#even if it’s a pain it’s a lot easier to manage than hand-drawn

[liliavalley]

when ur imagination is far beyond ur skill level…..

[msmk11]

The Infamous Wings

Sirius Black x fem!reader

WC: 751

CW: Fluff

Summary: Sirius attempts to do his own eyeliner.

Day 18 of mk’s mad dash

Sirius knows he should’ve just asked for your help, but he’s usually too stubborn and proud to do it.

In his defense, doing eyeliner seemed a lot easier than it’s turned out to be. You, at least, make it look easy, always drawing on the two thick, black lines quickly and with ease.

He’s beginning to understand that it’s only easy with a practiced hand. And for the unpracticed? Well, they probably look a lot like Sirius does now- like a raccoon.

Every attempt so far has been a failure.

His first try, he stabbed himself in the eye. And when he tried to rub away the stinging pain, he smeared the still wet eyeliner all over his eyelid.

On Sirius’ second attempt, while he didn’t stab himself, he only managed to draw two squiggles that strayed far from their designated spots by his eyelashes.

He was more successful on his third attempt, drawing a decent, but somewhat shaky, line across each eyelid. Sirius felt quite proud of himself until he attempted to add a wing to his look.

It turned out to be a mistake. With each attempt to even out the poorly drawn wing, the triangle on the side of Sirius’ eye only got bigger and bigger, leaving him to look pretty silly.

Of course, Sirius notes, this is the time you decide to return back to your dorm. Though it’s not unusual to find Sirius waiting for you in your room, the shocked expression that arises on your face when you see your boyfriend’s predicament sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Sirius, what happened to your face?”

“Shut up, don’t laugh at me,” he whines, burying his face in his hands.

Sirius can tell that you’re trying to choke back your laughter, but you’re not doing a very good job of it.

“I’m not laughing at you I’m just-“

He looks at you unimpressed.

“Okay, I am laughing at you. But only because you look very silly. I’m not laughing at you for trying makeup. It’s hard, and I applaud your efforts!”

Sirius grumbles and tosses the eyeliner onto the desk, “it’s pointless, love. I’m never gonna get it.”

You tsk at Sirius and move to stand behind him, gripping his shoulders as you look at his face in the mirror, “It’s really not that bad. Or at least the line part isn’t! And you have to remember it takes tons and tons of practice.”

“You just look so cool with eyeliner on and I wanna look cool too,” he pouts.

“Baby, I already think you look cool. But if you really wanna do eyeliner, I’m happy to help. Ya just had to ask.”

Though Sirius is shy to admit he needs the help, he thanks Merlin that you’re such a wonderful girlfriend and don’t tease him for it.

“Here, I’ll do it on you first, and then you can practice on me, okay?”

You reach out and grab the eyeliner off the desk, looking to Sirius for approval before continuing. He nods, so you make your way around the desk chair to straddle his lap.

His hands instantly gravitate towards your hips, gripping them tightly as you lean in towards his eyes.

“Okay, close your eyes and hold still,” you whisper, your breath fanning his face.

Sirius obliges you and his eyelashes flutter closed. Your fingers come to rest right above and below his eye as the thin, cold pen touches his eyelid. He naturally wants to flinch away but he holds still, squeezing your hips again to maintain his composure.

It doesn’t take you long at all before you’re telling him that you’ve finished and that he can open his eyes.

Sirius is beyond thrilled at what he finds staring back at him in the mirror. Just like when you do your own makeup, the eyeliner is perfect. The lines aren’t shaky, the wings are the perfect size, and it’s just dark enough to bring out the color of his eyes.

“You look so pretty baby,” you mumble softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I love it.”

He truly is in awe.

Not just because of your talent, but because of how good the eyeliner makes him feel in his own skin. He doesn’t think he can ever go back to not wearing it.

And, Sirius decides, even if he never perfects the art of the infamous wings, he’ll always have a pretty girl to sit atop his lap and do it for him.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 45

PREV

Renee Walker stands next to two of her best friends in the entire world holding up a hand drawn sign. There's an, admittedly crudely drawn, Fox on the sign that Allison had made up.

Renee had seen it and smiled from across the airport as she made her way over to where Dan and Allison were standing waiting for everyone to come. The team had managed to coordinate their flights to land all within about two hours of one another and Allison had exactly zero desire to go back and forth from the airport so her driver was waiting out at a nearby cellphone lot to come and get them once everyone was there.

"Is it nice having a driver again?" Dan asks Allison.

"I sometimes miss driving around in my car but it's a lot easier to do my makeup with him driving." she says with a shrug as they continue to catch up. Renee is holding up the sign since Allison had complained that she had lost so much of the muscle she had previously had.

"Yeah, New York City seems like a major pain in the ass to drive in too." Dan agrees as her phone buzzes. She pulls out her phone and looks at it before a huge smile fills her face, one that means she's talking to Matt, "Oh! They just landed!" Dan says confirming Renee's suspicions.

Allison looks at her watch, "Wow, 20 minutes early. They must have gotten through boarding quickly." she comments.

"Or some good tailwind." Renee offers.

"When are Neil and Andrew due up?" Dan asks looking at Renee who smiles back at her friend.

"Andrew said they're going to take a break halfway here so they'll be here tomorrow morning." Renee says.

"Get it Neil." Allison nods and it had been a wonderful thing last year to watch Andrew and Allison make peace with one another. Their mutual desire to dress Neil up a bridge towards....maybe not friendship but camaraderie.

It warms Renee's heart to see her friends get along.

"The plane got tailwind, Neil's getting tail." Dan jokes.

"I'm looking forward to meeting the new kid that I've heard about." Renee says gently moving the topic on from their friends getting together. It didn't bother her at all, but she knew that Andrew would prefer no one talk about what he and Neil got up to.

"Oh! Yeah, uh..." Dan visibly buffers.

"Dan, you're the only one of us that's met the kid. His name's Smith." Allison says with eyebrows raised in judgement.

"Look, when Coach and I went to recruit the kid my brain was like 90% on the fact that I needed to go to my interview." Dan defends herself.

"So he wasn't that memorable for you?" Allison asks.

"Yeah, I'm surprised that he's getting along so well with the guys." Dan says. "Getting stabbed over Thanksgiving feels more like a Neil move than the quiet kid Coach and I met." she adds.

That had been an interesting phone call from Andrew. Renee hadn't even realized that she had become Natalie describing the best way to get rid of the body until Andrew had clarified that it'd been an accident and Smith was alive. Renee had been a little ashamed.

She was excited to meet the kid who Andrew had spoken to her about. Glad that their strange found family was growing just a little bit bigger.

They wait around continuing to talk about plans for the break together. Allison wants to go shopping and she wants to do it once Neil and Andrew are back. Dan wants to skate at the Rockefeller center. Renee would love it if they could do Christmas Eve Mass.

They're sure that Kevin is going to want to check out an Exy game. They're mostly sure that Matt will want to check out the LEGO store in downtown manhattan and that Aaron will be as excited for that as Matt is but pretending not to be. Nicky wants to catch a drag show and has made it clear that he will be going regardless of what anyone else wants to do. Andrew and Neil will probably just want to be alone when they have the chance though Neil had expressed some prior interest in the EXITES superstore and Andrew will more than likely enjoy the day Allison has planned to go shopping since she wants to update Neil's wardrobe.

The new kid, Smith, will be a mystery, but they're more than willing to be flexible.

Eventually they hear the tell-tale sign of most of the boy's arrival. "Babe!" comes from across the airport and Dan's head shoots up and spots the sight of Matt Boyd approaching his arms out wide almost clotheslining four different families on his way to Dan.

Dan is not much better as she rushes to him arms as wide.

They embrace like they always do whenever they have to spend time apart from one another and Renee knows that part of the reason that Dan took her job as assistant coach where she did is that the Washington State Congress Team had been looking at Matt the year prior to scout him.

She looks beyond the passionate reunion and sees Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky. She frowns brows furrowing...

Weren't they going to bring-

Nicky throws his arm out and it wraps around a kid she hadn't even realized was there. She blinks startled by his sudden appearance and blank expression as Nicky was pointing them out. He points to her and he can see her name on his lips she gives a wave and a smile.

Smith nods back in greeting.

He seems quite nice.

***

Renee is at the end of her proverbial rope.

This kid is a threat and she doesn't understand how she's the only person who can see it.

Being a threat isn't really an issue when you're a Fox. It's almost a given that there's some part of you that can be dangerous when backed into a corner but no one seems to be treating him like a threat.

She watches as Nicky and Matt throw their arms around him. As Kevin pushes smoothie after smoothie into his hands as he blankly sips. As Andrew and Neil sit with him quietly. As Dan pinches his cheeks. As Aaron ribs him for being bad at MarioKart.

She can't feel anything from him, no joy, no anger, nothing.

She can't even track him.

Renee has always prided herself on her ability to keep track of those around her. Spacial awareness was incredibly important when you're in a fight and it had always been one of her strongest points. She always knew where she was in relation to everyone else.

Except Smith.

The kid had given her no shortage of heart attacks as he appeared and disappeared seemingly at random.

She had finally gotten Andrew alone to ask, "Smith's quiet, non-intrusive." Andrew says with a shrug.

There's just something about him that makes the hair on the back of Renee's neck stand on edge and she hates feeling like she's the only one. She hates it even more that there's no real evidence that there's something amiss with this newest Fox.

So she settles in to watch.

They're out shopping and Allison is doing her best to get Neil a proper wardrobe with Andrew's considerable help, AKA nodding in approval when Neil comes out. She's not skimping on any of them but Neil is her main focus.

"Smith, what's a color you like?" Allison asks as she's looking at hoodies.

"I like purple." Smith answers and Renee barely manges to stop herself from flinching as his voice comes from right next to her.

"Pass." Andrew says as Neil comes out in a charmingly orange sweatshirt.

"I like it!" Neil argues.

"You have 10 sweatshirts that are that exact shade of orange." Andrew dismisses. "Try the blue one." he says pushing Neil back into the dressing room.

"Which one?" Neil asks.

Andrew sighs dramatically in a way that lets Renee know that he's doing exactly what he wants to be doing, "I'll show you." he says going into the dressing room with Neil.

"I still don't know how it took Baltimore for me to realize they were together." Nicky says as he's holding up two different purple sweatshirts to Smith's body. "You look good in a more purpley purple." Nicky says putting the more indigo colored sweatshirt back on the rack.

"Pants are coming up next, I'll get a lay of the land. I know everyone else's but Smith what's your height?" Allison asks.

"Five feet, nine inches." Smith answers as Nicky pushes him towards the dressing room. "Nicky it's a sweatshirt, I can put it on out here." Smith says.

"I know but I need an excuse to go back there and make sure Neil and Andrew aren't defiling a dressing room." Nicky says with a grin that implies he'd be more happy if they were.

"Gross." Aaron says as he takes a picture of himself to send to Katelyn to approve of the new outfit that Allison was pushing for him to get. "Wait," he pauses turning to where Allison was looking through various men's pants, "you know our heights? Like you've memorized them?" he asks.

"Yeah." Allison says looking at a pair of black slacks. "Everyone's measurements." she says nodding to herself.

"Even bust sizes?" he asks, voice not as quiet as he likely thinks it is.

"You're such a boy." Allison laughs not even looking up from the very different rack.

"How much longer are we going to be here?" Kevin asks with a sigh.

"Well, at least the time that it took you to ask that longer. We'll be done when we're done Kevin." Dan says long having given up on stopping Allison when the woman is on a spree.

"She knows that EXITES closes at 5 PM right?" Kevin asks.

"More importantly," Matt leans in, "that the LEGO store closes at 8 PM right?" Matt asks.

"How is that more important? The LEGO store is open later?" Kevin asks.

"Because we're not going to EXITES today, but we are going to the LEGO store." Matt says.

"If we don't spend the whole day here we can do both-"

"We're not going to EXITES today Kevin." Dan says with a sigh.

"But-"

"We're not going to EXITES today Kevin." Renee says with an apologetic smile.

"But-"

"Kevin, we're not going to EXITES today. Just sit down and let me find pants that'll make your pin-up days look tame in comparison." Allison says.

"That's not what those posters were!" Kevin argues with a blush on his face.

"Sure." Allison dismisses

***

Renee is quite happy with the sundresses she found even if they won't do her any good here in New York City during the Christmas break. Their next stop on their shopping day is over to the LEGO store where Matt makes no attempt to hide his enthusiasm as Aaron very valiantly does try to pretend like he's not utterly entranced by the sets and builds.

Renee thinks it's all very charming.

"We could have gone to EXITES." Kevin says with a frown as he looks at a build of an Exy racquet. "Can you take my picture with this?" he asks but he's not quite looking at Renee.

"Sure." Smith says from beside her, where he had apparently been.

"Thanks Smiths." Kevin says and stands next to the Exy racquet of LEGOs and crosses his arms and leans back.

"Kevin, stop posing like this will be for the cover of a Forbes Magazine." Andrew says with a sigh as he comes to stand on Renee's other side.

"Shut up, it's a picture for me!" Kevin says and continues to stand with his arms crossed.

"Oh, can you get a picture of me next Smith?" Neil asks coming up eyes shining in excitement as he looks at the racquet.

"Sure. As an apology for letting Nicky-"

"Don't talk about it." Neil and Andrew say at the same time.

Kevin gets his picture and then Andrew hands his phone to Smith for Neil's since Neil had broken the lens on his camera ages ago.

They wander around and Kevin finds a set to build the National Court that he grabs without a second thought. Neil and Andrew find a little LEGO man of Kevin that they buy as their 'preferred Kevin'. Kevin of course threatens to buy their LEGO figures once they have them and refer to them as his 'preferred Andrew and Neil'. A threat that neither of them comment on but Renee does buy the little Jean Moreau she finds. She'll paint it Trojan colors and send it over to him as a little gift.

As she continues to browse with her purchase in hand she hears Nicky, "Smithy, if you like it you should get it!" Nicky insists.

"Is it the price?" Allison asks.

"Yeah, I don't want to spend that much." Smith says with a nod expression still worryingly blank.

"When's your birthday? It can just be an early or a late present from me." Allison asks.

"March 1st, but really I'm fine not getting it." Smith shakes his head. "It's not that I'd like it just my little brother liked trains." he says and Renee watches Nicky's face turn from joyful teasing to intense determination.

"We're getting this set." Nicky says grabbing it and marching over to the counter even as Smith followed after him.

Interesting.

***

They finish off their day with some ice skating.

Matt, Aaron, Andrew, and Kevin all fall into the 'challenged' category.

They get on the ice and all four immediately fall. Renee stifles her laughter as Andrew and Aaron scowl. "Are you okay?" Smith asks and Renee almost loses her balance as he skates by her.

"Why the fuck are you good at skating?" Aaron asks scowling even as he takes Smith hand. Renee skates over and offers a hand to Kevin as Matt and Andrew are being helped up by their respective partners.

"Oh," Allison says skating by, "have you been up to Canada or something often?" she asks.

"I've been to Canada a few times. It's more that there was a rink I would go to every once in a while." Smith answers before turning back to Aaron, "I can help you keep balanced." he says offering his other hand.

"Smith, I don't want to hold your hand. That's kind of gay." Aaron huffs letting go of Smith's hand only to immediately beef it again when he tried to move forward.

