as he regretted saying anything, clutching onto your arm. You dragged him out of the bed and sat him on a chair in front of the mirror, your hands on his shoulders as you looked at yourselves in the mirror. You smirked as an idea came to mind. You slowly leaned down, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind as you situated your face in the crook of his neck, making sure to keep a close proximity between your lips and his skin.

“I change my mind, it might not be free of charge” you whispered before kissing his neck softly, seeing it redden up.

You slowly let your hands drag down the length of his body, licking your lips as you felt the muscles underneath the thin shirt, imagining how well you would ride his abs. You turned to face him in the mirror, continuing to whisper to him.

“You look so good with long hair, daddy. It would be so easy to pull in bed, don’t you like that?” you asked, your hands now sitting in his lap as you softly palmed him through his sweatpants.

You felt him start to harden up within seconds, especially with you pressing your tits against the nape of his neck. The effect you had on him got you soaking even faster.

When you both had first started dating, anything would get to him, and his lack of confidence in bed gave you the best opportunities to dominate him. But now, after years of dating, you brought out a completely different side of him, even if the comments made him blush. You knew you were in for it tonight when you felt him grip onto your right forearm, pulling you flush against the back of his chair. He noticed how hard your nipples became against his nape, relishing the feeling.

“You’re such a slut, I could tell you were so needy once you walked through the door, I didn’t even need to ask” he groaned softly, his hips bucking up against your touch as he closed his eyes, leaning his head further back.

His words made you press your thighs together, and you could feel how soaked your panties were now. But you wanted to tease him more, your games weren’t done.

“Don’t get distracted, baby, we need to cut your hair” you said, slipping out of his grasp and meeting with half lidded eyes in the mirror.

He exhaled softly, closing his eyes as he tried to not let his emotions get the best of him. But his efforts were deemed futile once you ran your fingers along the nape of his neck, your nails softly grazing it too.

“Y/n” he warned in a low yet soft voice, biting his lip as he tried his best to get his erection down.

“What, baby? I’m just prepping your hair” you smiled coyly when in reality, you had no idea what you were doing.

But what you did know, was that Izuku has a sensitive neck, and it always gave you the advantage in teasing.

“Baby, lean your head back” you whispered, pulling on his hair as he faced up, letting out a low groan.

His face was now below yours and out of the corner of your eye you could see his hands gripping onto his thighs, in desperate need of release.

“Are you sure you want to cut your hair, Deku? Didn’t that feel so good right now?” you whispered softly, your hand traveling down from the roots of his hair to the nape of his neck, softly circling the skin.

The way you sultrily said his hero name in your soft voice always made him loose control. The lustrous dark emerald eyes made sure you knew what was coming, and even if you did know, you still weren’t prepared. You now suddenly found yourself straddled on one of Izuku’s thighs, his hands gripping your waist, softly grinding you against his thigh. You moaned loudly, lacing your arms around his neck as you felt your clit brush and press up against his flexed muscles, the slow pace on the bumps teasing you.

“Already moaning, such a dirty girl” he whispered, smirking at you.

His hands moved to your ass, kneading it roughly as he started to move you faster against his thighs, flexing his muscles every few seconds. You could see the tent in his pants rise up, making it tempting to push him even further. But before you could even try, Izuku got to you.

“Don’t you dare, I won’t let you cum tonight if you do.”

You whined softly, your breath getting quicker as your puffy clit kept getting dragged against his thick thigh, his teasing words adding to the pleasure.

“Please, Deku, let me cum tonight” you moaned softly, now gripping onto his shirt.

“Spoilt girl” he commented, now moving you even faster, keeping his muscles constantly flexed.

Even through your closed eye lids you could see the light green sparks of his quirk activating, getting ready for what he had in store, but you could never get ready enough. You moaned loudly, letting your tongue roll out as he started bouncing his thigh at fast speeds, playing with your bundle of nerves even harsher.

“God, you look so gorgeous riding my thigh like this” he whispered, biting back a moan.

The feeling of your clit bouncing against his muscles as he dragged it against them and the pent up sexual needs made you throw your head back, closing your eyes as you felt yourself getting closer.

“Are you getting closer, sweetheart? Want me to go faster for your dirty little cunt?” he asked softly, moving in to kiss your neck.

Your clit started throbbing at his words, your core now getting tenser by the second. You didn’t know how you ever brought out this side of him, but you loved it. The stark contrast of his easily flushed and cute hero personality with his degrading and controlling bed personality was a juxtaposition that you loved so dearly.

Your clit now aching, your core tense, you knew you were close now as you kept bouncing and grinding on his thigh, his hands having their way with your body.

“Deku, I’m so close! Fuck, so good” you moaned, now gripping onto his shoulders as you added your own motion to the mix.

“Fucking cum on my thigh, slut, cum in your panties” he whispered against your neck, his leg bouncing even faster.

You screamed out as you came against him, his words sending you over the edge yet again as your juices soaked through your panties and pyjamas. The tension in your core snapped as your pussy clenched, feeling yourself orgasm. You felt the cum trail down your thigh but you couldn’t care less about the mess as you got down from your high, legs trembling as Izuku stopped his leg bounces. You panted softly, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

It was now Izuku’s turn to be needy, his neglected erection painful and throbbing as your hot breaths against his neck riled him up even further. He couldn’t believe that he made you cum by his leg alone, but the thought sent a pang to his hard cock, making him desperate for a release.

“On your knees, Princess” he muttered, pulling your head out of the crook of his neck by your hair.

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to want more. But you noticed how big his tent had gotten, sending a small throb to your oversensitive pussy. You leaned forward and kissed him roughly, slipping your tongue into his mouth as your hands travelled down to his hard on, now softly palming it. You felt his moans spill into your mouth, and at a particular squeeze, he bit your lip softly. You hadn’t noticed how his hand creeped up now, wrapping around your neck tightly as he pulled your face away him his, a strong if saliva connecting you both.

“I’m going to fuck those pretty lips of yours, and you’re going to be thankful for it” he growled as he led you onto your knees, his hand still having a choking hold on your throat.

You gasped softly, feeling his fingers press softly against your jugular, making your pussy to clench around your cum coated panties. His took his cock out of his sweatpants, pre cum glistening on the tip as you eyed the few veins that ran down the length of his cock. His hand now moved from your throat to your hair, getting a grip on it, making you whine softly. You slowly inched your hand to your pussy, feeling the wetness of your cum and pussy as you softly teased your clit. Unfortunately, he noticed this.

“Such a bad girl, y/n, touching yourself without permission, tsk, tsk” he muttered, “hands behind your back. Do it before I make you.”

His demands and need for control over you made it even more tempting to touch yourself, but you knew how raw your throat would be fucked if you didn’t listen to him. So you slowly followed his orders, already annoyed at the lack of your touch on your body.

Izuku carefully guided the tip of his cock around your lips, painting them with his pre cum, his favourite shade of lip colour on you. You could feel it throb against your lips as you looked up at him with your doe eyes, drawing a guttural groan from your lover.

“You’re so hard for me, Deku” you whispered against his cock, trying your luck for the very last time.

Without hesitation he pushed his cock into your mouth, throwing his head back as his member entered your wet and warm cavern, feeling your teeth softly graze against veins. He felt your throat constricting around the tip of his cock as he pushed your head closer and closer to his pelvic bone, slowly making you inch your way down his cock. You felt his tip hit the back of your throat, cutting off your air, a burning sensation shooting through.

“Fuck, y/n!” he moaned loudly, your nose now touching his pelvic bone as you gagged softly around his cock, tears brimming your eyes.

You could feel him twitch inside of you, already close to releasing. After a few seconds of collecting himself he took himself out of your mouth, groaning at how cold your saliva went when exposed to the air. He dared himself to open up his eyes, almost cumming when he did.

