#felt pad|where to buy rugs

[tinyclownhours]

Human Hermit Crabs

I turned the silly little prompt I sent to @so-very-small into a full fic. Enjoy :)

Summary: Human gets abducted by giant aliens and sold as a novelty pet in an intergalactic souvenir shop, only to be rescued by a rugged space explorer.

Word Count: 5781

Cw: Abduction, dehumanisation (it's nothing too bad, but the MC is seen as a pet/object by the other aliens), mentions of death and humans being sold as pets/objects.

An apex predator. That is what Henry had lived his entire life believing he was. Everyone knew humans were on top of the food chain. Even in situations where they were wildly outmatched in pure strength, it was their intelligence that kept them on top. The only one who could realistically hurt him was his own kind, he had thought. As long as he kept his head down, he could get by without trouble. Oh, how foolish he had been…

He was curled up at the far end of the glass cage, leaning against the cold wall as he breathed in a shallow manner. He was cold, and he was shivering ever so slightly. Every now and again a giant figure would glide past the outside of his cage, browsing all of the curiosities the shop had to offer, him included…

He thought back to that day, the 15th of October. The day when his perception of reality had been utterly shattered. It was a crisp autumn evening and Henry had been strolling around on a walk out by the countryside where he lived. There was rarely anyone out where he walked. Maybe that’s why they chose him…

He still remembered the feeling of being sucked up into the air, the feeling of his stomach dropping while he looked down at the ground becoming smaller and smaller below him until he was swallowed up by the sky. Or at least he thought. The pure terror and panic were still fresh in his mind, as he looked around the gigantic spaceship that he’d been beamed up into. He had seen the giant alien smirk down at him, roughly grabbing his body in his callus fist while he inspected him. Henry felt his stomach turn as he thought back to how the giant poacher had looked over him after putting a metal collar around his throat, calling him a “beautiful specimen” before carrying him off and throwing him into a crowded cage full of other humans, all of them equally confused and terrified. 

He remembered how horrific it had been initially, being sold as some sort of tiny novelty pet in this intergalactic souvenir shop. He was trembling almost if not every waking hour of the day, and would freeze up anytime someone walked past his cage. Rush hour was hell for him… Nowadays he was too exhausted to even lift a finger. Most customers took note of his sickly appearance, being so pale and thin he looked like he was one second away from crumbling into dust. Which he supposed was good, since most of them lost interest in him after a few seconds of inspection. It seemed like all of them knew. All of them knew he didn’t have long. And why buy a pet that you knew wasn't going to make it? He never bought those scrawny and off-colored goldfish at the pet store when he was a child. No one did, why would they? If it wasn’t for the fact that he was dying, he might’ve seen the cosmic irony of him ignoring those goldfish as a child only to feel some sort of comradery towards them now.

He was the last human left in the cage, all of his other fellow captives had either been sold off or passed away due to the horrid living conditions they’d all been exposed to for the last month. Unfortunately for Henry, he had been a stubborn one, as the owner of the shop commented quite frequently. It was clear he was just waiting for Henry to disappear so that he could order a fresh batch of captives to abuse with horrible housing.

The cage was small and made entirely of glass which stripped away any privacy any of them could’ve gotten. There wasn’t any padding or places to sleep comfortably. Besides, even if they did have someplace to sleep, the clunky metal collars made it a little hard to get comfortable. They had been provided with some sort of strange wood shavings on the cage floor, which quite possibly couldn’t have been any more itchy and uncomfortable. Any food they were provided with seemed deprived of any hint of nutrients and only provided Henry with temporary relief by filling his stomach with something to quell the searing pain of hunger. Lastly, they were put through so much distress, with the top of their cage being completely open for all of the shop's open hours, meaning that anyone could pick them up and manhandle them as they pleased in order to figure out if they liked the tiny human or not.

In the beginning, Henry had suffered quite a lot of stress at the (literal) hands of the shop's customers. A lot of them had been kids, or so he assumed, considering they were smaller and much less delicate with how they handled the poor humans. Henry had witnessed one too many of his fellow merchandise be dropped from tens of feet up in the air by those clumsy monsters. Some were quote-on-quote fine, getting lucky and only breaking a few bones. Others died upon impact. Although, Henry was starting to wonder which ones were actually the lucky ones…

Other times there were the odd tourists who walked in and were fascinated by the cage of humans. Most of them were quite handsy, pulling and playing with each one of their limbs as if they were just dolls. Of course, tourists are just what Henry called them. They were all bulky giants with what seemed to be purple scales and multiple eyes spread across their entire body. They were all just loud and quite frankly, too curious for his liking. It reminded him of the horror stories he’d read online by people recalling their experiences with obnoxious tourists… But he supposes that it was through them that he learned what the metal collars were for. There was a sign taped onto the side of the cage that read “Translator included!”, which many of them would read aloud and then condescendingly speak with them and try to get them to repeat words to them. Henry wasn’t quite sure why they were given translators. He wasn’t complaining of course, this whole ordeal would have been a thousand times worse if he hadn’t gotten a helpful (if a bit rude) explanation from the store owner as to what was going on when he first came into the store. However, he didn’t understand the appeal of a pet that could speak. Wouldn’t it feel weird to have a pet that could share its honest opinions with its owner? Surely they couldn’t think they enjoyed being here and would act like small puppy dogs once they brought them home? Henry wasn’t sure considering the way so many of them spoke to their purchased goods while leaving the store, all while ignoring their screaming and crying with soft coos and laughter. Maybe they were all sadists and didn’t care. It sure seemed like they didn’t.

His least favorite was the obnoxious teenagers that would come in, pick up and touch every single one of them, taking photos, tapping the glass, and being generally insufferable. A week or so ago a group of them came in and tried to get Henry’s attention. When he didn’t react to whatever they were doing, one of them grabbed the edges of the cage and started shaking it. 

But luckily, he didn’t have to deal with that now that he barely had any energy to move. Now that he was weak and unresponsive, he wasn’t entertaining anymore. Safe to say, Henry knew that they knew that he didn’t have much time left. On particularly desperate days he considered begging one of them to take him with them. He could try to perform his role as a souvenir if it meant getting out of there and maybe getting a shot at living life. But how good of a life was he really going to live if this was the standard?

Henry was pulled out of his thoughts as the shop owner walked by. He looked down at him with a scowl, eyebrows knit together as he picked up the full food bowl inside of the cage. He sighed in annoyance and walked away with it, presumably going to throw away the old pellets and replace them with new ones. Not that it mattered in Henry’s eyes. They were always dry and disgusting, and he wasn’t eating any longer.

He looked around the store, since his cage was placed at the very back he had a comfortable view of the entire thing. Despite being only one room, it was huge from his perspective, larger than a big football arena. Today seemed slower than usual. There were barely any customers. Three to be exact. A couple looking at some novelty junk, and a man at the end of the store. Was it a man? Henry wasn’t quite sure about alien biology, especially considering none of them looked to be the same species. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen that type of alien before. He kept a small list in his head to pass the time, and there were a couple of regularly reoccurring species that came through, some of the less common ones, and then there were wildcards like the man in the back.

His skin was dark, and he had large pointed ears. His eyes were sharp and yellow, and unlike the store owner and most of the regular aliens, his eyes sat at the front of his face, rather than the sides, just like Henry himself. It’s funny. He almost looked a little human if it weren’t for some of his more alien-esque features. From where Henry was sitting, he actually didn’t look half bad for a horrifying gigantic alien. His eyes seemed so cold and hyper-focused… And that’s when Henry realized, much to his horror, that the giant had been eyeing him, staring at him intensely. And Henry had been staring back.

He quickly averted his gaze, feeling his heart skip a beat as a small dose of adrenaline rushed through his veins for the first time in what felt like forever. That was… Weird. Why did he react like that? He didn’t think he had the energy to fear these creatures any longer. But something about him was making Henry nervous. Really nervous. Maybe it was the aliens' new and darker appearance. Maybe it was the way he seemed taller than most of the other aliens he had encountered. Maybe it was that cold stare… Or maybe it was the fact that forward-facing eyes only belonged to predators. Henry didn’t know. But something about him didn’t feel right. He turned to glance back at him only to bite his tongue and let out a muffled yelp as the alien now towered over his cage. Somehow, in the span of a couple of seconds, he had walked from the back of the store all the way to the cage in the front. 

His eyes seemed to drill into Henry as he looked and inspected him. Henry had an even better look at his face from this angle. He could see that the alien looked more reptile-like than most, having two small slotted holes where his nose should be and his pupils were narrow slits rather than round balls like humans had. Henry looked up at him with his tired eyes. Usually, he would look away and be unresponsive to disinterest whatever customer had their eyes on him, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the alien. 

He must’ve looked so pathetic. Small, and exhausted. Having to lean up against a corner to keep himself up. He hadn’t looked in the mirror in quite a while but he could only imagine how messy his hair must’ve been, how heavy the eyebags under his eyes must’ve gotten, and he didn’t even want to think about how pale and delicate he must’ve looked with how little he had been eating. For whatever reason, Henry felt ashamed. Like he was falling short under the judging eyes staring down at him.

Suddenly, Henry caught the slightest twitch of one of the aliens' long ears. He could see his eyes widen slightly for just a second, before he quickly walked off to a nearby shelf, looking at the different merchandise. It was only then that Henry picked up on the footsteps approaching his cage. He could see the store owner walking out with a new bowl of kibble and a basket of cleaning supplies. It was time for him to clean the cage. Henry prepared himself mentally as the store owner reached into the cage and pulled him out. The feeling of his leathery hands enveloping his tiny body made his skin crawl. Luckily it didn’t last long since the store owner quickly set him down into a separate open plastic box on the register counter. He then turned around to the cage and began the process of cleaning it. 

Just then, Henry saw the couple leave the shop and the reptilian man turned back around and faced him. He looked back to the shop owner, who had just emptied all the wood shavings and was scrubbing the cage clean, before looking back at Henry. After a few seconds, he swiftly approached the plastic container. It was truly impressive to see just how swift and soundless he was when he walked. Henry looked up at him with uncertainty and a small frown, and he swore he could see the man’s eyes soften just a little bit. He was lying on his side, too weak and shaky to try and crawl away from the descending hand that soon covered his entire vision. His breath hitched slightly when he felt the surprisingly soft fingers gingerly wrap around his sides before pulling him up and out of the plastic container. 

He didn’t know if this alien was extremely confident in his ability to go unnoticed or if he was just stupid, stealing a human mere feet away from the store owner. He debated making any sort of noise, but at this point, he honestly couldn’t be bothered by what would happen to him. He could die at the hands of a mysterious stranger or in a glass pet cage… One of those felt at least more dignified and less pathetic, and it also came with the possibility of not dying, depending on this alien’s intentions.

He felt the warmth of the man’s hand envelop him, between that and the soft padded insides of the jacket pocket he was placed into, this was the most comfort he’d been provided with for weeks. He could feel the giant shift around, probably walking to exit the store. He was afforded a small window to the outside world through the pocket opening, and could see some of the other shitty products that lined the store walls as they walked out. However, his sight was robbed of him as the alien's hand once again blocked his view. Henry tensed up as it got closer, only to feel it gently cover him. At first, he was confused until he heard that voice he had despised for weeks.

“Have a great day, we hope to see you again soon!” It was so loud and near. They were walking past the store owner. Henry tensed up as he realized this, and the giant could probably tell since he started to stroke his back with his thumb oh so gently. Henry couldn’t help but melt into the touch. By all means, he should be terrified. He had just been kidnapped… again. But is it really kidnapping if you get kidnapped away from a kidnapper??? Or would that be more of a rescue? Henry supposed it all had to do with the giant's intentions. He could be planning to torture and kill him for all he knew. But right now in this moment, he was handling him like he was the most delicate thing in the world, and that tenderness was something Henry needed desperately after three whole weeks of rough manhandling.

“Have a good day to you as well.” The giant spoke, Henry felt his breath hitch again as his heart skipped a beat. His voice was deep and velvety, he swore he could almost feel the base all the way down from his pocket. He felt the alien speed up a little once they were out of the store. He had stopped stroking Henry’s back and was now speed-walking somewhere. After a short while he sped up further, breaking into a jog. Henry let out a small yelp as the hand now enveloped him, still careful but holding him in place. It wasn’t before long that he could hear the sound of a mechanical whirring followed by air pressure and steam release, most likely a spaceship door opening. Henry’s suspicions were confirmed when he felt them walk upwards, probably on a ramp. He could see some hints of LED lights peeking through the gaps in the pocket opening and soon enough he was pulled out. 

Henry was set down in what appears to be the ship cup holder. The alien was using both hands to tap on buttons and pull levers that Henry could not begin to understand. Soon enough, the ship engine roared, and with the slow and precise pull on what appeared to be the startup leaver, the ship started taking off. Henry let out a small noise of displeasure when the alien suddenly covered the cup holder with his palm. However, Henry was thankful for it when only a mere second later, after pressing a button, the ship blasted off as if instantly and Henry’s body jerked backward. He probably would have fallen out of the cup had he not been covered. 

The ship soon smoothed out into an unnoticeable yet fast speed. The alien slowly uncovered said cup holder and placed his hand on the wheel. Henry looked up at the giant and fiddled with his fingers. They were alone now… What should he do? Should he say hi? Why was this so awkward all of a sudden?!

The air was tense as none of them seemed willing to make the first move… The reality of what had just happened was starting to settle into Henry. Had he just left the safety of the store for some stranger? Dread started to seep into his stomach as he wondered what this giant was possibly planning to do with him. 

Said Giant soon pressed another button on the spaceship panel before turning to look at Henry. He could probably see just how scared Henry was, considering his eyes once again softened just a little too much.

“Hey…” He spoke, and it shook Henry to his core. Just then, sitting curled up in the cup holder, having this gigantic alien looming over him after having taken him so effortlessly, Henry felt truly small. Almost insignificant. As if nothing he could say, do, or think was worth anything. He remembered when he thought he was on top of it all, that there wasn’t any predator that could harm him as long as he remained smart, only to find out that he was deemed as so uínsignificant that he was sold as a fucking novelty product… The alien above him could crush and dispose of him within a second, like how he would trap and dispose of mice and vermin that invaded his home back on Earth. He wondered if this was how they felt moments before he handed them over to the local pest control. His heart wept for them, for now, he knew just how it felt to be small.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as the giant slowly reached out and started stroking his arm with the back of his finger. Henry looked into his eyes only to see none of the previous sharpness, but rather nothing than affection and softness. “You’re okay… It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m not gonna hurt you, alright?” 

…

Looking down at the tiny human sitting in his cup holder, it was evident that he was terrified. The poor thing was shaking, and his eyes were wide as pinpricks. He hadn’t done this in quite some time, not since he was a teenager. And even though it was a little messed up, seeing the shivering tiny almost brought Kazurix some sort of nostalgia. Most if not all of them reacted this way initially. And in the less extreme cases, Kazurix thought their little shaking forms were quite cute. 

He continued to stroke to the little guys arm as gently as he could. The human was curled up, but it was quite clear he didn't have the strength to curl up completely. Just how malnourished was he? It was evident from his sickly appearance that he, like most humans, hadn’t been taken care of very well. His skin was pale, eyes tired, and his blonde hair was tangled and matted. As soon as he’d calmed the human down, he’d get something to eat. They’d have to start slow, with some liquid food to not overwhelm his stomach, but after that, they’d gradually be able to make their way into actual food. It’s a good thing Kazurix always kept liquid food on him. As much as he told himself he’d stop doing this, he always kept some emergency rescue supplies.

He looked down at the trembling human. He didn’t seem to be rejecting the physical touch. That was a good sign. But he wasn’t responding either. The alien took a deep breath and tried something a little more direct.

”What’s your name?” He asked, prompting the little human to speak. He had to show that he wasn’t a threat to him. He could see his eyebrows knit together as he processed the question. He seemed hesitant for a few seconds, but Kazurix remained patient.

“…H-Henry…” The tiny squeaked out. Kazurix's heart almost melted. He had forgotten just how attached he got to these guys. He smiled softly, being careful not to show his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Henry.” He spoke, continuing to stroke Henry’s arm. “My name is Kazurix. But you can call me Kazu if the full name is too hard to pronounce.” The way he said his full name wasn’t even really how you said it, he had to simplify the phonemes a lot since most humans couldn’t pronounce it. Henry nodded at him. Every movement he made seemed to take so much effort on his part. 

“Do you want something to eat? I have some nutrient paste that should give you some energy back without being too much for your stomach to handle.” He reassured him, standing up from his seat. His ear twitched as he picked up on the small gasp that had escaped the human once he stood up. He crouched down in front of the cup holder to be a little more on the human’s level, while still keeping a little bit of a distance from him to give him some space.

“I… I-I…” The human, Henry, started before resorting to a simple nod. Kazurix nodded back at him.

“Alright. I’m going to pick you up now. I’ll be careful.” He warned before snaking his hands underneath and behind the human. He gingerly scooped the tiny one up into his palms. He was lying there, looking up at Kazurix with those big eyes. At least they weren’t as wide as before. Now they were back to those tired, sad doe eyes that had single-handedly convinced Kazurix to take the human with him. He walked over to the small kitchen space on the ship and put Henry on the counter. He propped him up against the wall, ensuring he wouldn’t fall to either side. Then he opened the cooling box and searched around for the nutrient paste. He wasn’t sure where it was since he hadn’t had to use it in so long. It was a good thing they lasted so long…

Finally, he found the tube. He pulled it out. It was supposed to taste sweet. He hoped it did. Kazurix squeezed out a small dollop of the paste onto one of the small capsules left over from a bottle he’d thrown away, creating a small makeshift plate for the human so he didn’t have to be hand-fed. He watched as Henry cautiously inspected the food before looking up at him.

“I don’t have anything you could use as a spoon.” The human's eyes widened only a little before he shook his head.

“O-Oh! N-No, it’s okay! I- Uhm-“ He took a shaky breath before reaching his shaky hand up. “I wasn’t expecting any utensils… I wasn’t even expecting any food at all.” Once he was handed the capsule he looked away. “Thank you…” Kazurix smiled.

“You’re welcome.” He was once again reminded of why he did this so much. Most of them took a while to warm up to him, but once they did they were so sweet. He had nursed his fair share of humans back to health. Some of them were incredibly grateful, and some of them were reluctantly so. There were of course the poor humans who were so traumatized that they sadly never let their guard down around him, even after he proved himself as a non-threat. But he nonetheless cared for each and every one of them… Although, he was surprised as to how willing Henry had seemed to be. Usually, they were a lot more hesitant and afraid in the beginning, and while he was both of those things, Henry still thanked Kazurix politely and didn’t put up a fight as he was picked up… He knew there was something about him the second he walked into that store.

He hadn’t expected to rescue a human today, but fate was a funny thing. He had flown his sister and her girlfriend to the intergalactic travel center since the two of them were going on a little trip together. He knew he would’ve run into one of those tourist shops eventually. It was inevitable at such a crossroads of different alien cultures and species, but his heart still dropped when he saw one. He figured they must’ve shut down the human souvenir section, right? The last time he rescued one of them was years ago, it had to have become outdated at this point, right? But alas, walking into the shop he was immediately greeted by a glass cage with a tiny human inside of it. His heart broke for the poor guy, leaned up into a corner of the cage and breathing shallowly. Two people were looking down at him and discussing him, so he took that time to slink past them and into the back of the store. It wasn’t too far away from the cage since the store was quite small and narrow. That was bad.