***

Skating was fun even if Aaron kept blushing as Smith helped him skate since he never really got his 'ice legs'. The rest of them all more or less skated on their own by the end or, in the case of Andrew and Matt, seemed fine to keep skating while holding on.

Renee was warming herself by the fireplace in Allison's home enjoying some hot chocolate as Allison took a seat next to her. There was a lot of commotion in the kitchen as the team was working to make dinner together. Renee had excused herself after Smith had startled her while she had a knife in hand and she'd almost stabbed him on instinct.

She's just relieved that no one seemed to notice the near murder.

"You okay? You seemed tense in there." Allison asks.

Well, almost no one.

"Yes, I'm fine." she smiles and hopes that Allison will believe it.

Allison looks at her and Renee does have the benefit that Allison is slightly drunk since she was told firmly not to help with the cooking since she'd paid for the majority of the day.

"I'm glad I got you alone, there's something I want to hear your opinion on." Allison says deciding, apparently, to let it go for now.

Renee relaxes smiling at her friend, "What's that?" she asks wondering what purchase or thing unpurchased Allison was regretting.

Allison looks at Renee, expression utterly serious. "Don't you think there's something...weird about this kid?" she asks.

Renee straightens up glad that Allison had also felt like something was off with the kid that her friends had brought along. "What do you mean?" she asks wanting to hear what Allison thought.

"Look, he seems really nice. I mean a little too nice to be a Fox to be honest but I mean I guess you're a Fox as well so..." Allison rambles slightly taking another sip of her wine.

"Yes, go on." Renee nods.

"Yeah, he seems nice and Matt said he's got his own stuff even if he didn't wanna go into what that stuff was." Allison continues and it's a good thing Allison is drinking white wine considering the white carpet and her gesticulations. "But...it's just.. okay you can't make fun of me. Even though this is about to sound crazy." Allison says.

"I would never do something like that." Renee swears.

"Promise me." Allison says expression grave as she lifts up a pinky.

Renee smiles despite herself and hooks her pinky with Allison's, "I promise to not make fun of you." she swears other hand over her cross.

"I think he's Justin Bieber."

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

[thenightfolknetwork]

I study maths at uni, and you would be surprised at how often all the arcane-looking symbols mathematicians manipulate cross into being actually arcane (in a thaumaturgically potent sense). It’s an absolute pain if you, like me, are from a genus with… shall we say intense thaumaturgic sensitivities. 

Things have been coming to a head with the graph theory class I’m taking this term. I absolutely love graph theory, in fact I want to do my thesis research in it someday, but my allergies have been getting so bad that I’ve been considering abandoning the field entirely. 

See, graphs, the formal mathematical sense, are objects  consisting of verticies connected by edges. These can be visualised by drawing a bunch of dots (representing the verticies) connected by lines (representing the edges). Many common shapes and symbols are visualisations of graphs! Take, for instance, the complete graph on five vertices (K5 for short). To visualise K5 you can draw your five dots equally spaced in a circle, draw a straight line between each pair of these dots, and… arrive at a little known symbol called a pentagram. 

Which is exactly what I did when working on a homework problem a couple of weeks ago. I was so focused on the maths I didn’t even realise what I had drawn until my hand started smouldering. I managed to put out the blaze, but not before my work was burnt to a crisp. I was working on the assignment the night before it was due- I know, I know- so I didn’t have time to rewrite it. Needless to say, my professor was not particularly interested in marking the pile of ash I turned in, and I was curtly informed that “I’m allergic to my homework” is not a valid excuse for failing to turn in legible coursework. 

I’m at an impasse. K5 is an extremely mathematically important graph- it’s the smallest complete graph that’s not planar. That is, you can rigorously prove it’s impossible to draw K5 without your edge lines intersecting, even if you are allowed to curve the lines however you want as long as you don’t lift your pencil. This results in K5 having some rather interesting pathological behaviour that makes it an important counterexample in many graph theory proofs …but I digress. Point is, that (quite literally) infernal K5 graph is ubiquitous in graph theory, and it’s far from the only thaumaturgically reactive symbol in the field. I’ve had some other near misses - once I even started to spark during lecture, though no fire broke out that time thankfully. The professor is getting increasingly impatient with me and has given me an ultimatum: get my thaumaturgic allergies under control or drop out of the course. I don’t know what to do. Please help. 

[OOC: thanks for bearing with the long mathematical infodump- I love your podcast, the premise leaves so much room for creativity and I have many thoughts about how the canon might tie into my favorite subject. It is true that mathematics historically could get weirdly occult-adjacent. In particular the pentagram, in addition to having interesting mathematical properties, was also the symbol of the delightfully bizarre secretive math cult founded by the Greek scholar Pythagoras- as in the Pythagorean theorem guy. I think in the MA universe there was definitely something liminal going on with the man. Also, for a proof that K5 is not planar- along with other graphs with certain properties- here’s a really cool open source resource! I do love graph theory a lot- this result in particular is really fun to play around with https://discrete.openmathbooks.org/more/mdm/sec_planar.html)]

First things first, reader – thank you so much for bringing me a question that reminds me how much I still have to learn about the world. I admit, mathematics has never been my strong suit, but I've always thought it was a fascinating field of study. Your letter makes me want to learn more!

Fortunately, your particular predicament is rather easier to solve than untangling the mathematical mysteries of the universe. You can deal with your thaumaturgic allergy on two fronts – both by treating the allergy itself, and by securing some additional support from your university.

For the allergy itself, it may seem obvious but have you tried taking an antihistamine before you start your homework? Thaumaturgic allergies function the same as any other allergic reaction, even if the physical response from your body is rather… different.

If over-the-counter antihistamines aren't effective, make an appointment with your GP. Depending on the severity of the allergy, they'll be able to explore treatment options with you or refer you to a specialist. This may include other medication or perhaps desensitisation therapy, where you will be exposed to gradually increasing levels of magic to build up your thaumaturgic tolerance.

As an aside, I must urge you never to attempt such desensitisation on your own. Quite apart from the health risk this poses to yourself, there is also the combustible nature of your allergy to take into account. Besides which, paying a magical practitioner to do random spells in your vicinity in the hopes of prompting a reaction strikes me as an especially dangerous way to waste one's money.

While you're pursuing the medical side of your issue, I encourage you to seek out proper support from your university. I'm pleased to say that your lecturer is thoroughly in the wrong here – being allergic to your homework absolutely counts as grounds for reasonable adjustments, including an extension on your missed deadline.

Your university should have a system in place for supporting students with disabilities and other additional needs. Get in touch with them at the earliest opportunity to talk through the options available for you. At the very least, they should be able to provide you with some thaumaturgically non-reactive writing materials with which to do your work.

Finally, a word of reassurance. Allergies can be extremely frustrating, and even frightening, especially when they aren't taken seriously by the people around you. But there are plenty of treatments available and I see no reason why this should get in the way of your chosen career. And if you do happen to make any breakthroughs in the wonderful world of mathematics, I'd love to hear – even if I might not quite be able to follow!

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[chxrryhxrtreplies]

I managed to lose the request for this fic so hopefully the person that requested it ends up seeing this! This will be a two part story and I’m going to get started on part two tomorrow <3

Draw stars around my scars - Remus Lupin x Female Reader 

Synopsis: It is a few days after a full moon, a bad one. You haven’t seen Remus since and you are beginning to get worried, so you sneak into the infirmary. How will Remus react to your surprise visit?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.

1.2k words

It’s Sunday, four days since the full moon. Sirius and James were still adamant that you could not visit Remus, claiming various things such as, “They gave him the wrong medicine and now his head’s twice its usual size” or that “If you step even one foot into the hospital wing, you’ll catch the most recent strand of wizards’ flu – and that stuff is deadly!”

At first, you were sure that they had Remus’ best interests at heart when they were spouting this nonsense at you, but in all honesty, you were beginning to doubt it. You had always visited him after previous full moons – hell, you had even helped carry him to the hospital wing after some particularly bad nights, so why could you not see him now?

This line of thought is how you found yourself padding along the hallways under the thick cover of night, moonlight pouring through the vast windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, where chandeliers hung down. Paintings lined the walls too, and you could hear murmurs of their complaints behind you as you carried on walking, your wand serving to illuminate your path.

You rounded the final corner to the hospital wing, tentatively approaching the entrance as a shiver ran its way up your spine – you were beginning to wish you had worn a little more than just your pyjamas and cloak, a pair of shoes probably would have made the journey less chilling, but you left in such a rush to see Remus that you did not even consider that.

Lifting your wand up, you held it steadily in front of the lock and whispered, “Alohomora.”

After hearing the tell-tale clink of the door unlocking, you stepped forwards, wrapping your hand around the doorknob, but your thoughts stopped you for a moment. Normally, breaking into the infirmary would be something you frowned down upon and if Madame Pomfrey caught you, or if anyone caught you for that matter, there would undoubtedly be consequences, even if you were just trying to check that Remus was okay. You weighed out the pros and cons, fingers still gripping the handle, before making your decision. You missed Remus and seeing him was worth any punishment you could be given. And so, you twisted your wrist, wincing as the doorknob whined.

Following a slight struggle, you resorted to shoving the door open with the brute force of your shoulder, which you found made the entire ordeal a lot easier, but also a whole lot louder. You finally stumbled into the infirmary, the scraping sound ceasing as the door slowly clicked back shut behind you.

Your eyes flitted around, taking in the numerous empty beds and lit sconces that brightened the room, the shadows of the flames flickering and dancing across the walls. As you wove between the rows of beds you noticed that none of the students were first years, let alone suffering from the black plague, like Sirius had told you – though it was not as if you would believe him, he was an absolutely terrible liar.

Once you had finally reached the far end of the hospital wing, you located Remus’ bed, which was not a massive feat. The curtains were drawn around it, obscuring your view so that all you could see was his silhouette, curled into itself as he laid there.

You assumed that he was sleeping and turned to leave him alone to rest, but before you snuck back out again, you heard his sheets rustling and a particularly pained groan slipped out from his throat.

Concerned, you shuffled back towards the curtains, reaching forward and carefully pulling them back, trying to create as little noise as possible.

As you revealed him, even under the dim lighting, you took notice of the many bandages wrapped around his head; more than were usually there and you frowned, it must have been another bad full moon, the first one in a while.

“Remus?” you questioned, eyebrows knitting together in slight worry when he did not respond. “Remus, are you alright?”

“No.”

You wanted to kick yourself for that one – he had just been locked away in the Shrieking Shack to deal with a full moon alone, what sort of answer were you expecting?

“Well,” you replied cautiously, picking up the copy of The Daily Prophet that laid atop his bedside table and unfolding the pages to reveal today’s headline, “How would you feel if I read you the paper? It says there’s more information on the national goblin strikes – I remember you mentioned being interested in that, Rem.”

“Already read that one,” he grumbled, rolling over so that his back was facing you.

“Okay, how about,” you offered, wandering around to the foot of his bed, taking a seat on it, springs squeaking as you got comfortable, “once you get better and the strikes stop, we can go down to Gringotts, get some money out, and then we can buy some new books together.”

In response to this, Remus said nothing, but instead buried his head further into his pillow, hardly even acknowledging you.

“Remus please, just speak to me alright? I’m here for you,” you pleaded him, your eyes lighting up slightly as he began to sit up, looking at you for the first time since you had arrived. This close, you could really see how torn up he was, with fresh scratches across his face, crossing over the faded scars of older wounds, almost looking like reflections of each other. He still had some blood on his skin around his cuts, though it was dried now, and you assumed that the nurses had not been able to clean it off without worsening his pain.

He seemed to notice your eyes roving across his face and body because he began to pull down the sleeves of his sweater, covering his forearms as an almost ashamed look took over his features.

“Please just leave me alone,” he pleaded, his eyes shut, and brows knitted together – a melancholic sight, and you wished you knew how to help him.

“Rem…” you whispered, leaning in to him, your arm lifting up to cradle his face, “you don’t have to talk to me yet, okay?” Your palm was on his cheek now, you could feel the ridges of his scars under your fingers, the heat of his skin warming yours up, the left-over blood sticking you to him – like some sort of blood bond, you thought, a small smile raising the corners of your lips.

You stayed like this for a moment, a peaceful moment, before you brought your other hand up to rest against the column of his throat, atop the layer of bandages wrapped around his neck and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“I love you, Remus,” you mumbled, as if it were a promise, something to be shared between you two and no one else, a secret.

You found yourself tipping your head forward, foreheads kissing as your palms held his face, his skin feeling damp… with tears? You pulled back and his soft brown eyes stared into yours, unblinking, something changing behind them as he grabbed your wrists and yanked them away from his cheeks, holding them tightly in front of him.

“I told you-” he spat, roughly shoving your hands away- “just piss off.”

[mania-sama]

lovely bitter water

Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairing: Alhaitham/Kaveh ❧ Tags: deaf/hard of hearing! alhaitham, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, angst with a hopeful ending, recovering alcoholic, ooc! alhaitham for the practical sense that he wouldn't ever be an alcoholic in the game because he's too rational and clear-minded, hurt/comfort, written before kaveh release ❧ Summary: Alhaitham was an alcoholic, and he almost relapses. Kaveh is there to intervene. ❧ Word Count: 5,014 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 23 January 2023

Kaveh had a few reasons for stealing ten crates of wine. All of them, though, led back to his dreadful roommate. That meant he also blamed Alhaitham for the suffering he had endured.

In exchange for the crew’s silence and cooperation, they’d forced Kaveh to load their ship of all ten crates by himself. The task in and of itself wouldn’t have been so hard if it weren’t for the fact that he had to carry those individually from the wagon outside the ship to the cargo hold, which was at the very bottom of the ship. His legs pulsed and ached, and he had splinters sticking in his palms from the boxes.

However, he’d hopefully get his mora’s worth of the wine in a few weeks' time when they sold it off in Mondstadt or Liyue, or wherever they could manage to pawn them off. He wrung out his shirt as he walked away from the ship, the Maudelayne. If it hadn’t been so Archons-damned hot outside, perhaps it would’ve been a little easier.

The sun beat him down in waves when he hailed a horse-drawn carriage, and even then it was unbearably warm inside his ride. He wouldn’t make it back by nightfall if he walked to Sumeru City from Port Ormos, but he also didn’t want to sleep in soggy clothes in a tavern room or hostel. His precious mora landed in the hands of the driver, and off they went.

Port Ormos was a city that was built to be admired. Its golden outer layer shimmered with the arts—music flooded every corner of each street, easels were covered in paint from various artists, and bright laughter echoed from the pedestrians as the street performers danced. From the outside, it looked like the city to be: the highest standard for living.

Underneath the shiny exterior was the rusted copper inner layer. The brothels at the fringes of the city, the heavy gang violence in the shadows of the alleyways, the countless pickpockets and petty crimes, the rich men that get richer and the poor men that get poorer. It was an ugly city, truly. Hell, Kaveh had literally just smuggled ten full crates of wine onto the Maudelayne himself.

Kaveh thought the port was a lot like Alhaitham. On the outside, he was a charismatic scribe with enough intelligence to challenge Irminsul itself. However, Kaveh knew a different Alhaitham, the one that argued with him day and night, who couldn’t set goals higher than himself, and who was still at grips with addiction.