You had saliva dripping down your chin as you gasped for air, your cheeks and neck red as tears lined your eyes. The sight made Izuku want to fuck your mouth even more as he shoved his cock back in, keeping his eye open this time.

The way your throat clenched, tongue licked and teeth grazed his cock made him tug on your hair harshly, making you moan around his cock. The sounds that you made sent vibrations to his cock, muttering a small ‘fuck’ as he increased his pace. His tip was now hitting the back of your throat every second, making you gag softly, tears now falling from your face. Your lungs started to burn up, but it made you even wetter down there, now feeling more juices slide down your thighs.

“Fuck, you’re so good, y/n, taking my cock so well” he growled as you started to touch and massage his balls, hollowing out your cheeks around him as you disobeyed his orders.

That made him loose it, overwhelmed by the sensation of your warm and wet walls, and your cold massages on his balls as he pulled out and came all over you.

“Fuck, y/n!” He moaned loudly, his voice hitting a new pitch at the end as he let his juice paint you, dripping from your mouth to your clothed tits, making your shirt stick to your bare tits.

“So pretty like this, y/n” he said panting before he collected some cum on his fingers from your face, shoving his fingers into your mouth.

You lapped up his salty taste, your tongue going between and around the fingers as you gulped his juices down, keeping a hold on his wrist. Izuku could already feel himself getting harder and you could see his cock rising up again as you pushed his fingers further down your throat, tears threatening to come back to your eyes.

You could tell from his open mouth and lost eyes that it was going to be a long night.

[motleycrueroadie]

Along for the Ride (pt. 7)

Author’s Note: @sonyawongraven - thank you for reaching out and reminding me about this story. I hope that this update meets your expectations for my writing!

 Previous Chapters: One I Two I Three I Four I Five I Sixx 

When I was a kid, in the rare times that I would read, I had read briefly about a mythological Greek creature called a phoenix. From what I remember, a phoenix cyclically generates itself wherein it combusts and the new phoenix rises from the ashes. In some ways, my music career and myself as a person could be described as phoenix. Frank Feranna Jr. went up in flames and Nikki Sixx rose from the ashes. More recently, the inevitable downfall of London was catalyzed by yours truly in an anger driven resignation by fire and the unnamed band of misfits rose from the ashes. After watching Vince perform at that excuse of a “party”, I knew he was the front man we wanted for the band. However, the silence that came after that realisation was paralyzing and continued to constrict until Vince’s arrival. Despite the fact that we would have found another front man, I was doubtful that he would’ve lived up to the vision I created in my head once I saw Vince play, so I was grateful enough that he had finally shown. Now we had the basic outline of a band but needed a name and a reputation for that name. Of course, in building that name I would also be able to cash in on Janis’ promise to attend our first show. 

Janis’ unwavering presence continued to bewilder me with each passing day. My internal pessimistic voice attempted to convince me that she was simply thrill seeking, sticking around because I was her polar opposite and it attracted her. The juxtaposition between us was especially highlighted at the pool party. If Janis had been separated from us, I would’ve had a hell of a time trying to pick her out of the crowd. However, I had to remind myself that Janis didn’t come looking for me. For all the time that I have been living in this building, she has been right above my head. She knew of my existence and never came knocking on my door, but she freely allowed me to walk straight into her life when I sought her out. So each day, these opposing views struggle to dominate my perception of her, attempting to maintain this enigma status to her. The thing was, I knew she wasn’t an enigma. She has never created a veil of illusion to who she is. When I asked her about her parents, she told me. I came to understand that Janis treated everyone like they were her friend but you only knew her if you had asked.

“Baby? Are you coming with me?” The whine in Vince’s girlfriend’s voice was undeniably the most annoying fucking thing I have had to endure this afternoon. She’d been here since we began at 4:30 and she made me want to bash my head against the fucking wall and leave my corpse for the roaches to eat. Glancing over to the microwave in the kitchen, the time read 8:15 which meant that Janis would be bringing down dinner in fifteen minutes. Apparently Tommy followed my glance at the clock,  I could literally watch the kid’s hamster in his brain pick up speed on the wheel as he realised the implications of the time. Tommy probably only understood the fact that he would be fed and not that this whiny bitch had not taken a liking to Janis earlier. 

“Dude you have to stay, JJ,” Don’t get this bitch started Tommy! 

“WE have things to talk about and we want you to stay for them Vince.” Mick was the one to interrupt, catching Tommy’s inability to remember details. Tommy looked over at me with his mouth still open, obviously confused as to why he had been interrupted so I met his look with a quick shake of my head to indicate for him to drop it. “That is, if you’re willing to leave Rock Candy?” We all looked at Vince expectantly, waiting for his answer. 

“Yeah of course man.” Almost instantly, a genuine smile broke out on my face, Tommy and Mick were donning similar smiles, the latter’s was more subtle in comparison. Sticking out my hand to Vince, he shook it firmly. The smile on my face only continued to grow as his girlfriend took the hint that he would not be joining her and left, slamming the door behind her. 

“What Tommy was about to say before I interrupted him was a reminder that Janis is going to be down in a few minutes with some dinner, but I figured that it was best if that were left unsaid in front of your lovely girl.” Looking over at Tommy, watching his hamster go into overdrive with Mick’s comment was amusing to say the least. Too bad I didn’t know how to play poker because Tommy would be so fucking easy to win against. There was a sudden and uncoordinated knocking at the door and Tommy jumped up from his seat to answer it. Opening the door revealed Janis with a dish in her hands,

“I’m a tad bit early but once I saw that beautiful car leave, I figured this place would be safe for me to enter.” Janis spoke as she crossed the living room to place the dish down on what little counter space there was available. Turning back to face us, she spoke directly to Vince “Your girl has natural guard dog tendencies, but judging by her perception of me as some threat, you” pointing her finger in a mock accusation, “must be the real dog.” Vince, by now sat on the couch, slouched his hips forward and stretched his arms out across the back of the couch.

“You,” Vince imitated her enunciation, “ walked in here wearing very little clothing, all giddy and excited. Can you blame her?” Janis looked quite shocked at this statement, and turned to look at me for support. I for one, knew she had no ill intentions, but knowing that it would get her flustered I shrugged my shoulders slightly to. My intentions of flustering her worked as her cheeks turned rosy and she began playing with the skin of her nails. 

“Holy fuck Janis.” Mick spoke with an air of exasperation at her, “They’re busting your balls. You didn’t come off as an adulterous whore looking to fuck this asshole.” She let out a breath that none of us noticed that she was holding in and I laughed at her frustration to which she began laughing as well while flipping Vince and I off. She looked back over at me, 

“Is it a safe assumption that you don’t have any cutlery or plates for us to eat off of?” She knew the answer to her own question, but had asked it anyways, a habit that annoyed me. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smirk, and she moved her head in the direction of the door. 

“Someone come help me bring the rest down, and DO NOT,” she whipped around to catch Tommy about to reach under the tinfoil to pick at the dish, “touch the food with your bare hands that have not been washed since god knows when!” She strode over to him grabbing his arm, “In fact you can be the one to come and help me!” Since first meeting her in the diner, Tommy knew not to argue with Janis on the matters of etiquette and manners so he simply allowed himself to be dragged out of the apartment. Placing the bass gently into the stand, I walked into the excuse of a bedroom, which was in fact a mattress on the floor with blankets haphazardly strewn across it, to retrieve some papers for naming the band. As I emerged from the bedroom, Tommy and Janis re-entered carrying what appeared to be plates, cutlery, salad, and buns. 

“Why didn’t we just come up to your apartment? Considering the amount of stuff you’ve brought down, wouldn’t it have made more sense for us to come to you?” I asked her.