He preferred to do rescues in larger stores, especially ones where the human section was tucked away between shelves and not out in the open. As the two left to look at some cheap garbage in the store, Kazurix wondered if he even could rescue this tiny. The store owner walked out to grab the bowl of food from the cage. It was full, meaning the human hadn’t eaten. Not that it wasn’t obvious given how scrawny he was… 

Just as he was about to call it quits and leave, the human made eye contact with him. Kazurix’s species were known for their enhanced senses - There was a reason that despite having been found out multiple times while in the middle of a rescue, Kazurix had never been caught. Some would even go as far as to say he was an apex predator of sorts, but Kazurix didn’t agree. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to assume there weren't bigger fish out there… However, his enhanced eyesight helped him see all the details of the tinies face even from so far away. He looked tired, exhausted even, and he was indeed looking at Kazurix. His eyes were sad and round, he wondered how much life had previously been filled within them, only to be stripped away by forces out of his control.

Just then, those eyes widened and the tiny looked away. That was it. Kazurix didn’t care if he got in trouble, or if this was as far away from the ideal rescue circumstances as possible, or if the tiny seemed to be one day away from death. He was going to save him… He was going to give him at least one last day of comfort.

Walking up to the cage, Kazurix could take in even more details of the pocket-sized man. He was dressed in a loose T-shirt and shorts. Probably unisized ones that the shop provided all the humans with. He was wearing a cheaper model of the universal translator collar. That was unusual for a shop this small, but convenient for Kazurix since he didn’t have to worry about how to non-verbally explain what was going on to the human once they were out of there. Then, the human looked back only to yelp at the sudden appearance of Kazurix. Sometimes he could forget how light on his feet he was despite his size. It had always come so naturally to him, but apparently, some aliens thought it was freaky. He had to stop himself from laughing when he heard the small sound that escaped the human. He kept examining him, about to reach in and take him when he heard the footsteps of the owner. He had to wait for another opening. 

He quickly walked to a nearby shelf, pretending to look at whatever junk they were selling. He could hear slight shuffling behind him, and once he heard the scooping of wooden chips he turned to the shop owner. He was cleaning out the cage… Looking around, he quickly found the human on the register counter. He crept over to him, being kept in a small plastic box. His heart broke when he saw just how powerless the little one was, lying on his side with a frown. Without hesitation, Kazurix reached into the box and picked the human up. That’s when he felt just how truly small he was. He had forgotten the tender feeling of holding someone smaller than your index finger, of just how utterly helpless they were to anything and anyone bigger than them, which was just about everyone. And that’s why he needed to do this.

The little guy didn’t even put up a fight. He was lying limply in his hand as he gently stuffed him into his open pocket. Walking by the store owner, Kazurix shielded the tiny using his hand. When the store owner spoke up and politely said goodbye to him, he could feel the poor human tense up in his pocket. He started stroking the little one tenderly, hoping to calm him down as he responded to the store owner, and quickly making his way out before he got busted. 

Everything was so unplanned and happened so fast, and looking back at it, it was a miracle that they weren’t caught. Kazurix was snapped back into reality when he heard Henry call out to him.

“Hello? Uhm… K…Karu?” He asked. Kazurix looked back down at him, eyes now focused. He could see how the human seemed to squirm under his gaze. “Could I get some more food?” He seemed almost afraid to ask. Kazurix smiled down at him, squeezing out another dollop on the small makeshift plate.

“Of course… And,” he chuckled slightly, “it’s Kazu.” He smiled, but the human’s face seemed to pale at his correction.

“O-Oh! I-I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-“ Henry scrambled to explain himself. Kazurix simply smirked in amusement. Something about this tinie's nervousness was so charming to him… 

“It’s no big deal.” He stated simply as he went back to stroking Henry’s tiny back with his finger. “Close enough. Don’t be nervous.” He smiled. The tiny paused, looking up at him hesitantly.

“…Why are you doing this?” He asked in a quiet voice, almost a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“Why did you take me? Wh-What are you going to do with me?” Kazurix could see the anxiety building up behind those eyes of his.

“…You looked so weak, and sad. I couldn’t just stand by without doing something.” He said. It was true if only a little simplified. Henry looked away, down at the pale brown paste dollop in front of him.

“…I want to go home.” His voice cracked, and Kazurix’s smile fell in an instant.

“…I know. Earth is… Quite far away from us.” He admitted, unsure if he could even get to earth from where they were right now. Not that he was going to tell Henry that. The human turned his face to the opposite side of Kazurix, but he managed to catch a glimpse of how glossy his eyes had gotten. Poor thing… He wouldn’t blame him if he broke down right now, considering all he went through.

“Hey?” Kazurix said softly. “Let me tell you something.” He moved a little closer. “I’ll get you to Earth… Okay? I promise.” The tiny human turned his head back, and Kazurix could see the small drops of tears that had built up in his eyes.

“You will?” Henry asked. Kazurix got a little closer once more.

“I will…” He reached his hand forward, extending his pinkie finger. “As soon as you feel better, I’ll take you to your home. I promise to protect you and escort you if you’ll have me as your travel companion?” He flashed the human a tender smile. Henry looked away, but this time, Kazurix could see the slight blush that spread to his ears. He couldn’t help but chuckle as the human grabbed his finger and shook it.

“Y-Yeah… That sounds nice.” He picked the paste back up and went back to eating, not before muttering a small and meek: “Thank you…”

And so it was decided. Kazurix was going to help Henry back to earth, a venture that would probably take them months… But he wasn’t about to drop that on Henry right now. He’s had a draining day as is. Although Kazurix was a little ashamed to admit it, he was almost a little happy that the journey would take a while. He’d be happy to get to know Henry more, and what’s a better way to get to know each other than a couple of months in space? He was sure they could make a couple of stops on the way so Kazurix could show off some fun places to Henry. He wouldn’t exactly be able to see them once he was dropped off on Earth anyway. He wouldn’t let anything happen to him while they were enjoying themselves.

“Of course. It’s my pleasure… Henry.” His name rolled nicely off his tongue. It’s been a hot minute since he’s last pronounced a human name. He would no doubt say it a lot more from now on.

Oh, he could tell this was going to be a fun experience.

[soovermyself]

For two people who did a one year marriage course in 6 months when they first started dating because they wanted to make sure in a year this is what they wanted in the long run for an article to come out and say “they grew apart” “better off as friends” “romance fizzled” is just kind of laughable to me.

The whole reason Sophia said Grant signed them up was to make sure that going into this relationship is what both of them wanted. Meaning, values aligned, views aligned, hopes and goals aligned. They would not have continued the relationship if the extensive course reviled any of those issues. So I do not buy for one minute the “romance fizzled”. Or better yet, Sophia is returning to a familiar pattern of her long-term relationships only lasting 1-3 years and realized that the marriage was maybe what she wanted but didn’t want it in the short time frame that it took place? Their wedding planner said they were planning the wedding for a year and a half! Meaning a full six months before they got engaged, they were planning it.

I honestly believed and please don’t get upset with this, Sophia felt that moving forward he would hangout with his group of friends and people that she really didn’t get to see much because of Covid and she didn’t approve of it. she didn’t like the person he turned into around a certain group of friends. Home girl is very controlling in the sense that it needs to be her friends (regardless if they have a lot of mutual friends, she tends to stick to her group vs any sort of partner she’s ever had friends group minus a few here and there).

What also doesn’t sit right with me is the whole moving every partner she’s ever had into the treehouse. It’s got to be hard to basically be told “this is where we are living regardless of what property you may have. You’re going to help pay the bills on a property I’ve owned for 20 years”. It’s very me me me. He makes the sacrifices, he makes the changes. It just seems like a bunch of stuff they would have realized in that marriage course they brushed under the rug to make their idea of this relationship work.

Maybe that coach needs to be fired, Idk?! But I think the main thing we need to look at here is the circumstances. When they did that whole thing, they were in their whole “covid bubble”. It was all love, rainbows and unicorns. And honestly, that bubble lasted at least until the very end of 2022, bc while S did some small projects here and there, she actually said she told her team she wouldn’t take on any big project late last year because she wanted to be home with Grant. She was actually offered 2:22 before but she turned it down first. I think in the end, they just got caught up by the real world. Yes, they did the marriage prep classes and maybe everything aligned then, but again, it was a whole different world back then. Everyone thought they were dying 🤣, no one knew when or if we were ever going back to normal so it’s highly possible that what was said then made all the sense to them and but now, maybe they just don’t have the same priorities. I think it’s pretty obvious Grant wants to work on his wine business and make it grow and Sophia has been making it pretty clear recently that she’s got babies on the brain. People change.

As for the friends, I’ve already discussed that part, so I don’t feel like repeating it. And for the treehouse, I mean have you seen the place?! There is no way, I would sell the place or move into another place (especially not a bachelor pad) tbh. It’s gorgeous.

[floormasterus]

An Evaluative Guide About Hardwood Floor Cleaning In Kingsland, TX

Regular maintenance is imperative to the luster and longevity of hardwood floors. It is very vital to maintain a uniform cleaning schedule in Kingsland, TX, where your flooring can be affected by fluctuating weather. Dust, dirt, and filth can scratch hardwood surfaces, making them lose their shine and texture, so having a cleaning regime will help keep them as beautiful as they were before. In this post, we will talk about Hardwood Floor Cleaning in Kingsland, TX.

How are the hardwood floors cleaned?

Maintaining daily

To maintain your home in good condition, you should choose simple cleaning tools such as a dry mop or a soft-bristle broom. This will assist in eliminating dust particles and tiny debris which may scratch the surface. Moreover, microfiber mops are recommended for high traffic places to make sure that they are thoroughly cleaned without harming their finishes.

Cleaning weekly

Weekly cleaning routines must include mopping with a damp mop and a cleaner that is specially made for hardwood floors. Avoid putting too much water on the floor since it may permeate through the wood and cause destruction. Use pH balanced cleaners that are soft on wood but remove dirt efficiently.

Deep cleaning monthly

At some point, every calendar month, invest time into much deeper cleansing. Use a cleaner for the hardwood floor that will go according to your finish. Furthermore, heed the instructions from its manufacturer so as not to cause any possible damage. This is also the best time to examine your floors for any signs of wear or damage.

Spills and stain cleaning

When accidents happen, it is important to take quick steps to avoid stains. It is best to use a clean dry cloth to blot spills on the affected area. Avoid rubbing, which may cause further spread of the stain. Tougher stains will require cleaners designed for hardwood floors, followed up by a damp cloth.

Professional hardwood floor cleaning services

Regular cleansing is important, however, professional services may be withheld as another alternative. Kingsland, TX, providers of local specialized cleaning solutions able to handle deep stains, floor polish, or maintenance problems. They use commercial equipment along with products that enhance wooden floor durability and look. The experts of the Water Damage Restoration in Kingsland, TX are 100% professional and never disappoint you with their services.

Tips to maintain the hardwood floors

To extend the life of your hardwood flooring, use felt pads on the bottom of furniture to prevent scratching and lay down area rugs in high-traffic areas. Also, maintain a controlled environment for the floors: Avoid excessive humidity and direct sunlight that may cause warping and fading. There is a professional in the service station of Fire Damage Restoration in Kingsland, TX, who advises this particular thing to most of the customers.

Conclusion

Hardwood floor cleaning requires you to put together various daily, weekly, or monthly assignments that will enable you to maintain the beauty of the floors. Routine maintenance paired with professional touch-ups occasionally ensures that the money you used to buy your hardwood doesn’t go down the drain and remains an attractive and useful section of your house for many years.

[getyourhomedecor]

What Destroys Vinyl Plank Flooring?

Trends in fashion continually resurface. It holds true for apparel as well: due to its comfort and attractiveness, brightly coloured sportswear that gained popularity in the 1980s has once again captivated our hearts. Vinyl flooring is one example of a home decor trend that follows a similar pattern. Many homeowners find it to be an appealing alternative due to its affordability, extensive design selection, and durability. However, installing LVP is an expensive investment, just like installing any other type of flooring, so you want to make the most of it and safeguard your money. If you want to buy floor vinyl, hallway flooring, waterproof bathroom flooring, etc., visit Vinyl Flooring UK.

How to Prevent Heavy Furniture from Damaging Your Vinyl Flooring:

The majority of vinyl flooring damage is caused by furniture. Vinyl is more prone to scratches, scuffs, and dents than hardwood because it is softer. For homeowners, this might be inconvenient because furniture cannot simply be removed from the residence.

Fortunately, there are a number of actions you can do to mitigate the effects of large furniture. Your vinyl flooring should have an amazing lifespan free from significant harm if these suggestions are adhered to diligently.

1. Invest in furniture pads:

The most common way that furniture can harm your luxurious vinyl flooring is through its legs. This is a result of the piece's entire weight being distributed over four tiny points of contact. The flooring may be subjected to extreme pressure from these areas.

Investing in furniture pads to place beneath the legs is one of the most proactive things you can do. In addition to helping to distribute the weight, these pads save the inflexible legs from scraping the floor. Note that rubber furniture pads are not recommended for use with luxury vinyl flooring due to the possibility of vinyl discoloration. Choose cotton or felt pads instead of abrasive ones because they won't discolour.

2. Make Use of Area Rugs:

Area rugs are an excellent universal fix that simultaneously addresses several heavy furniture problems. You can just use a rug in place of thinking about what kind of furniture pad to use and making sure they stay on.

Rugs readily draw attention to the grain and character of your vinyl flooring and look great under big furniture items like couches. They can be positioned in every area of the house where heavy objects could potentially damage the flooring unexpectedly. Rugs can also be used in locations with a lot of foot activity where shoe debris could potentially harm or scuff the floor.

3. Utilize Furniture Glides:

Furniture glides work similarly to furniture pads, however they are a little more durable than a stick-on felt pad. To ensure a stable installation, glides have a metal pin that is driven into the furniture's hardwood leg. As you won't have to keep checking to see if it's come undone from the furniture, this can be really advantageous. Stick-on pads continue to raise this kind of issue.

With furniture glides, you may move the furniture around a lot without having to worry about scraping. If you frequently move your living spaces, this is helpful. To prevent stains on your luxury vinyl flooring, it's crucial to get furniture pads or other non-rubber items.

How to Prevent Damage to Your Vinyl Floors

1. Ensure that daily maintenance is done properly:

As with any commercial flooring, you need to maintain daily cleaning and upkeep to prevent dirt and grime accumulation on your luxury vinyl flooring.

Spills should be cleaned up every once to prevent stains on the vinyl and seepage into the flooring. Maintaining your flooring on a daily basis is essential to keeping it looking new and opulent for extended periods of time.

2. Use walk-off floor mats to prevent dirt from entering:

The quantity of dirt and debris that people's shoes track in from the outside, particularly in areas where people are coming and going, could surprise you. This filth will eventually discolour your vinyl floors, giving the impression that they are older than they actually are.

Installing door mats on either side of the entrance and exit doors will prevent individuals from bringing dirt from the outside into the building and prematurely ageing your flooring and dulling their sheen.

3. Be gentle in your approach:

Use caution while using cleaning agents, instruments, and mopping techniques on vinyl flooring. To maintain the floor looking nice and in good shape, always clean carefully.

-To get rid of loose dirt, sweep or hoover as often as necessary (do not use strong beaters).

-Use a pH-neutral, non-abrasive "no-rinse" floor cleaner to clean the floor.

-Use microfiber mops, fresh water, and be careful not to flood the floor when damp mopping.

4. Put furniture pads in place:

One of the biggest causes of luxury vinyl floor tile destruction is heavy furniture and business appliances being dragged around. Whether furniture is lifted appropriately or dragged over the floor, leaving unsightly scrapes and marks, is beyond your control when things need to be relocated.

Prevent scratches on your floor from ever happening in the first place to spare yourself the headache of having to fix them. Make sure all furniture and equipment, such as water coolers, vending machines, and refrigerators, have their legs covered with a protective furniture pad to save your flooring and preserve their sheen.

Safeguarding Your Vinyl Floor During Heavy Furniture Moves:

There's a good chance moving furniture may scratch your floors. Because furniture is heavy, mishaps might occur when moving it, frequently resulting in damage to your luxurious vinyl flooring. When moving furniture, it's a good idea to always elevate it completely off the ground. Get some family or friends to assist you to make sure you're not just sliding it across the floor. Grinds and scratches are common consequences of sliding.

Use runners or floor protectors in high-traffic areas of your house while bringing in and taking out a lot of stuff. This prevents debris from penetrating the floor. Use a dolly on big appliances to prevent dropping and breaking them.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Old and New

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Requested by @futuremrsmalfoy20 : “Draco buys you a kitten fluff”

Summary: When you return home from work, Draco has a surprise waiting for you.

Warnings: loss of a pet, mild angst, fluff, kisses

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet request!

Draco Malfoy was never a fan of cats, or any kind of animal for that matter. He didn’t grow up with household pets, save for his owl, but even then he wasn’t too fond of the feathered creature. He didn’t dislike them, not really, he rather was indifferent. However, you on the other hand were the complete opposite.

You had had a cat once before, finding a feline more preferable rather than the traditional owl that most students had selected for themselves. She was a fluffy black cat with miscellaneous splotches of white, striking and round green eyes that were far too adorable for you to ignore. Her name was Ophelia and she was wonderfully sweet, not a minute going by in her presence without her nudging you affectionately.

She accompanied you throughout your years of magical endeavors at Hogwarts until seventh year, and you made the decision to bring her home to your parents before the war had begun in full force. You had loved her far too dearly to risk the potential of putting her in harm’s way, she was your home away from home.

Since then, she had lived her days and nights in the blissful environment of your parents house, and you were quite sure you’d never seen her more content in an environment in your life. Always tucked away in the most unconventional of places whether it be the garden, the top shelf of your closet, or even nestled between the thick tree roots on the edge of the property. It was there where she had lived her life most contently, and you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

—

You sigh tiredly upon finally seeing your beloved home, smiling at the sight of the little yellow car parked on the mossy cobblestone driveway. As if it weren’t already obvious that Draco had gotten home before you, the smoke puffing out of the lone chimney and the warm glow in the frosted windows were more than enough indication. You pushed open the creaky wrought iron gate without hesitation, the sound only accentuated by the drizzling rain pattering down.

Rushing up the stone path to your front door, you push it open and escape from the rain. The warmth you were met with was immediate upon your entrance, as was the ever familiar scent of cinnamon and sugar, a hint of coffee mixed in. Your soft smile never faltered as you shrugged off your rain dampened jacket, slipping it on the copper hook just inside the door next to Draco’s.

“Love?” An ever so familiar voice called out, one that felt even more like home than that of the building the two of you claimed as your own just a year and a half ago.

You stepped out of your shoes and set them on the welcome rug, Draco appearing shortly after to see if it’d really been you. His hair was a mess from what it once neatly was before he left for work earlier that morning, the inclement weather having brought out waves of platinum. His smile was nothing short of adoring when he caught sight of you, and you barely had time to set down your keys before his hands settled on your flushed cheeks. His lips were soft against yours as he kissed you, the expected taste of coffee and cream lingering on his lips. His hands are cooled against your heated skin, but the shiver running through you was of no importance at that moment.

“Hi darling,” he manages when he brings himself to part from you, though he hadn’t strayed too far as his nose brushed against yours.

“Hey,” you sigh, his kiss nearly making you a fool no matter how short it may have been.

He tucked your hair behind your ear tenderly, the tips of his fingers tracing along your skin before traveling down your arm to grasp your hand. No matter how hard he tried, which hadn’t been very much, he finds himself capturing your lips once more in another kiss. You were far too irresistible for him not to bask in your affections.

“How was work?” He mumbles against your lips, squeezing your hands.

“Quite busy for a bookshop in the middle of the only wizarding town in the area. Peculiar isn’t it?” You respond, a laugh leaving your lips when his arms circle around your waist and press you to him in an embrace.

“Indeed,” he agrees quietly, kissing your cheek before his lips ghost across your neck and just under your ear warmly. You had to stop yourself from all but squealing at the very sensation tickling over your skin though a giggle does escape you.