Kaveh settled back into his padded carriage seat as Port Ormos gave way to the ever-green landscape of Sumeru. He tried to shut out the thoughts of his roommate, but every time he looked at a patch of flowers or a pond of glittering water, he somehow wound his way back to Alhaitham. It was more tiring than anything.

Kaveh sighed and closed his eyes, succumbing to his treacherous mind. Memories of Alhaitham and his addiction seeped through his sweat-crinkled clothes and bit a home next to heart. The pain prepared him for the long conversation he and his roommate were going to have.

—

Kaveh was embarrassed. His pride and joy, his child, had put him six feet under in terms of finances. He couldn’t begin to list the amount of 0s he was in debt to Dori, for the list would grow so long it would fall off the face of Teyvat. If he wanted to so much as lick salt off of a plate once per week, he wouldn’t be able to afford housing. If he wanted to buy the worst pair of pants, he wouldn’t be able to sleep in a bed.

It sucked, it really did. He could smell the pretentious bastard from outside the house, but he learned quickly that it was better to suck up your pride than to let it crumble you into dust. Kaveh knocked on the front door, gripping his duffel bag in his other hand. It was all he owned now; he’d sold most of his things off after he realized he couldn’t afford anything anymore.

Running back to his roommate after he’d ignored him for a good two and a half years wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing during his post-graduate life. But there he was, watching the door swing open.

The first thing Kaveh noticed was that Alhaitham looked terrible. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled, and his shirt missing. The second thing he noticed was that he absolutely reeked of alcohol. The smell came off of him in waves, clouding Kaveh’s senses more than his embarrassment did. The architect physically recoiled, face scrunched up.

Oh Archons. “Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s eyes were narrowed, but there was a glossy sheen over his them that could only come from intoxication. His name wasn’t laced with venom or bitterness like he expected it to.

Kaveh pulled himself together swiftly. Finding his former research partner drunk helped stave off the heat climbing up his neck from the humiliation of his situation.

“My half of the house,” he said, trying to appear as confident as possible, “I’ve come to take my claim.”

Alhaitham stared at Kaveh as if he were an elaborate puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Kaveh supposed the inebriation wasn’t helping his thoughts, but the intensity of his gaze was a little freaky. Going two and half years without having to deal with it everyday must’ve put him out of practice.

“Okay,” he finally responded. His speech was slurred ever-so-slightly. If he hadn’t been so proper in his manner of speaking when sober, it would be almost impossible for a normal person to detect. What was noticeable, however, was the undignified response of okay.

Kaveh, against his better judgment, argued. It was something built deep into his veins. Every time someone so much as brought up the Scribe, he felt that familiar burn of ire flare up in his chest. “You’re not even going to push the issue? Yell at me? You act like I want to be here!”

There was a moment of silence where Kaveh glared at Alhaitham and Alhaitham blankly stared back. Then, the Scribe took off his self-made hearing aids, turned around and walked back into his apartment without another word. The door was left open for the architect.

Kaveh didn’t want to be there; that much had been true. He’d started an argument because their previous ones had never been resolved, and that fire had never quite left his heart. But seeing Alhaitham callously ignore him instead of rise to the bait made Kaveh feel like the world was crashing in.

Something was wrong. It wasn’t just the fact that Alhaitham was drunk—that was rather normal for someone on a Friday night. When he finished gawking at the Scribe and actually followed him into the house, he immediately noticed that the floors and tabletops were strewn with bottles of wine and other alcoholic beverages he couldn’t put a name to. He winced when he realized that meant Alhaitham was likely mixing his drinks.

More than that, though, the place looked trashed. Kaveh reasoned with himself that maybe Alhaitham had gone through a bad breakup recently, or a recent project had gone to the dumpster fire. There were a hundred reasons why he could be drinking so heavily, and frankly, none of them concerned Kaveh.

Except they did, because if Kaveh was meant to live there, he couldn’t stand the house to be so unkept. There wasn’t anything he was going to do about it this night, though. It was too late at night, and he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out before his new housemate became sober. Kaveh found Alhaitham standing in front of a closed door further way into the house.

“Guest bedroom,” Alhaitham said, his hearing aids still clutched in his hands. “Take it.”

Kaveh nodded and watched Alhaitham rift away from the door, picking up a wine bottle on his way to another room that he shut himself in. Alhaitham hadn’t given Kaveh a chance to sign a thank you, even though Kaveh wouldn’t have done it anyway. Concern and anger never mixed particularly well, just like alcohol.

The guest bedroom, he found, was probably the cleanest portion of the house. He had glimpsed the kitchen and living room, and both had been littered with bottles and papers. The bedroom was untouched; the bed was made, it smelled of lilacs and dandelions, and there were no extra items outside of what was strictly necessary in a room.

It was boring, but in a house like this, boring was just what he needed. Kaveh didn’t bother to unpack, but instead changed into the one pair of pajamas he hadn’t sold and climbed into bed. He ignored the telltale popping sound of a wine bottle after Alhaitham’s door creaked open.

Sleep didn’t come to him easily. Eventually, he managed it in the foreign bed, but not after he heard a second bottle be opened.

***

Kaveh paid rent and did house chores that Alhaitham didn’t want to do. At first, Kaveh argued and spat at him for it, but Haitham had leverage: Kaveh had relinquished his share of the house all those years ago. He had no financial nor legal claim to the property. The Scribe had given him an ultimatum: do the chores and pay rent, or be homeless.

Kaveh chose the former option.

It wasn’t terrible. Alhaitham hadn’t asked for too much concerning rent, and the house chores consisted of doing both of their laundry, fixing anything that broke, and generally keeping the house clean. He swiftly ran into a problem, though, when he realized that no matter what he did, the bottles never went away.

Kaveh didn’t care if people drank; it was normal. He did it, and so did most other adults. It only became a problem when they did it too often. Instead of having one glass of wine every night or getting drunk every now and then, Alhaitham was almost never sober. The only times Kaveh saw that he wasn’t drinking was when the Scribe had to attend mandatory meetings. Other than that, the scent of alcohol never left his clothes.

It was an issue, to say the least. The fire that burned in his gut every time he talked to Alhaitham about anything was fueled by the timber of his concern.

Their first argument about the matter hadn’t gone well. None of their conversations were pleasant anyway, but this was significantly worse. Kaveh was sure he’d never yelled at someone for so long and so hard as he had at Alhaitham, and neither had he received such equal fervor back.

Haitham didn’t see his problem. He’d cracked a glass on the countertop in their kitchen, but that was as physical as it got in their argument. Even when he’d taken off his hearing aids, Kaveh had signed to him his distress. He had signed that he wouldn’t be cleaning up after Alhaitham. The result was the Scribe storming out of their house.

It didn’t get worse after that, but it hadn’t gotten better. There were things that Kaveh shouldn’t have done, like throwing out all of Alhaitham’s expensive wine. Alcohol abuse wasn’t something that he was adept in dealing with. He wished he was helping Alhaitham through literally anything else, but fate wasn’t so kind.

Helping was a loose term in the beginning. It was more like Kaveh was constantly screaming and getting screamed at, the two scholars at a complete standstill. It was awful, but Kaveh had nowhere else to stay. It was either get Alhaitham through his alcoholism or sleep on the streets.

For about three months, it was this constant back and forth. They fired their weapons at each other, but they never left any lasting marks. Things only changed when fear began to set into Kaveh’s mind. He had sifted through the Akasha, finding every last detail about alcohol that he could. When he gathered all of the information he could obtain, deep-seeded fear sprouted in his heart.

He wasn’t going to watch Haitham drink himself to death.

His approach to this situation changed. Kaveh involved other people, people that Alhaitham tolerated better than his own roommate, into convincing Haitham into attending AA meetings. The architect anonymously gifted him books that dealt with mental health and recovery. Nights that the Scribe came home drunk would end in conversations about his state of mind rather than screaming arguments.

It was progress. His healing wasn’t linear; he sat out of many AA meetings, he spent most of his hard-earned mora on drinks, and he was drunk every other day. However, he still attended a few meetings, didn’t spend all of his mora, and drinking every other day was better than every single day. Slow improvement was better than no improvement at all.

—

Kaveh didn’t let himself regret much. He didn’t regret building the Palace of Alcazarzaray, even if it left him bankrupt and in debt to a tiny, conniving merchant. He didn’t regret tossing out all of Alhaitham’s alcohol one night, no matter the argument they had afterwards. Therefore, he knew he wouldn’t regret smuggling all of those crates.

He would feel guilt, obviously. The screaming match that was going to unfold between the two of them was going to claw at his stomach for days to come, but there was no room to have second thoughts on what he’d done.

It was for the better that the wine never made it. Alhaitham was going to disagree.

Kaveh thanked his carriage driver and entered their house, steeling his nerves for what was going to come.  He half-expected to see his roommate on the couch, drinking himself into oblivion like he had all those years ago. It wasn’t the most optimal situation, but a likely one.

Alhaitham greeted Kaveh in the front hallway immediately upon Kaveh opening the door. His arms were crossed and his eyes were scrutinizing, but he appeared completely sober. Kaveh couldn’t smell the bitterness of alcohol on the Scribe or in the house. Good.

“You look terrible,” Alhaitham remarked, his voice withering. Kaveh scoffed.

“Move out of the way, Haitham. You’re blocking the hallway,” said Kaveh, his words not having the bite that he wanted.

Alhaitham titled himself so he could rest against the wall, but still spread enough that Kaveh couldn’t take another step forward. “I got a visit from the Matra today. They said that somebody stole my special order in Port Ormos.”

“Oh, really?” Kaveh asked, feigning surprise. It was purposefully not convincing. “I wonder what kind of criminal would dare to steal from the Scribe.”

“I wondered that, too. He must be a foolish, selfish, and obnoxious man that can’t see past this own ambition.”

Let it be known that Haitham raised his voice first. The following conversation was not Kaveh’s fault.

“How— how did you come to such a conclusion?” Kaveh was fuming. “You have only described yourself, Alhaitham! You are the one that bought all that wine.”

“And you were the one that stole it! Where is it, then? If you give it to me then maybe I’ll consider not reporting you to the Matra.” Alhaitham was gripping his biceps with tight fists, leaving his fingers paper white from the pressure. The only times Haitham had dared to swing was when he was deep in his addiction, when his skin was yellow and he could barely stand.

“It's on a ship to Mondstadt. You’ll never be getting it back, and you won’t report me,” the architect said with confidence he didn’t have. “Take this as an intervention.”

“That wine wasn’t for me, idiot!” Alhaitham cursed, finally moving out of the way to carelessly stomp into the living room. “I ordered it for the Akademiya.”

Kaveh had already considered that, since it was delivered under the pretense of going straight to the Akademiya. Perhaps it was just for a meeting at the Akademiya, or a political party. Though it appeared that Haitham had underestimated him, because he knew that the Scribe’s job wasn’t to buy provisions for that sort of thing. More than that, if there was a grand party in need of so much wine, the architect would’ve known about it already. There had been no rumors of anything of the sort.

Besides, the crates hadn’t been bought under a business expense. The Akademiya would’ve supplied him with the mora necessary to make the purchase, and yet, Alhaitham had done it all in his own name and mora.

“A bold-faced lie! What would it be for? A party? A meeting? Go on, tell me whatever you can think of to save your skin!” Kaveh called, following after his roommate in quick steps.

Alhaitham turned around when he reached the middle of their living space. One hand was gripping the top of his hair, and the other hung by his side in a closed fist. “Can’t you just accept that you fucked up? You stole the wine from the Akademiya, and now you need to get it back to me before it’s too late.”

“You’re worse off than I thought! You really think that I would believe you? You bought that expensive wine by your own mora, Alhaitham! The Akademiya would’ve paid for that!”

It wasn’t a matter of underestimation, Kaveh realized. Haitham’s eyes were bloodshot from lack of rest and he quivered from where he stood. His roommate lacked a clear head, just like when he hadn’t been sober.

“So I bought the wine! What’s your problem, then? Why did you steal it when this doesn’t concern you?” Alhaitham demanded, practically begged. 

The question was preposterous, and it stabbed right through Kaveh’s chest. “Of course it concerns me! I am not going to sit back and let you kill yourself again!”

“I was never—” the Scribe’s voice broke, and his glossy eyes were not lost on Kaveh. “Nobody here will serve me any Archons-forsaken alcohol because of you! I’ve not had a single drop in two years! One bottle won’t kill me.”

Kaveh didn’t want to be having this conversation. All of those lines had been said to him before at different points during Alhaitham’s withdrawal and recovery, all with the same amount of ire and fury as they did now. They brought back memories of all the nights Alhaitham drank his weight in alcohol, of the days he spent throwing it all back up, and then repeating the cycle.

“We both put that safety precaution in place! It might’ve been my idea, but you went along with it. You knew this would happen one day!” They’d agreed to tell all of the managers and owners of the restaurants in Sumeru City and Port Ormos to not serve Alhaitham any liquor, even if he was begging at their feet for just a taste. Their precaution worked even now, two years after Alhaitham stopped drinking completely.

No matter what, Kaveh wasn’t going to let Haitham get his hands on another bottle. Addiction was a slippery slope of self-manipulation and lies, and the architect knew no-one better than the Scribe had perfected both of those things.

“What if I order another ten crates? A hundred? What will you do then, Kaveh? You can’t keep up with my mora, unless you want to ruin your career.” A threat. Wonderful. Too bad it was terrible, and Kaveh’s déjà vu had already kicked in to be able to respond easily.

“I will steal as much wine as I need to and I will go to prison enough times to ruin my life. I will forsake my career and sell my soul to the devil if it means keeping you alive!”

And he meant it, truly. His eyes stung with the truth, and Alhaitham’s mouth was parted with thinly veiled shock. It was unbearable to hear Haitham talk about himself and Kaveh like they meant nothing, as though their relationship could be crumbled by a gust of wind.

Kaveh waved his hands in the air as he yelled, his anger and anxiety since finding out about Haitham’s attempt at relapse spilling out uncontrollably into the living room. “Do you remember when your skin was yellow from your liver failing? Or when you sliced your wrist open because you were so drunk that you were uncoordinated? How about when you couldn’t see any of the tables from how many bottles were covering it?”

“I—”

“No! You wouldn’t remember it, but I do! I remember praying to Kusanali every night that you wouldn’t die from the alcohol poisoning in your blood! So forgive me, Alhaitham, for stealing your fucking wine. I don’t want you to go back to the way you were, trying to find death at the end of every bottle.”

Alhaitham’s hand had dropped away from his hair, instead choosing to clutch the front of his shirt as though he’d been stabbed. His face was twisted into a grimace. Panting and furiously wiping away the stray tear from his cheek, Kaveh collapsed onto the couch.

Kaveh put his elbows on his knees and said, “You’ve been irritable since you’ve become the Acting Grand Sage. I know it’s been hard on you.” Their eyes met, and Kaveh thought he could see the stress of the past few months replay in the Scribe’s pupils. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it instead of resorting to… this?”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, his voice having retreated back like a cowering animal. All that was left in his wake of outrage were ruins. It was oddly silent in the living room, something that was so rare when both of them were home. Someone was always making noise, whether that be cooking or cleaning or arguing. Silence was terrifying.