“Am I not allowed a change of scenery?” Shaking my head at her, she grinned knowing that once again she had answered my question with another question rather than just giving me an answer. “Anyways, I’ve made baked pasta and Caesar salad for you all.” Tommy of course had his plate ready and his ass back on the couch before she even finished the statement. Grabbing beers from the fridge, I placed them all on the table before glancing expectantly to Janis while holding one in my hand, she nodded back to me. Once we were all seated, I began alternating between eating and shuffling through the papers and notebooks in front of me trying to find what I was looking for. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Janis watching me. 

“So here’s my theory okay?” Speaking up suddenly, I had their attention, “Look, if we want to knock people on their asses then we’ve got to give them a show. The punks? They’re doing the minimalist thing, so let’s take this in the exact opposite direction…” Tommy and Vince were nodding in agreement with me, while Mick remained stoic and difficult to read. However, I was only looking towards Janis at this point, not because she was an integral part of the band that I needed approval from but because I was nervous. Being nervous at this point sounds stupid, but I have been thinking about this band long before these guys were sitting in this room with me. “I’m talking, I’m talking a stadium show in the clubs, man,” unconsciously my hands were talking with me as I grasped at ideas, “Like, like costumes and lights and…”

“Pyro and flames and shit! Explosions.” Tommy exclaimed. Janis glanced over at him and gave a light laugh as she turned back to me, but his enthusiasm only built confidence in me that at least he shared my vision. 

“Exactly! Exactly!” Becoming more focused, I reigned back in the conversation. “Look it’s a fucking war out there and the only way we win is by showing these kids something they’ve never seen before.” 

“So what do we call this thing?” Vince spoke, signaling that he was also on board. Flipping through the notebook pages, I continued “You know it’s all about being fucking larger than life.” Stopping on the page, I looked up to Vince and showed him the pentagram symbol and ‘XMASS’ name. 

“X-MASS?” He questioned. 

“On a scale of 1-10? I think it’s a 1.9.” Spoke Mick. The others gave snorts of laughter while I felt slightly defeated. 

“It’s a play on Christmas. You know? You can use all the Christ imagery and shit. It’ll piss people off and make people think!” My attempts to steer this conversation back into my direction did not appear to be going in my favour. “It’s got shock value.” 

“Yeah, I’m shocked at how much it blows.” Mick stated. Exasperated, I put the notebook down on the table. A business pitch gone astray, I had lost them. Janis glared at Mick before letting out a sigh, and picking up my notebook to flip through some of the pages.

“Not quite sure what religious trauma you went through but I’m sensing a theme here.” Setting the notebook back down on the table, she looked me dead in the eyes and spoke genuinely, “You don’t want to piss the wrong people off and the church are definitely people to steer clear of. Also you’re overestimating the intellectual capacity of the club goers Nikki. They don’t want to think.” She shrugged her shoulders, “They just want to get fucked out of their minds and listen to good music.” 

“Alright then assholes, you give it a shot, but fucking make it big.” Each of them grabbed a notebook off the table, save for Janis who continued eating her dinner while glancing at the clock in the kitchen. I followed her gaze to see it reading 9:00, looking back I caught her eye and she winked at me before looking down at what Tommy was writing. She smacked him on the chest with the back of her hand and he laughed as he turned the notebook around to face us. A crudely drawn dick with the words “The Fourskins” written on it was the best he could come up with. 

“Really Tommy?” I feigned annoyance while I laughed. 

“Yeah cause we’re going to fuck the audience in the face every night dude!”

“But can you see that shit on the marquee above the forum every night?” Again, I had unconsciously talked with my hands, splaying out across a fake marquee. 

“Yeah you’re right. I’m out.” Tommy tossed the notebook back onto the table as Janis gave him a whispered scolding for essentially wasting his breath but I knew she found it funny too. Mick seemed to be deep in thought, so I jutted out my chin at him and he turned the notebook around while speaking, 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” The paper read Motley Crew. Janis chuckled lightly at this, looking around the group while I took the notebook from his hand to add a few tweaks to it.

“Don’t think I could have thought of a more encompassing word for you lot.” Janis and Mick exchanged a look and she held out her fist to him, he smirked and reached across the table where he sat to return the gesture to her. Turning the notebook back around to the group, it read Mötley Crüe. Despite losing their attention earlier, they all nodded in agreement to this name and the encouragement energized me.

Not long after our name had been decided upon, Janis (with the recruited help of Tommy yet again) packed up the leftovers and made her way back to the apartment. It had almost slipped my mind that it was a Monday night and she would be headed to work. She thanked us for letting her intrude on our band naming session, which I found to be amusing considering that she had been the one to feed us for free. Once Tommy had returned, the drinks were flowing and I was beginning to get a sense of who Vince was and I quite liked it. Over the past few weeks, I had been able to go out with Tommy and Mick. Tommy proved to be someone who I could raise hell with and although Mick wasn’t a complete buzzkill, he did not seem keen on joining in the festivities. He humoured us by dryly laughing at our antics but his heart never seemed to be quite into it. Although, maybe Janis could get him to loosen up a little bit. Mick seemed to tolerate her a bit more than he did Tommy and I for whatever reason. 

“So what’s with that Janis chick, Tommy mentioned her at the party more or less as cherry on top of the offer,” 

“Must not have been why you really came seeing as you showed up with a chick. Also please don’t bring her back here.” Hoping to steer him clear of the topic of Janis, I would rather not listen to him talk about her like I assumed he would. I loved pussy as much as the next person, but Janis wasn’t pussy.

Vince began listing reasons why he kept his girl around, among which was money, something none of us had a lot of. Fuck. If I had known she had access to cash, I would’ve been kissing her ass rather than been at her throat earlier. He briefly apologized for ghosting us on the offer but explained that he had eventually listened to the tape and liked it but also figured that he owed it Tommy to come for helping him out when he was in a tough spot in high school. If he didn’t feel in debt to Tommy, he probably wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t tell whether I should respect him or be annoyed. Doesn’t matter now cause he’s here. 

With enough beers in my system I was beginning to feel cramped in the cluttered and frankly gross apartment and felt I had enough of my company for the time being. It was a bit difficult to shake Tommy off but I told him to stay at the apartment with Vince and Mick so they didn’t feel they had to leave. The Whiskey-a-Go-Go was only down the street from the apartment building and didn’t take long to reach on foot. Staring up at the marquee, I knew that our name was going to look great up there and it was simply a matter of time. Turning the corner, I could see the fluorescent sign of my destination in the distance. Approaching the same window I had seen her in initially, Janis was not visible, but I could hear Jump in the Line by Harry Belafonte playing from the jukebox inside meaning that Janis had acquired some quarters. Opening the door, I reached up and stopped the bell from ringing to maintain a stealthy approach. This one looked quite similar to the one above Janis’ apartment door but newer. It clicked that she must have taken the old when it was replaced. Turning my head left and right I could see a pair of bent sun kissed legs on the ground peeking out from underneath a table with one converse clad shoe tapping along to the beat of the song. Approaching the table, making sure to keep to the side so that she wouldn’t be able to see me, I shifted uncomfortably when I saw that the skirt of her uniform was riding up on Janis’ thighs as she sat on the floor appearing to scrape gum off the bottom of the booth. 

“For someone scraping gum off tables, you look pretty happy.” She jumped slightly at the surprise of my voice and banged her head off the table, cursing and rubbing it while glaring up at me. Holding out my hand to her while laughing at her pain, she smacked it away with the straight edge scraper and made her way off the floor. 

“You want a JC?” She questioned, making her way over to the bar. 