“What’s got you so smiley?” You inquire, brow raised in curious amusement as you push back to look at him.

“What, can’t I be overjoyed that the love of my life has come home? Forgive me, darling,” he says in faux offense, his smile still very there regardless.

You roll your eyes, allowing yourself to fully look at him for the first time you’d gotten home just minutes ago. His cheeks were a bit flushed from what you assumed was the chilly weather, that and the feeling of your kisses had brought it out of him. His icy hair had been dipping over his forehead, covering over dark brows and tangling with even darker lashes. The grin on his kiss swollen lips had been very apparent the moment you saw him, faltering only slightly when he was busy casting his affections on you in greeting. A thick, black sweater hung from his shoulders, tattered and torn around the edges from constant use when he hadn’t needed to dress so formally for St. Mungo’s. Though you couldn’t help but to notice the extra runs and pulls in the soft yarn.

“Perhaps I will if you let me change out of these clothes,” you say, reluctantly leaving his loose grasp. “It is raining after all.”

A flurry of panicked emotions had crossed over his face in that very moment, his eyes widening a fraction as you step farther from him and closer to the stairway. Your brows furrow slightly at his sudden change in attitude, watching as his hand flies up to scratch at the back of his neck. When you turn away once more you’re quick to feel his hand envelope yours, effectively stealing your attention away from the task at hand briefly. As you open your mouth to speak, he beats you to it.

“I’ve already put your clothes in the dryer so they’d be warm for you, they’re in the laundry room,” he rushes, and his words are far too quick for you not to be even a little suspicious of it. “It’s that sweater of mine that you like, you know—the green one?”

He draws you closer as he speaks, noting the way your eyes squint in disbelief. Draco may have been good in the area of deception to just about anyone else, anyone but you. Not with the way his hand came to rest on your cheek, and how his thumb brushed over your skin. Certainly not with the way his bout of kisses resumed, blossoming over bare patches of skin. His valiant attempts to hold your attention had been working, but only for a few fleeting moments.

“And what if I wanted the maroon one?” You jest with a teasing smile, and with his moment of distraction you slip from his arms and make your way back to the stairs.

He finds himself at a loss for words as his panic builds with every bit of distance between you, and all he can do is follow behind and desperately try to find something else to say. When he comes up terribly short, he accepts his fate with a defeated huff.

“Darling wait!” He manages when you twist the doorknob, entering the cozy bedroom.

His face scrunches in a wince at the sight before you both, unsure of just how you’d react. For a small kitten lay curled up in a fluffy ball of snowy white fur, tucked and nuzzled into heaps of his old quidditch sweater. The small animal was seemingly unbothered by the newfound commotion that had entered the room, instead basking in the warmth of the deep green yarn. You even took notice to the lilac-colored collar fitted loosely around its neck, a small silver bell dangling from it.

You spun on your heel to face him with a raised brow, a soft smile fighting to tug at your lips and soon you couldn’t hide it. You were baffled more than anything. Draco’s cheeks were a noticeable blush pink as he offered you a hesitant smile, still looking rather panicked. “What’s this all about?”

He swallows thickly, his fingers running over his jaw in a nervous habit. “She’s…she’s ours.”

It took you a moment to process it as Draco shuffled around you, leaving you to look at the empty spot he once stood in for a brief few seconds before following where he’d walked. He scooped up the small animal with a certain gentleness that made your heart flutter in your chest, and she stretched tiredly against him. Her yawn had showcased perhaps the tiniest fangs you’d ever seen, the soft pink pads of her feet pressing to his chest.

“What do you mean?” You were still quite dumbfounded at the sudden news, your gaze flickering between the kitten cradled happily in his hands and to his hopeful face that you wouldn’t be mad at him.

“I uh…I adopted her,” he says with a nervous laugh as he looks down at her, a small meow escaping her mouth at the sound of his voice. “I know you’ve been missing Ophelia, love. And I know I’m not very fond of cats but I think I’m warming up to her, she seems to like me—”

His rambling is promptly cut off when she nips at his bottom lip, doing it again twice more before he settles her into his sweater on the bed again.

“Draco, I…”

“Have I upset you?” He asks, a myriad of emotions rushing through him that maybe you still weren’t ready for a new pet at that moment in time. “Love, I didn’t mean—”

“I love her,” you finally manage after he all but sputters apology after apology, a jittery laugh leaving you as your gaze moves to his. Your laugh only continued softly at the light swelling of his lip from where she had bit at him in a playful curiosity.

Now he was the one that had been baffled, dumbfounded. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard you correctly. “You do?”

You respond with the kiss you press on his lips, firm yet gentle as the shock you’d once been in begins to wear off and disappear completely. His persistent panic only settles then, his obvious tension relaxing as his arms snake around your waist and a sigh is breathed. You part from him only to kiss him yet again, your fingers brushing over his cheek as your smile becomes apparent. “I love her.”

The words are whispered in giddy excitement as your lips sweep across his own with soft touches, his hair brushing against your forehead in the close proximity. The exhale of his relief puffs against your skin as he kisses your cheek once, twice, even three times, your arms hugging around his neck. Your grip on him was on the verge of being too tight, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

You release him all too quickly in his opinion, but his inner complaints are quick to dissolve when he sees you grab the kitten gingerly. Her contented meow is instant in your gentle grasp, and you can’t help but kiss her tiny pink nose in a shower of affection.

All Draco could do was stand back to watch the happiness dance across your features, to listen to your delight laughs as you spoke ever so sweetly to the fluffy creature. He couldn’t help the way his heart had been hammering away in his chest at the very sight, the way his smile was unable to be controlled at the sheer excitement you held. It had diminished any last traces of worry and doubt he had that maybe it’d been too soon. That maybe it’d upset you and maybe you’d think he was expecting you to move on. Any and all fears that had plagued his mind on the subject were gone at the way you beamed.

In that moment he found he’d do just about anything to see you smile, to bring you happiness. He knows very well that he hasn’t always been the easiest person to love, far from it, he knows that his life and his prior choices have put you through more than he’d like to think about. For if he did dwell on it for too long, he’d certainly make himself miserable because it still vexes him that you could love him so fully, without hesitation. But if there had been one thing he knew with certainty, it’s that he’d go to the ends of the earth just to make you happy. He hadn’t known how he deserved you after everything, but he was determined to give you all that he could.

“Have you named her yet?” You ask, pulling him from his daze and back to you.

He was distracted for a mere moment, trying to piece together what you had said because he’d been too caught up in admiring you. “Well, I…I was thinking Ivory. I thought it would be rather cute since—what is it?”

The corner of your mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk, your brow raising. “And to think you hated cats.”

He scoffs as he rolls his eyes, looking away from you to stave off his reddening cheeks.

“I do not hate them, I just never particularly liked them,” he grumbles.

“That is so untrue!” You exclaim, his gaze turning to you again, “You nearly declared war when Filch’s cat clawed you, Draco. If I recall correctly, you even said—”

Your words were cut off by his lips, for he didn’t want to hear just how right you were because you always are. So he quieted you the best way he knew how. The giggle it elicited tumbled from your lips and sounded against his mouth, fading away the more he had kissed you. After all, he had to make sure you didn’t bring up just how insufferable he once was in his childhood. But what was once an attempt to distract you became more profoundly distracting to him as your lips had him spellbound.

“Ivory is cute,” you murmur softly with another tender kiss as she paws at your hair, “and so are you, Dray.”

Her little meows have pulled your focus from each other and directed it towards the kitten in your arms who so openly expressed her feelings. Draco took her from your hands and kissed her head, and it was then that your quiet laughter erupted. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say as you try to stifle it, earning a narrowed stare. “You two look alike is all.”

His gaze only hardens at you before he looks at her, her pale blue eyes and icy hair too obvious a comparison to himself. But he will never admit that to you, you’re having way too much fun with it as it is. “No, we don’t.”

Your joyous laughter sounds once more, bringing the softest of smiles to his face. “Whatever you say, my love.”

In that moment your heart was full, because now you had not one love but two. The gesture was wonderfully thoughtful and entirely what you felt you missed, and while nothing could replace your treasured Ophelia no matter how many years have passed, now you could appreciate the old and new.

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @awritingtree @harrysweasleys @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn​ @lunalovecroft​

[juniorgman187]

2 Truths & a Lie (Spencer Reid Imagine)

Summary: A game of “Strip 2 Truths and a Lie” helps heats things up between SSA Reader and Spencer. 

Prompt: “Ladies first.” Couple: Spencer Reid x Female Reader Category: Fluff Content Warning: Alcohol consumption, stripping  Word count: 3.5k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“Strip poker!” Garcia slurred. “Let’s play! Let’s play! Let’s play!” 

You had to interject. “No way! If Reid’s playing - I’m not. That’s so unfair.” 

Morgan agreed with you. “Yeah, I’m with Hot Stuff over here. He’s banned from three casinos for a reason.” 

All eyes turned to the aforementioned man, whose smug smile reached from ear to ear. “Fair enough. What can we play then?” He asked. 

It was your turn to scream like a giddy Garcia. “Two truths and a lie!” You jumped up from your seat on the floor. “It’s totally fair cause we’re all profilers here. So it’ll either show how good of a liar you are or show how good of a profiler you are.” 

“Excuse me, Girl Goddess. Need I remind you - I’m not a profiler.” Garcia butted in. 

JJ made a disapproving noise against the brim of her red solo cup. “Hey, hey, hey - you’re like the first to tell when someone’s hiding something.” 

Garcia simply smiled at this. “Ah, you’re right, Jayje.” 

So it was settled. You and the BAU were gonna play “Strip 2 Truths and a Lie.” 

But to make things a little more interesting, you changed up the rules.

The order the players would take turns went in a clockwise circle. Garcia, Morgan, Reid, you, Prentiss, and JJ. (Hotch and Rossi bailed last minute. Apparently, being invited to Garcia’s wasn’t an offer they couldn’t refuse.)

Instead of players guessing what the lie was and stopping once someone guessed correctly, you were all going to guess at the same time. Garcia took the liberty of handing each of your sticky notes and once the player said their two truths and one lie, you would write your guess on your post-it and put it in a pile for the “liar” to read. 

Then the “liar” would declare who was stripping based on who guessed incorrectly. And just for some more fun - the “liar” wouldn’t explicitly tell what the real lie was. You profilers would just have to use context clues to do that. 

Since each player was guessing on post-its, Garcia gave you each a different color to distinguish who guessed what. Granted, it was Garcia, so she had every shade of the rainbow. She gave herself the red, Reid got the orange, you got yellow, Prentiss - green, Morgan got blue. And JJ - purple. 

“I’m first!” Garcia sing-songily said. “Alright - I had a guinea pig named Cerulean when I was little . . . my mom knew how to juggle, andddd, OH! I lost my virginity to a guy I met online with the gamer tag ‘FastAndFurious79.” 

Morgan almost spat out the drink he was nursing from his shock at the last one. “Babygirl, you did what?!” The pitch of his voice sent the rest of you into a frenzy as you each wrote your guesses on your sticky note pads. 

You guessed the lie was the guinea pig. And using your peripherals, you saw that Prentiss thought the same. You folded your yellow sticky note and placed it in the center. Eventually, when the rainbow was complete, Garcia began reading them. “I hate you guys! It’s no fun being friends with profilers.” She pouted. 

“You lost your virginity to a guy with the gamertag ‘fast and furious?!” Morgan screeched. You and the team laughed so hard, your stomach started hurting.

The game continued for an entire round until it was Morgan’s second turn. 

“Alright, growing up my favorite movie was Kindergarten Cop . .  . um, I used to be a lifeguard, and my body count is higher than my age.” 

Reid was quick to jot down his answer, but you took a little time with yours.

“What’s the problem, Hot Stuff?” Morgan teased. 

“Mmm, I dunno. You’ve genuinely got me stumped on this one.” You admitted. Morgan just shot you that infomercial worthy grin as a response. 

Hesitantly, you finally wrote down that he was lying about his favorite moving being Kindergarten Cop. Your sticky note was the last to go in the pile, so you just handed yours to Morgan to speed up the process. He chuckled while going through most of them and looked back up at all of you with that same smug look Reid had earlier. 

“Looks like Pretty Boy and Hot Stuff are the first to strip tonight!” He declared, making you roll your eyes. 

“Your body count isn’t higher than your age?!” Reid squeaked. Morgan laughed and shook his head no. Now that - that was shocking. 

“Alright, what can I take off that counts?” You clarified. 

“Any piece of clothing that covers your legs, arms, and torso.” Morgan happily informed.

It wasn’t fair. On a normal workday, you would have a blazer, pants, or sometimes a skirt, and a blouse or shirt underneath, but today was collectively your guys’ day off - so you only had on a fitted tee and jeans. Whereas the genius to the right of you wore a sweater vest, button-up, tie, belt, and his pants. Before, you would make fun of him for wearing so much on a day off, but now you were envious. 

“Not fair! He’s got like 80 pieces of clothing on.” You whined. The rest of the group, including Reid, laughed at you. Not a single one of them offered mercy. Looks like you were just gonna have to strip off what little clothes you were wearing.

“Ladies first.” 

Reid teased as if he was being a gentleman by saying this. His voice made it sound so subtly seductive that your cheeks heat up. He even said it with the side of his mouth, making his plump lips form a smirk. 

You raised your brows at his cockiness. You wanted to make him eat his words, so you stood up - first, unbuttoning your jeans painfully slow. All eyes were on you as you stuck your thumbs inside the waistband and wiggled your hips, while simultaneously pulling your jeans down. You made a little show out of it, milking the situation. You dragged the denim down while arching your back to flaunt your butt as it was unhurriedly revealed. And just for fun, you angled yourself, where Reid could get the full view. When your jeans dropped to your ankles, you stepped out of them, bent over to retrieve them, and for a finishing touch - you dropped them right onto Reid’s lap. 

“They don’t call me Hot Stuff for nothing.” You flirtatiously remarked. 

“WOO-HOO-HOO! That was sexy, Mamas!” Morgan cheered. The girls all had faces of admiration or surprise on them - mainly admiration. Whereas Reid appeared like he’d just discovered porn or something - like a whole world of possibilities opened up. 

“Hello? Earth to Dr. Reid?” You joked, sitting back down beside him. 

When you felt the floor’s rug against your thong, it shocked you a little, so you moaned at the feeling. Not loud enough for everyone to hear over their laughs and cheers but just loud enough for Reid to. And he most certainly did. Because you caught his tongue sweeping over his lips while his eyes looked at yours. If you weren’t in a group setting, you would’ve straddled him right then and there and kissed him, but you weren’t gonna lose control like that. The question was - would he? And secretly - you were hoping he would. 

“Wow, Y/N. You’ve rendered him speechless. I don’t think that’s ever happened before,” Prentiss quipped. “You should do that more often.” Everyone erupted into another fit of laughter. 

Reid shook his head as if to re-enter reality. “I, uh, I - I’m just gonna take off my belt.” He concluded, fiddling nervously with the buckle. 

“Need some help there?” Before you even finished the question, you put your small fingers around the clasp, making him shiver.

“N-no!” He whimpered, grabbing your wrists in one hand and moving them away from his groin. He continued to unbuckle it and neatly place it behind him. 

The game continued on for many more minutes with Morgan losing his shirt and consequently, Garcia losing her shit (which was understandable because Morgan was RIPPED.) JJ removed her belt, while Garcia took off her cropped cardigan. Prentiss was the only one left who was fully clothed, while you and Reid still hadn’t lost any more articles of clothing since the initial time you did. 

“Alright, alright! Me again!” Garcia giggled, while she downed the rest of whatever was in that red solo cup. “Let’s see. Oh, I got it! Okay, my hair has been dyed every color except for green, I’m the president of a secret club for people that love sea otters, and I’ve had sex more times on the floor than in the bed.” She squealed. 

You weren’t buying that she’s never dyed her hair green, and after a quick side glance to the right, you saw that Reid didn’t buy it either. You folded the paper over your answer and placed it confidently in the center - waiting patiently for the verdict. Garcia zealously scooped up all the post its and scrutinized them. “Uh oh, I think Boy Wonder and Girl Goddess might be out of a job once Sir Hotch finds out how bad they are at detecting lies!” Garcia got so excited she started jumping up and down. You pouted and faked sobs once you heard this. 

“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!” The group started cheering. 

Just to be the center of attention once more, you stood up and put your right hand under the hem of the left side of your shirt, and you put your left hand under the hem of the right side of your shirt, making your arms cross over your tummy. You pulled the shirt up (sucking in your gut once it was uncovered) all the way until it was finally over your head. You were left in your maroon push up bra and your black lacy thong - a set that didn’t match, but when you looked down at yourself, looked decently good together. 

The “crowd” gasped at your figure in its entirety. Encouraging words were spewed at you, making you smile. 

“Alright, your turn.” You nudged Reid. He simply slipped off his sweater vest, quite ungracefully might you add. But little did you know that he lost all coordination after seeing you so bare. 

“Here.” He whispered, removing his tie from his collar. He began unbuttoning his dress shirt, which you didn’t understand why, until he shrugged it off of himself and helped you into it. You weren’t surprised in the least when you saw that underneath his white button-up was a cotton tee. Of course, he had even more layers than you previously thought. 

“Aww, look at that.” Prentiss said with awe at Reid’s actions. 

While Reid rolled up the long sleeves until he saw your hands peek through, all you could manage to do was look at him. He bit his lip while he did this, showing how focused he was on the task. He was absolutely adorable. 

“Do you want me to button it for you?” He quietly asked. You shook your head no. “It’s okay. Thank you.” If you could’ve seen yourself, you would’ve seen that your eyes had hearts in them. You were the epitome of lovesick. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

When he stopped helping you dress, you couldn’t help but notice the outfit he was left to wear. It was a plain white tee with gray dress pants and his classic black converse. How he managed to look so good in such a simple outfit was beyond you. It was quite unfair actually. You thought his normal quirky attire suit him pretty well but this outfit made you feel something you’d never felt before. Your eyes drifted up to his hair, which since he cut it last year, was growing out again but was still short. It was the perfect length and had a little curl and unruliness to it - just the way you liked. It looked so soft that you were overcome with a sudden overwhelming urge to run your fingers through it, but you willed yourself not to.

“I think someone’s in love over there.” Morgan pointed to you, making you snap out of your trance. 

“What? NO!” You shrieked. 

“Oh my god, you totally are.” Prentiss giggled. 

“Somebody likes Reid.” JJ sing-songily teased before sipping at her drink and looking away. 

“OK, enough with the crazy talk. We’re all a little too drunk to be making such claims.” You concluded. “I think maybe it’s time to go home.” You hastily said, trying to change the topic. 

“Mmm-mmm,” Morgan disapprovingly shook his head. “None of us should be driving right now. Even Reid.” Reid looked slightly offended at the comment, but he couldn’t deny it. He’d only had one drink, but everyone knew Reid was a lightweight. 

“Why don’t you guys just crash here?” Garcia slurred. No one objected, so the sleeping arrangement was made. Morgan and Garcia would sleep in Garcia’s bed. JJ on the beanbag. Prentiss on the loveseat. And you and Reid on the couch. 

“Me and Reid?” You asked Garcia. 

“Uh-huh,” She nodded rapidly. “You’ll fit. Just spoon!” She said with joyful elation.

“Uh ohh, Reid and Y/N sittin’ in a tree. C-U-D-D-L-I-N-G.” Morgan jested. 

“Shut up!” Reid chucked a pillow at Morgan’s face - which he caught before it even touched his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll just sleep on the floor.” Reid told you.

“No, don’t be silly. We share the couch on the jet all the time.” You told him. Covertly, you were hoping he wouldn’t argue against it. There were certainly worse things you could do than cuddle with Reid. Just as you wanted, he didn’t contend. 