Ever since he’d gotten back from his research expedition in the desert, he had noticed the stress Alhaitham had been under. It came out to Kaveh in the form of snappy words and bad moods. But there were the other parts, too, that Alhaitham had tried and failed to conceal. The Scribe hadn’t been sleeping or eating as much, his hands had never stopped shaking, and there were off-white streaks in his hair that could only be explained by stress.

None of this had been ignored by Kaveh, but he had hoped Alhaitham would talk to him or someone else about it. He should’ve known his roommate wouldn’t be reasonable. How such an intelligent man could be so emotionally repressed and unable to communicate was beyond Kaveh.

The couch dipped as Alhaitham sat down beside Kaveh. They were close enough that their thighs were touching, though Haitham kept his gaze trained carefully at the floor.

“I didn’t report you to the Matra,” Alhaitham said dumbly. 

“I noticed,” he replied bitterly. If Kaveh had the energy, he would’ve strangled his roommate and left his body to be found by those Matra.

Alhaitham wrung his hands between his legs, his thumbs fiddling with one another. His elbows were on his knees like Kaveh. In a strange way, their mannerisms had always mirrored each other. “You were right to steal the wine.”

Hesitation was unbecoming of Alhaitham. He’d only ever done that when he was out of his comfort zone, doing things he didn’t like to do. The Scribe was a man that only partook in activities that interested him; he didn’t shoot for a higher office because he was “lazy,” as he’d put it. It was out of his league.

Sharing his emotions, admitting that Kaveh of all people were right—that was something he never did. So, the architect forgave Alhaitham for the lapse in speaking, for not eloquently wording his sentences like he usually did. For once, he was being vulnerable, and Kaveh was not going to stop him.

Instead of biting back a witty response, he said, “You don’t want to go back, do you?”

He shook his head of gray hair. “It’s all I’ve been craving.”

Whenever it was quiet in the household, it was also tense. Silence meant that someone was going to explode. Now, though, their lack of words told a different story. They embraced it like an old friend rather than a ticking bomb. Silence was acceptance.

“How long have you been financially able to leave?” Alhaitham asked all of a sudden, snapping Kaveh out of the deafening quiet.

He would be honest. This was not the time for poor jokes and acidic lies. “Half a year, maybe less.”

“Why do you stay?”

The why do you continue to care? was left unsaid.

For all of their repeated arguments, this was a question that had come up in different forms the most often. It was why don’t you leave and why do you bother to keep me around. They were heated and angry, and the topic of their quarrels were always stupid and inconsequential.

This was different, not because of the way it was worded but for the tone in which it was said. Alhaitham wanted to know, genuinely, but his curiosity was laced with sorrow. It was as though he expected Kaveh to drop everything and leave if he got an honest answer.

Kaveh knew the answer. He’d known for a long time, since before they’d broken apart at their research project. No, he’d been infatuated with Alhaitham when they had first met in the Akademiya, when they’d actually been friends.

He had said he didn’t regret much, but that didn’t mean he never regretted anything at all.

His entire relationship with Alhaitham was a mess. His hate during their two and half years apart had been real and true. But there was always a cancer in his heart that was competing against spite and resentment. Kaveh was afraid to put a name to this cancer, but he knew it now as love.

For so long, Kaveh denied the cancer’s growth. He knew that Alhaitham would deny any romantic advances, and besides, they hadn’t been exactly healthy for each other. It had been better for them to stay as far apart from each other as possible.

Now it was different. He didn’t know what Alhaitham would say to Kaveh’s honesty, but the cancer named love had grown and overcame his ire and hate. Haitham probably didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but it wasn’t worth it to let this cancer kill his heart and body.

The truth was what Alhaitham wanted, but Kaveh wasn’t sure if he could say it out loud. So, he turned to his roommate and motioned to his ears. Alhaitham touched his hearing aids tentatively, a look of confusion spread across his face.

Words wouldn’t form in his throat. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and his throat was filled with poison. He blinked back the water threatening to fall from his eyes and moved in his hands in a pulling motion next to his ears. Alhaitham followed suit, though he did it with unbearable slowness.

Once it was off and Alhaitham couldn’t hear him, he let out a sort of choked sound. Bringing his hands to his chest, he forced himself to sign. “Because I care. I care too much, and I love you. I have since we were students.”

Language wasn’t concrete, and therefore couldn’t be taught by the Akademiya. In order to speak a new language, you had to manually learn it yourself. Kaveh had learned sign language all those years ago for Alhaitham, and he’d continued practicing it even after their falling out. The cancer never really left him, after all.

Alhaitham looked stunned, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed in a way that was terribly unbecoming of him. It was hard to get the Scribe to be shocked so many times in the span of an hour. Relapse really did do something to a person.

Eventually, he signed back to a patiently-waiting Kaveh. “I’m not ready for a relationship.”

It wasn’t rejection, but it wasn’t acceptance. Alhaitham’s stare was hard and could almost be read as apologetic. 

“I didn’t expect you to be.”

It had not crossed Kaveh’s mind that Alhaitham would be in the mindset to have a relationship. They still fought too often, and they hadn’t really even developed enough as friends. Any romance between the two of them would be toxic and leave them both damaged. His answer was what Kaveh expected. It wasn’t painful; it was only the truth.

“Maybe,” Alhaitham sighed, his hands stilling for a moment. “Maybe in the future.”

Kaveh shook his head, letting the barest hint of a smile spread over his features. “Let’s try being friends first.”

Before Alhaitham could reply, Kaveh took one of his hands into his own, interlacing their fingers. The architect squeezed the Scribe's hand, and he reciprocated gently.

Love didn’t have to mean romance. It could easily mean pushing against the raging storm of grief and addiction all because you cared about the person that was trapped inside. Love was knowing that they needed time to set relationships right before they crashed and burned. Love was learning that you won’t always be right, and neither will the other person. Love was improving and healing.

Alhaitham needed Kaveh, and Kaveh needed Alhaitham. Even if it was for benefits that had nothing to do with romance or compatibility, but rather a check and balance to addiction, and a means of financial support. Kaveh thought that they could build something greater from the ruins of their lives.

Alhaitham wouldn’t be just his addiction, and Kaveh wouldn’t just be his debt. They would be the Scribe and the architect. They could be friends, and maybe one day, they could be more. But love didn’t require that. Love only needed careful attention as though it was a plant. In order to make it grow, it had to be watered and cared for with a devoted hand.

They weren’t lovers—they were barely even friends. But they acknowledged their love, and they would try. That was all that mattered.

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Ryoga with red chrys., sweet pea, marigold, hydrangea, and purple hyacinth?

Ryoga Tosa:

🌻hydrangea: how often do they get into fights with their s/o? who usually apologizes first?

Not often. If he has a point to make he’ll make it, but he doesn’t let fights hang around because he’d rather admit wrong-doing than be given the cold-shoulder. He could normally pinpoint moments where he stepped over a line and needed to offer a genuine apology, but he wanted that same respect from you. He trusted that you wouldn’t just steamroll over his feelings even if he tried to keep the peace in his own way.

🌻marigold: how jealous do they get? how do they react when they get jealous?

Ryoga has to fight the jealousy he feels, biting his tongue and hoping he doesn’t have to chew it off to keep his cool. Controlling his anger matters greatly when it comes to improving himself as a person and he doesn’t want to give you a reason to run into another mans arms, but it’s hard when this person has more freedom to make moves on you. It’s easy to see his jealousy by the scowl on his face and the direct eye contact he makes with the person inspiring the jealous feelings inside him. It sends a clear message that they better back off or they’d be facing the consequences.

🌻purple hyacinth: how would they react if their s/o died?

Having two people he loved more than anything else in the world gone before he could show what he could offer, show that he was capable of growth and that he was turning his life around for the better, was almost too much for him to bare. He felt lost, his anger festering just beneath the surface as he wanted to lash out on even his allies, the fight to keep himself together harder than it had ever been. It’s like having a limb cut off, the phantom pain incurable, but he knew you’d be disappointed in him if he went back on his progress now. He convinced himself that he had to live for you, and that first step would be continuing his path of change and channeling his emotion into his music.

🌻red chrysanthemums: how long does it take for them to say ‘i love you’?

When he knows, he knows, but Ryoga struggled to say it the same moment he knew he felt it. He thought there was a delicate balance that most relationships required and he was clumsy at best, even when he was trying extra hard. Ryoga’s wary about revealing his position too soon, his actions speaking for him long before he managed to confess. It probably slipped out of him after about half a year together, admitting he already considered marriage as a possibility for your relationship if you would have him. After that embarrassing confession it’s easier to say those three little words as he had made it clear he considered you his ‘forever’ and you hadn’t run away yet.

🌻sweet pea: are they big on cuddling? what is their favorite position to cuddle their s/o in?

Ryoga enjoyed being close to you and the contact with you, especially at night when it was time to finally let your guard down and rest. You think it’s cute how he always managed to curl up close to you even if you started off on opposite sides of the bed, his body drawn to yours like a magnet. He always ran hot at night so you loved when he clung close on cold nights, wrapping yourself around him as much as you could and absorbing all the love that you could.

It depends on his feelings at the moment but he normally preferred being big spoon, which normally helped since he was broad-shouldered and large. He could take up a lot of space on the bed so he didn’t mind when you pressed yourself against him, arms enclosed around you in a protective gesture so any would-be attackers would have to get through him before laying a hand on you. Other nights he liked to just rest his head on your chest, falling asleep within moments as you ran your fingers through his hair and gave him the most restful sleep he’s ever had.  

[hummingbird-of-light]

In Our Favor

Part 213

McCoy

“You want to go where?”

McCoy huffed as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“Andoria,” he told his sister. “What part of my message wasn’t clear?”

“I’m trying to be thorough,” Leah huffed back.

“Aporal has to go home for a family member's birthday.” McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “He asked me and Scotty to go with him. So. Is this going to be a big problem or can undercover security finally leave?”

“Aporal is the one who caused the problems last week isn’t he?”

McCoy took a deep breath. He wished Scotty was back from classes; he’d keep McCoy calm through this conversation.

He scowled at Leah before answering. “He defended himself.”

“So then security should probably go,” Leah said firmly.

McCoy sighed again. He knew that was most likely to be the answer.

“Won’t it be suspicious if we go with Aporal and these new cadets also disappear that weekend?” He raised an eyebrow at his sister, feeling as if he had won a point. “They managed to fly under the radar after last weekend; we wouldn’t want to announce them now.”

“We’ll send Andre then. He’s already been seen with you, that won’t be out of place.”

A deep breath.

“Just Andre,” McCoy said.

“And his te—”

“Just Andre,” McCoy repeated.

“Leonard—”

“I can defend myself. Scotty’s been learning self defense. Aporal is the best fighter in their class. We’ll be safe.”

“I have to run this all past Father,” said Leah.

“Then go do it. Get it approved.”

“Father might want more security than just Andre,” Leah warned.

“I won’t take it. Look, Aporal has been through a lot. He’s starting to be more open about friends and he needs us,” McCoy told Leah in a quieter voice. “I know it had to take him a lot to come ask us, but he did and we’re going.”

“Ok,” Leah nodded. “I’ll talk to Father this evening and get back to you tomorrow.”

“Fine. Good,” said McCoy.

“Call Mother more often,” Leah said, pointing a finger scolding at him.

“I will,” he promised. “Take care Lee.”

“You too Lenny.”

McCoy ended the call and leaned back in his desk chair. Father had reminded him when McCoy had first said he didn’t want to be king that Leah would rule over him too. McCoy had joked she was his sister and had already done that his whole life. But now— now he really understood. For anything the rest of their lives that had to be done in the royal realm, he would answer to Leah. Her permission, her denials.

McCoy tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Answering to Father was easier. That was all they had ever known. If McCoy had become king, things would have been different. A smirk crossed his face; Leah would have reported to him.

As much as it rankled for the moment— having Leah in charge— he would much rather be where he was than still in line for the throne.

The door swished open, and McCoy dropped his head back to normal.

“Hey darlin’,” he smiled at Scotty.

“Mo ghràdh. Ye talked with Leah, didn’t ye?” Scotty set his things down, then leaned over to kiss McCoy.

“How could you tell?” McCoy chuckled.

“Ye’re still tense.”

McCoy laughed. “It’s a pain in the ass reporting to her! But,” he continued thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t want it to be me.”

“Aye love.”

McCoy knew Scotty understood he meant being king. He let himself be drawn up by the hands from his chair. Scotty led him to their bed.

“Why don’t we relax a bit before we get started on homework?” Scotty suggested. “Tell me about your day and the call.”

Part 214

Scotty

When they were sitting at the dining table, chatting about their plans for the upcoming weekend, Scotty couldn't believe how fast the week had passed them by. The incident with Aporal and the other guy seemed so far away, even though it had only been a few days. Time sure was running being a cadet at the academy.

"What are you guys up to?" Jim asked Scotty and Leonard after he had told everyone that Spock and him would go to the movies on Saturday.

"We don't have any plans yet. Maybe a bit of learning and calling our mums," answered Scotty. Leonard had told him about the talk he'd had with Leah and that she had basically ordered him to call Eleanor. She was right though. They really needed to call their mothers more often.

"Cool, cool. Maybe we can all spend some time together at the arcade on Sunday?" A hopeful look crossed Jim's face. He really seemed to want to keep their crew from slowly parting from each other.

Scotty was only slowly starting to realize that he actually didn't spend as much time with all of his friends as he had used to back at boarding school. They all had their own projects and classes and lives. Everyone was going their own way. It was an inevitable change, but it still felt kinda strange.

"Sure. Why not?" Leonard said with a shrug and one by one everyone else agreed too.

Jim grinned happily and clapped his hands.

"Then it's settled. We're gonna have an awesome afternoon guys!"

As Scotty and Leonard lay in bed later, the Scotsman was still thinking about how much their lives had changed in a very short time.

"What's on your mind? You seem so absent." Leonard gave him a worried look and put his hand on Scotty's cheek.

"I'm not sure, mo ghràdh. I'm just thinking that we're all kind of going different ways now. Some of us have very few classes together. We have a lot of studying to do and a lot of homework. It's all different from school," Scotty mused to himself and Leonard just smiled gently.

"And yet we all remain friends. Even though I hardly ever see Keenser, for example, I know that we'll always get on well and be there for each other. It's not the time we spend together that counts, but the deep bond we've created that connects us."

For a moment, Scotty and Leonard just looked at each other, then the latter just shook his head with a grin.

"Oh man! That... that was really cheesy, wasn't it?"

Scotty had to chuckle too and he ran a hand through his husband's hair before it came to a halt at the nape of the prince's neck.

"Aye. Aye, it was." He kissed Leonard lovingly before pulling his head back again. "But it was very nice, too. Thank ye."

Leonard nodded.

"Anything to cheer up my beautiful husband and take his mind off things," he said with a grin and then went in for another kiss.

Scotty's face mirrored the grin and one of his hands slowly slipped beneath Leonard's shirt.

"I suppose ye deserve a proper reward for helping me relax, don't ye?" the Scotsman asked in a husky voice before he started to press kisses down Leonard's jawline. The prince gave a soft moan.