“Of course.” Sliding into the booth, I made my way over to the jukebox that had stopped playing to slip a quarter in and chose a personal favourite. The opening guitar sequence to Dream On by Aerosmith rang throughout the diner and Janis nodded appreciatively as she approached with the JC which I gladly accepted and downed in two gulps. She smirked up at me in what I could only describe as a devilish grin. I smirked back down at her, “What?”

“Did my spit make your drink taste especially good?” The laugh that I loved to hear blended beautifully with the song. I was content being here, even if she had spit in my drink as payback for scaring her. For now, life is good, exceptionally so with Janis by my side. 

[biiscione]

               INTRODUCTIONS: Panagiotis  &&  Konstantinos                  “ Κατα μανα κατα κυρη κατα γιο και θυγατερα                                        De tal palo tal astilla.                        The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. ”

***please check the end of post for tw/cw before continuing Background Panagiotis, preferably Panos, is of Greek and Armenian descent. His parents, formerly Greek nationals, immigrate to the United States after the birth of their first child, Jocasta, and it is in the Olympia, Washington that their son is born. His early childhood is happy though odd as he grows into two worlds: one of his revolutionary refugee parents exiled from their homeland and the other of American Suburbia. Death continuously alters his course, distorting a happy childhood into one of pain and suffering. Forced to live with his father’s brother and his wife in New Jersey, he endures abuses hurled at him until his late uncle’s death. Hardened and barely a teenager, he travels northward to the Big Apple. In Brooklyn he finds a way to make money, not in the most honest of ways, but hey, it keeps a roof over his head. While collecting rent for some big mucky - muck landlords in Bushwick, he ends up meeting who will be the mother of his son. She’s a few years old than he but just as calloused to the world. There time together is short - lived and a few months after Konnie is born, Panos is a single father. Strapped for cash and getting to know the truth of his parent’s past as anarchist revolutionaries, he endeavors to travel to his distant family in Macedonia where he then leaves his son and travels to Athens. Following in his father’s footsteps is quite easy and he takes to the streets just as he had to fight tyranny and fascism. This dreamlike sequence of valor ends with the death of a close friend, collateral damage to the volatile politics in Athens, and Panos’s own incarceration in his own failed attempt at a revenge killing. After serving his time, he returns to Macedonia to find his infant son already a smart, sensitive little boy. In a quarter-life crisis and realizing he needs to get his shit together for his son, he finds mercenary work in Central Asia and the Middle East.... and he hates it. There’s just something about assisting a private military organization stage de facto wars on resource - rich regions that didn’t sit right with him. So, after ensuring his payment, he throws a wrench or two into his employer’s plans and dips as fast as he can. He returns to Athens briefly, hoping to find permanent work that didn’t necessarily compromise his morality. A friend informs him of a mercenary job in Italy as a glorified bodyguard so he takes it upon himself to travel there with his son and what little money he has left. There’s nothing like an in-person interview, right? Panos lands the job working for a reclusive, wealthy man ( mostly on account of him being somewhat attractive and a single dad ) and the rest is history. Personality Abrasive and aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean bitter and unkind. He can be loud and a little too friendly at times ( a mask for his borderline - crippling anxiety and undiagnosed mood disorder ) but just chalk it up to his blended accent. Overtly sexual jokes and blunt questioning is meant to vet any weakness in the prospects of friendship, while also being a handy - dandy tool to be antisocial. He dislikes authority figures but as he ages, he tends to keep his cool as long as they leave him alone. While he airs less on the polite side of socializing, he does hold himself to a high moral code, nothing too chivalrous or anything, but he would defend another’s human rights with his very life. He’s loyal to a fault and has a hard time distancing himself from those he has grown fond of, even when their morals do not align with his own. Appearance He stands 6′ (give or take a half inch) with lax posture and lean frame. Tawny - colored hair, long - topped with a short undercut, is typically dressed in pomade and slicked back. He has blue eyes, icy or azure dependent on lighting. Olive - toned skin stays paled as he keeps away from the sun. Nose is shaped in the classic hellenic fashion, rather, it was . . . it’s been broken so many times that it sits crookedly upon his face, a bump breaking the Greek silhouette of his bridge. Full lips settle into a pout on his rarely expressionless face. His face is quite square, accentuated with a wide jaw. High cheekbones are accentuated not by makeup but tattoos, a broadsword along the hollow of one cheek. Misc. tattoos dress his arms and neck. A tattoo of a Roman/Sol Invictus diadem and ‘Κωνσταντῖνος’ along the crown’s band is on the left - side of his chest. Fingers are tattooed with anarchist and subtle anti - fascist symbols, blurred and faded with age. The juxtaposition of his rugged physical appearance with his bespoke wardrobe accentuates the starkness between his past life as a revolutionary and his quiet life as a mercenary/gun-for-hire. Notes ● is a devout member of the Greek Orthodox Church, despite his negative relationship with his priest uncle. ● avoids romantic and sexual relationships ● physical affection that he doesn’t initiate himself his wholly unwanted and is often violently rejected ● uh... heterosexual? sort of? ● loves to paint ppl, especially portraits ● thinks knives are pretty cool ● good at making things look like accidents Background Konstantinos, fondly Konnie, is American - born like his father and mother of Puerto-Rican and German descent but he doesn’t remember much of where he was born, his mother, and the apartment they lived in together. His earliest memory is of his father’s grandmother, the scars upon her flesh concluding stories she could not finish herself. In Macedonia, he has many mothers; though they remain faceless in his mind, they carry with them the same sweet scent of chrysanthemums. He does not recall his father being in his life till he’s just learning how to read and write, when he takes him away from the comfort of his many-mothers. As he grows, the gentle boy is troubled with this realization but cannot come to resent his father for his decision. He is whisked off to an unfamiliar place where unfamiliar people speak in an unfamiliar language. However, he is still young enough to teach, to mold, and he takes to this new language so easily that he almost forgets the tongue of his many-mothers. In his time in primary school, he earns the badge of polyglot. As he grows and becomes an acceptable age to be sent away, he is offered the chance to go to several prestigious boarding schools by his adoptive grandfather but, much to his relief, his father softly declines this generous offer. As he has been torn from comfort before, he holds the pain of the trauma of being taken from familiarity, causing him to be anxious and he is, although he excels in much that he does, unsure of himself, even at the tender age of eleven. He clings to his father and grandfather and the many people who work/reside upon his grandfather’s estate, for everyone there is gentle and keenly aware of his nervousness. Even now, at fifteen/sixteen, he still finds himself most comfortable in the quietest corners of his grandfather’s estate. Personality Those who are unfamiliar with him, especially extroverted adults, may find him, not shy, but haughty on account of his observant quietness and stature. He does not interact well with children his own age and, if he does find himself accepted into a friend group, he is the reserved listener. However, timidness is overshadowed by his morality, defending others valiantly and with a vulgarity that almost completely mirrors his father’s. Silence is complacency, his father taught him, and he is steadfast in his actions in the face of injustice and cruelty. Opposite his father, he is soft - spoken and educated in his speech. He is quite agreeable in mood and disposition though is considered “irregularly emotional” for a teenage boy by those stuck in the Old World. His emotional intelligence was nurtured by Panos, whose own emotional intelligence was stunted, and he is particularly empathetic and kind, with others and himself. Maybe that could get him in trouble later in life. Appearance At sixteen, he is 5′11 but looks taller with his stately posture and lean build. His face shape is much softer than his father’s with rounded jaw and fuller cheeks. He has his father’s full lips and his mother’s narrow, bowed - bridged and wide - tipped nose. Head is topped with light brown, tawny - tinted waves, hair long enough to curl around his ears, at the nape of his neck, and on his forehead. He has his father’s color-changing, light hues and they are further accentuated with his olive - toned skin that darkens easily in summer under an Italian sun. His attire is always shifting and evolving though always echoes the softness of his personality. Notes ● though raised in a Roman Catholic household, he is a practicing member of the Greek Orthodox church ● loves animals.... so much. often babysits his grandfather’s pet snakes (though he prefers the furry sorts) ● a casual art historian ● wants to be a mary wollstonecraft shelley historian when he gets older ● dad taught him how to shoot and he’s a very good marksman ● because his father constantly changes his own last name, panos and raphael agreed that konnie would take raphael’s, if not for stability, for social prestige