“Here.” He handed you your jeans and t-shirt, which you took but didn’t put back on. 

“Do you mind if I stay in this? There’s no way I can fall asleep in my jeans,” He blinked hard as if to process what you were saying but didn’t dispute. “I’ll be back.” You disclosed while walking to Garcia’s bathroom to put on your shirt and take off your bra. You came back out, feeling a cold breeze. Unbeknownst to you, the cold air hardened your nipples, but this was not lost on Reid. He let himself get a glimpse of the sight while he laid on the couch, waiting for you to join him. 

“You’re really gonna sleep in your pants?” You asked him, not even trying to imply anything sexual. 

“Would you mind if I took them off?” He shyly questioned. 

You shook your head as if to say, “No, not at all.” 

He slid them down before you took your spot on the couch. While Reid’s back was against the backrest, your back was right up against his chest. This was the position you’d normally be in if you were on the jet. Something that surprisingly - the team never teased you for. It was as if everyone just accepted it as something normal. Something totally natural. 

Except in this instance, Garcia’s couch was surprisingly not as wide as the jet’s, so you had to scoot back a little to fit. However, you didn’t anticipate how close Reid already was to you. So when you backed up, (for lack of a better term) you made ass-to-dick contact. 

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” You nervously blurted. Reid uncomfortably laughed it off. 

“No, no. You’re fine.” He reassured you. It was enough to convince you to settle back down and cuddle up to Reid again. 

Despite doing this countless amounts of times before, there was something about this time that made you feel differently. You thought that your heart might sooner beat out of your chest. The rhythm vibrated through your entire body, and you honestly worried that the beat was so loud that Reid could hear it. After 30 minutes of this, the whole house was knocked out - except for you. You harbored too much nervous energy to fall asleep.

“Are you feeling okay? You’re breathing really hard.” Reid murmured, his quiet voice shocking you. Damn it, he wasn’t asleep either? Leave it to him to pick up on your unnatural breathing patterns. You told Reid it was nothing, but he didn’t leave it alone. “How can I help you sleep?”Once more, you told him you were just fine. “Can I just try something? My mom used to do this for me when I couldn’t fall asleep,” You reluctantly agreed. “Turn around.” He softly commanded. 

You did as asked, turning towards him. Now that you were face-to-face, Reid took his arm that was by his side before and put it over your body, with his hand on your back. You felt his warm touch move from between your shoulder blades, down your spine, all the way to the small of your back. He moved up and down repeatedly, sometimes adding pressure along the way. Your eyes closed at the pleasure. 

“Does that feel good?” He asked sweetly, but even then, you couldn’t help but imagine him asking that same question in a very different scenario. 

You couldn’t be bothered to speak real words, so you hummed in tranquility. 

He kept doing this until he noticed your breathing started to slow down. It was working. 

The last thought you had before falling asleep completely was of how you never wanted this moment to end. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“How long should we wait until we wake them?” You heard JJ ask. Her voice seemed so distant for some reason. “Mmm, I give it five more minutes.” Morgan’s voice chirped. Now his voice seemed to be closer. 

“Should I take another picture?” Garcia asked. Wait a minute - her voice was louder now too. 

You groggily opened your eyes, wincing at the brightness of your surroundings. 

“Oh, I think Hot Stuff’s awake.” Morgan’s words sobered you up enough to lift your head and examine your surroundings. 

Reid’s face was buried into your chest, while your hand was in his hair. Your leg wrapped around Reid’s lower body, with his hand hooked on the back of your knee, hiking it up even further and keeping your leg in its place. You began realizing just how provocative the scene was, so you startled yourself out of it. Like the clumsy goof you are, you rolled out of Reid’s embrace, but with no extra space to roll over onto, you tumbled to the floor gracelessly. This woke up Reid and made the four viewers hovering over the couch die laughing. 

“Not funny.” You groaned, clutching your side in pain after collapsing onto the floor. 

“What happened?” Reid yawned. 

“What happened was you and Hot Stuff got pretty comfortable on Garcia’s sofa.” Morgan sounded way too happy to tell Reid this. 

You looked back at Reid with a frown, noticing how he looked like he was a child that had just been caught doing something bad. 

“Maybe next time we play Strip 2 Truths and a Lie, they’ll finally admit they like each other.” Prentiss giggled, mentioning you and Reid as if you weren’t in their presence. 

“Be quiet!” You and Reid simultaneously yelped. 

You buried your face into a throw pillow that had been discarded on the floor, probably from where you and Reid took up all the space on the couch. As you hid your face in embarrassment, you heard the quartet move away from the scene and into the kitchen, leaving you and Reid to your devices. 

“Sorry about them.” He finally said. His voice was all raspy from where he’d just woken up and all you could think was - YOU’RE KILLING ME. How did he make everything he did so sexy?

“Me, too.” You uttered, removing the pillow from your face to hug it in your arms like a child hugging their toy. From behind you, Reid sat up and swung his legs to the front of the couch to stand up and help you up from your sitting position on the floor. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t regret anything,” He told you when you’d risen to eye level with him. You smiled to suggest that you felt the same way. “You know, maybe we could do this again . . . without the audience.” He cocked his head backward to gesture to the rest of the group. 

“Only if you promise to give me back rubs again.” You beamed. 

The look on Reid’s face was priceless. It was as if he’d just been told he won the lottery. You walked away from him with the same stupid grin on your face that he had on his. 

“Hey, wait I’m gonna need that shirt back!” He called out from behind you as you moved swiftly into Garcia’s bathroom to change. 

“I guess you’ll have to come pick it up from my apartment tonight.” You yelled back to him, lingering in the doorway. His smile was your answer.

Well - looks like you have plans tonight.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

[extremelyblackandwhite]

invisible string

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, harassing

a/n: sequel to willow. wanda is a tarot reader and you cannot tell me otherwise. it is canon. 

WILLOW - TOLERATE IT

Time, curious time gave me no compasses, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?

James was taken aback by her move, watching his black king cornered by both her white queen and king. How had he not seen it? It was right there ever since she moved her queen to lay in F7 right at the beginning of the game. How? It didn’t matter but her naughty smile, pushing at the corner of her chapstick painted lips left no doubt to who had won this game. He bit his lip leaning against the couch, full view of the glass chess board. She had less pieces left than him but she had still managed to won and as such he extended his hand towards her. She looked at his hand hesitantly, her winning grin fading and her usual insecurity returned as a shake hand came to shake his. 

     - No one has won a game against me in years. - he grabbed the glass black king from the board, handing it to her. - How’d you do it?

     - You wanted my king. You wanted it so badly you forgot about your own, so I distracted you with minor pieces. Gave you the false sense of security you had it and then struck down.

   - That’s such a dirty trick, petal. - he leaned against the velvet fabric of the armchair, eyeing her up and down. She felt naked under his gaze, almost as if he could see through her walls and clothing. She guessed a man like him needed to have such a sharp eye but it wasn’t any less intimidating, even if she had just won a chess match against him.

He rose slowly from the armchair, his feet moving slowly towards a silver cart leaning against a wall, just under an abstract painting with several glass bottles of several coloured liquids. He took the glass stone from one of them, pouring some of the dark amber liquid onto two glasses before offering one to Y/N.

  - Glenlivet. - he spoke out, noticing the confusion on her face. - You’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?

  - How old do you think I am Mr. Barnes? I thought you knew everything about your employees.

  - And I do, petal. I know where you went to school, kindergarten even, know the name of your friends and that’s all from one of my men following you for a day. - Bucky rose his glass in a small toast before starting to drink. Y/N’s colour drained from her face as she started to wonder if she’d gone to see his father in the precinct. She hadn’t. At least she thought yet her body started shaking and it became harder to breathe. - Y/N? Hey, are you okay?

  - Yeah ... I just need some fresh air. - she tried to get up from the couch but she couldn’t, her nerves getting over her. What if he’d heard her speak about the undercover job, she was dead, she was definitely flirting with death the moment she stepped into his home. 

   - Someone was following you from the bar, petal. I’m not going to kill you, if I were to kill you it wouldn’t be in the comfort of my own home. Blood is a bitch to take out of white carpets. - Bucky once again seemed to read through her. He once again got up from his couch, placing his gun on the marbled island of his kitchen before returning to her. - You’re paranoid, petal.

   - It’s not ... I don’t really like being followed. Why were you following me? 

   - That guy from the bar followed you home and since he got his head smashed against the counter and a drink thrown in his face, I thought better to send Steve after you for that night. You are awfully clumsy and if you had any real enemies, you’d be dead by now. You leave your key under the entry matt and so does your housemate and her lousy brother too. Twins?

   - Yes.

   - You’re so afraid of me but in all honesty petal, you’re the biggest danger to yourself. 

   - Has Steve followed me recently?

   - No. I’ve been driving you home ever since, park a bit outside campus to ensure you get in. It’s an ugly world out there, petal.

   - I know. Trust me, I do ...

After her mother died, the home she had once learned to love lost its homey feeling. Suddenly, the home that always smelled like fresh lemon tarts and gardenias was now dark. His father left his case files all over the kitchen and would sit at the table smoking his cigars with a glass of port as he read through the cases. Her father loved her, he did, just in his own way. 

She still remembered peaking by the door, holding onto a blanket her mother had quilted for her with her name embroidered in aqua blue, and seeing the photos scattered around the table of murders, abusers, robberies. She knew there was darkness, she just preferred to ignore it.

   - You live inside your head very often don’t you? - he eyed her as she took a sip of the drink he had offered her. Scotch was never her drink of choice, she preferred not to drink at all seeing how it had soured her father. Yet, she guessed a centenary drink was no joke.

   - That’s called being an only child, Mr. Barnes. Besides, my ideas are rarely worth listening.

   - Hm, I see ... Perhaps you’d like to see your room? - he changed the conversation, offering a hand to her so she could get up. 

Her soft fingers wrapped around his cold hand, a stark contrast to her warm hand. Bucky finger lingered over the top of her palm, feeling the softness and plumpness of her skin compared to his scarred, rough one. She didn’t mind, she followed him happily through the halls of his way too big house. 

Steve had told him when he bought it that it was too big for himself alone but for Bucky buying a big flat meant he made it, he could now tell everyone else who doubted him to fuck off yet it was hard to come back to it at the end of the day. Always clean and always empty. The staff didn’t stay behind for much longer, having heard all sorts of rumours and he believed if Y/N wasn’t so afraid of him, she would’ve probably left. Yet, he couldn’t find himself to sell the flat so he just slept in hotel rooms. Smaller roomers where it didn’t feel like the emptiness surrounded him constantly. 

He led her to one of the guest rooms he had decorated in soft pinks, whites and greys. Bucky guessed it’d make her comfortable, it matched her cardigans and little embroidered dresses she would bring around to the bar despite most of his waitresses constantly berating her on it, saying it would get her no tips. 

Y/N peaked through the door crack as he opened it. The room was rather soft with a large king sized bed with white and blush pink bedding along with a grey rug nearby. With so many bedrooms, he probably had enough time to decorate each one with a different colour palette. 

    - There should be some pyjamas in the wardrobe. Might be a bit big but it’s better than sleeping with your clothes on. 

   - You seem prepared. Is this where you bring your mistresses?

   - My mistresses don’t sleep in my house. - why would you say that, Y/N? Are you trying to get yourself killed? - I’ll drive you home tomorrow at 8AM so you should go to sleep. Goodnight, petal.

  - Thank you. Goodnight, Mr. Barnes. - he closed the door behind her and she was left with herself in the bedroom.

She padded around the linoleum floors, phone in hand as she photographed the horizon so maybe her father could locate the house and search for evidence. Y/N couldn’t. She couldn’t find herself to go investigating his house as he was kind enough to offer her a place to stay. Instead she just investigated the room which was so much better. It was a suite with its own bathroom decorated with monogramed fluffy white towels and white marbled surfaces. She wondered why he wouldn’t bring someone here, it was clearly a work of architectural art but yet again, maybe don’t show strangers where you sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t have shown it to her. 

At least she was doing something right. At least he didn’t hate her enough not to allow her to listen to his conversations, to the talks of deals that would surely provide her father’s precinct with the clues that they were not insane to think that there were tradings happening under their noses. She was doing good but she felt dirty nonetheless. She didn’t like lying but she also wanted to graduate, to be something other than the Capitan’s daughter.

She ignored her mind and got dressed in the steamed and washed pyjamas that were hanging on the silk hanger of the closet and got inside the bed. She was okay, she was going to be okay. 

The daylight ruptured through the night and she was the first one up to get dressed and make the bed as well as put the pyjamas back on their place. Bucky didn’t take long to knock on her door and as she opened it there he was again, polished suit and hair as if looking casual destroyed the whole appearance. It didn’t, he was a handsome man and she was absolutely certain he would look handsome in anything. 

    - Did you sleep well? - he questioned as she stepped out the room, holding onto her worn out faux leather brown satchel. 

   - Yes, it’s a very comfortable bed. What about you? 

   - I don’t have time to sleep, petal. I was thinking about having some breakfast before I dropped you off, if that’s okay with you.

   - I just want to get back home. My flatmate might worry. 

Bucky didn’t force her. She was like any other staff and he guessed having breakfast with the mob boss wasn’t her idea of a good spent morning, besides, she probably still needed to go to class. He drove her back to her small, unsafe which she saw as safe flat, keeping an eye on her every once in a while. Her posture was rigid or even one that a manner teacher wouldn’t correct, it was slouched over his window, hand under her chin as she observed the early morning light illuminate the city. 

Getting to campus during early mornings were always funny to her as she never knew what she would find; some students would be still returning from nights out while some would exit the library with piles and piles of books and notes. Either way, it was always a fun game. He stopped in front of her flat, putting the car on stop, engine slowly lowering its sounds. 

   - Thank you for bringing me, Mr. Barnes. - she held her satchel against her chest. 

   - You got an evening dress? Cocktail party maybe? 

   - So not a black dress? - she teased, biting the skin of inner lip. 

   - Definitely not. 

   - I think I might have something.

   - You’re not working tonight, you’re coming with me to an auction. I’ll pay you double the salary of a nightshift if you say yes.

   - Plus night wages?

   - Everything you’d get paid a night, I’ll double it. 

   - I’ll get to work finding that dress then. - she opened the door of his car, exiting before waving him goodbye.

Getting inside her flat, she could definitely sense the difference between worlds she was living in. Spend time with James Barnes, her father told her. Besides, how bad could an action be? There were several people there and if she knew what he was buying maybe it would prove useful in the future.

She climbed the stairs up to her door which was slightly open. She would’ve questioned why had it not been for Pietro’s voice echoing through the whole hall. Of course. None of them really close the door whenever the other one is around. 

    - Wanda, I’m telling you, that’s bullshit. - he told his sister who merely rolled her eyes at him. - Shuffle it again.

    - It says you’re a fuckboy deal with it. - she crossed her arms, before noticing Y/N had come in. - Hey you, you’re here early. I thought you were gonna appreciate your motel stay for a little while. 

   - Well, I ... I was just homesick. - she lied. Wanda clearly wouldn’t like to know where she had spent the night. - What are you guys doing?

   - Pietro asked me to do a reading on him and he’s upset at the result. As per usual.

   - I’m telling you the deck is broken. Do Y/N. - he pointed at the captain’s daughter who sat down by the coffee table where the two were. Wanda shrugged and asked Y/N to touch the deck before she started to shuffle it, three cards falling onto the table as soon as she did.

The Lovers, the Devil and Death. Y/N knew those cards all too well, she loved roaming through Wanda’s deck and marvel at the beautiful pictures and Wanda normally told her that the Death card was not as bad as everyone made it look like as well as the Devil. However, this time, all the colour drained from the brunette’s face as the stared at the cards fallen on the table. She shuffled the deck again, hoping for more cards, this time getting the Six and Nine of Swords. 

   - Everything okay, Wan? - she asked her friend who was intensely staring at the cards in front of her. 

   - Yeah ... I guess Pietro is right, the deck is broken.

   - See? I told you so. You never listen to me. 

   - I think I should be getting to class now. - she interrupted the two sibling’s bickering. - I’ll see you later. 

She spent most of her classes thinking about the auction. It was harmless enough and her father was over the moon, telling her she should be proud that she was now part of the “inner circle”, whatever that meant. Nevertheless, she was getting paid double which would always help with rent and utilities. The last module took hours of a lecturer going through yet another generic powerpoint followed by a class of over a hundred students rushing out the door the moment it was over. 

She took to her bedroom before Wanda arrived to search for the only evening dress she had which barely saw the light of day, mostly living inside the black box over her wardrobe. It was her mother’s, something she had left behind that Y/N had taken a particular liking to once she grew up. It was a baby pink slip dress with the hem in matching lace and she guessed it would be appropriate for an auction. 

   - Where are you going? - Wanda asked as Y/N stepped out of the room. Shit. Of all the days for her to be home early, it just had to be today. - What are you doing wearing your mum’s dress?

   - It’s fancy dress day at the bar. 

   - Fancy dress day at a mob bar?

   - Clearly. 

   - What are you hid ... - Wanda was interrupted by Y/N’s phone. Mr. Barnes had texted her he was outside just at the right time. 

   - I’ll see you later, Wan. Have fun but not too much fun.

Before the brunette could question her, Y/N was already out the door, bag in hand. She went down the stairs and outside where Mr. Barnes was leaning against his car, dressed in a navy blue suit which made him look like a model gracing the cover’s of fashion magazines. 

    - You’re supposed to make me wait, petal. 

    - I like being on time. - she walked up to him, standing less than an arm’s distance from the posh dressed mob boss. 

    - I should start by warning you not to go by your real name today. Safety purposes. 

   - What should I call myself then? Your date? - she asked as he helped her inside the car. 

   - You can call yourself whatever you’d like, petal. As long as it’s not your real name and I know what name you’re going by. 

   - Uhm ... I wanna go by Betty. 

   - Betty?

   - Like Betty Draper from Mad Men. She sounds like the type of woman who would go to an auction.

  - So you wanna be Betty Drapper? - Bucky hide a small smile as he drove through the dark night. 

  - No, I wanna be called Betty for tonight. - she leaned against the comfortable seatings of his car. 

“You’re part of the inner circle now, darling. Do something about it”, her father’s words echoed in her mind through the faint sound of the radio playing Doris Day. Yet again she had no idea how going to an auction would be a break in the case unless Mr. Barnes was buying weapons or drugs. The fact she was going by a different name didn’t calm her nerves but he wouldn’t kill her in a public setting. She watched the trees pass by from the window of his car  until they reached a big white house which could be certainly considered a mansion.

Mr. Barnes got off his car while the engine was still roaring, handing the key to the valet before opening her door. She looked up at him, blinded by the fairy lights all around the mansion and suddenly she got nervous, very nervous. Nevertheless, she took his help in getting off the car, walking to his left as the valet drove away with his car. 

    - We’re sticking with Betty? - he asked as they climbed up the stairs to the entry of the mansion. 

    - We are. - she nodded as he knocked on the door. A poshly dressed man opened the door allowing for her to peak inside. The room was full of people chatting to each other, champagne flutes in hand of roaring laughter. This was definitely different from the environment she was used to back at the club. 

Without noticing, she clung to his side as he moved through the seas of people drinking and admiring art work which she guessed was what was being auctioned until they got stopped by a slightly shorter than him man dressed in a black tuxedo. 

    - Barnes, you made it. I saved some of your favourite pieces for you. - he was happily talking until he noticed Y/N by the mob boss’ side. - Who is this lovely lady?

    - This is Betty. - he was an excellent liar, even she would’ve believed her name was Betty.

    - Pleasure to meet you, miss. - he curtsied which greatly confused her. - Do you want to come see them? I told my Miriam that the Proserpina paintings would be for Mr. Barnes when we started picking pieces. 