"I– I would have cheered you up without a reward, but if you insist, then–"

A kiss to Leonard's mouth shut him up and it didn't take long for clothes to drop to the floor of the room.

They would forget all their worries for the night.

[broken-clover]

9- Safe

Getting into Crash Bandicoot was interesting. I've got a soft spot for mascot platformers and I was partly drawn in by Crash 4's lovely art style and was surprised by the bits of darker plot going on it, only to look back at the series and go 'wait what do you mean there's a guy with a missile embedded in his head who's kept alive solely by a life support system powered by the literal thing that's killing him are you sure this game is for kids'

Nonetheless I've developed a fondness for the series, and especially alternate Tawna. The more recent Crash games have had some really interesting character designs, I like it a lot.

This one's a bit darker than the others have been, hopefully this is the lowest it's going to get, but when you're involving the canonical deaths of your protagonists' alternate universe counterparts, it's a little more downbeat. Still, I tried not to get too dark or graphic with it

-

Nightmares weren’t really like they were in TV shows. You didn’t jerk awake like you’d been shot out of a cannon and hit any low-lying ceiling with your already-rattled head. She knew that from experience. Sometimes she wishes it did, because the ensuing pain would give you something else to think about.

The hut was too high-roofed to manage that, anyway. Crash and Coco had been all too willing to let her bunk on their couch for a few days. She wished they had turned her away, even though she knew they never would. Those two were the same in any universe.

Tawna fought back a shudder. It still felt all too fresh in her mind. That dream again, the one that had been popping up over and over for years now, never letting her get a moment’s rest from her own memories. Always the same, always the exact same feelings of helplessness and desperation, frozen in place and unable to do anything but look on in horror. She was close enough to see everything, yet just far away enough to do nothing-

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around her chest and stared down the hall. They…they had to be fine, didn’t they? It was just a dream. Nothing could have happened to them, not to these bandicoots, not like…

A queasiness bubbled in the back of her throat. Forcing herself to stand, Tawna moved towards the bedroom as quietly as she could. All she could think about was every time she had physically reached out to them, tried to remind herself that they were real. Even the fur of their hands felt just like the Crash and Coco of her home dimension. They were so similar that it made it even easier to imagine them in the place of their own counterparts, both so strong but somehow so fragile.

She was already at their door. She tried to quell her anxieties with that. They weren’t far away from her. If something happened, she would be able to step in. She reached for the knob, tried to turn it.

It didn’t move.

“Wh-” she tugged on it a little harder, jiggling the metal to see if it would come loose. No such luck. Any calm she’d managed to give herself swiftly went out the window, and before she realized it, Tawna was rattling the thing as hard as she possibly could until the hinges thumped. “Come on, come on- !”

“Pardon me.”

She yelped, stumbling over herself from the sudden shock. A familiar wooden mask hovered over her, its expression hard to read.

“You’re going to wake them up with that noise. What are you so concerned about at this time of night?”

“I…” Awkwardly, Tawna picked herself up again and leaned against the hut’s wall. Aku Aku must have seen something in her posture and gestured towards the front entrance.

“Miss Tawna, may I speak with you outside?”

That did not sound like a good time by any stretch of the imagination, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. She only shrugged and shuffled off in the direction she was told.

The island air had a distant familiarity to it, but there was something indescribably different between it and the one from home. It still felt good on the lungs. For a moment, she closed her eyes to take it in, only to wince as the images flashed through her mind again.

Aku Aku hovered nearby. “I understand this must be disorienting and difficult. This isn’t your home.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, immediately wincing at her own voice. “S-sorry.”

“I take no offense.” The mask bobbed in the air, glowing faintly in the dark. “I’m sure I know what’s bothering you, but would it make you feel any better to talk about it?”

“It’s just a dream. Not real. It shouldn’t get to me.”

“But, clearly, it still bothers you. And it seems it’s more of a memory than a simple dream.”

That would likely be obvious, even to someone who wasn’t a powerful magical mask, but it still felt invasive. She wanted to shove him away, shove all of them away, like she’d learned to do after last time, but it felt so hard now. She wanted to be around them again, even if she knew it was a terrible idea.

“Of all the universes out there, why did mine have to be the one where I had to watch them die?”

Nor was she going to cry. It didn’t matter how much her eyes stung, she’d dig her fingers into her forearm and force it to stop. Crying hadn’t solved anything before. It hadn’t done anything to save them.

“Miss Tawna…” Aku Aku spoke quietly and gently. “There’s nothing you could have done. You can’t save your Crash and Coco, nor can you keep these ones safe from everything in the world.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better somehow?” She scowled.

“No, it doesn’t seem likely. I worry about the harm that may come to them every day. I do my best to offer them safety, but in the end, I know I can only do so much. I can’t control what they do at every moment of every day.”

“I trained to make myself stronger after they…after I lost them. I thought I was strong enough before. I hoped I would be when I faced N. Tropy again. I trained and trained and trained, what’s the point of all of it if it’s never enough??”

“I often wonder the same things, myself. Transcending my physical form as I have carries with it certain duties. Had I died a natural death, I would never have been involved with so many threats to time and space as I have now. But even with all this power, I cannot ensure the safety of a couple of bandicoots.”

Tawna sighed, raking the hair out of her eyes. “How do you put up with all of it?”

“I find and hold onto every bit of joy that I can find,” Aku Aku said. “Every moment that I know they’re safe and well, I can take comfort in that. Impermanent as it may be. Whenever I see them happy and remain delighted by the world around them, I know I am doing some good.”

“Getting by with the little scraps.” She managed a bitter little chuckle. “If that’s the best I’m gonna get…”

“I find that in practice, Miss Tawna, those small moments add up very quickly. Scars may never fully heal, but their edges fade in time.”

[gemwing1988]

Roadkill: Alternate Scene 2

A/N: Just another alternative scene in Roadkill that should have been better and funnier than the Devil falling off that cliff and into a thorn bush. Please enjoy.

As soon as he had reached the top of the staircase, the Devil was out of breath, taking a moment to regain his bearings. Even though he was immortal, he can still be just as exhausted, although his stamina is less fragile than that of a mortal’s. And it was just as irritating.

Taking a deep breath, he gave out a big sigh before dusting himself. Once that irritating ordeal with climbing up those absurdly long stairs was over and done with, he looks around himself, trying to work out where the home of those porcelain brats reside. It’d be a lot easier and quicker to get there if his beloved pitchfork wasn’t bubbled.

As soon he nabs that cup’s soul and return home, the Devil will need to keep note of making sure that the Bubbles of Failure don’t apply to his pitchfork and elevator in the future. He most certainly don’t want a repeat of today, that’s for sure!

“Now, where is that stupid cottage?” He grumbled to himself as he began to walk, not seeing a pinecone ahead of him until he unknowingly stepped on it, a great stabbing pain shooting up through his exposed sole. “YEOUCH!”

Grabbing his foot to alleviate the pain, the Devil angrily and comically hopped backwards, repeatedly yelling out “Ow!”, not realising he was moving towards the staircase back into the Underworld. He suddenly realises the gravity of the situation as he was teetering over the edge of the first step at the top of the stairs while still clutching his hurt foot.

“Ow?”

And, just like that, the Devil tilted backwards and stumbled down the stairs, grunting and yelling out in pain as he fell down each step until…

CRASH!

After an awkward silence, the Devil’s pained and deadpanned voice echoed out, from the depths of the stairways, “Ow…!”

#############################################

Meanwhile, over at the cottage, Elder Kettle was walking back out of the house with his keys to his truck in hand so he could give his surrogate grandsons a ride into town for them to go see their “double, double feature” over at the movies.

“Boys! I got the keys!” The elderly kettle called out, only to realise that Cuphead and Mugman weren’t there. “Boys?”

Confused and concerned, Elder Kettle looked round for a second before he had drawn to a reasonable explanation.

“Oh. Must’ve gotten a head start.” He said thoughtfully.

He hurries over to his truck and climbs inside. He starts it up with his keys and accidentally drives it backwards, breaking the fence.

“Oh, consarn it!” Elder Kettle complained.

Keeping note to remember about fixing it once he gets home after dropping the boys off at the movies, he drives away.

The moment Elder Kettle had left, the goat looks over to see the broken fence and then walks over with a hammer in its mouth and a bucket of paint on its tail.

#############################################

Back with the Devil, he managed to climb all the way back up to the top of the staircase, breathlessly exhausted and frustrated than ever before. The moment he was a couple of reasonable steps away from the accursed stairways, the Devil collapsed to the ground on his front in exhaustion with a thump.

As the Devil laid there to get his bearings, a cute little bunny rabbit just so happened to hop over to him, much his surprise and confusion. After a second, the Devil grins sheepishly at the curious little woodland critter.

“Heh. Hello there.” The Devil simply said.

Whether it was an evil detecting sixth sense or just out of innocent mischief, the rabbit opened its mouth wide and chomped down on the Devil’s nose in reply.

“YEOWCH!” The Devil yelled in pain as he comically leapt back up onto his feet, the mischievous bunny still clinging onto his nose with its teeth.

Reaching up, the Devil wraps his fingers around the rabbit’s body and pulls it off. While still grasping the rabbit in his fist, the Devil rubs his nose to alleviate the pain.

“Come on, faster! He’s gaining on us!” An irritatingly familiar voice suddenly cried out, catching the Devil’s attention.

The Devil gasped in recognition, happy that he finally found his target without having to endure any further humiliation and inconveniences of not having his pitchfork.

“That’s the cup!” The Devil exclaimed before he carelessly tossed the rabbit away, his humiliating ordeal between the pesky animal biting him and falling down those blasted stairs forgotten.

He dashed over to a couple of trees where the voice of that cup was the loudest. He peeks between the trees to spot that rotten brat and his blue nosed buffoon of a brother frantically scampering past on an opened dirt path road.

Seeing his chance to make a grab for the cup’s soul once and for all, pitchfork or not, the Devil leapt out from behind the fleeing brothers, standing in the open road and his arms raised high menacingly.

“Ha!”

WHAM!

Unfortunately, the universe decided that today wasn’t the Devil’s day when Elder Kettle accidentally drove his truck into the Devil. The demon was cartoonishly tossed up a few feet off the ground before he fell back down, rendered unconscious.

Realising he had suddenly hit something, Elder Kettle hits the breaks and stops his truck. Nervous and concerned, he checks the side view mirror to see the silhouette of what looked like a very large cat with horns sprawled unconscious in the middle of the road.

“Uh-oh…”

#############################################

Back at the cottage, the goat had been painting the fence with its tail after fixing it. Once it was finished, the goat happily tossed the paintbrush into its mouth and looked to see the completely cleaned and freshly painted fence all good and new. Better than ever even.

Sadly, it was short-lived when the Elder Kettle accidentally drove his truck into the fence again, breaking it. Not bothered by the shattered fence this time, Kettle quickly got out of the truck and opened the truck, causing an unconscious Devil to tumble and roll out onto the ground. Frantically grabbing the unconscious demon’s ankles, Kettle dragged him into the house.

After a few seconds, the goat looked over the now ruined fence and sighed, beginning to work on fixing it again.

[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[aminiatureworld]

Distance

Characters: Childe, Kaeya, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,280

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: What other explanation could there be? Surely this is the one logical answer. Even if it hurts, even if it doesn’t make sense.

In which the reader’s s/o assumes the reader is no longer interested.

Author’s Note: This prompt is really fun to write so far but I feel terrible torturing the poor characters like this. Oops.

Childe

The warm wind tickled Childe’s hair, causing the Harbinger to bat a few orange strands out of his face, eyes still pinned on the harbor that was fast approaching. The balmy breeze of Liyue was refreshing – a reminder of all the things he had been missing on his long-drawn-out trip. Now Childe leaned against the railing of the ship, eager to touch land, unable to contain the excitement he felt at the knowledge of what was awaiting him upon the dock.

Though he didn’t like to admit it this trip had been a particularly harrowing one, not just for Childe but for you as well. The post was notoriously touch-and-go across the Seven nations, especially with the deep snows whirling into Snezhnaya this time of year. The fact that he was gone almost a month certainly didn’t help. If he had to admit it Childe had found himself worrying about the time more than usual, worried how it might affect you. Now he was eager to push all those thoughts away, to once more find himself next to you, all well with the world. As the crew bustled around him to prepare the junk for docking the Harbinger took a deep breath in. There was nothing to worry about. Soon all would be well.

The empty dock was a jarring sight. Though saying it was devoid of people wouldn’t technically be accurate, business was going on as usual after all, to Childe it might as well have been a ghost town. Stumbling slightly, suddenly unsure of where to go, Childe climbed up the ramp awkwardly. Finding no one waiting for him on the stone pier as well, anxiety began to coil in Childe’s stomach. Had something happened? Ignoring the thoughts that flurried through his mind he quickly wove his way through the streets of Liyue. Though the city was bustling as always, laughter and shouting echoing through the air as people haggled and joked and went about their business, Childe found himself disconnected from his surroundings. His only thought was to find you, hopefully safe and sound and happy to see him.

There was no sign of anything wrong as Childe approached the door to your shared apartment. Sighing softly he dug around in his pack for the keys. You’d probably just fallen asleep, having recently taken up the habit of afternoon naps, according to your letters. Childe couldn’t really complain if that were the case, after all rest was important and you could hardly be blamed for not being aware of the time while conked out. Yes, surely you were asleep. Then Childe could give you the surprise of waking next to him. A smirk graced Childe’s lips at the thought of it, and as he turned the key in the lock he reassured himself. There was nothing to be worried about.

Unfortunately the Harbinger’s genius hypothesis had proven to be a false one. A quick scouring of the apartment revealed that you were not there, and no signs of any abnormal activity could be found as an explanation. Anxiety seeping into Childe’s mind he barely set down his pack before bolting out of the door, trying somewhat unconvincingly to keep his pace to a fast walk. Had something happened to you? Surely not! Childe knew you, knew that you could very well take care of yourself. He shouldn’t worry.

Still the thought passed through his head, combined with an even more unpleasant one. Had you simply forgotten about him? What if you didn’t care? Shaking his head the Harbinger took in a deep breath. He was overthinking things, still stuck in the mindset of a Harbinger. Not everything in life was a battle, hadn’t you told him that many times, teasing his constant need to see an obstacle to beat somewhere? He really should take your advice more seriously, at least in this case. Slowly down slightly Childe walked to the city center. He was sure his answer would be here; and that it would be so mundane as to not bother a second thought.

His pulse jumped in his throat as you finally entered his field of vision. You were sitting around with a few people, coworkers if the Guild crest and weaponry didn’t serve him wrong, chatting and smiling and overall having a wonderful time. Emotions stirred through Childe, the urge to run up to you, to stalk away, to find the nearest fountain and jump into it; but he stayed put, staring at your laughing face, pain flashing in his chest. He supposed he should’ve felt angry, felt like he’d been stood up. Instead all he felt was sadness, sadness and guilt.

Finally turning around Childe plodded back down the street, steps slow and sluggish. What did he expect really, for you to wait around for him forever? How was that fair? There was no reason you shouldn’t grow sick of waiting, shouldn’t want more out of your life. You were perfectly within your rights to want such a thing. Yet the pain continued, spreading throughout his chest until Childe felt like his lungs were on fire and his throat was crumpled in a fist of his own making.