Shipping p: it’s rare that there’s chemistry for a sexual/romantic ship but i’m pretty open to trying! love enemy ships for him tho! k: no sexual/romantic ships since i’ll play him as a minor both: platonic and familial ships, ftw Selectivity/Activity p: always active/ will interact with everyone and anyone k: quite finicky/ will interact with anyone ***Trigger Warnings talk of: physical, mental, and sexual abuse, violence, death, graphic sex, death, mental illness, disordered eating, anxiety, weapons actions: physical and emotional violence, murder, body horror, disordered eating, weapons (guns and knives) Panos’ childhood was full of abuse: mental, physical, and sexual. I won’t bring up specifics in my writings unless prompted and will tag them accordingly. Panos does engage in a lot of violence and uses violent language. Panos suffers from disordered eating and a mood disorder, the earlier shown in less than subtle ways. Konnie has generalized anxiety. If any of these things are a serious problem, message me and I’ll be sure to constantly tag them. If you find yourself overwhelmed or know you will be, please don’t be afraid to soft block. I really wouldn’t mind.

[scarletwellyboots]

a (semi) comprehensive list of the moments i fell in love listening to the horror and the wild

the rockrose and the thistle

LOVE opening with the howling wind

joey’s northern accent slipping in super strong for “trying desperately to sew / and i know the kindest thing”

madeleine’s almost whispered harmony

“may i, i ask, may i”

the switch to madeleine only for the last two lines

the horror and the wild

how loud and immediate it starts

“you’re the words that i promise i don’t mean”

the growls ! this has been covered but “promise” is. important

the silence for “remember me i ask”

madeleine’s beautiful “day by day” in the back of joey’s verse

FRET NOT DEAR HEART LET NOT THEM HEAR

between “welcome to the storm” and “i am thunder” the drums sound like a clap of thunder

idk music terms but their differing harmonies for “wild”

the strings !! especially how they continue under “remember me”

madeleine’s slower “you passed your fingers” on the last repetition

not finishing “i am the wild”??? letting the instrumentation finish the phrase?? the way the song feels unfinished?? incredible

wild blue yonder

it’s so pretty!! it starts so sunny :)

“without...” “YOU”

“i woulda gone so much blonder” lyrical genius

the build of “so one last time love come and rip my clothes off”

i am in fact a slut for counterpoint duets so i’m in love with this band

“flirting” / “wasn’t flirting”

“halt!” and the silence that follows

the accent on “covers”

listen we talk about “dear heart” but “lover” and “darling” and all the pet names they use are so soft and so delightfully like. fey

“every stone you threw i stood on to better see the view”

the silence after “fear of sound”

“i’m lost” / “i’m found” “in you”

the melody of “so tight i’d bruise you” and like. the lilt in “bruise” !!

i love the background vocals kicking in for “build this world”

“or a robot vampire i dunno” like i said. lyrical genius

“hoooooold melover” i love the drawn-out note followed by how quick the next bit is

so many of their songs feel like they finish on a breath in? they feel like unfinished thoughts and i adore it

welly boots

the soft guitar intro i’m !!

“i am above you and i love you”

“i’ll be with you all along as long as you are kind to those who are not strong and cannot find their scarlet welly boots” i’m

the lilt on “hard” is !

the melody of the section from “when you scream it’s not fair” to “if only you could hear my voice”

the instrumental coming in before the end of “i’m not still there”

and GOD the percussion and the marching feel of the beat

“you were supposed to be my light” ok just rip my heart out thanks

the melody of “when you scream ‘i’m not alright’” to “how could you leave me here” is the same as “when you scream it’s not fair” but stronger and more desperate

“leave me here” feels like a scream

“i know you’re strong enough to do this on your own”

madeleine’s offset repetition of “strong enough to do this”

sometimes she says “stronger on your own” and i. LYRICS

the slowing to the original drum beat to the original guitar

“oh jesus christ you’ll miss me”

the breathlessness of “stairs” fuck me up why don’t you.

“a brand new pair of scarlet welly boots” cool i didn’t need a heart

the guitar outro is so soft !

farewell wanderlust

hello piano !

EVERYTHING about madeleine’s voice in the first verse

the contrast of joey’s almost spoken baritone

the way she hits the ends of syllables

“hey darlin’ hey”

the slide on “say”

the quiet almost heartbeat-sounding percussion

“i promise you i’ll be better”

the growl on “rubbing” and “rugs”

“it’s my curse / to try and make it right but by trying make it worse”

“the jesus of wishing to christ he’ll come back” !!

the quieting to “farewell wanderlust” and the lilt of it

she’s down DUN DUN she’s dead DUN DUN

joey’s “you alright?” and how deep his voice is compared to hers

madeleine singing “something more comfortable” and joey speaking “be our guest”

the piano mimics madeleine’s voice for “hoik! of her bra”

joey’s voice is so throaty it sounds almost like he’s been crying we love an emotive king

“i promise you i’m not broken / i promise you there’s more / more to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door”

“this here isn’t makeup, it’s a porcelain tomb”

THIS HERE IS NOT SINGING I’M JUST SCREAMING IN TUNE

the lack of instruments for “i’m just screaming in tune” so that he really is

he’s down DUN DUN he’s dead DUN DUN

the quieter “s/he’s down” section at the end

again it finishes like there’s more to be said

fair

the shuffling of the recording noises i !

the breathlessness! how he speaks/whispers “can’t be said”

“today i somehow understand the reason i was born”

“he’s got so much fucking hair” i’m.

“she is stronger than he’s ever been”

“when i’m actually...really fucking...cross at you for something”

“it’s not fair how much i love you” cool okay back to ripping my heart out

“inundated with the fated thought of you” is So pretty

“darling i was born to press my head between your shoulder blades”

“dear heart it’s me” again with the dear heart !!

“just trying to watch the office....with my yoghurt” lyrical genius

the switch of him/her in the second chorus !

the breaks in joey’s voice for unreasonable i’m weeping like ! he talked once about being allowed to feel like his voice doesn’t have to be perfect and it shows here with the breaks lending themselves to the emotion of the song

for him standing next to her people will think he’s alright but people will think she’s cool which really shows characterizations

the whisper of “darling rooftop wreck”

“that’s what she said” i’m.

madeleine only coming in to the song for “where have you been”

“it’s not fair ‘cause you make me ache you bastard”

that unwanted animal

strap in lads

the almost-whisper of some of the lines is !

the actual whisper of “you light the candle”

“bairns” we love two forest spirits

“to love me” is whispered despite “you try so loud” so of course she can’t hear it

joey’s background line !!!

THE SCRATCHING

joey coming into the main melody only for “what.” and then the “dear” being whispered

“throw the plate at the wall” can you tell i really love the whispered lines

THE INSTRUMENTS and the growling background vocals listen it surprised and amazed me so much this is where i smacked my head on the wall

“but fuck all your plans i’m bored” yes characterizations

“i make shipwrecks out of my dress”

joey’s higher harmonization feels so desperate when usually he’s the lower range of the harmony

“you rip my ribcage open / and devour what’s truly yours”

the repeated lyrics from battle cries but in a different melody i’m so serious what a lyrical genius

the melody matching the beat of the guitar for “it can hear you / it wants me to”

(let me out!)

just. the alliterative sounds of “hollow holofernes”

the fucking. “no not i” please sir you can’t do that to me

the final violin note like a final cry

marbles

MARBLES

lowering madeleine’s parts sounds so much softer and more relaxed

love being able to hear the movement of hands along the guitar neck

counterpoint conversation songs are so ! good !