The mob boss was sweet on art? She curiously followed them into a badly light room in shades of burgundy and dark browns where several paintings. She observed them with an innocent look as Bucky heard about the prices and its overall worth. Of course they were not going into auction, they had been saved for him and him alone. He was important, stupidly important when compared to these other people. She could hear whispering from other people as he passed by, away from the room through other people.

The man, whose name Y/N still hadn’t really heard, left them in the entrance with everyone else, two champagne flutes immediately making their way to them. Yet, she still didn’t know exactly what to do. What would this be of use to her father? Someone liking art was common, something very common. Once again useless. 

   - Why did you bring me here if you don’t even need to attend the auction?

   - It’s a bad look to appear unaccompanied. Besides, I’d like to see the auction tonight.

   - I didn’t know you liked art. 

   - You thought I’d only like to see people dying, petal? - he spoke in a soft, calm manner but she could see his smirk through his strong facade. 

   - Look who it is. - Bucky’s face switched into an heavy expression, something Y/N barely saw and didn’t like to see. His arm pulled her behind him as someone dressed in what looked like a taffeta black suit walked up to him accompanied by a black haired woman in a skin tight burgundy dress much more sensual than Y/N’s blush pink flared dress. - James Buchanan Barnes, I thought you didn’t visit this part of town.

   - Rumlow, I visit whatever part I want. 

   - You remember my wife Rachel. - he pointed at the woman nearby him. - I don’t think I remember your friend. Care to introduce us?

   - This is Betty. She’s Sharon’s niece. 

   - Pleasure. There sure are lovely jewellery pieces tonight at auction, aren’t there?

   - And I believe I should care about those since I’m a woman. - Y/N gave him a forced smile, earning a scoff from Bucky who was trying not to laugh at her quick wit. 

    - I’m here to bid on the Elizabeth earrings. They’re a brilliant piece, don’t you think?

    - Yes, well ... we should be getting to our seats. - Bucky ignored the request for continuing the conversation, instead holding Y/N’s hand and leading her towards the auction room.

That was an odd conversation, one with underlying feelings of animosity. Maybe coming here was worth it, maybe that name “Rumlow” would be of use to her father. However, it didn’t matter as she was rather exciting to be in her very first auction. Sitting down in gold painted chairs she could see the paddles with several numbers and even the odd gentleman with a monocle. 

Bucky looked at her with a faint smile, observing how his world seemed to still entice her as for him it had long its spark a long, long time ago. People kept sitting down and soon enough the auctioneer was on the stage presenting pieces and shouting values of high amounts of money. High enough to pay for the rest of her degree, a masters and a few PhDs but she guessed this was how high society lived.

    - Finally, one of tonight’s most special pieces. - the man pointed at a pair of earrings on a glass box. - The Elizabeth earrings are made of white gold with two diamonds taken from The Cullinan diamond, one of the most precious in the world whose siblings belong to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Let’s start at 5 thousand.

Brock raised his paddle.

   - 5 thousand, does anyone says 6 thousand?

James rose his own paddle, surprising Y/N. She thought he was only here for the painting. 

   - 6 thousand, 7 thousand? - Brock once again rose his paddle. - 7 thousand, 8 thousand? 

Bucky once again rose his paddle, smirk on his face. He always enjoyed the chase and an auction chase was no exception. Besides, he would love to win those earrings just to piss off Brock Rumlow. 

   - 8 thousand, 9 thousand? - Brock rose his paddle again. - 9 thousand, 10 thousand?

   - 5 hundred thousand. - Bucky spoke out loud and clear for everyone to hear.

   - 5 hundred thousand, any higher? - Y/N’s gaze moved over to Brock who kept his paddle neatly in the middle of his lap, an upset expression gracing his face. His face moved to look at Barnes but he didn’t care, holding a winning smile on his lips. - Going once, going twice, going thrice ... Sold to Mr. Barnes. Congratulations.

Bucky didn’t low himself down to look at Rumlow instead getting up once the auction was over. Y/N followed him, curiosity once again getting hold of her and every fibre of hers. She had never seen diamonds in person, much less as precious as these ones were so once she went into the back and saw the woman place them into a red velvet box, she was done for. They placed the box on a nice black matte bag and handed it over to Mr. Barnes along with the certification of authenticity. 

The auction after party become boring afterwards, with Rumlow giving Barnes a look no one would like to receive and him having little to no care about it. At around 11PM, the time she would end her shift today, he started to walk away, tipping the valet some money to fetch his car while both of them waited outside. It was a cold night, the wind moaning in slow blows and suddenly she regretted not bringing a jacket. 

   - You should’ve brought a jacket. - before she could roll her eyes at this comment, she felt something fall onto her shoulders. Looking to the right shoulder, she recognised the navy blue fabric of his suit’s jacket. - Did you enjoy being someone else for the evening?

   - I didn’t envision my alter ego being Steve’s girlfriend’s family but I’ll accept it. It was nice, thank you for bringing me. 

   - My pleasure, Betty. - he joked. - I do prefer your name over Betty.

The valet brought back his beloved car and handed back the keys. It had been a rather fun night, one that surely went above and beyond her expectations. At least she had a name to give to her father, one of a contact that would be willing to speak about Barnes. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel absolutely dirty about it. He hadn’t done anything bad to her, anything that would consider her betrayal. He’d hurt people, or at least that’s what her father said. He’d hurt people, but she’d only seen him doing it to those who actually deserved it. It was wrong, it was wrong but she had too. 

These thoughts kept her quiet, with eyes on the road. This was bad, this was bad, how was she going to betray him but that was the job. Feel nothing, her father had told her before, feel nothing and don’t get hurt. She didn’t want him to get locked up yet again maybe she was too innocent to see what was really happening. 

    - We’re here, Y/N. - he killed the engine, stopping in front of the building. - You don’t look alright. Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?

   - Oh, no, no. I’m just tired. - she lied. Once again lying. 

   - I’m sorry for keeping you up this late. I’ll double your night pay too.

   - It’s not necessary, Mr. Barnes.

   - Bucky.

   - Pardon?

   - Call me Bucky. - he corrected her. - From now on, you can call me Bucky.

   - Bucky. - she repeated, a silly smile forming on her face. - Well, goodnight Bucky.

   - Goodnight, petal. Don’t forget your bag. - he handed her bag to the young girl before waving his last goodbye.

She stood in the sidewalk, watching his car leave with a silly smile on her face. Why was she even smiling? She should be feeling guilty, not smiley. Yet she was stuck in the middle of those two emotions. She needed to go back to bed, that’s what she needed. She needed to go back to her bed and sleep it through so like every single night, she climbed the stairs up to her flat. Once in front of her old student flat door, she opened her wallet to search for her keys.

Damned keys, always seemed to disappear in the darkness of her bag and as she rummaged through the contents she had been throwing inside her bag over the years. As she kept searching for her keys, something fell from her bag onto the bag. 

   - Shit. - she mumbled to herself, squatting down to grab what had fallen. Her mouth opened agape as she saw the same velvet blue box from the auction. Looking around and seeing no one around, she opened the box and there they were, the same earrings she had seen on the auction glass along with a note. Maybe Betty will like them. JBB. - I can’t believe it.

Once again, smiling like a fool. She couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be, it had to be some sort of mistake. These were 5 hundred thousand dollar pair of earrings for a woman who was wearing a hand me down dress from her mother. Before someone else could see them she shoved them back inside her purse, opening the door to her flat.

   - We need to talk. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying @mariamermaid @sebastianstansqueen @unmagically @buckybarnes1982 @mela-noche @lowercasegenius @randomweirdooo @projectcampbell @sebbystanlover-vk @jevans2 @hollarious @itsallyscorner​ 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Gifts // H.P.

Request: 🌻 Blurbs/Drabbles - Fluffy with Harry 🤓 - @chaoticgirl04​

A/N: This was a drabble that got away from to be honest, and I am not sorry for it! It’s a load of seasonal fluff - we’re already playing Christmas music in my house so this was bound to happen. It has such a cheesy ending and its a mess of timelines, but I love it. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: the exchanging of gifts

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none - snow, fluff and cuteness.

Word count: 2.9k

Warm lights twinkle in every window of the Hogsmeade high street as you trudged through the near knee-deep depths of snow with Harry by your side.

It’s the final Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas break, and though you really shouldn’t have left it this late, you’ve not bought a gift for the teenager now shivering next to you.

You felt a limitless amount of relief when Harry confessed late last night that he still hadn’t found you a gift either.

“Okay, it looks beautiful but it’s freezing,” You shiver, “I say we take an hour to find the gifts, meet back in this spot and leg it back to the castle. What do you think?”

Harry kisses you quickly, “I say it sounds perfect. I’ll see you back here in an hour?”

You nod; watching him plod through the snow as the warmth of his kiss is washed away by the bitter cold wind. Wrapping yourself up tightly in your thick, padded coat, you make your way into the first shop.

As you wander the aisles, you remind yourself of the agreed upon spending limit. For the most part, you stick to it.

Until you find the perfect gift.

The spending limit flies out of the window and into the dimming light of the day as you pay for the gift.

Bags in hand and gifts safely wrapped in brightly coloured tissue paper, you meet Harry at the agreed upon spot. Harry smiles broadly when he sees you walking towards him. He shifts his own bags to one hand so he can hold out a gloved hand for you to take.

Together, you walk as fast as possible through the snow back to the castle.

Stomping your feet on the stone floor of the entrance hall, you can’t help but chuckle at Harry’s wind-bitten, red face. In revenge for your laughter, Harry draws you in for a tight hug where he presses his freezing cold cheek against yours.

Shrieking, you rush back to the Gryffindor common room, desperate for the warmth of the already lit fires.

Hermione looks up from her book at the sound of your laughter as you enter the common room with Harry close behind you. She smiles at you from her spot in the corner.

“Hermione,” You begin, pulling off your hat, “Would you mind helping me with some wrapping?”

Closing her book, Hermione nods. She stands with a grin; happy to be involved.

As the both of you head to your shared dorm, you hear Ron ask Harry, “Did you buy what we talked about last night? Come on, mate. Show me what you got!”

You bite your lip to repress the laughter threatening to spill.

Hermione, herself, is a gift when it comes to wrapping. She has a knack for knowing the right sizing as well as the colour coordination of the paper she needs. Not only was Hermione the brightest witch of her age; she was also one of the most talented.

As she sticks the final piece of tape to the small box of Cauldron Cakes, she asks, “Is there anything else?”

You nod, reaching for the bag that carefully held the gift that had destroyed your pre-agreed spending limit.

You chew on the inside of your cheek with nerves as Hermione carefully unwraps the gift from its tissue paper. Hermione gasps as she holds the gift in her hands, “It’s beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too cheesy?”

Hermione shakes her head furiously; her trademark brunette curls bouncing in all directions, “I think he’s going to love it.”

You smile gratefully at the girl who has become a close friend in the time that you’ve dating Harry, “Thank you so much for doing this, Hermione.”

Hermione grins toothily, “I don’t mind, and besides, I wanted to know what you bought him.”

You laugh at her words; beginning to clean up the mess of bags and packaging that had soon littered the floor of your dorm room.

“When are you exchanging gifts?” Hermione ask; curiosity bright in her eyes.

“Tonight,” You confirm, “I go home tomorrow, and I don’t join you all at the Burrow until the 27th so Harry and I decided to swap gifts this evening.”

Hermione sighs, “It’s all so romantic. You’ll send me a letter telling me everything Harry gets you – don’t leave anything out!”

You sit back down at her side, “I promise,” You nudge her side with your elbow, “I happen to know that you’ll love the gift a certain Weasley has gotten you.”

Hermione rolls her eyes with a snort, “Ron is many things, but he is not a good gift giver.”

“But he’s had my help this year,” You tease.

“What?!” Hermione all but shouts.

You nod, “He came to me at the beginning of December asking for my help. I didn’t say what exactly, but I nudged him in the right direction.”

Hermione’s face turns a pretty shade of pink as she tries to work out what the youngest Weasley boy could have gotten her for Christmas. However, a knock at the door has her jumping out of her reverie and helping you hide Harry’s gifts.

“Just a minute,” You call out; throwing a blanket over your bed to smoothen out the obvious lumps of presents hidden underneath your quilt.

The unmistakable laughter of Harry and Ron sounds through the wood as you say, “It’s open.”

The two enter the room with amusement written all across both their faces. Ron tries to catch Hermione’s eye, but she stares steadfastly at the ground.

Harry laughs once more at the sight of your bed, “Great hiding place, love.”

You roll your eyes, “Hush you, I had less than a minute to hide them.”

Harry presses a kiss to your cheek as his arm winds its way around your waist, “We’re heading down to the Great Hall for the final feast – you coming?” Harry asks; amusement still very much alight in his eyes.

You reach for Hermione’s hand to pull her attention back to the room. “We’ll come with you now,” You murmur, already heading for the door.

Together, the four of you walk as a group to the Great Hall. Taking a seat at the Gryffindor table, you arrive just in time to hear Dumbledore’s end of term speech.

When food appears on the table, you waste no time in filling up your plate. You turn to Ron as you spoon vegetables onto your plate, “Will you tell your mum thank you from me for inviting me to join you next week?”

Ron nods, “Yeah, I will. She’s thrilled you’re coming. She wants to meet the person who has stolen Harry’s heart… her words, not mine.”

You laugh, winking at Harry, “Have I stolen your heart, love?”

Harry looks down at his chest and then back up at you, “I think you have, I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”

You snort, turning back to Ron, “I can’t wait to come.”

Ron smiles at you before returning to his food. You do not miss the yearning glances he sends in Hermione’s direction.

Shaking your head at the absolute absurdity of the pair of them, you turn your attention back to Harry to find him watching you with a soft smile.

“What?” You mouth; reaching for your glass of pumpkin juice.

“Nothing. Just excited to see your reaction to your presents.”

You beam at him, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got me. I also can’t wait to see you open your presents.”

“Are they good?” Harry asks; digging for information.

You smirk, “The best.”

“What time do you want to open them?” Harry questions; eagerness displayed in his voice.

“Let’s wait until the common room is empty. That way it’s private and we can sit by the fire without being interrupted.”

“I like your thinking.”

“I like you,” You whisper causing a faint blush to rise on his cheeks.

---------

Waiting in the common room for everyone to go to bed feels like it takes forever, but it only takes a couple of hours – students still befuddled by their feast at dinner.

Hermione and Ron departed an hour ago; whispered goodbyes and see you soons exchanged before they headed to bed – smiling shyly at the other as they left together.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to get together?” You whisper to Harry.

Harry snorts, “Who knows? I hope it’s soon though. I love Ron like a brother, but he sleep talks.”

“No!” You gasp between peals of laughter.

Harry nods, “He does.”

You settle back down, resting against Harry’s side. His arm remains happily laid across your shoulder and your hand remains laid on his thigh.

The final student yawns and makes their way to their bed. The pit of excitement that had been slowly growing in your stomach bursts into your veins; lighting them with the feeling of joy. With a wide smile, you turn to Harry, “Shall we get the gifts and meet here in a couple of minutes?”

Harry grasps your chin, kissing you lightly on the mouth, “Race you!”

He throws himself off the couch and runs to the stairs; you laugh as you follow on his heels.

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe into your dorm room – careful not to disturb the already sleeping girls. You smile at Hermione; still up reading one of her many books. Pushing your feet into slippers and grabbing the presents from under your quilt, you wave and whisper a goodnight to Hermione before bounding back down the stairs to the common room.

Harry’s already there when you arrive; sitting on the worn maroon rug, a pile of hastily wrapped presents laying in front of him.

“Slow poke,” Harry comments as you sit down across from him.

You roll your eyes, “I needed to put my slippers on.”

Stretching your legs in front of you, you give Harry full view of your fluffy bunny slippers given to you by Ron on your birthday.

Harry nods solemnly, “Ah yes. We couldn’t leave Arnold and Gerald out, could we?”

You shake your head seriously, “Of course not. They’re part of this too.”

Harry tries to remain serious but a crack forms in his mask and he’s soon laughing. You join him; laughing at his laughter. This had been the happiest you had felt in a long while; Harry brought out this side of you that was a little lighter and craved the feeling of happiness and friendship as well as the all-consuming, breathlessness of teenage love.

You calm down, asking, “Who wants to go first?”

“You go first,” Harry replies, sliding one present over to you.

You beam at the messy-haired teenager before ripping into the wrapping paper. You gasp at the present; a gorgeously decorated notebook, the cover depicting one of your favourite paintings in the castle.

“Harry, it’s gorgeous, thank you,” You whisper, placing the notebook gently to one side, already thinking of ideas and thoughts to note down in it.

“You’re welcome,” Harry replies, just as quiet.

“Here,” You say, sliding his first present to him.

Harry tears open the delicately wrapped paper to find a new broomstick servicing set. Harry looks at you with bright eyes, “Thank you! How did you know mine was running low on supplies?”

“Hermione mentioned it in passing and I made a mental note.”

“Thank you very much, it’s exactly what I need.”

More presents are exchanged and so are word of thanks and kisses of gratefulness. Harry gets you some new quills to go with your new notebook as well as a small watercolour paint set as you had mentioned some weeks ago about wanting to take up painting as a new hobby. You hold back tears through all of this; you had never realised how thoughtful a gift giver Harry was.

Harry smiles constantly through all of his gifts from you; the broom servicing kit, the latest book on Quidditch strategy as well as the small box of Cauldron Cakes from Honeyduke’s. He opens them immediately; offering the box to you first before starting on his own.

Finally, only two gifts remain – one gift left each to receive.

Nerves begin to settle in your stomach; your mind hoping and praying that Harry loves this gift.

With a small smile, Harry slides his final gift to you. His cheeks are flushed but you can’t decipher whether they are from the heat from the still roaring fire or whatever is wrapped up in the deep green wrapping paper.

“This is my favourite,” Harry whispers.

“Is this what you and Ron came up with last night?”

He nods; eyes focused solely on the half unwrapped gift in your hands.

You finish unwrapping the gift; turning over what feels like a photo frame in your hands.

“Oh…” You say, holding a hand up to your mouth.

Within a silver picture frame, Harry has slid in a photo of you two from a Hogsmeade weekend weeks ago. You remember the day so clearly; it was the day of the first snow of the season and that always meant so much to you. For it to fall on a Hogsmeade weekend wasn’t simply a coincidence. Noticing the flakes from your seat in The Three Broomsticks, you dragged Harry out of the pub and into the high street. The flakes started to fall in a faster flurry, and you stuck out your tongue to try and catch them there. Harry had copied you for a minute or so before pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. He had captured your lips in a kiss soon after.

You never knew that the moment had been captured on film.

“I didn’t know Ron had taken a photo,” You whisper, running a hand over the moving photo.

“Neither had I,” Harry says just as quietly, “He didn’t show me it until last night when I was brainstorming ideas.”

You look up at the teenager you were so madly in love with; holding the frame to your chest, “Harry, this is the best present I’ve ever been given. Thank you.”

Harry nods, ducking his head from the overwhelming sense of emotion taking control of him.

You sigh shakily, standing the picture frame up with your other presents. Your hand grabs Harry’s present, looking at neatly wrapped silver paper, feeling a lot more confident in what you’ve bought him.

Before handing it over to Harry, you say, “I went over our spending limit, but I saw this, and I had to buy you it.”

Harry chuckles, “It’s okay, I went over it too.”

You hold out your gift for Harry to take; waiting nervously as he tears open the paper and opens the box.

Harry remains silent as the snow globe falls into his hand; he simply shakes the orb and watches the fake snow fall and settle around the Snowy Owl depicted there.

You clear your throat, “I know how much you miss Hedwig, and when I saw this, I needed to buy it.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth for a moment before he finally whispers brokenly, “Thank you.”

“Turn it over,” You say.