Arriving back at the apartment a supernatural urge seemed to seize the Harbinger. Pack, he needed to pack. He wouldn’t burden you anymore, wouldn’t continue to strain your emotions by hanging around like a phantom. Luckily Childe wasn’t the kind of person to own a lot of things. Not that you really were either, between the both of you purchases mainly went into gifts for each other rather than personal buys. Childe now stood looking down at some of the things you’d bought or made for him. Scarves, books, a stuffed animal that had reminded you of his Delusion; all of these things lay peacefully on the shelf, giving the books behind them a slightly trapped looked. It was so homey and so comforting that Childe found tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

Wiping his eyes roughly the Harbinger collapsed onto the couch. What was he doing? Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t just wait for you to come home, wait and see where you two really were. But it seemed unfair to do that. After all, what kind of sleazy person left their partner for a month then begged for their love and attention right after coming home? It was completely within your rights to want more, hadn’t Childe already made that clear to himself? And yet it hurt, it hurt so much. How had he managed to mess this all up, to let the thing most precious to him fall out of his hands? He had been so careless.

Giving himself up to his emotions Childe let the pooling tears stream down his cheeks. Suddenly everything seemed so very heavy. Closing his eyes for a moment Childe sighed. Five minutes, he would give himself five minutes before returning to his packing. Yet the familiar comfort of the couch beckoned to him, and soon fatigue overwhelmed him, dragging him down into the realm of sleep. Thankfully, he dreamt of nothing.

“Childe what are you doing?!”

Lurching up Childe glanced around wildly, hands automatically moving to summon his weapon. For a few seconds he found himself utterly confused, unable to comprehend where he was or what was going on. Soon enough however, the situation came crashing back to him and the Harbinger lowered his weapon. Glancing up at you he braced himself for whatever was going to happen next.

Well you certainly seemed upset, though not exactly in the way Childe might have expected. Instead of anger there seemed something more akin to panic in your eyes, and the red patches on your face certainly pointed to distress more than anything else.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong, you tell me that!” You took in a few erratic breaths, but your tone remained panicky. “Why are you packing? Do you have another trip? Why are you leaving?”

“I, I thought that it would be easier if I just left.” Childe lowered his head, unable to look you in the eyes. “I figured that I would spare you the pain of having to kick me out yourself.”

“Why in Teyvat would I kick you out?” You sat down on the couch next to Childe, and he could feel your eyes piercing through him. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t see you at the docks when I returned.” Childe paused, gathering his thoughts. “At first I thought that you’d just fallen asleep or something but you weren’t home. And when I saw you out with your friends, well it made me realize how distant I’ve really been; physically, emotionally, everything. I realized that, and I realized that you deserved better, that I hadn’t been doing enough. I realized that you deserve more, deserve a partner who will always be there for you, who you won’t always have to be waiting for.”

“Oh Ajax.” You whispered softly.

Raising his head Childe could see no relief in your expression. Instead sadness was plainly plastered upon your face. Reaching out your hands you let Childe slump against you, carding your fingers through his hair as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry my darling, I thought you were coming back tomorrow. That’s why I was out. I would never think such a thing as abandoning you,” you spoke softly, tone achingly soft, “I mean it. Our relationship isn’t conventional, that’s true; but I would never trade it for anything. I would never think that you weren’t giving enough, I know how hard you work and how much you put into everything you know. Believe me Ajax, I don’t begrudge you any distance, I’ve never lacked love from you.”

“But what if one day you want something more,” Childe couldn’t help but ask, “what if one day letters aren’t enough? What if one day, what if one day I’m not enough?”

“I promise that will never happen,” you let out a soft sigh, “really Ajax you hold yourself too cheaply. You shouldn’t underestimate yourself, or underestimate me for that matter. You will always be enough for me. There will never be a day I want anything or anyone different, and if need be I will remind you of that every. single. day.”

Punctuation the last three words with kisses to Childe’s head you smiled as he titled his face up to gaze into yours. Though the panic had evaporated from you there was still sadness, and for a moment Childe felt guilt wash over him, guilt that he had caused you so many trials and that he hadn’t even had the courage to face you about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Although I do appreciate you understanding that almost stealing out into the night nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Not my brightest moment.” Childe admitted.

“Perhaps not,” you laughed, “I mean really, you’d think that it was the second act of a tragedy or something, and not one I’d like to participate in.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize! Just don’t do it again, or next time I’ll get genuinely angry, and then you won’t get off the hook so easily.”

Childe pressed his lips to yours, another unspoken apology. Though you let out a small huff of impatience you nevertheless leaned into the kiss, smiling against his lips as you let your hands drift from his hair to his shoulders.

That night Childe lay awake, listening to the soft cadence of your breath, indulging in the feeling of peace that lay over him. Though he knew that his worries and insecurities would never truly leave him, Childe nonetheless felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Maybe one days his fears would come true, maybe one day this life wouldn’t be enough. But “ifs” and “maybes” weren’t guarantees, and until that day happened Childe would cherish the time he spent with you.

Besides, Childe trusted no one as much as he trusted you. If you said that such a day would never come to pass, then surely you were right.

  Kaeya

You were working late again.

Kaeya supposed that it shouldn’t have bothered him, but then again he also supposed that almost anyone would feel somewhat uneasy if their colleague and partner was suddenly avoiding them like the plague.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but not much in Kaeya’s mind. Of course, if this were some sort of habit then he would hardly mind; but after months of making it a tradition to always walk home together, well, safe to say the whole thing didn’t sit well. Nor was it simply a matter of you staying to work late, even the days where you finished earlier than him it seemed that you were always dashing off somewhere, leaving him painfully out of the loop.

Now Kaeya stood across the room from you, fingers drumming on his arm, face carefully hiding the irritation and concern that rose up inside him, threatening to spill over.

“I’m really sorry Kaeya!” Your tone was sincere, and the apology in your eyes seemed genuine enough. “It’s just that Jean asked me to look over the ledgers for the infantry. You know the captain is out this week, but Jean didn’t want to have to owe the City and the soldiers in terms of late funds. I promise it won’t take that long, I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

“Why don’t I help you with it?” Kaeya could feel the sarcasm sweetening his tone, attempted to rein it in he stared at you silently.

“You’ve been working so hard, I wouldn’t want to bother you with extra work.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother at all. Anything for my dear partner.”

“Really, it’s fine!” You twisted your hands, a nervous habit that Kaeya had long ago picked up on. “I’ll be done in time for dinner. And then we can the new recipe you’ve been telling me about; okay?”

“Very well.”

“Thanks for understanding!”

Though you seemed happy enough by the proposition Kaeya noticed how fast your head moved to the papers on your desk. Closing the door behind him he heard you let out a loud sigh. Clenching his hands, as if to remind himself that he was still in a semi-public setting, Kaeya stalked out of the Knight’s Headquarters. The thoughts in his head felt like static, and he worried that if he remained still for one more moment it would swallow him up.

Walking the streets of Mondstadt, Kaeya tried to reflect back upon the past few weeks. Had he done something wrong? Wracking his brain for any serious disputes Kaeya came up frustratingly emptyhanded. If you had fought over something this whole debacle would be one thing. Kaeya had a temper of his own, and petty acts of anger was something he admittedly struggled with often enough. He could hardly fault you if you acted in a similar way, or at least not without admitting to his own faults.

And yet nothing had happened, nothing that might cause such a dispute. Clenching his hands one more, aware that his knuckles must’ve been bone white, Kaeya let his thoughts drift to darker waters. What if you were just sick of him? It was certainly plausible, or at least Kaeya thought so. It would certainly explain why you now seemed to be avoiding him like the plague outside of work.

The thought hurt, as it might well do, but surprisingly most of the pain didn’t come from the idea itself, but from the idea that you wouldn’t tell him such a thing. You falling out of love with Kaeya would be been incredibly painful. You not trusting him enough to the point you were simply avoiding him, well the thought was enough to knock the wind out of him. Did you really think so ill of him? The idea filled Kaeya with smoldering rage and indignation – fueled in no little part by the fact that Kaeya ultimately might agree with you. Usually thoughts like those were the kinds you hated, the kinds you chased away with a stick, assuring Kaeya that no matter his past decisions he was still worthwhile. But you weren’t here now, and those dark thoughts were now kindling for the fire that burned in Kaeya’s mind.

By the time he’d reached the apartment Kaeya was almost sure of his hypothesis. Though a small part of his brain reminded him that he was working of a diet of sleep deprivation and anger, such logical thinking was easy enough to shrug off. After all, the signs were there. You were evidently getting quite sick of him, it was hardly Kaeya’s fault that he caught on.

Throwing his equipment on the floor, not bothering to even put his sword up on its stand, the Cavalry Captain walked towards the kitchen. What he needed was drink, maybe even two. Really if it were up to him he’d spend the next hour or so getting as drunk as possible before passing out in the tub. Thankfully though his reason hadn’t completely left him, and Kaeya managed to limit himself to two and a half glasses of cider. He needed to be at least on the side of sober for the conversation that was bound to pass once you came home after all.

The lateness of the hour in which you arrived felt like a personal insult, though really it was only 21:00 or so.

“Kaeya?” You called out, whipping the Cavalry Captain out of his thoughts.

Stepping into the kitchen the grin on your face was a stark contrast to the emotions that swirled in Kaeya’s mind. Hands clasped behind your back you stood in the doorframe as if expecting something. You’d probably be in for a nasty surprise. Kaeya smiled sweetly at you, words burning in his mouth, mixing with the alcohol. This was a bad idea.

“How was the paperwork?”

“The paperwork? Oh! It was boring enough I suppose. I kept getting distracted though, I really should’ve had you there, you could’ve kept me from nodding off.”

“I’m sure I would have. Tell me something my dear, I have a question that’s been burning in my mind.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me why it is that out lovely Acting Grandmaster asked you to go over the ledgers when I was assigned to that exact thing yesterday?”

Ignoring the blotches of red that immediately spread across your cheeks Kaeya stood up. Carefully going to clean the glass he’d been using he stared into the sink, not trusting himself to look at you. If he did all the words he wanted to say would fly out at once, and something that probably shouldn’t be said with them.

“Did she ask you that? How odd! She must’ve wanted a second pair of eyes or something, I guess.”

“Are my eyes not good enough?”

“Kaeya, you know I wasn’t insulting your work.” A sort of shocked irritation ran through your voice. “You’re the best knight in Mondstadt after all.”

“Oh really? Well if you think so highly of me then why have you been avoiding me so much?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Then let me ask a different question; when was the last time we walked home together?”

“I don’t know, a week and a half ago?”

“Try two and a half.” Kaeya finally turned around, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you!” Indignation shot through your words as you shook your head. “I’m just busy recently.”

“Busy with made up work.”

“It’s not made up!”

“Oh really, then tell me what was your work last night?”

“I had to oil the bow strings for my regiment.”

“They couldn’t do it themselves according to protocol?”

“Not the new recruits they couldn’t!”

“Then what about the day before?”

“Kaeya!” You finally burst out. “I don’t know why you’re so quick to find fault with me right now! Just tell me what you’re getting at, if you’re going to insult me you might as well do it head on.”

A part of him admired you for wanting to look at the problem right in the face, another part of him thought of how well you knew him, how attuned you were to his moods. Just as he had figured out that you were avoiding him, so could you tell that his jabs were a misdirection. It was almost funny really, seeing the things you both had picked up about one another now used at the end.

“Fine.” Kaeya crossed his arms, hoping his expression was at least somewhat neutral. “It seems obvious to me that you’ve been avoiding me, and that you no longer want my company. What I am getting at is the fact that you want to break up, and that you evidently trust me so little with that fact that the only solution you’ve come up with is to avoid me.”

Your face went slack with shock, pupils turning to pinpricks as you stumbled backwards. Finally letting your arms fall to your sides you grabbed the side of the doorframe, as if unable to process what he just come out of your partner’s mouth.

“What?”

“Do you really trust me so little?” Kaeya pressed on, feeling his emotions begin to spill over. “Am I really so untrustworthy that you can’t even tell me you want to end things? Am I, am I really that untrustworthy?”

Everything seemed to be going all wrong. Kaeya had expected you to immediately fess up, had expected guilt and relief and then the end. Instead all he got was incredulous silence, incredulous silence and a look that screamed utter and total disbelief.

“Do you really think that I would do that to you?”

The question was a simple enough one, one that anyone might ask during a conversation of this nature. Still your tone was so dispassionate that Kaeya couldn’t help but pause. Did he really think that you would do such a thing? His anger certainly thought so, helped a great deal by his current buzzed state. All that aside however, did he really think that? When he woke up tomorrow, would these thoughts still be swirling through his head, these angry thoughts that threatened to burn through his happiness.

“I don’t know.” It was the best answer he could give.

“Then why would you accuse me of something you weren’t even sure of?”

“I…”

“Kaeya have you really thought so little about what you just told me?”

He almost wanted to apologize for how stupid his words seemed in retrospect.

“Would it help you if I told you where I actually was?”

Your voice was still quiet, but not entirely closed. Nodding stiffly Kaeya felt his fingers still.

“Very well. You were right about one thing, I wasn’t actually checking the ledgers for Jean; and I wasn’t oiling bowstrings all day either, I mean our troops should know how to do that at least. But you made one mistake in your judgement Kaeya, the idea that I was avoiding you. In truth I was gathering materials, I wanted to make a new sword for you. Your current one is so brittle and since I know you don’t want to use the sword you were given as an heirloom, well I thought that I wouldn’t wait for your current one to break and that your new one would be a present.”

“…I see.”

It was all Kaeya could get out; how else could he reply? Shame and guilt mingled within his mind, quickly dousing any anger that he might’ve felt. He really fucked up this one didn’t he. He let his emotions slip once more and now he had made a fool of himself. More than that he had refused to trust you, had ended up doing the exact thing he had just accused you of. Now what was there to do? He couldn’t exactly slink away with his dignity; even if he had managed to retain that, there weren’t many places to go.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Kaeya jerked his head up from the spot he’d been examining on the floor, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. You stared into his eyes, shrugging slightly.

“I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry Kaeya, I should’ve come up with a better method. I didn’t mean to make you worried, or to make you feel like I wanted to no longer associate with you. Believe me that’s the last thing I want to do. So I’m sorry that I made you feel that way.”

“I was the one who accused you of all those things that weren’t true.”

“You did. I’m not very happy about that to be honest; you’re going to be doing some serious penance for the next week. I just figured that before that I would apologize. Then we could be even. Okay?”

Reaching out your hand Kaeya finally noticed what you’d been hiding. The windwheel aster was slightly limp, the breeze that gave it its beauty nowhere to be found. Nevertheless it seemed at the moment the most beautiful flower in the world. Walking over to you Kaeya tentatively took the flower in his hand. Smiling softly he leaned down to kiss you.

“I’m sorry.”

Tomorrow he’d start making it up to you. Tomorrow he wouldn’t listen to his demons, wouldn’t let his own lack of self-worth hurt you. Tomorrow he would do better by you and more. Today he would say sorry.

After all, he had plenty of time.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

So do you guys remember when I promised to write Cat throwing a shoe at Edmure? I sort of forgot about it for a while, but here it finally is

Enjoy!