“i chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked”

“you stole the best years of my life” “i’ll give them back”

“sure as hell can’t lie to me/you now”

i LOVE their different melodies for “i will wait and hope”

also i think they switched melody lines from the beechmast version? not sure though

“your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep but a place for crows to rest their feet”

the little pause before “went”

“oh god” and a little laugh

i miss madeleine’s “do you think i’m sexy” but

WORKIN’ SHIFTS TIL WE CRIED listen i LOVE the lyric change

how quick and natural the back and forth is it feels like a quick conversation it’s delightful

“you’re not flawed darling you’re just a little under-rehearsed”

“you, you’d reply with a drink in your hand/glint in your eye”

“i’m all yours/oh dear god dear heart i’m here”

the humming!!

“i’ve loved you for a hundred years” “certainly fucking feels like it”

NOW I GET TO MEET YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME EVERY SINGLE DAY

the build on that line !!

joey’s sustained notes while madeleine sings the chorus

madeleine’s vocalizations !! queen

joey joining in for just one of her little vocalizations

the song finishes before she’s gotten through even the first half of her vocalization line it feels so unfinished but so good that way

battle cries

COUNTERPOINT

with headphones joey is in your left ear and madeleine’s in your right and i wish they did it stronger but even what we have is so good

“who died” “who’ll save you” and the juxtaposition of “who died and made you king of it all” with “who’ll save you when you fall”

“some fictions we took to mean fate believe me i know” and she says “yes” so that they say no and yes at the same time

“tell the truth to me love!”

“look at me as you say this” “you’re home”

the whole “would be proud to have known” especially considering characterization of her speaker and his

dear heart!! it’s just. so soft

“that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain it’s applause”

the little laugh after the chorus!!

“with you i could summon” “come on love”

“watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart” / “sing your notes, play your part” and the various meanings of “play” they use

“we were gods” “we were kids.”

“our devils broke ranks” “oh dear god”

“binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce” just sounds So Nice

“this isn’t a breakup dear heart it’s a season finale!”

the vocalizations!! the background vocals!!

the back-and-forth of “it’s not pain” “it’s applause”

the drums that quiet to the guitar for the last verse

the way joey hits consonants when he sings quietly like this

the rise and crash of the rhythm here is like. it almost feels iambic can you tell i’m an english major studying renaissance lit currently

“now at the end” “at the end of all things”

ending the album with “i’m doing fine” !!!!!

even now it feels like a single beat off from being finished which is a really cool feeling ! like it leaves you wanting more feeling like there’s more to be said like the story isn’t done like there’s something missing idk big fan

[thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain]

Hope [Handon Fanfiction]

SUMMARY: "He knows her.

It's a gut feeling, an illogical thought that passes through his brain the second their eyes interlock. She looks surprised, or even shocked, but also pained, as if she may recognize him too, but he's never been good at reading people.

It's those eyes, he can't help but think. Bright blue and striking, full of chaos and calm and love and pain and so many other juxtapositions that he can't even count them all. All he knows is that her features look sad and fragile and vulnerable and all his brain can say is that he knows her..." 

[Landon trying to remember Hope, then remembering her, and then finding his way back to her, all told through Ladon's POV, all canon compliant]

WORD COUNT: 4,364 words

Now available on AO3! Enjoy!

[Feedback is welcome. Hate will be blocked. Thank you!]

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

He remembers her when he dreams.

On the edges of his mind; a vision so distant and blurry that he couldn't distinguish if it was a memory or a figment of his imagination. He wakes up feeling empty, like he's left a piece of himself back in his subconscious, trapped there and unable to escape when he opens his eyes. 

She came in snapshots. 

A laugh, echoing so far away in his that he could barely hear it, but that makes his heart race. 

Soft blue irises, too blurry to distinguish, but clear enough for him to see the pain in them. 

A voice calling his name, with so much passion and love in the syllables, in a way he has never heard before, in a way that was so familiar yet foreign that it drives him mad.

The gentle curve of lips, upturned in a smirk, amused by something he can never remember.

When he wakes up, he can feel the images haunting him, etched into his brain but impossible for him to figure out. While he sleeps, the images feel like home, but when he's awake, it feels like solving a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He can get the pieces to fit, but they never make the correct picture.

He feels like it's slowing driving him mad. 

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

He remembers her when he dies.

When he stands on the pier, he can't help but wonder why. Why he does this so often, almost like a ritual he's created with himself.  Rafael would hate him if he knew, but he was thankful that this wasn't part of the paths he knew him to travel. In his wolf form, he stuck closer to the trees, hidden under the cover of leaves and night.

He tells himself he does it to silence his thoughts. To get a reprieve from pretending that he was the great savior who destroyed Malivore, from the frustration of not being able to fix Rafael yet, from the loneliness that settled into his gut, making him feel emptier than ever before. 

But if he's honest with himself, he knew he was doing it because of her. 

When he dies, she's clearer. As he jumps off the pier into the dark water, she came in visions.

He hears her voice. Not just his name, but sentences. The voice was just far enough away for him to not be able to make out the words, just far away enough that it's out of reach, that it drives him crazy.

He sees her smile. Not just a smirk, but a full, genuine smile. 

He sees her eyes light up, full of happiness and love and beauty. 

He sees a shaky hand brush hair behind her ear, 

But when he dies, he feels her, too.

He feels the heat of a soft hand cupping his face. He feels the coolness of rings around the fingers, pressing lightly into the skin of his cheeks. He feels her gentle touch grazing over his skin, making him ache for more. 

He feels the ghost of those soft lips pressing against his own. Carefully, cautiously, electrically.

As his consciousness starts to drift away from him, more comes. He smells her scent, soft and feminine and so painfully familiar that he swears he could recognize it if only he had a little more time.

As he sinks deeper, with the weight of the cinder block tied around his waist pulling him down and down, he feels the pressure of the rope replaced. Instead of the tight and unrelenting feeling of rope, he feels her arms wrapping around him, strongly but lovingly. Desperately, as if she's scared he's going to disappear if she dares to let go.

But it's not him that disappears. It's her. 

When he rises from the ashes, flames dancing on the surface of the water, he can't help but wish for a second that he could die again, if only to spend a little more time with the visions. 

But she stays trapped in his mind, stays submerged below the dark water, and he remains unable to figure out why these visions feel like the closest thing he's ever felt to belonging. 

Maybe he's going crazy from stress. Maybe she's nothing. Or maybe she's the key to everything.

He's not sure, but he's sure that he will die again, whether it was by way of werewolf, vampire, witch, monster or even his own hand. But he was okay with it, if only to get another glimpse of her.

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

He remembers her the moment he sees her. 

He's alone with his thoughts, which is his least favorite type of lonely. He's had his headphones in, trying to use his music to drown out all the chaos in his mind about Josie and their date and the way she was acting and the fact that he felt even more alone now than ever. 

It was only when the embers started to fall that he looks up. 

He thought he was the only one out in the park at this hour. He hadn't seen anyone else around, and surely no other phoenix's were out rising from the ashes in the middle of Mystic Falls. But as he sat there, embers started to float around him, igniting the sky with tiny flames. It was odd, yes, but he was used to odd. Odd had quickly become his new normal since he stepped through the doors of the Salvatore school. 

He feels himself stand up and turn around, his body moving on its own accord, and it's then that he sees her.