“There’s more?” Harry asks with wide eyes; what else could be added?

 “I had it inscribed…” You trail off shyly.

Harry flips the snow globe on its head; taking in the words inscribed forever onto the bottom: “The one’s that love us never really leave us.”

“This last year has been hard,” You start, “But Sirius was right – he won’t ever leave you, Harry, and neither will Hedwig. Every time you miss them, you just need to look here.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a few minutes; he isn’t certain that he has the capacity to because he has never been given a gift as touching as this other than the photo album given to him by Hagrid at the end of his first year. Harry shakes the snow globe once again, staring at the scene of the Snowy Owl suspended in the fake snow. It wasn’t Hedwig and it never would be, but it reminded Harry so much of her that it helped to ease the pain of missing her just a little. His little finger runs over the inscription graved into the bottom and Harry lets himself feel the pain of missing his godfather; the engraving is right – Sirius would never leave him, but Harry can’t help but regret the fact that they didn’t have more time together.

With a loaded sigh, Harry sets the snow globe to one side and finally looks into your eyes. He doesn’t give you time to respond, he tackles you to the floor, supporting his weight by his hands. Without speaking, Harry kisses you – attaching his lips to yours passionately. Everything he had felt since he realised what the gift was, was poured into this kiss – his love for you, his happiness, his gratefulness, but also his mourning and the fact that he can’t believe you’re still here.

He pours it all into this kiss. The need for oxygen be damned.

Harry was too overwhelmed by the meaning of the gift for him to come up with right words to thank you; to come up with the right sentence to thank you for bringing them back into his life.

But the need for breath becomes too great and Harry breaks the kiss. You smile up at him, running a hand through his eternally messy hair as your chest heaves. Harry beams down at you, leaning in to press one more kiss to your mouth. Against your lips, he whispers, “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it, just like I love you.”

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

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[wiypt-writes]

Riding High

Ch11: I’m Thankful for Chicken Nuggets

Chapter Summary: It’s Thanksgiving and Mary’s eating chicken nuggets.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW, no under 18s thanks!)

Chapter Pairings:  Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Yeah yeah I know it’s the wrong time of year but hell, we’re all on lock down so the days and months don’t actually exist anyway at the moment… The Boat Company used here IS an actual company in South Pas, but I got no idea who runs it so this is completely made up- roll with me here.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 10

 “Good morning, Handsom.” Fliss smiled as she held her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she continued to fork up the bedding in the stable.

“Morning sweetheart.” His soft voice hit her ear.

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Back at ya.” He chuckled softly “You at the yard?” “Yeah, been here a few hours now.”

“Do you need a hand with anything or…” “That’s really sweet but there’s not much left to do.” she replied, honestly “They’re all out for the day and are staying there until tomorrow morning so I’ve just a couple of stables and then some paper work to sort out before I pop back this evening to do a check.” “Ok so, once you’re done for the morning you’re free for a while?” “Yeah, why?”

“Mary had an idea.” “I did not!” Fliss heard the seven year old scoff  “It was your…” “Ok, WE had an idea,” Frank conceded and there was some scuffling and Fliss could imagine he was holding Mary at arm’s length as she made a grab for the phone, “that maybe you might wanna come join us for dinner if you have time.”

“You mean your Thanksgiving dinner of chicken nuggets?” Fliss grinned “How could I turn that down?”

“Cool, just head over when you’re done.” “I might need to head home and shower.” She looked down at herself. “I’m filthy and probably don’t smell great either to be honest.” “You can change here if you want.”

Fliss paused, she had a spare change of clothes in her car. Well, a pair of sweats and a different polo shirt. She normally kept them there just in case of a downpour.

“Erm, sure, if you don’t mind…” “No of course not.”

“Alright, then, I’ll see you in about two hours or so?” Fliss smiled.

“Great.” Frank replied “See you soon.” ******

Fliss didn’t bother knocking. She opened the door to the apartment and was immediately barrelled into by a flurry of blonde hair.

“Hey!” she chuckled, dropping her bag. “Wanna let me get inside first Stack?”

Mary stepped back and Fliss straightened up and smiled as Frank walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Beautiful.” he smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips. Mary sidled off into the main room, a smirk on her face.

“I stink.” Fliss warned “I mucked out twelve stables today.”

“Yeah, you’ve smelt better!” Frank laughed as she snorted. “You know where the bathroom is. Fresh towels in there. You need anything out of this or…” He gestured to her bag, as he went to pick it up.

“It’s just my clothes so…”

“I’ll put it in my room.” He smiled, giving her another kiss. “I would offer to come scrub your back but…” he inclined his head to the main room and Fliss gave a snort.

“Calm down, Sailor” she teased “Plenty of time for that later.”

“Promises, promises.” He grinned, picking her bag up and heading through to his room. He dropped her bag onto his bed, glancing round. He’d attempted to tidy a little bit after the realisation she’d actually never been in his room before. After their night together the previous week they hadn’t managed another night alone, Fliss being a little ‘uncomfortable’ at being together like that when Mary was literally outside the door and to be honest, it wasn’t something Frank was particularly happy about either. It had never bothered him before, because Mary was never there when he brought a girl home but this was different. That said, he knew he was going to have to find somewhere bigger soon, Greg had warned him it would likely be a condition of him being awarded Guardianship. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t concerning him a bit, living pay-check to pay-check didn’t leave him a huge housing budge but he’d work something out, he always did.

Pushing the worry from his mind, he closed the bedroom door and headed back into the room. Mary was sat on the rug looking at the instructions to the new lego kit he had bought her for Thanksgiving.

“Sussed it out yet Stack?” He asked and she gave him a withering look. He bit back the laugh that was bubbling in his throat and sat next to her, taking from her, trying to figure the instructions out to make the Storm Trooper helmet, Star Wars being her latest obsession.

“That’s upside down…” She rolled her eyes, taking it from him to turn it the right way up.

“My bad.” He shrugged, looking at it again. “Ok, so…this piece…and we need one of these…” Together they began to pull together the elements they needed for the first section and the next time Frank looked up was when Fliss walked into the living area, a little shyly, wrapped in a towel. Her long, auburn hair was piled up on top of her head and her shoulders were speckled with water. She smiled as she padded past to his bedroom, Mary not even looking up as Frank watched her with his eyes as she closed the door behind her, giving him another smile. There was something so simple, so domestic about the situation, Frank couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest.

Roberta was right, he definitely had it bad.

“When we gonna give Fliss her present?” Mary asked, looking up at Frank.

“After dinner.” He said “Which reminds me, best turn the oven on.”

“Would be a start.” Mary agreed.

Frank rolled his eyes and stood up, heading into the kitchen. Shoving the stuff in the oven, he returned and found Fliss was now sat with Mary who was showing her the instructions.

“I LOVE Star Wars.” Fliss grinned, “So does my Dad. He has a Cinema Room in the house upstairs and a poster from every single Star Wars film on the wall. I’ll show you later tonight.” “A Cinema Room?” Mary asked. “Like, with a huge screen?” “Yeah. It’s pretty cool. When I finally get round to buying a house I’m gonna build one too.” “Do you think I could watch something in there tonight?”

“Mary,” Frank started to warn her but Fliss smiled.

“Frank it’s okay.” she said. “And yeah, course you can. If you have a favourite DVD we can take that or you can pick. We have loads on the hard-drive and Sky.”

It wasn’t long before they were sat round the small kitchen table which had been pulled into the living room to allow them more room. Frank and Mary both showed Fliss their favourite thing to eat in the world- Chicken Nugget Sandwiches. After a sceptical look, Fliss leaned over to take a bite of Frank’s as he offered it and gave a small laugh announcing that it was actually pretty good. After a large slice of Chocolate cake each that had been made for them by Roberta, they collapsed onto the sofa, Mary once more on the rug, Fliss groaning about the “food baby” she was growing, rubbing her hand over her stomach.

“Hey Frank?” Mary looked at him. “Is it time now?”

It took Frank a moment and then he realised what Mary was talking about. “Oh, yeah, hang on…”

He hopped off the sofa and headed into his bedroom, pulling the small gift bag from his dresser. He walked back into the living room and sat back down, shyly handing it to her.

“You got me a gift?” Fliss’ eyes went wide.

“Yeah.” Frank shrugged.

“You really shouldn’t have…” Fliss looked at him. “I didn’t get you two anything…” “That’s not the point of giving a gift.”  Mary looked at her sternly. “You don’t give to receive, right Frank?”

“Right.” Frank nodded, leaning back on the sofa, looking at Fliss “And I wanted to…” he gestured between him and Mary where she was sat, Fred crawling into her lap, “…we wanted to, say thank you for everything over the last few months.” Fliss smiled at him and then Frank saw a childish excitement cross her face “Can I open it now?” He nodded, glad she was going to as he wanted to see her face when she did.

With delicate fingers she gently undid the ribbon that the woman at the store had wrapped it with and her mouth dropped open when she saw the white box which was emblazoned with the Pandora name and logo

“Frank,” she looked at him, before she opened the box and stared at the contents. She blinked before her hand gently covered her mouth as she saw the silver charm bracelet that was inside.

“I thought it was time you started a new one, for new memories.” He said gently as she reached into the box and took out the bracelet which held a single charm in the shape of a boat.

Fliss swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. “I…” She took a deep breath and Frank frowned as he saw her struggling for composure.

“Hey,” he said, turning sideways on the sofa. His hand gently rubbed up her arm and she fell into him, pressing her face to his chest as he wrapped his arms round her.

“You made Fliss cry. On Thanksgiving.” Mary deadpanned, throwing a ping pong ball for Fred.

“Why don’t you go do that outside?” Frank asked. “Stay on the step.” Mary shrugged and stood up, doing as she was told.

“You ok?” He asked Fliss softly as his hands rubbed at her back. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and she nodded taking a deep breath.

“Sorry, that was…” she sat back, wiping her eyes. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous…”

“You do like it right?” he asked, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“Baby, I love it.” She smiled at him, and he felt his chest swell not only at the fact she liked the gift, but that was the first time she’d used that particular pet name, and he kinda liked it. “I just, well, I can’t believe you remembered about my bracelets.”

He shrugged as she reached out to gently cup his cheek.

“Thank you.” she smiled softly, leaning over to kiss him. He happily leaned into the kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth, sliding against hers as she met him movement for movement before there was a light cough and Frank groaned, resting his forehead against Fliss’ as he turned to look at Mary.

“What?”

“Need another ping pong ball. The last one flew under Roberta’s BBQ and I aint going under there…spiders and stuff.” She headed to the box at the back of the room, dug in and retrieved a net of ping pong balls, digging one out.

“Wanna go outside?” Frank asked and Fliss nodded. He stood up and held out his hand, pulling her up with him and they headed out after Mary.

A little while later, after a game of tag on the lawn which resulted in both the girls tackling Frank to the floor in a huge tickle fight, Fliss noting that he was ridiculously ticklish and filing it for future reference, they headed back inside, grabbed their things and after an almost tantrum from Mary who wanted to bring Fred and Frank refusing, they headed off in Fliss’ jeep for the yard to do the final checks for the evening. They were just about to head up to the field to make sure all the horses were settled and the waters were topped up when Bill walked onto the yard.

“Shouldn’t you be with mum getting stuff ready for the party?” Fliss frowned at her Dad, surprised to see him.

“Are you joking!” Bill scoffed “You know what she’s like.” He coughed and then put on a light, airey voice “Bill, those champagne flutes are grouped in threes, not fours. No, those plates don’t go there, they go there. What are you doing with that cheeseboard, the grapes go in the middle…”

Frank felt his eyebrow raise slightly as Fliss laughed. Champagne, cheeseboards? This was not the type of party he was used to, at all.

“Oh don’t worry.” Fliss clocked his face. “It descends into debauchery and chaos after about an hour, mum just likes to play the part of hostess with the mostess…”

“I like cheese.” Mary piped up.

“Good, we got plenty of it.” Bill said. “But, anyway, I dropped by for a reason. I picked something up earlier this afternoon that I think you might like.”

“Me?” Fliss frowned, but before she could say anything else Frank’s attention was taken by a man who was walking down the side of the barn. He slightly taller than Frank, quite stocky and had a shock of dark brown hair and looked ridiculously like Bill. Fliss gave a little shriek and ran towards the man, throwing herself into his arms as he laughed, twirling her round slightly before he dropped her to the floor.

“That’s her brother.” Mary supplied and Frank gave her a look.

“Yeah I kinda figured that.” He rolled his eyes. “How do you know anyway?”

“Saw a photo of him.” Mary shrugged.

Frank turned his attention back to the two siblings and Fliss was now looking between her father and her brother, confusion on her face. “What, I mean, how, why are you here?”

“In New York for a stag do on Saturday.” Steve replied “Thought I’d take the chance and pop down here for a day or so.”

“Does Mum know you’re here?” she asked.

“Yeah, she does now.” he laughed “There were a few tears when I rocked up.” “Frank made Fliss cry before.” Mary said, and all attention turned to Frank who hung his head and let out an audible groan.

“Seriously?” He looked at her as Fliss burst out laughing.

“Because I was happy.” She said, shaking her head “He bought me a new Pandora.” Frank didn’t miss the exchange of looks between father and son, both wearing identical expressions of surprise which morphed into soft smiles as Fliss moved and slid under Frank’s arm.

“Frankie, this is my brother Steve.” she smiled, as Steve stepped forward, holding his hand out. “Or Steeb, Steeby…whatever you want to call him.” “Nice to meet you.” Frank smiled as Steve shook his hand, his grip firm.

“Likewise.” Steve smiled “Heard a lot about you.” He then turned to his left and looked down “And you must be Mary.” “Yup,” She smiled, looking at him “Did you bring your kids?”

“Mary.” Frank warned gently as he looked at her, shaking his head.

“What?” She asked, “I was just asking a question. I wanted to meet them.” “No, not this time.” Steve smiled “Just a flying visit. But they’re coming over for Christmas so I’ve no doubt you’ll get to see them then.” He straightened up and smiled at Fliss. “Where’s that grumpy ginger Nag?” Fliss narrowed her eyes “Don’t you talk about Heidi like that. She’s in the top field.”

“I thought he was talking about V.”  Bill mumbled to Frank who gave a snort, and then looked at the man, the pair of them bursting into laughter. By the time they had composed themselves, Steve and Fliss were stood, watching the pair of them, hands on their hips in almost identical poses.

“They do this all the time.” Fliss shook her head. “Come on, I’ll take you to see H. I was on my way up to check them all anyway. You coming Stack?” she looked at Mary. Mary grinned and ran forward, linking her hand into Fliss’.

Frank miss the eyebrow raised on Steve’s face, before the man smiled softly, dropping an arm round Fliss’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

*****

Fliss changed quickly when they were home into a pair of jeans, a strappy top and a pair of sandals before the three of them walked over to the house after another near argument about getting Mary to leave the bucket of lego she had brought with her in the annex, which Fliss cleverly managed to avoid with the mention of the Cinema Room.

The house was busy, not packed but busy, and there was no way Frank was going to remember everyone’s names. But he smiled and shook hands as Bill introduced him to people, and he was surprised to find he felt at ease. Most of the people were older than him and Fliss, bar her brother of course, and it was a different circle and class of people he would normally mix with but he certainly didn’t feel like any of them were looking down at him, a stark contrast to how he used to feel at his Mother’s parties.

Well, they weren’t really parties, more like a gathering which rich snobs used to brag to other rich snobs about how much money they had.

“And this is Mike, Martin and Keith.” Bill said, nodding to the final three men, one of whom was giving Fliss a hug.

“You look great!” She beamed at him “How much weight have you lost now?” “40lb.” the man called Keith nodded and Fliss grinned.

“That’s awesome.”

“All down to the golf.” He smiled, gesturing to Mike, Martin and Bill “These guys drag me up there regularly enough.” “Frank hates golf.” Mary said. “Says it ruins a good walk.”

There was a pause as Frank groaned, wanting the ground to open and swallow him. He glared at Mary who looked at him, frowning.

“What?” She asked as Bill suddenly began to roar with laughter, the other men joining in.

Frank shook his head and looked round. “It’s just not my thing…”he said, by means of an explanation. “I prefer playing basket ball or baseball.”

“Each to their own.” The man called Martin beamed. “To be honest when I was your age I hated it too. Was far more into drinking and women.” “Frank likes that too.” Mary said, and Frank then really did give her a look.

“Shut up.” He said, but of course she didn’t as the men continued to laugh.

“Although I’m glad he finally got together with Fliss, because she’s my favourite. Miss Stevenson would not have been a good choice.” Frank groaned again and he felt Fliss beginning to chuckle besides him.

“Miss Stevenson?” Bill asked.

“We don’t need to hear about that…” Frank said, his neck growing hot.

“She’s my teacher.” Mary nodded “She stayed at our house one night. I wasn’t supposed to be there but I saw her coming out of the bathroom wearing Frank’s sheets and…” “Ok, Mary, why don’t we go and see the Cinema Room.” Fliss hastily cut her off as the three men were now all howling with laughter.

“Oh, okay.” she shrugged, before she pondered something “Why was she in your sheets Frank, and not in a towel like Lissy was before?”

At that Bill arched an eyebrow and Fliss felt her cheeks grow warm “I had a shower, I’d mucked twelve stabled out.” There was a pause before she recovered and steered Mary out of the room.

Frank grimaced and looked back round as Bill patted him on the shoulder, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes. “I bloody love that kid.”

“She’s yours if you want her.” Frank said. “I could gift-wrap her for you. Just say goodbye to your private life being private.”

Thankfully the Cinema Room kept Mary out of the way, especially when she had a stash of popcorn, sweets and soda to keep her occupied. For the next few hours Frank stuck mostly by Fliss’ side, talking to people, chatting to her brother a bit about his job and the business he had taken over from Bill, his kids, but Frank got the impression the man was being a little guarded with him. He was polite enough, and wasn’t being rude but he wasn’t overly warm either. But he supposed that was understandable. She was Fliss’ big brother after all.

Mary came down a few hours later and tugged on Fliss’ hand. Fliss went with her and Frank headed into the kitchen to grab himself another beer after being told by Verity to “stop asking and just go get”. He turned round, flipping the lid off, almost bumping into Bill.

“Sorry.” He apologised to the man who smiled at him as he held the fridge door open.

“There’s someone who just arrived that I want you to meet.” Bill said, gesturing for Frank to follow him. With a slight puzzled frown, he did as he was told and wandered through to the large lounge where a number of people were congregated. 

“Frank, this is Alan Maxwell.” Bill introduced a short, stocky white haired man who was wearing a pair of modern thin-rimmed glasses and a cream blazer over a dark polo necked shirt and dark jeans. Frank took him in, noting his outfit probably cost more than Frank’s entire wardrobe.

“Hi.” Frank smiled, shaking his hand “Frank Adler”

“The boat mechanic?” Alan asked.

“Yeah.” Frank looked at him then to Bill, frowning a little.

“Alan’s in the Repair and Retail business.” Bill offered and Frank gave a nod of understanding.

“I own MarineMax in St Pete’s” Alan smiled.

“Oh on Gulfport?” Frank looked at him and Alan nodded.

“You know it?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Frank scratch at the back of his neck “I errr, I applied for a job once but I didn’t have the relevant experience so…” Alan looked at Frank for a moment, “How long you been a mechanic now?”

“Over six and a half years.”

“And you’re freelancing?” Frank nodded.

“Good success rate?”

“Over ninety-eight percent.” Frank said. “I mean, I only do one boat at a time because I’ve been juggling my hours around Mary for the last 7 years but…” he shrugged “I have regulars who come back so I must be doing something right.” “Could you get references?”

“Yeah.” Frank nodded “Pretty sure I could.”

“Hmmmm.” Alan looked at Bill who inclined his head towards Frank with a smile.