A moment. That was all she had wanted. Nothing long, just a few minutes to get away from all the people and be with her husband. Who, for the record, was looking incredibly handsome that night.

“Good evening, Edmure” Catelyn said casually.

She took a step away from her husband and began pulling the shoulder straps of her dress up again. It had been a lot easier for Ned to get them down than it was for her to get them up.

“For the love of all that is holy, can you never keep yourself from doing this?” Edmure exclaimed.

He looked at them as if he had just watched them murder someone. No one had been murdered, they had only been feeling each other up a little bit. There hadn’t even been any sex going on. Yet.

“Why are you upset?” Catelyn asked in the same voice that she spoke to her children when they were upset.

Edmure just spluttered something back at her.

“Use your words” Ned muttered as he began straightening his tie.

Though he didn’t look at them Catelyn could feel his irritation. She had to smile at how he, like her, resorted to parenting tactics.

“Is no occasion sacred?” Edmure questioned. “It’s your daughter’s wedding for fuck’s sake!”

A sigh escaped Catelyn.

“Our daughter got married ours ago, this is a wedding party. And we’re not doing it at the party.”

And they weren’t exactly doing it on display, they had left the room for a reason. But considering the party wasn’t exactly quiet and calm, they might have gone unnoticed even if they had not stepped aside. But the line definitely had to be drawn somewhere.

“We were not doing it at all” she then added.

“No, but you were damn close” Edmure hissed.

“What does it matter to you, little brother?”

That shut him up and for a moment Catelyn thought he was about to leave. It was definitely about time for it.

Of course that didn’t happen. Of course he decided to be an idiot instead. It was all he was and all he would ever be. They ages, but somehow he managed to stay a ten year old.

“Aren’t you too old for this?” he asked.

“Too old for what? Sex?”

Catelyn wouldn’t lie, she enjoyed seeing the pain in her brother’s eyes. Because if he was set on being a ten year old, then she wouldn’t be any better. Sure, there was satisfaction in being the bigger person, but not nearly enough. She was an oldest sister, often regarded as the most well behaved of her siblings, but she had also had many years of practice in how to push her siblings’s buttons. And she knew the satisfaction in that was more than enough.

“You’re not teenagers anymore!”

He crossed his arms over his chest like a grumpy toddler. Catelyn could only roll her eyes.

“Oh why didn’t anybody tell me?”

Ned snorted at that and the amusement in his eyes was very apparent when she glanced at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Cat” Edmure said.

“No. You don’t get to interrupt me trying to have sex with my husband and then imply that I’m being immature about it.”

“I didn’t ever say…“

An idea struck Catelyn. It wasn’t an idea that proved her point particularly well, but she really wanted to do it. Being the bigger person really was boring.

Edmure went on and on about things he had and had not said, about how really his point had just been that maybe it was inappropriate to push one’s husband up against a wall with the intention of having sex not terribly far from where one’s daughter’s wedding party was happening. Or something like that. Catelyn didn’t really listen.

Instead she lifted her right foot of the ground and reached back to swiftly slide her heel off. Her other hand she placed on Ned’s chest to keep her balance. When she was down on two feet again she realised that it was very hard to stand with one foot bare and the other one in a high heel, so she took that one off as well. She left it on the ground while she weighed the other in her hand, tried to determine which way to hold it would be most effective.

Edmure hadn’t even noticed what she was doing as she had raised her arm and before he had time to question it she had thrown the heel his way.

Unfortunately he ducked before it hit him.

“What are you doing?”

“Go away” she simply said.

“Cat–“

She leaned down to take her other heel, and finally he got it.

He raised his hands in defence and began backing away from them.

“Hint taken, you absolute psycho.”

As a final grain of salt in the wound she pulled Ned towards her before Edmure had disappeared around the corner again.

“I wasn’t done with you” she said in her sweetest voice, pushing him towards the wall again.

She was a few inches shorter than she had been before and she couldn’t say she was a fan. Normally she didn’t mind at all, but being slightly taller than him was just what she wanted then and there.

“So you will be good for me and stay right here while I get my shoe.”

[angryschnauzer]

Once Bitten

Once Bitten

Summary: Whilst vacationing on a Colorado Ranch to try and overcome your writers block, you find yourself being drawn to the cowboys that staff the ranch rather than getting any actual work done. After a small accident in the truck you find yourself a lot closer to one cowboy in particular, who has a secret you are about to discover.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3204

Tags: Chris Evans (Actor) & Reader, Chris Evans (Actor)/You, AU Vampire Chris NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Spanking, neck biting, Vampires, Oral Sex, Cum Play

Notes: This is a rewrite of a old Hiddleston fic, but i felt it fit with Chris too. The original was written 5+ years ago so may not be my finest work.

I do not operate a tag list or masterlist. All my previous stories can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites​, to get an alert whenever i post a new story, follow that blog and put it onto notifications. You can also find all my work on AO3.

You bounced in the seat of the truck as it made its way along the dirt track back to the lodge, a cloud of dust spewing from beneath the wheels. Clinging to the steering wheel, your knuckles white, you wished you’d taken the bigger, newer truck, the one with power steering. And a heater. And Seatbelts. But no, you had taken the smaller older one instead as it was easier to park.

Your cousin’s Colorado ranch had always been a refuge for you, so when you were suffering from writers block you’d asked if you could rent their lodge for a few weeks, hoping the quiet solitude of the Colorado landscape would inspire you. Little did you know that the only things around that would inspire, would be tumbleweeds and cowboys. And as a crime writer being inspired by watching lithe and toned men riding horses all day was not helping, in fact you were soon to end up in the romance isle of the bookstores, especially watching their taught and muscled thighs as they clung to the horses, sweat dripping down their bodies, hats tipped to the low autumn sunsets;

“HOLY CRAP!”

You were suddenly drawn out of your daydream as the one and only bend in the track had snuck up on you as you, slamming on the brakes but it was too late, the tyres skid on the loose earth, and you ploughed into the ditch, coming to an abrupt stop, albeit at a 45º angle.

Coughing as the cloud of dust settled, you groaned as a pain shot through your head, pulling yourself up to the driver’s seat you glanced into the rear-view mirror. A slight cut on your forehead, you touched it lightly and winced, there was going to be one hell of a lump there in the morning. Testing your limbs and you were relieved that they all worked fine.

“Darlin’, y’alright?”

The sudden voice at the side of the truck startled you, making you squeal and let go of the steering wheel, causing you slide over the bench seat to the far side of the truck. It was Chris; one of the ranch hands, in fact the one in particular you’d been trying to keep out of your mind.

“Miss?” He enquired

Snapping out of your trance you finally squeaked out an answer;

“Chris, thank you...yes I’m fine.”

“Here, lemme’ give ya’ hand.” he said, wrenching the door open and reaching into the truck as you extended your hand, and he was pulling you out of the truck and onto the side of the road. You swayed slightly, a sudden rush of blood to your head.

He steadied you, watching you sway slightly before you settled;

“You’re bleeding...” he said, his nostrils slightly flaring, those intense eyes staring at the wound on your head.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a plaid handkerchief, gently pressing it to your head wound. His tongue lightly reached out and touched his top lip with concentration as you felt his light touch, his fingers cold against your heated skin.

“Do you need a ride Miss?”

Hell yes you thought, but you realised the ride that you had in mind was probably not what he meant.

“That would be very kind of you, thank you” you replied as you managed to pull your mind from the gutter you said with a smile, hoping you weren’t stumbling on your words too much.

“Great!” He said with a smile that sent shivers down your spine; “I’ll just untie Vincent...”

“Vincent?”

“My horse.”

You paled a little. In the weeks you’d spent on the farm you’d so far managed to avoid actually riding a horse, they didn’t like you, you didn’t like them, even after a lot of trying on your part with you offering them carrots and sugar cubes over the fences, trying to stroke their noses and generally be nice to them, you’d been nibbled, snorted at, and most of the time they just ran off leaving you coughing and spluttering from the dust they stirred up.

You watched as Chris strode over to the fence where he’d tied Vincent and busied himself unhooking the reins, turning to you as if presenting his steed to you. Reluctantly you walked over, not entirely sure how to even get onto this damned beast.

“Just put your foot into the stirrup and pull yourself up.” He said as he held the animal still.

Right. Well. Ok. You might as well try, knowing you were more than likely going to make an utter fool of yourself. Foot into stirrup and gripping onto the saddle, you heaved yourself up. Imagine a toddler trying to climb over a beach ball but getting stuck halfway; butt in the air, you’d neglected to swing your free leg over the horses back and as you now tried to lift your knee the horse to start shifting. This wasn’t going well, and you were just thankful that Chris couldn’t see your face that had no doubt turned a rather comical look of indignant frustration on it right then.

“Here let me help.” As he rested his hand on your free leg “Lift your knee and part your legs, you need to swing it over to get into the riding position.”

Well duh, your mind was now not on the kind of riding you were currently attempting, but as you felt Chris’s strong hand lift your knee over the saddle you were suddenly upright and sat on the horse. You wobbled a little where your feet had fallen out of the stirrups, but your mind was soon elsewhere as Chris lifted himself skilfully onto the saddle behind you, settling in, his crotch pressing against your butt.

You chanted a little mantra in your mind to keep your thoughts of arousal at bay as he arranged the reins and you set off, the weight of his body pressing you forward in the saddle, pressing your crotch against the little uppy-holdy-thingy at the front of the saddle that you presumed was a form of a handle for when only one person was using the saddle.

Soon you were on your way, Chris clicking his tongue and the horse slowly turned towards the ranch. The gentle rock and sway of the horse as it plodded its way along the track soon had you a little worked up, not to mention the hardness you were starting to feel press into the back of your jeans. In an attempt to distract yourself you started chattering away, attempting to make small talk whilst trying to disguise the fact you were a little breathless from the gentle pressure that was tormenting you, turning you on. You were thankful for the darkness that was descending around you as you were sure when you did get off this damned animal the front of your jeans would be soaked through. Chris was more of a listener than a talker, very few words of his being part of your conversation, yet as you felt his breath on your neck, your voice faltered and you spent the rest of the journey in silence, until your cabin appeared over the hill, the last rays of the sunset making the windows seem ablaze.

As you rode past the windows, you saw your reflection in them, you riding the horse. You. On a horse. Just you. Wait, what? Before your mind could process the sight Chris pulled on the reins and Vincent came to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, letting out a little snort as it did so;

“Let me get off first then I’ll give you a hand down.”

Chris skilfully hopped off the horse, making it seem so graceful. Now it was your turn; swinging your far leg over the saddle you got halfway there but your foot got caught in something. Giving it a little shake it caused your body to overbalance, and you watched almost in slow motion as you practically oozed off the horse into an upside down heap, your foot still caught, your shoulders on the ground and your foot suspended above you.

You heard Chris suppress a snigger; “Not a natural rider are ya’?” as he reached over and unhooked whatever had caught your foot, causing you to fall to the ground with a grunt. He quickly hooked the reins over the porch and extended a hand to you, pulling you to your feet. You swayed a little, falling against his chest. Oh the scent – spice and musk – you could have buried your face into that plaid shirt and just inhaled, but perhaps not, perhaps that’d be just slightly inappropriate, you reasoned with yourself.

Pulling yourself right again you were still slightly unsteady on your feet, you felt Chris’s arm around your hip as he helped you up the porch steps and reached for the door, pushing the pair of you inside. You turned to thank him but he was suddenly upon you, his long arms around yours, pinning them to your sides, there was a sharpness to his movements as he spun you around so your back was against his chest. He tilted your head to one side and you realised it was not passion that was driving him. You felt his lips on your neck then the sharpness of teeth. Very sharp teeth. You screamed as you felt them pierce your skin, struggling in his arms as you felt a burning on your neck, the teeth sinking deeper. You could hear the suckling noises as he drank from you, his lips firmly against your neck, his tongue massaging the spot below where his teeth had breached your skin. You started to slump in his arms, realisation that you’d fallen into the arms of a monster. But as your body relaxed, you started to feel the desire within you build again. The feel of his lips and tongue on your neck was now dulling the pain his teeth had caused. You relaxed in his arms and found your feet, pressing back against his chest, not realising your desire until you groaned as his lips moved against your neck.

You reached back, your arms grasping onto the sides of his jeans, pulling him against you. You could feel that he was hard, and very big from the feel of it. His grip around your torso loosened, and one hand moved up to where your shirt was buttoned, ripping down in one swift motion, buttons springing apart as they flew off. His hand splayed over the soft flesh of your stomach, running up to your bra, and slipping inside to grasp on your breasts. Never releasing his lips hold on your neck, but you could no longer feel his teeth within you, only the soft suckling of his tongue.

He released his grip on you but rather than running you simply span around in his arms and pulled him down so his lips met yours. You could taste a metallic tang on his lips and tongue and realised it was your blood. Rather than disgusting you it turned you on even more.

You ran your hands to his chest, fumbling with the buttons as you rid him of his shirt, running your hands over the soft jersey of his tee before pulling that up so you could touch his toned chest, down his stomach to where a small trail of hair led to further delights below.

Never breaking contact with his lips you blindly worked on his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and working your hand inside, feeling his hard dick loose within the denim. Not releasing him your other hand lowered his fly, allowing you further access and his firm hardness heavy in your hand.

Breaking away from the kiss you grinned up at him, his gaze boring deep into you, a slight look of shock on his face.

“You’re not running. Ya’ not scared?”

You didn’t answer, instead you started to drop to your knees, keeping hold of his dick as you ran your other hand down his thigh, your fingers softly running over the firm muscles, gently tickling the hairs that covered his skin. On your knees you looked up at him, licking your lips before pressing them forwards and placing a gentle kiss on the tip. Running your tongue over the slit, tasting the salty liquid that had pooled there.

Never breaking eye contact you opened your mouth and took his hard shaft between your lips. You slid your tongue along the seam underneath, bobbing your head slowly up and down. As you watched Chris’s face you could see his fangs descending again, his eyes becoming hooded until his head tipped back. Taking him deeper you felt his tip against the back of your throat, inciting a groan from above you.

Pulling back off you lightly grazed your teeth against his dick, catching around the head and gently over the crown. Well, if he was going to violate you with his teeth it’s the least you could do as payback. However he seemed to enjoy it, as his hands flew to your head and you heard him mutter;

“Oh god Darlin’, do that again.”

Happy to oblige you repeated your actions, running your teeth over him, lightly all the time and then down his length, taking him deep again. On the third pass you heard a hiss escape from his lips; “Enough”, before he roughly pulled you to your feet, and crushing you against his chest for a rough kiss.

He toed off his boots and stepped out of his fallen jeans, walking you backwards over to the couch, spinning you around so the front of your thighs were against the upholstery. Bringing his hands up to your breasts, he grasped the front of your bra, tearing it in two, before roughly pawing at them, your nipples rubbing against his calloused palms.

You felt his lips against your ear; “You’re hot for me... so desperate and eager. I like it.”

His hands lowered to your jeans, releasing your fly and pushing the material away, before rubbing his hand between your thighs, feeling how wet your panties were, pushing at your folds through the cotton, as he rutted into the crease of your butt; “So wet for me... does fear turn you on?”

“I’m not afraid.”