She's staring back at him, not at all concerned by the flames falling down all around her. Her hair falls over her shoulders, messily framing her face. Her expression is unreadable, full of too many conflicting emotions for him to even try to decipher them

But he knows her.

It's a gut feeling, an illogical thought that passes through his brain the second their eyes interlock. She looks surprised, or even shocked, but also pained, as if she may recognize him too, but he's never been good at reading people.

It's those eyes, he can't help but think. Bright blue and striking, full of chaos and calm and love and pain and so many other juxtapositions that he can't even count them all. All he knows is that her features look sad and fragile and vulnerable and all his brain can say is that he knows her.

God, she looks so familiar that it hurts him. Maybe she just has one of those faces, or maybe she's what he's been looking for his entire life. He can't tell. All that he knows is that he can't find the strength to look away.

She's the first to break eye contact, walking away quickly with her head down, not looking back,, and the moment is over way too quickly. 

And Landon is left figuring out why it feels like a piece of him was just ripped out of his chest when she leaves.

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

He remembers her, instinctively, when he sees her again later that night.

He's on a walk, the pale light of the streetlights illuminating his way in the dark. He's coming from the Mystic Grill when he spots her. 

Or, her hair rather, cascading over her shoulders in long ribbons. She's crouched over, her elbows on her knees as she leans down to reach her bag, laying on the grass next to her. She's facing away from him, not allowing him to see her face, but he knows it's her. He can feel it. He can feel her presence calling out to him.

She's unaware he's there, that much he can tell, but seeing her stops him dead in his tracks. He feet are rooted to the ground, unable to move until he finally decides to call out to her.

"Hey," he starts, unable to think of anything else, and mentally kicking himself for not thinking of anything better. He doesn't know why he cares so much.

She sits up straight, turning to face him, greeting him with the same expression as last time, a look full of so many different emotions bleeding into each other. Shock and surprise are prevalent in her wide eyes, and he's pretty sure he sees recognition there as well.

If only he could figure out why he knows her. Why she feels so important. Why that look makes his heart crack in his chest, ever so slightly.

"Hey," she replies weakly. The word hangs in the air between them.

"We saw each other earlier," he states. He can't help but feel like this is insane, that he feels so drawn to this girl that his feet are moving without his intent, bringing him closer and closer to her. And he can't help but fear that he's wrong, that she's not the girl he thinks she is, even though he can feel in his bones that she is. "Right?"

She nods slowly, her mouth still open ever so slightly in shock. After a second, she composes herself, nodding quickly and making a face.

"Yeah," she confirms as she tears her eyes away from his for a second. When her eyes meet his again, Landon can't help but feel that her expression is softer. More vulnerable. 

"Um," she starts, and he hears the shakiness in the syllable. "I was just out on a walk to clear my head."

"Rough night?"

She seems thrown by the question for a moment, but answers before he has a chance to backtrack. 

"Yeah actually," she replies.

"Uh..." She seems to wonder if she should elaborate, making a face before she shrugs and simply states, "Relationship trouble."

Landon nods once, looking down at his shoes as he mutters, almost to himself. "Must be contagious." 

He didn't mean to say the words out loud, but he looks up at her when he does, a smile naturally forming on his face, and it's weird how comfortable this conversation feels. He's never made friends easily, especially not with beautiful mystery women. He can't explain the ease he feels around her, the magnetism she seems to have.

"Why? You too?" She asks, and normally he wouldn't open up to a stranger, but he finds himself answering anyway.

"Yeah."

By this point, he's already approached the stone bench she's sitting at, his feet having carried him towards her of their own accord as he talks with her. He sits down next to her, and he feels an overwhelming urge to sit closer than he does. 

"I met this really amazing girl, but all of a sudden, everything's super complicated."

"Huh," is all she says to that. 

Sitting closer to her, he can feel his memory stirring. He knows her. He just can't figure out why. It's as if his subconscious is refusing to let his brain in on the mystery of who is she?

When he looks back at her, her gaze has dropped from his. She looks sad when she does that, he notes, and lost in her thoughts. The sight gives him deja vu so hard that his head spins. 

"You?" He asks, and once again, she seems caught off guard by the question.

"Oh, uh..." She begins, bringing her gaze to his and away again as she shakes her head once quickly, tearing herself out of her thoughts, if only for a moment. He can't help but notice how in her head she seems to be, carefully thinking through every word she says before she says it.

And he can't help but notice the pain in her eyes, pain that seems to amplify whenever her gaze locks on his for too long. 

She chuckles, but there's no humor in the sound. It sounds so familiar, he thinks.

"Old story, I guess." She rolls her eyes as she says it, as if she thinks the whole thing is stupid. "Fell for a guy who doesn't even know I exist."

She smiles as she says the last part, but Landon has been through enough trauma in his life to know a fake smile when he sees one, and the facade she wears can't hide the tremble in her voice, anyway.

"Huh," he says, and as he keeps watching her, the mask drops instantly. Her face scrunches up, and she makes a motion as if to say what can you do? But he can see her lost in her thoughts again, the voices in her head too loud to allow her to hide her emotions. 

"That's classic," he tells her, not knowing what else to say that won't add to her evident heartbreak. He can't help but briefly think that the guy she's talking about would be lucky to be loved by her, but the thought is gone as soon as it crosses his mind.

She smiles again as she nods once, and he thinks it may actually be real this time as she lets out a small "yeah." But her eyes fall to her hands, and the sadness returns. He feels an unexplainable instinct to hug her, to bring her close and try to comfort her, and if he could only keep her talking, maybe he could figure out why it feels like he's known her his entire life, and why he feels the urge to open up to her, as if she had cast a truth spell like one he would learn at the Salvatore School. 

He can't explain it. He wants to be able to explain it. He wants to know her. But he doesn't. The feelings of closeness and familiarity does nothing to change the fact that she's still a stranger, even if his gut is telling at him to rethink it. 

"She is really great," he says instead, giving into the urge to share about himself to her. She nods slowly, like she's processing the information, like she knows what he means. He finds himself lost in his thoughts this time as he speaks, remembering why he was out for a walk in the first place, to try to sort through the mess in his head about his situation with Josie. 

"I just feel like... i want it to be perfect. And I want to be the perfect boyfriend, and shes trying to be the perfect girlfriend." He shifts his focus back to her, and she makes a face as if to show him that she's listening, or to make it look like she is. He continues anyway. 

"And it was really effortless, but now it feels... Off. I don't know." 

The softness returns to her eyes, like his words are making her feel vulnerable. He doesn't know why.

"Sorry," he mumbles, not quite knowing what he's apologizing for. For throwing all of his problems onto her, or for saying something that could cause the emotions swirling around in her eyes. Or for not being able to figure out why those eyes look so familiar. 

He looks away, looking at the milkshake in his hands instead of at her and her sad eyes that seem to break his heart. He mentally kicks himself for telling her all those things. 

"No," she tells him, seeming to understand the awkwardness he's starting to feel about opening up in that way. Landon can't figure out how she seems to be able to read him so well.

"You know, um," she continues. "A very smart boy once taught me that sometimes, you have to be brave enough to be imperfect with people."

He nods slowly, taking in her words, and seeing the way that her eyes start to fill with tears as she speaks. She smiles though, and this time it's a genuine one, a real smile that lights up all her features for the briefest of seconds. Even her tear filled eyes seem to get brighter when she smiles. 

"Even if it's scary,"  she adds, and he can't help but feels like she's reading his mind.

"Yeah," he laughs out, shaking his head at himself. It was good advice for someone he barely knew, advice that she should probably try to take to heart. The thought still terrified him, though. He blew out air and rubbed at his eyes as he lets his mind wonder about how being imperfect with Josie Saltzman would feel. 

"Of course, you're gonna have to take your own advice, and tell that boy of yours that you exist."