“I told you, I’ll vouch for him.” he shrugged “He’s sleeping with my daughter after all.”

“Jesus Bill.” Frank groaned as the two men laughed.

“It’s a compliment” Bill smiled “If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t let you within three foot of her”

“Thanks, I think.” Frank looked at him taking a drink of his beer.

“Come see me next week.” Alan looked at Frank, pulling a card from his wallet and handing it over “I may have a position you’d be interested in.”

“I errr…” Frank was temporarily sideswiped by the suggestion “I…that would be…”

“I know it will be different to freelance but it’s a full time job, full package of benefits and a negotiable wage plus bonus scheme.” Alan said, “I’m not a huge outfit, but I pay my guys well.” Frank nodded, placing the card in his pocket “I’ll stop by.” “Just give me a call the day before and I’ll make sure I’m around.”

“I will.” Frank nodded. “Thank you.”

Frank made his excuses, realising he hadn’t seen Fliss for a while and headed off looking for her. He moved from room to room, realising there was no sign of her or Mary. He headed into the kitchen and then poked his head out of the large bi-folding doors which led onto the large raised decking area which spanned the length of the house.

“Hey.” Frank spotted Fliss’ brother leaning on the railing, lit cigarette in one hand, beer in the other. “You seen Lissy?”

“She was in the living room last time I saw her.” Steve said chuckling slightly, shaking his head.

Frank frowned at the man’s demeanour and Steve noticed, and smiled. “Sorry, just seems strange. Hearing someone else call her Liss or Lissy other than the family.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda picked it up from Bill and it stuck.” Frank smiled.

“Yeah she doesn’t suit Felicity.” Steve shook his head “Although that’s all he ever fucking called her. Apparently nicknames were deemed too common.” “Yeah well, he’s a dick.” Frank shrugged

“No arguments here.” Steve looked at Frank. Frank watched as the man studied him for a second, clearly thinking about something before he returned to leaning on the rail of the decking, looking down over the huge garden area as he took a final drag from the cigarette, before stubbing it out in the fire bucket to his right.

“Okay,” Frank stepped outside, “let’s have it.” “Have what?” Steve asked, looking at him.

“The big brother lecture. The one where you threaten to rip my head off if I hurt your sister.” Frank said as Steve gave a huff of a laugh.

“Well, rest assured I will.” Steve looked at Frank as he too leaned on the railings. “But Dad says you’re a good bloke so, that’ll do for me.” Frank nodded and took a pull of his beer. “I have no intention of hurting her, in anyway.” he said, his voice loaded with meaning and Steve sighed.

“I know.” he said gently “I just, well, I worry.” “Understandable.” Frank nodded, and it was. He got it, he really did.

“I hated that fucker.” Steve shook his head, “right from the start. Smarmy assed, stuck up Yank. Sorry, no offence.” Frank laughed “Non-taken.” he waved Steve’s apology away.

“I know she’s only actually my step-sister but well she was only two when I met her and…”

“Blood doesn’t make you family.” Frank nodded. “If you ever meet my mother you’ll realise that.” “Yeah, Fliss wasn’t very complementary of her.” Steve snorted.

“She called her a cold hearted bitch to her face.” Frank raised an eyebrow as Steve laughed.

“I shouldn’t be pleased at that.” Steve smiled. “But not long ago she wouldn’t have been brave enough to be that outgoing.” “Oh she certainly isn’t backwards in coming forwards.” Frank shook his head

“Something he managed to suck out of her.” Steve sighed.

“You know, I’d love to get that fucker alone in a room” Frank glowered. “Five minutes, that’s all I’d need.” “Get in line.” Steve shrugged, “Behind me and dad.” “Yeah, Fliss said something about there being a queue.”

“The day she said she was moving to Boston to be with him full time, it was the worst day of my life. And Mum and Dad’s” Steve took another drink. “But we knew if we tried to stop her it would give him the perfect excuse to turn her against us. So what could we do but support it?” He hung his head slightly and Frank’s brow furrowed at the man’s open display of vulnerability

“I wish we’d done more, you know, anything, but we didn’t know how bad things had got. Not that he was hurting her, not like that.” “None of it was your fault.” Frank looked at him. “Or your parent’s. Or Fliss’”

“No, I know that but it doesn’t stop any of us feeling guilty.” Steve sighed. “But, anyway, it’s in the past now. That is until he goes for parole, which he will.” Frank shrugged “We’ll greet that when it happens.”

“Yeah?” Steve looked at him. “You ready for all that? Because I guarantee what she’s told you, well it won’t even scratch the surface, Frank.”

“Are you asking me if I’m gonna bail when the going gets tough?”

“Suppose I am, yeah.” Steve looked at him.

Frank took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, quelling the frustration that was brewing at the man’s questioning, reminding himself that he had a right to worry, a right to be concerned. He’d feel the same if it was Diane in this position.

“Look, Steve, I know she hasn’t told me everything. And I’m not gonna push her to either. It isn’t important to me to know every sordid little detail of what that cunt did to her. What is important is that she’s happy with me, and that she feels safe and knows that I’d never hurt her like that and I sure as hell won’t abandon her when the road gets a little bumpy. She was there for me through a very bad time recently and, well…” Frank shrugged, “even if we decide that what we have isn’t working I’d still be by her side.”

Steve’s face remained passive for a second before it split into a grin “I don’t think there’s any worry about that, Frank. From what I’ve seen this afternoon and this evening, Lissy’s besotted. In fact, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Frank felt his cheeks flush a little and he looked down “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else but they were interrupted.

“My ears burning?” Fliss asked, eyeing the two men up.

“I was just making sure his intentions are honourable.” Fliss rolled her eyes with a snort “his intentions are honourable? What are you, like ninety?”

Steve shrugged “No, but I’m three years older than you and still your big brother Titch.” “Whatever, Steeby.” She moved over to where Frank was stood and slid under his arm. “Quit with the 3rd degree or I’ll tell Mum you’ve been smoking.”

“You wouldn’t!” he said in mock horror as she raised an eyebrow. Steve turned to Frank and raised his eyebrow, jerking his head towards his sister “Sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?”

Frank laughed “her bark is worse than her bite…owww!” he said, as she nipped his arm.

“Sure it is.” Steve winked as h pushed himself off the railing and headed inside.

“Was he being an ass hole?” Fliss watched him go before she turned to Frank and he chuckled, pulling her closer.

“No,not at all.” he said, dropping a kiss to her lips “Where’s Mary?”

“With Dad in the living room with the guys from the golf club.” she said, shrugging.

“No doubt revealing more of my dark secrets.” Frank groaned.

Fliss laughed “Nah, she’s got her lego. Bill and her will have some kind of building contest going on no doubt.”

“I told her to leave those in the annex.” Frank shook his head. “She did. I took her to get them.” Fliss shrugged

“Seriously?” Frank looked at her, rolling his eyes.

“What? She was bored and wanted something to do.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” he said, his arms circling her and she grinned as he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“Hush, Sailor, you love it.” she smirked against his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” he muttered, pulling her closer for a deeper kiss.

******

It was about midnight when the party started filtering out. Mary was crashed out on one of the sofas so Frank suggested they call it a night and Fliss, feeling the effects of a fair amount of alcohol, agreed. They made their goodbyes and Frank easily scooped Mary up and the three of them made their way, a little slower than usual, to the annex.

Once they’d roused Mary and she’d changed for bed Frank tucked her in, in the bed in the spare room and she was flat out before he even closed the door. He headed into Fliss’ room and laughed as she was led on the bed with her legs over the edge, feet flat on the floor. She was wearing just her bra and jeans, and her arm was bent over her eyes.

“My jeans are too tight.” she said.

“What?” Frank laughed.

“I can’t be bothered to take them off.” She leant up on her elbows and ginned at him “Wanna help me out Sailor?”

“Happily.” he grinned, and moved towards her but she stopped him.

“Ah ah.” she pointed to his polo-shirt. “Off.” With an arch of his eyebrow he reached back and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Better?”

“Yup.” she nodded as he moved towards her, gently dropping down and undoing her jeans. With a tug he pulled them down over her thighs, his hands softly tracing up her skin as she sighed, before his lips met hers.

“You were a hit in there.” she smiled gently, her fingers tracing the muscles on his arms as he propped himself up over her.

“Yeah?” he asked, gently shifting so that she moved with him, laying further up the bed.

She nodded. “Charmed the pants off all the posh bastards you did, Adler.” “There’s only one person I’m interested in charming the pants off.” He quipped and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Smooth.” “Is it working?”

She glanced down. “Nope, they’re still on.”

“Guess I’ll have to use my hands then.” He said, and with a quick move down he slid them over her ankles and gently pressed his lips to her knee, trailing soft kisses up the inside of her leg, nipping at the inside of her thigh. Fliss gave a soft sigh as he moved, his short beard scratching at her skin as he moved, her hands fisting in the sheets. When he reached his target he gently placed a long lick up her entrance. Instinctively, one of her hands fisted in his hair before she hastily moved it and Frank paused, reaching up, and placing it back where it had been.

“I like it.” He peeked up at her, a cheeky look on his face before he dropped his head back down and Fliss’s head fell back against her pillow as she gave a shaky moan.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gone down on her. John had certainly never done it, making it clear from the start he found it disgusting, but still happy to shove his dick in her mouth when he wanted a blow. But Frank ate her out like a man starved, moving his mouth as he paid attention to how her body reacted and when he found her spot, she gave a cry, her back arching off the bed, and she felt him double his efforts, his lips and tongue teasing her, in a delectable way. Pleasure lanced through her entire body, the heat rising from her very toes and as she felt her orgasm rising her fingers tightened on his hair and he gave a low moan at her touch, which vibrated through his mouth right against her clit and that was it. Her hips bucked upwards as she came, hard, her knees tightened slightly around his head, her arm flying to her mouth to stifle her loud moan.

Working her through her release, Frank moved back, stripping off the remainder of his clothes before he crawled up her body again, kissing his way up from her naval to her chest. She arched her back and he reached around to unhook her bra before he set his attention to her breasts. Fuck, he could listen to the noises and whimpers she was making all day but after a week he was aching for her.

“You got any…” he started to ask softly and she nodded, her hand gesturing to her bedside table. He paused and pulled open the drawer, and had to smirk as he saw the new, full packet of condoms in there. Pulling one out he opened it, whilst Fliss gently gave his dick a stroke causing him to hiss slightly, his fingers fumbling on the foil and she grinned.

“Something distracting you, Sailor?” “You know damned well what’s distracting me.” His voice was almost a growl as her hand moved over his whilst he rolled the latex down.

Her giggle turned to a moan as he buried himself inside her, his entire body feeling coiled like a spring, and his thrusts began slow, and deep before soon she was begging for more and he picked up the pace, each movement rolling against her spot, causing her to breathlessly whisper his name as he buried his face into her neck, nipping and biting at that spot that drove her wild. At some point she moved, gently pushing on his shoulders, and he understood, rolling onto his back. She straddled him, pulling her long hair over one shoulder as she leaned down to draw him into a deep, sultry kiss before she sank down onto him, taking him in.

“Fuck, Lissy,” he said, his hands gently gripping her hips as she began to move, rolling her pelvis, “God you feel so good.” She preened at his praise, yup, she definitely had a praise kink, and her pace quickened as she leaned forward again to kiss him, a moan falling from her mouth as he raised his hips to meet hers, his fingers tightening on her hips. Frank looked up at her, her mouth slack, lips plump, freckles still visible in the soft light from the outside lights, breasts bouncing softly as she moved.

“So beautiful.” He whispered, sitting up and she cried out at the change of depth as he pulled her close, thrusting up into her.

“Frankie, I’m…” and with a low whine her head tipped back as her release washed over her for the second time that night, a slow, deep burn which left her slack in his arms, as she collapsed forward. After a few more desperate thrusts he was right behind her, clinging to her, his face buried into her shoulder, his own groans stifled in her skin.

They stayed like that for a little while, both recovering, hands softly dancing over skin before he leaned up to give her a soft kiss.

“Thank you.” She whispered and he pulled back, frowning a little.

“What for?”

“For making me feel good. For making me feel wanted.” She swallowed, tears filling her eyes and Frank let out a sigh, his arms curling round her, pulling her close, his own chest tightening at her words as he understood instantly that it was clearly something she wasn’t used to.

“You deserve it.” He spoke softly, , “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

She moved back, her hands cupping his cheeks as she gave him another deep kiss, her lips curling into a smile and Frank smiled back, before he kissed her again.  

***** Frank woke the next morning and, as he blinked, he realised he was alone. Sitting up he rubbed his eyes, and could hear soft voices from elsewhere in the annex. Grabbing his phone he looked down and with a start realised it was past ten.  Running a hand over his face, he climbed out of bed, grabbed his bag and retrieved a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt before retrieving his jeans which were now folded and placed over the back of the chair by Fliss’ vanity unit. After sorting himself in the bathroom he made his way downstairs and found Fliss and Mary sat outside in the small yard, an array of breakfast items on the table. Fliss long hair was pulled into a messy pony tail and she was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of denim jeans. Even like that she looked effortlessly gorgeous.

“Morning.” He greeted, stepping out onto the decking and Fliss smiled at him.

“Hey.” She smiled, accepting the kiss he dropped onto her cheek before he sat down next to her. “Sleep well.”

“Hmmm I was tired for some reason.” He quipped, causing her to grin.

“Fliss says I can go ride Monty today.” Mary looked at Frank. “Is that ok?”

“It’s not your week for a lesson.” Frank spoke.“And it’s Friday.”

“It’s ok.” Fliss smiled. “The riding school is shut. Joanne’s done the morning shift so we can just go up this afternoon. I need to work Cap and Bronson but she can ride if she wants.” “Please.” Mary looked at Frank who sighed.

“I’ve gotta nip to the boat yard.” he looked at her. “Got some guy who needs a motor looking at and I said I’d meet him today.” “I don’t wanna go to the boat yard.”  Mary pouted.

“It’s okay, she can come with me.” Fliss offered “I don’t mind, honestly.”

Frank hesitated, he didn’t want Fliss to think she was obliged to take Mary. He knew that the pair of them came as a package but still.

“You sure?” Frank asked. “Roberta would normally take her but she’s not back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, its fine.” Fliss nodded “She can help me and Joanne.”

“Okay then, yeah, you can go.”

Mary grinned and turned her attention back to her book.

“You want breakfast?” Fliss asked, moving to stand.

“I’ll get it. You stay there.” Frank offered, but Mary suddenly jumped up.

“No it’s okay, we made you something special…” With that she shot into the kitchen.

“Special?” Frank looked at Fliss, and she grinned as his lips met hers.

“Yeah.” she nodded to Mary who emerged from the kitchen, giggling. Frank gave a snort of a laugh and shook his head as she thrust the box of Special K into his hands.

“Thanks…” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

**** Chapter 12

[sp00kworm]

Silence (Part 2)

Part 1 - A Bar Brawl

Part 3 - The Star Goddess (Bloodhound’s Ending)

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Pairing: Revenant x Gender Neutral/ Non-specified Reader

Warnings: Threats of Violence. 

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A Totem to Remember - Revenant’s Ending

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Loba’s debut seemed to attract more customers than you were ready to deal with. On the night of the test match, you had to refresh the beer kegs twice and you were almost out of a brand of whiskey known as the Red Devil. It was annoying, but you knew you had to refresh stock as you stacked freshly cleaned glasses back under the bar for the next day. Your bot in the back chimed happily as he opened his great washer stomach and offered you another tray of red hot, freshly cleaned glasses.

“Thanks buddy.” You cooed at the robot before taking the tray and patting his head with one hand. Spinning back around, you headed back out into the bar and hummed to yourself as you started moving towards the cabinet of tumblers. You held the tray on your hip as you plucked open the cabinet before carefully putting the glasses into their correct places, in order of size and shape. Mindlessly, your fingers moved on muscle memory as your little washer buddy moved to plug himself back in for the night, waving before he powered down and his battery began to charge. You patted him softly as you placed the tray away for him and turned to lock the kitchen for the night.

 The lights flickered. You looked at the ceiling before a gravelly voice spoke above you.

“You’re oblivious, skinbag.” Revenant purred from the ceiling.

You looked up and realised his face was close to your own, his arms extended, and his legs pinned into the metal of the ceiling. His body contorted monstrously before his head twisted and he dropped from the ceiling with a soft thump.

“What the hell are you doing on my ceiling, Revenant?” You tried to keep calm, but you were quick to fly into fury with the Simulacrum, “You don’t get to just waltz in here after…”

“You don’t get to waltz in here after what you’ve done.” He mimicked back at you with his hand snapping in your face, “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” Revenant drawled as he looked at the whiskey behind you. He pointed a sharp finger at it, “Give me that.”

“Uh, no.” You gave an exasperated huff and snatched the liquor, “I suggest you pay for it first, plus, we’re closed.”

“I think you’re forgetting just how much money I’ve given you already, squishy.” Revenant purred, “I gave you a thousand credits last time I was here, that pays for more than seven of those whiskey bottles, I know they’re not that expensive.”

 With another hum, his metal fingers reached for a glass, snatching it before you could rescue that from him too.

“Okay. I don’t think you understand that you literally killed a man in my bar, and that your hush money doesn’t just sweep that under the rug.” You pointed a finger in his face angrily, “You pay, or you get out.”

The threat made him laugh. Revenant threw back his head and laughed a deep metallic noise, his mouth opening slightly to reveal the sparking copper inside of his mouth, “I like you. Not just anyone gets away with pointing a finger in my face.” He purred but his hand snapped up and grabbed hold of your wrist. Slowly, his cold sharp fingers crawled down your arm before they grabbed hold of your fingers and pushed, “But point it at me again and I’ll take the nail and skin off and pin your eyes open to watch.”

“This is not the way to get a free drink.” You uttered, in shock at the severity of his threat.

Revenant hummed again before his electronics whirred and he released your hand back to you, “Sure. You’re something odd, skinbag. Get me that drink, I need something to do.” It wasn’t polite nor happy, but you relented and opened the cabinet to retrieve his drink. The expensive liquor was strong, and you turned back around with it in your hand before undoing the screw cap and pouring it into an icy tumbler.

 Revenant eased himself into the bar stool, ignoring your disgruntled look as he took the tumbler and admired the dark colour of the whiskey. He swirled the liquid for a while before taking a small amount into his mouth and swallowing, his neck jarring with the pumps before he gave a small hiss.

“Nice burn.” He commented as he slumped over the bar and looked at the clock on the wall, hardly fazed by the lateness of his visit or how inconvenient he was being to you, “I see you’ve been making a killing with the games broadcasts.”

You didn’t know whether he was being genuine, “Well…I guess that money came in handy.” You shot back at him, “Blood money seems to have made my business flourish.”

“Sometimes money buys happiness.” Revenant drawled, “I got plenty of it. Just ask.”

“I don’t want your money.” You scoffed, “I’ve had plenty of that already.”

Revenant growled, “Then just what do you want from me?!” His fingers rapped along the bar top.

“If you didn’t get it, Revenant, I want you to get out and leave me alone!” You shouted.

 The Simulacrum watched you, his black and orange eyes bright before the orange went small and he snatched his drink back off the bar. He lifted it to the separation in his face where the skull like white met red and opened the hinge to dump the rest of the alcohol inside. Before you could snatch the expensive bottle away from him, he had it in his hand. Revenant said nothing to you as he held the bottle by his leg, his long arm popping upwards with a shrugging readjustment before he whipped around and headed to the door, stalking on long legs. He didn’t glance back as he stormed away, slamming the door behind him with a grunt before disappearing beyond the bright LEDs of the streetlamps and into the night. You looked at the bar and scoffed at the scratch marks down the wood, running your finger over them before you locked the door and shut off the lights to head up to your room above the bar for some well-earned rest.