He chuckled into your ear; “You should be...”

He ripped the material in two, letting the remains of your panties fall to the floor before pushing you over the arm of the couch, leaving you prone and your thighs wide.

Steadying yourself on the cushions you glanced over your shoulder, admiring Chris’s near naked body, his dick in his hand as he came up behind you. He paused for a moment as he pulled his crumpled tee over his head before steadying himself with a hand on your rump and you felt his tip against your swollen pussy. As he slowly ran the tip up and down your folds, soaking it with your juices, you moaned, wriggling your hips, needing to be filled.

“Getting desperate for me?” Chris said with a heavy voice

“Just fuck me, now!” you practically screamed at him.

“Your wish is my command.” and before you could brace yourself he’d pressed into you, sinking deep on the first thrust. He seemed to go on forever, inch after inch slid into you, only for it all to be suddenly withdrawn and thrust back in one making you squeal;

“Yes! Oh God!”

“You couldn’t get farther from God if you tried.” and with that he set off at a punishing pace, fucking you hard, bent over and prone to him, his big hands gripping tightly – painfully – onto your hips as he used your body.

You’d never been fucked so hard or so well, you were writhing on the sofa in ecstasy, the man, no; the monster behind you never relenting on his actions on your body, making your juices flow down your thighs, his large hands spreading your legs wider so that his thick girth could gain further entry. You felt one of his hands flutter over your rump.

The suddenness of his palm making contact with your behind made you squeal, your breath catching in your throat as you anticipated another, not to be disappointed when his palm made contact with your other buttock moments later.

Something you hadn’t liked to admit to any of your ex’s is that done right you were quite happy with a bit of spanking, but those that had attempted it had always done it half-heartedly.

“Oh fuck, Chris... please... don’t stop.”

Never letting up on his pace of fucking your pussy he started to spank you in time to his thrusts, and as you felt your orgasm building, you gripped tightly onto the cushions of the couch;

“Yes yes yes yes yes, more, harder!” All spluttering from your mouth, begging and pleading, getting closer and closer, until your body succumbed to the pleasure, gripping onto him as you rode out your orgasm, writhing beneath his touch, rocking your body, the waves of ecstasy flowing over you as it overwhelmed your mind.

Chris smoothed his palms over your reddened cheeks before going back to gripping your thighs, his thrusts getting harder and faster as he now drove into your pleasure soaked body.

Suddenly he pulled out and grasped your shoulder, pulling you round and down to your knees. As he towered over you, his voice low and deep;

“Open your mouth” you did as he asked, on your knees in front of him, he furiously stroked his dick, you reached for your tits and played with them;

“Such a good girl” he praised as his body went rigid and he started to cum,  watching as ropes of it sprayed over your face and chest, dripping down between your tits. One last spurt, and he brought his dick up to your lips where you gently took him in, tasting your combined pleasure on it, gently giving it a single suck before releasing him.

He staggered back and found the breakfast bar, resting against a barstool. Both of you out of breath, a hungry silence hung in the air, only broken by the sounds of your breathing as you still gasped for air.

You were the first to break the silence; “How come I didn’t need to invite you in?”

“It’s not your home. I can come and go as a please as long as it’s not the persons main residence.” Chris replied.

“You’re really a vampire?”

“Do you need more proof?”

“Are you going to turn into a bat or something?”

He sighed; “Why would I want to turn myself into a bat?” a small smirk appeared on his lips;

“Anyway I suggest you get up off your knees Darlin’, I’m not done with you for the night yet”. He said with a very dirty grin now spreading over his face.

No longer afraid you got to your feet;

“I’ll be ready for you in the shower”

You made your way to the bathroom, looking over your shoulder as you swayed your hips;

“You coming?”

“Yup, and so will you be Darlin’”

[limey-self-inserts]

Night Terrors

Word Count: 1016 Warnings: N/A F/Os: Aniketos (romantic) Summary: Aniketos is woken up by Avon suffering from night terrors

art tag: @call--me--home​, (dryad buddy) @carbo-ships​, @morilock

-----

Aniketos awoke to the sound of panicked breathing. Down in the guest bedroom, where he knew Avon was sleeping, the telltale gulps of air between fear-struck pauses sent small alarm bells ringing through his head. There’d been no cry or shout to truly alert him, and yet the fact that Avon seemed to be actively trying to hide their agitation (if the brokenly dispersed drawn out breaths in an attempt to calm oneself down meant anything) drew more concern than if he had heard any loud sounds.

He lay awake, listening in silence, to see if the sound of fear would abate. To see if Avon would call for him. He’d made it clear, each evening before the pair went to sleep, that if they were in need of assistance then he would most assuredly come and see what he could do. He hoped they would ask for him, because for him to go to them….well, it felt like an overstep on his part. Or was that primarily because of how he felt about the situation?

Panicked breaths turned to hiccups, which in turn fell quiet to a point even Aniketos couldn’t properly hear anything. When he thought he was drifting back to sleep, despite pinching his hand to stay awake, he heard another sharp inhalation and the very faintest trembling curse through broken lips. That very much made up his mind for him.

Getting to his feet, he pulled on a sleeping tunic and tied the sash loosely around his waist. A small lantern lay by the bed-post, and a small incantation lit a faint glow within, akin to the bloom of fireflies. Simple magics to negate the use of fire, until winter at least. Lavender lighting led Ani’s way down the stairs from his bedroom, bare feet quiet against the wooden floor. Unlike mortal buildings, the tree only ever creaked when strong winds came about, and even then since his home was within the fae realm then effects of the outside didn’t affect them too much.

Ani hesitated near the doorway however. It was a temporary pause, one of consideration (Will they be okay? What should I expect? How can I help?) before he made the final crossing over to their threshold.

“Avon,” he said quietly. 

“...Hi Aniketos.”

“I heard you were not doing well. May I come in?”

“I’m fine, really…” A wet sniff. “...Fuck. Okay, yes, you can come in.” 

Lifting the lantern, Aniketos turned and stepped into the bedroom, and nearly felt his heart thud against his chest - not in the good way either. As the light carried into the room, it seemed to reflect from Avon’s eyes as if from small mirrored discs, turning her expression vacant and hungry. But the moment vanished quickly, and Aniketos could see Avon proper. 

They seemed somewhat alright, bar the few tears beaded on their cheeks. Mostly their posture screamed of defensiveness, curled up at the end of their bed with arms wrapped around their knees, hugging themself tight. But Aniketos had heard the panic, and could see their chest rise and fall with effort of maintaining a slower rhythm.

“Can I come closer?” Ani asked, gesturing to Avon who nodded their head. He approached, setting his lantern on the desk beside their bed. “Are you in any pain?”

“No, no, I’m…not hurt,” Avon mumbled back. “I had a bad dream.”

“Night terrors. Yes, I’m entirely understanding of such things. And you can’t be faulted from having them. I could hear that you were trying to hide your panic.” 

Avon seemed to wrinkle their nose, curling tighter into themself.

“It’s fine, really. I’m…not really used to them, but it gets easier to manage after each one,” they explained. “I deal with a lot of nasty stuff, more than most townsfolk you’re probably used to looking after.”

“That shouldn’t mean you’re any less deserving of care and kindness,” Aniketos said softly. That seemed to visibly cause Avon to react, their eyes widening as their arms dropped down slowly, until they were sat on the bed looking up at Aniketos. After some moment of internal debate, they reached up their hands.

“...Can I have a hug?”

“You certainly may.” Stepping in closer and crouching down, Aniketos wrapped his arms around Avon and felt them squeeze him back, their face nestling into the crook of his neck as they slowly inhaled and exhaled. He let them stay there, long enough until his thighs began to cramp and he had to stand up.

“Thank you,” Avon murmured, wiping at their eyes.

“Of course. If you wish I can return and hold you for longer, until you go to sleep. I’ve been advised it’s very comforting by other mortals,” Aniketos offered, and was surprised to see Avon stiffen and blush in the faint light.

“I-It’s alright, I appreciate it though,” they replied. “Although….if I have another night terror, I might ask for that offer, if that’s okay?”

“It certainly is. For the meantime, I think some hot cocoa is what will assist you to help you relax and return to sleep,” Ani said as he retrieved his lantern, hanging it up on a hook in the room to expand the light further. A mug of hot sweetness would help him too, he figured.

To his mild amusement, he found Avon shuffling through to the kitchen after him, their blanket wrapped around their shoulders. They watched with keen learning eyes as he put the hot cocoa together, roasting the beans over a small flame and crushing the paste through into boiling water, with a little sugar to take off the bitterness. Two mugs were poured out, one for each, and the pair sat under the moonlight and talked idly of the changing seasons and forthcoming travels. Eventually Avon’s words grew addled with sleep, and Aniketos shuffled them back to their bed before they fell asleep standing up. Retrieving his lantern, he meandered lazily back to his own bedsheets, and woke a few hours later with sweat on his brow and gleaming eyes in the back of his dreams.

[lillywillow]

Fatherhood

Summary: Steve wants to be the best dad ever for his baby

 Word Count: 1344

 Square Filled: Pregnancy

 Pairings: Steve x Female Reader

 Warnings: Pregnancy, fluff

Written for @star spangled bingo

 Being married to Steve was an absolute dream. He was everything you could ever want in a husband and more. While you were still dating, the subject of starting a family had been brought up but life got in the way and the thought had been put on the backburner. After your wedding, the subject was once again up for discussion. People gave you all sorts of advice to help, some utterly ridiculous and some practical but you knew if you listened to all of it at once, you and Steve would drive yourselves mad. You decided if you weren’t pregnant by a certain timeframe, you would make an appointment to be checked by a specialist. Fortunately, that would not be nessacary...

...

 When you woke that morning, you had a good feeling about the day. You headed into the bathroom to take a pregnancy test. After a while, Steve became a little worried about you as you normally would walk out into the kitchen to greet him. He knocked on the bathroom door.

 “Y/N? You okay? You’ve been in there a while...”

 You opened the door with the stick in your hand.

 “Steve... look...”

 Steve took the item from your hand and looked at the two parallel lines.

 “Does this mean...?”

 With a smile, you teared up and nodded.

 “It’s positive...”

 “We’re going to be parents!”

 Steve hugged you tight and kissed your face all over. You couldn’t stop smiling.

...

 Over the next few weeks, you told everyone you knew about your upcoming arrival. Once again, people offered their advice, even if some of it was pointless but the number one thing people offered was help which you were grateful for.

 The first thing you did was convert the study into a nursery. It took a while but eventually you got all the old furniture out of the room and painted the walls a soft eggshell with the help of your friends. Steve told you he had a surprise for you and for days he worked tirelessly on it, not even allowing you to enter the nursery until he was done.

 Finally one day, he took you into the room to show you his work.

 “What do you think?” he asked, showing you the beautiful mural he painted.

 On the back wall, Steve had created an adorable pond scene. A white duck was swimming in the middle surrounded by her little yellow babies. A happy green frog sat on a lily-pad near some cattail reeds and water lilies. Every detail had been lovingly drawn with such fine brushstrokes.

 “I love it...”

 “Do you think our baby will too?”

 “I’m sure baby will, my darling,” you smiled, placing a hand on his cheek. Steve smiled and kissed you softly, placing his hand on your tummy. He couldn’t wait for your baby to get here.

...

 A few weeks later, you went in for a health check. Steve had missed the last few appointments due to work so he was determined to come to this one. You went in when your names were called and the doctor prepared everything. Steve helped you up onto the examination table and held your hand as the doctor put the gel onto your belly. Instantly, the baby’s heartbeat could be heard when the scanner was applied to the gel.

 “What’s that noise?” Steve asked, making you smile.

 “That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” the doctor confirmed.

 Steve gasped softly and his eyes widened in wonder.

 “That has to be the most beautiful sound I ever heard...” He teared up a little and squeezed your hand.

 “Would you like to know the gender of the baby?” This had been a conversation you had early on in your pregnancy so you already knew your answer.

 “No, thank you. We would like to leave it as a surprise.”

 “Okay. Well, everything looks great so far. We’ll schedule another appointment for you and if you have any questions or concerns, just call.”

 “We will. Thank you, Doctor.”

 With that, another appointment was made and you headed out of the office and headed home.

...

 Once you were home, Steve helped you to your room for a rest. Lately you had been feeling exhaustion set in easier than it used to. After he had made sure you were comfortable on the bed, Steve laid down beside you so he could talk to the baby, placing one hand on your bump.

 “Hi, little one. I’m your daddy. I’m so, so excited that you’re on your way and- oh!” Steve was interrupted by a tiny movement against his hand.

 “Was that...?”

 “I think so...”

 “Baby’s first kick!” Steve grinned and kissed your tummy, inciting another kick from the baby against his hand. “This is amazing!”

 You grinned and ran your fingers through his hair.

 “What’s with that look, Y/N?”

 “You’re the cutest. The baby isn’t even here yet and already you’re gushing over their smallest achievements... plus you’re taking such good care of me and taking care of my needs...”

 “I love you, Y/N and this little life right here... this is an extension of that love. I want to be the best dad ever. Teach them everything they need to know, be there for them when they need me... With you by my side, I feel like I can reach that goal...”

 You found yourself tearing up at his words. Smiling, Steve leant forward and kissed you softly, the baby still kicking away at his hand.

...

 During your eighth month of pregnancy, your family threw you a baby shower at a relative’s place in the countryside. The party had been a lot of fun with everyone who attended, playing games, eating food and some of them bringing presents. You watched as the some of the kids ran around, playing in the mud. They were all laughing and squealing in joy until one of them got stuck and started to panic. Being the closest one to the scene, you waddled over to help. With one hand on your belly, you managed to get onto your knees and stretched out your hand. The boy grabbed your fingers but it wasn’t enough.

 “Y/N!” Steve screamed. He ran over to help you out of the mud before extracting the stuck child.

 You still held your stomach as you felt strong pains.

 “Steve... Steve something doesn’t feel right...”

 “Hold on, Y/N. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

 Steve abruptly told your family that you needed medical assistance and fast.

...

 When you got to the hospital, you were taken in to be examined. Fortunately, it would only prove to be strong Braxton Hicks contractions but they still wanted to keep you in for observations. Steve informed your family on your condition and promised to keep them updated. He sat by your side, putting an arm around him.

 “I’m so glad that it was just a false alarm,” he sighed.

 “Me too. That was really scary...”

 “Why didn’t you come get me? I could have handled it...”

 “I wasn’t thinking. Besides I’m not the one who constantly puts themself in danger, Mr. I-jump-out-of-planes-without-a-parachute-and-run-into-burning-builsings-every-other-day-of-the-week.”

 Steve chuckled and kissed your head.

 “I may do those things but I’m not the one carrying precious cargo.”

 “That is true... Steve, can we not argue? The important thing is I’m okay and baby is okay.”

 “You’re right. You’re both safe and that’s all that matters.”

...

 One month after that incident, you safely gave birth to your beautiful little baby and Steve was absolutely over the moon. He couldn’t believe that the moment he had finally been waiting all these months for was finally here. Steve never left your side the whole time, holding your hand, stroking your hair; being the supportive husband he been throughout your whole pregnancy. As he held your child for the first time, Steve knew he couldn’t wait to start the next stage into fatherhood.