The words come out on instinct, coming straight from his heart without giving his brain a second to process it. He usually wouldn't be giving a stranger advice, and especially not in such a forward way, but he usually wouldn't be opening up to one, either. And ashes didn't usually rain down from the sky, and he usually didn't have a girlfriend he wanted to impress, and he usually didn't even order this milkshake. The whole night was unusual. 

And he didn't usually feel such a sense of complete peace around anybody, let alone a stranger.

I know her, his brain screams at him.

When he looks back at her, he sees a tear slide down her face. It hurts him, he feels it in his chest, as if her tears were laced with acid. It hurts to see her like that. His follows it down her face. 

Her eyes widen a bit when she realizes, and she brings her hand up to wipe it away quickly, looking away from him as she does that, not letting him see any of her emotions. It's crazy how she can be so unreadable, yet so open at the same time. It makes his head spin.

"Oh," she says. She laughs again, but it's devoid of humor. When she turns, her hair is covering her face more than before. She shrugs her shoulder, hiding her face behind the curtain of hair and her jean jacket. "I don't know about that." She can't hide her sniffle, trying her best to keep any other tears contained. 

They fall into silence, and despite him wanting to stay there forever, Landon knows he has to make it back to the Salvatore School before curfew. He wasn't planning on getting on the new headmaster's bad side so soon. 

"I hope your night gets better," he tells her, and he truly means it. Whoever she is, she doesn't deserve the heartache she's feeling. 

She nods once, muttering out a "thanks" and giving him a quick smile. 

He can't help but feel like something's missing. He's suddenly aware of the milkshake in his hands. He still doesn't even know why he ordered it in the first place. It's not much, but it'll have to do.

"This'll help," he states, dropping the milkshake onto the bench between them. "Peanut butter blast, whipped cream on the bottom. It's probably all melted by now."

"Oh." She reaches out slowly, carefully grabbing the cup and tilting it so she can see it as he stands up. Even as he turns away from her, he feels the urge to keep talking.

And so he does.

"I don't even know why I ordered it," he says. "I didn't have any of it. I didn't want a milkshake. It just seemed..."

He doesn't know how to end that thought, still mildly confused. So he doesn't, shrugging softly at her instead. She gives a sad smile and shrugs back, seeming to understand something in the silence he doesn't even understand himself. 

He starts to walk away, but not before making sure to tell her "thanks for listening." She gives him a face back, one that he can't tell if it's positive or not. 

If it's negative, he doesn't want to know. So he walks away instead, and he can't explain why it feels like he's walking away from something important. 

Or someone important. 

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

He remembers her as soon as she steps off the bus. 

She looks different in the daylight, without the streetlights illuminating her blue eyes. 

She looks younger, he thinks, with her hair in the braids instead of falling around her shoulders. And there's a feeling in his gut, seeing her in the black and red Timberwolf uniform; a feeling like she doesn't belong in it. 

Her eyes lock onto his instantly, and her gaze traps him in place. He can't do anything but stare back at her, his mind frantically searching through his every thought trying to make sense of her. Her stare has him paralyzed in a way he's never felt before, captivated so completely that there's nothing he can do but be completely at the mercy of her beautiful sad eyes. 

It's both thrilling and terrifying.

Josie snaps him out of it. Her voice cuts through his head easily, centering him and bringing him back down to reality. 

"Do you know that girl?"

He doesn't know how to answer. No, wants to leave his lips. The simple answer. The true answer. But every cell in his body responds with a yes, so loud that he almost feels like he's shaking.

"Not really," he says, a happy medium between his brain and his body. "Just, uh, we shared a milkshake once."

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

He remembers her, again and again; the sight of her feeling new and entirely familiar every time.

He remembers her when he feels Josie's jealousy, and sees how her presence is bringing out the worst parts of her. 

When he finds out she's both a werewolf and a witch. He knows that's something he should be more freaked out about; it's not that he's not freaked out about it, but it feels way more normal than it should. 

When he realizes Rafael has feelings for her, and he feels the strongest, most unexplained sense of deja vu he's ever had in his life

He remembers her when he rises from Lizzie stabbing him, fresh off his death and with her face right in front of him. He can finally connect the mystery girl from his dreams and deaths as her, but still can't place how or why he was getting visions of her if he hadn't met her until just a couple weeks ago. He asks her, but all she tells him is for him to get back return to Josie.

And then it finally happens.

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

He remembers her. Really, truly, with every fiber of his being. 

He remembers serving her milkshakes at the Mystic Grill. Dancing in the nighttime. Kissing her for the first time in the cell. He remembers singing to her in her room. He remembers making out with her in the motel. He remembers loving her, and the feeling that she gave him every time he was in her presence. A feeling that he's decided must be what home feels like. 

But most of all, he remembers her sacrificing herself. He remembers her killing him, knowing that he would never let her throw herself into the Malivore pit if he was alive to try to stop her. He remembers waking up alone, and feeling a indescribable feeling of loneliness ever since.

He can't help but be mad at her. It's an instinct, and a feeling so strong, he feels like it might consume him. Not only at the fact that she had sacrificed herself and left him alone, but at the fact that she had been back and hadn't come to find him. Come back to find anyone. He thought she was past the lone wolf mentality., but he should've known she was more stubborn than that,

He can't find it in himself to speak to her about it after initially confronting her. The whole situation is hard, messy and unbelievably complicated, not only with the fact that she had disappeared, but that he had started dating Josie while she was away. He knows in his mind that there was no malicious intent behind it; it can't be considered cheating if he didn't know Hope existed, but he can't escape the guilt that seems to be running through his veins. 

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

He remembers his love for her. 

Once the anger dissipates and his brain is working normally again, that's the only conclusion he can come to. He's loved her since the moment he laid his eyes on her. Since the moment he spoke to her. And impossibly, he loved her when he didn't even know she existed. 

When she was just a vision, a flash of features in his mind. When she was just the faintest, distant memory in the deepest recesses of his mind.  When all that he had was the empty blackness of death, his love for her remained. He loved her even when he was dead, and with that realization, he knew that love was the only emotion he would be able to feel for her as long as he was alive, or dead. 

As long and he exists, so does his love for her. 

And so he comes back to the school when Lizzie asks him to, even if that means having to break Josie's heart, and he feels his heart break a little too, because this just doesn't feel fair to her, to him, to anyone. She doesn't deserve the heartbreak, he knows that, but he also knows that she doesn't deserve to be lied to, and any second he spent trying to pretend that his feelings for Hope were gone would've just been a second where he was lying to one of the best girls he had ever meant. 

He's terrified when he goes to meet Hope, because that's what happens when he confronts things. He may have phoenix resurrection powers that gave him a newfound confidence in battles, but it does nothing to help him work up his nerve for confronting his feelings. And worse, he just really doesn't wanna lose Hope. He can't lose her, not after he just got her back.

So when everything is resolved, and he sees that sunshine smile under the Christmas lights, and he kisses her lips under the mistletoe, Landon can't help but think that if he ever does actually die, the feeling of Heaven would surely pale in comparison to the feeling of kissing Hope Mikaelson. 

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

I really can't believe there's not more Handon fanfic around, so I had to contribute to the cause. I've been watching Legacies since ep 1, but I really have fallen head over heels in love with Handon this season. I think they've entered my Holy Trinity of ships with Karamel and Malex now, and I'm not hating it at all.  Hello! This has been sitting in my drafts for so long, so I thought I'd finally finish it and have it be my first fic back. I’m so sorry I haven’t written in so long. There’s more info in the AO3 notes as to why if you care to know.  Anyway,  I love Handon so much, and I had so much fun writing this fic. 

[Feedback is welcome. Hate will be blocked. Thank you!]