 Revenant didn’t show up for the next few days. You were glad for the peace again as you ran through your normal daily routine, until it came to cleaning day for you little dishwasher friend. The robot unit chirped happily as you slapped at his dishwashing compartment and watched it open, the cogs and pistons whirring as the racks and doors stretched to their full capacity. Carefully you took a spanner and went to carefully unscrew the back of the water pipes from his back and laid them over the counter and into the sink to avoid any gross water dripping through onto the floor. The pipes smelled. You coughed as you reached for the cleaning fluid and whistled gently as you opened the back of the washing compartment to expose the hose outlets. The robot chimed a whistle as you poured the cleaner inside his belly and started scrubbing, whistling back softly as the suds started to foam up.

“You love cleaning time huh buddy?” You asked.

The robot chirped with a smiley face appearing on the screen which acted as its face.

“Hey, I know, I won’t be too long!” You promised as you took a wire wool to a particularly rough spot of dried grease. You continued to hum as you worked and poured the cleaning fluid down the water pipes to clean them.

 “Okay buddy, lets get these back attached to you.” The washing bot chirped and span for you again as you held his water pipes up and reached for your spanner to crank the bolts back into place.

“And…” You cranked the bolt one last time, settling it in place tightly, “There!” You declared, “Right, go and set yourself for a full rinse and you should feel like brand new!”

The robot chirped and tugged himself into the corner again before starting his cycle. A happy face trundled across his screen as he started the timer for his cycle and plugged himself back into to the charging point to continue the wash in sleep mode.

“See you in a bit buddy.” You patted his washing compartment and headed back into the bar, wiping your hands on a towel before you looked at the empty place and the bright sunshine outside. You weren’t open just yet. It was too early for serving and you felt tiredness seep into your eyes as you looked for the coffee machine. It was usually only used for Expresso Martinis. It needed water and you took the coffee jar and filled it before pouring it into the machine and looking through just what you fancied to drink. If anything had come out of the war, it was the new, expansive range of hot drinks. Tea from far off planets you had never heard of. You plucked free one box with a curious looking fruit on the front before taking the strainer and filling it with the leaves and letting the hot water drip through into the large pot.

 As you watched the water drip, you heard a noise above you. The clink of metal. The barest noise of a scrape of metal over plaster. Slowly, you peered upwards. Nothing. The ceiling was its normal, usual painted colour, the metal support beams poking out of the plaster. You frowned but looked back at your tea. There was another noise. Metal scraping over each other. The noise was coming from behind the closed door to the kitchen. You left the tea unattended and reached for the door handle, pressing the pad to open it with a whirr of mechanical locks. It clunked open. Nothing. Your washing robot chirped at you in confusion his screen flashing with a question mark across his face before you smiled, trying to ease his nerves.

“Hey, don’t panic. I just thought I heard something…” You trailed off as you looked past your washing robot and into the room. Nothing was out of place.

It was then that your washing bot gave a strangled beep and danced away from where he was attached to the wall, pulling the water pipes tight as he beeped in upset.

 “Pah.” A silver clawed hand retracted up back on top of the fridge after taking a rude swipe at your friend, “Stupid tin-can.” Revenant hissed from the giant chrome refrigerator, flashing his claws back at the robot once more.

“How the fuck did you even get in here?” You asked as you looked up at the Simulacrum, “I told you not to come back.”

Revenant’s body contorted on the top of the fridge, his head twisting to the side as his orange eyes span and swirled in the shadows, “I know.” He rumbled, “I…” He went silent as his pistons clicked and he slid over the top of the furniture and down onto the floor with a click and a hiss.

“You what? You needed another bottle of whiskey?” You challenged.

Revenant stood to his full height, looming over you, the joints of his fingers clicking before he gave a grunt, “Something like that.” He rumbled as he looked down at you before he looked back at your washing bot and flexed his shoulders, “I didn’t know you had company.”

 Suddenly, that tension was gone, and Revenant stepped past you to flash his hand at the other robot again. It was a threat perhaps, but your washing robot chirped unhappily again.

“Stupid bag of bolts.” Revenant grumbled at it.

“Hey.” You intervened, “Leave him alone. He’s just a washing bot.” You grabbed Revenant’s arm.

It was like the Simulacrum froze in time, his eyes glaring down at the place where your fingers wrapped around the metal. With a snort, Revenant tugged his arm free from your grip.

“It’s just a washing bot, like you said.” Revenant stalked from the kitchen, his mechanical legs thumping softly as he went. As he left you made sure your friend was safe. Beyond a small nick at the base of his neck he was fine. You nudged him back into his power station to continue his cycles in sleep mode.

 You followed Revenant into the bar to see him picking through your cabinet again, his metal fingers tapping along the labels of the liquors as he decided back to pluck from your reserves.

“What happened to the rest of that posh stuff?” Revenant asked with a hum as he looked through the back of the cabinet.

“You had the last bottle. The supplier hasn’t been in a while.” You watched him look back before he selected another expensive looking bottle. This time it was tequila. You didn’t say anything as he took it out and eyed the label before disappearing into the corner of your bar, slinking into the booth farthest away from you in silence. The Simulacrum didn’t glance back at you as he cracked open the bottle and placed the glass neck between his metal jaws before tipping his head back and emptying a good portion of the alcohol into his synthetic stomach. You watched with a small cringe as he seemed unfazed by the burning liquor. His orange eyes snapped to you as you watched him from the bar.

 His gravelly voice carried well across the room, gracing your ears with the deeply pissed off timbre, “What are you looking at?” Revenant asked with a roll of his optics, “I’m not going to steal anything.” He rumbled.

You watched him for a moment before replying, “I’m more concerned why you want to be here.”

Revenant looked you dead in the eyes as his mechanical thumb stroked the label of the bottle, “Call it a whim, whatever. It’s quiet and there isn’t that annoying Andrade brat. Don’t go thinking anything different. You tell them where I am, and I’ll take great pleasure in making you squeal like the little meatsack you are.”

“You know. There’s no need to threaten me with a good time every time you come in here.” This was a new tactic, and you watched his optics twitch from his bottle to your face.

“Are you making fun of me, skinsuit?” Revenant growled, his two metal jaws parting slightly to reveal the sheen of copper in his mouth with an angry snarl.

“Hardly.” You scoffed, “Fine.” You relented as you headed for the light switch, “Stay here, but I’m going to bed. Enjoy your pity party.” With a snap of the lights, you walked back into the kitchen and to the back staircase to your own apartment. You made sure to lock the door firmly before stripping off for a shower and heading to bed.

 Revenant peered into the darkness with a hum, his fingers tapping along the table before he tugged the bottle of liquor closer and snapped on the holoscreen in the corner, searching for something to fill the noise in the dark bar with outside of his own memories playing over and over again behind his eyes.

 “Skinsuit.” There was a grunt before the bed shook and dipped either side of your body, “Skinsuit!”

With a jolt you woke up, just to come face to face with the skull-head of Revenant and a sneer.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to choke you awake.” Revenant grumbled as he peered over you, his legs splayed like a spider either side of you as he looked down at you tucked into the covers. His hands pulled back from either side of your head and you watched him flash his claws as he sat back, still perched over your legs, looming like a deranged killer.

“Do I need to ask why you’re up in my room?” You asked groggily, wiping sleep from your eyes as Revenant watched you sit up with great interest. The Simulacrum purred, a low rumbling from somewhere in his throat, as you met him face to face, glaring at his orange and black eyes.

 “Your little washing bot is screaming downstairs. It sounds horrendous.” Revenant didn’t move away, his skeletal nose rushing with air as he inhaled the smell of you.

“If you did something Revenant…”

“You’ll what? You’ll kill me?” He wheezed a great laugh as his claws dragged at your sheets, “Good luck with that, skinsuit. There’s millions of bodies just waiting for me to be reuploaded into them.” He snarled before rasping again as his arms and legs whirred into downwards positions, allowing him to snap, flip and crawl off your bed in one, bizarrely fluid motion before he clicked back into place and stood over the side of your bed with another, odd, calculating rumble.  

 You decided to ignore his snide remark and bitter tone, “Is he malfunctioning?” You asked as you threw back the covers and climbed out of bed to face the Simulacrum. He was intimidating at nearly seven feet tall but slim and streamlined with the ability to move silently at will despite being made from entirely heavy bulletproof metal. He looked down at you, his metal lips parted, unimpressed with your pyjamas covered in small Nesse prints.

“Not a clue.” His orange eyes looked you up and down before he strolled over to look through your desk.

“Hey, asshole.” You snapped at him as he tugged a thick looking document from a fat wad of paper, “No one invited you to look through my things.”

Revenant chuckled, “No. They didn’t…” He pulled open one of the drawers underneath him and hummed at the pens and random assortments of stationary in there, “A penis pen.” He held the phallic pen between his fingers, “Practical.”

 You ignored his taunting swaying of the pen back and forth and hastened down the stairs towards the sound of your screaming washing bot. As you opened the door to the bar kitchen you ducked as a pot came flying towards your head. It clattered against the wall and smashed into several pieces. You avoided the shards as you pushed into the kitchen and saw the pipes spraying water down onto the floor and the robot trying to slam his front closed.

“Oh my…” You didn’t finish your sentence as he caught sight of you and screamed again, the screen in his stomach covered with crying faces as he rushed towards you, holding the severed and burst pipes in one hand and his drawer closed with the other. He screeched again waving the dripping pipes in front of you before shrinking behind your form, ducking as low as it could get as Revenant filled the entrance way into the kitchen.

 His raspy laugh made you scowl. Revenant slinked in through the doorway and set about scratching his claws along the tiles, making a noise that was so ear grating you had to clench your teeth.

“I didn’t expect for him to piss all over your floor, I’ll admit.” The Simulacrum laughed, harshly and entirely mean.

“I knew you had something to do with this!” You pointed a finger in his face, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?! Why do you have to insist on being foul for a reaction?” Your anger seethed out of you as you hid your little robot behind you.

Revenant sneered, “You’re no fun, skinsuit.” He snarled before he snagged the pipes from your robot’s hands and grabbed the mechanical washing bot along the floor, kicking and screaming. His claws crunched into the metal of the washer bot’s shoulder as he pulled it towards the wall it had previously been stationed at. It wiggled violently before Revenant heaved it up and held the pipes up before driving them together with a metallic thunk. The connectors clicked back together easily, and the washing robot beeped confusedly as Revenant stood him against the wall and banged on the front of his tummy, slamming the door closed with a vicious thump of his metal palm. The door remained closed and the washing robot chirped in confusion.

 You looked at the floor and then back to Revenant as he trudged back through the puddles of water and loomed over you again. He gave a long, low, robotic chuckle as he spun his hand and curled the claws towards his palm.

“I fixed your issue.” He stated with a look at his claws before he snapped them into a spike and made sure to push you back against the door, “Your welcome, skinsuit.”

You felt anger boil in your gut, “What? Do you want me to thank you or something?” You spat as you looked up at the unnatural orange optics. They span, the robotic pupils clicking as he focused on your face and the anger that painted your expression.

Revenant’s fingers curled into the wall, “Something like that.” He whispered as he stared at the anger on your face, “I didn’t do this, before you blame me.” With a scoff, he released you from the wall and sauntered through the puddles of water towards the back door, “Nice seeing you…” He turned to look at you, his headscarf rippling in the breeze, “You look nice when you sleep.”

“FREAK!” You screamed after him as he disappeared up the smooth concrete wall and over the next building with a hiss of pistons.

 Your washing bot chirped sadly and held out his hands to you with a shake. You looked and spotted the spanner in his hands as he sheepishly rubbed his washing compartment.

“Well. At least I don’t have to bill him for this as well…but maybe I will to spite the bastard.” You considered as you carefully took a towel to your friend and then grumbled, wading across the kitchen to find the mop to get rid of the rest of the puddles.

 Revenant seemed to lurk in the corners of your vision after that, always sat in the back of the bar, with some bottle of hard liquor and a deadly, judgemental gaze turned on the rest of the patrons. Those who knew him from the Apex Games did not dare approach him. He took great pleasure in launching a young man over the table once from a handshake, laughing as he stalked over to him and signed his name on the boy’s cheek in his own blood. You had promptly doubled his price for drinks that night, but the Simulacrum did not complain, he paid at closing and disappeared into the night. Sometimes he lurked after closing time. More often than not, you found him glaring down at your washing bot as the robot thrust a mop at him to try and get him off the cupboards or fridges. Angry beeps were then met with your angry glares. For some reason, Revenant adored the look. Anger furrowing your brows and a snarl on your lips made him feel smug, almost joyful. He was positively gleeful when he was tormenting you.

 However, the bar was shut for the workers day, a holiday for most of the city, and Revenant was left without his normal activities to entertain himself. He stalked around his room for a while, jumping and reaching for items he had hung from his ceiling as exercise before he looked at the charging port and bed. There was nothing else in his room. A spare scarf was hung in the wardrobe along with the scraps of a suit he had taken great pleasure in peeling apart in front of the other legends before a conference. With a huff he opened the ventilation shaft and rotated his spinal column before his shoulders snapped and tucked in close underneath his arms, allowing for him to fit into the vent and scuttle along to the next room. Noxious fumes made him pause, but with another slow filtration of air he scoffed and opened the grate on the other side.

“Mercury won’t rot my insides, Nox.” His head turned one hundred and eighty degrees before his body followed in a contortion of metal, spilling out and rotating on top of Alexander’s glassware cabinet.

Caustic looked at him with vicious cold green eyes, “I’ve yet to find anything but charged copper dispersals that will have an effect.” He uttered softly, clinical and effective as he opened his filtration systems and watched the mercury vapours swirl away into the chambers above, “Why are you bothering me, Simulacrum?”

Revenant lowered his head over the side of the cabinet, “I smelt rotten eggs. Sulfur. But maybe you just passed gas.” He jeered as he watched Caustic cork the rest of the reaction and pull another yet of heavy metals from a rack alongside various acids.

“Maybe hydrofluoric acid will make you quieter?” Caustic hissed, “I’m working.”

“I know.” Revenant hummed from the cabinet, “But you’re not that busy.” He dragged his claws over the top of the metal with a laugh.

 Caustic closed the arm opening of his experimental chamber with a slam as he peeled free his gloves in order to point a scarred finger at the Simulacrum, “You never come in here unless you’re bored.” He observed as he removed his goggles and respirator, “And that isn’t often…Not after you found that little toy to play with. Did Bloodhound not warn you off enough with that slice to your oil recycler?”

Revenant growled from the cabinet as he leaned over the top, leering at the Chemist underneath him, “It was fucking ugly bleeding shit down my legs but there’s always another body for me…Bloodhound didn’t heal to quickly from my blow I think.” He flashed his claws and hummed as he tucked himself back on the unit, far out of Caustic’s reach, “Besides. That feral brat doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“No but they might be inclined to give you another cut for harassing a…what do you call them…skinsuit?” Alexander’s eyes lit up with silent glee as he watched Revenant click and adjust on top of his glassware cabinet.

“Carry on old man and I’ll show you just what I did to Bloodhound.” Revenant hissed as he laid over the top, his metal legs hanging down over Caustic’s head.

 Caustic binned his gloves and hung his goggles after washing them before he turned on the air conditioning and moved back towards his desk, “I have no desire to taste steel today. So,” He span in his chair, his rectangle frame glasses perched on the end of his nose, “Are you going to tell me what you’re here for? Evidently your little toy isn’t around to entertain you today.”

Revenant propped his head up on his arm, tapping a claw against the metal beneath his eye before he rumbled, “Its…boring.” With a small sigh he looked down at Caustic, “I didn’t think I could feel but its exciting to watch them, like a little rat running around. A little angry rat.”

Alexander was turned back to his desk, working over something before he replied, “You might be an illegally made conscious robot but you will still carry humanity…even if your programming was once to kill.” He shrugged up at the robot, “Perhaps you are having a mild fascination? Infatuation if you will. I can’t say I have felt it myself… The idea of such intimacy disgusts me, but perhaps you are more human than you originally thought?” Glee laced Caustic’s tone as he smirked up at Revenant.

Anger churned in Revenant’s processors, “Human am I.” He slipped from the cabinet and slid in one movement, grabbing for Caustic’s throat.

 His fingers were cold, but Caustic let him grapple from the chair. The Chemist was far shorter than him but was large, bulky and strong despite his love for poisonous gases.

“Did I hit a nerve?” He asked with a laugh and a wheeze which was followed by a cough.

Revenant looked down at him, orange eyes swirling before he leaned close to Caustic’s face, “Compare me to you soft bellied sacks of skin again and I’ll slice you from groin to neck just for the fun of it…Then maybe I’ll show your little apprentice what you look like.”

“I dare you to try Simulacrum.” Caustic whispered before he pried the robotic hand off his throat and sat back down in his chair, slicking his hair back with a huff, “Why not just ask to see them?”  

“Pah.” Revenant’s joints clicked as he climbed back onto the cabinet, “Like I want to see them.” He hissed, “They do nothing but tell me to leave.”

“Have you considered that is because you are foul?!” Caustic shouted as he leaned back to see Revenant disappear back into the vent, “Idiotic fool.” He cursed softly before erasing the measurements for the next reactions he had planned.

 Days suddenly past without Revenant in the corner of the bar. Your washing buddy seemed quiet and contemplative without having to beat him off the countertops, and you found yourself slowly relaxing until it was concerning. The Simulacrum was never gone for long. It was a week since before you knew it and you knew they were still in the downtime between seasons. He had no reason for being gone. You caught yourself one night as you worried about where he had gotten to.

“Probably finally got what was coming to him for that big mouth.” You whispered as you took the cleaned glasses from your robot and began to place them away.

The door opened with a creak and you huffed, “We’re closed!” You shouted over your shoulder, “I swore I turned the sign around…”

There was no one in the bar. You scowled as you opened the bar door and walked towards the entrance where the door was propped open an inch or so, letting the warm air into the bar.

“Hello?” You asked quietly as you opened the door and peered outside.

“Skinsuit.” Revenant hummed from above you.

 You peered upwards and felt a sense of relief wash over you as you gazed into the orange eyes of the sour looking Simulacrum above you. His head turned, much like a bird, as he regarded you.

“You’ve been gone a while.” You commented idly as you stood outside the door. Your foot hit the pavement and the Simulacrum held up one silver finger.

He pointed down at your foot, “I think you just stood on something.”

You jumped when cardboard crumpled and something rattled around in the box, sending it shooting towards the taxi rails. With a rush you grabbed for the box and frowned at the largeness of it.

“Why did you get me an animal?” You asked as you heaved the box to the front door, eyeing the air holes stamped in the side.

“Call it an investment.” He grunted as he dropped from your roof and stood behind you, watching with eager eyes as you carefully opened the lid.

 A growl sounded from within and you jumped back at the sight of the small Prowler cub pacing back and forth in the box.

“REVENANT, WHAT THE FUCK?!” You screeched as the Prowler cub scrambled from the box and hissed, flaring the bare bones of its frills at you, trying to appear intimidating.

“No need to shout. You’ll scare the little guy.” Revenant insisted as he closed the door, “I found him is all. Thought you might like it. Kings Canyon…well its not great but if you head into the jungles of Leviathan there’s still some of these things that survived the purging of the planet.”

“How did you even find one?” You asked as the cub rushed underneath a table, quivering and hissing sadly, “They’re…endangered.”

“It was stuck in a pit. Probably game hunters. I nabbed it. Its weedy and pathetic looking so I thought you might like it.” He shrugged, “I can’t keep animals in the tower so he’s yours.”

You stood silently for a moment, trying to figure out just what the gift meant. That Revenant trusted you? That he thought about you? You didn’t know what to make of it.

 “Are you going to pay for the food?” You asked with a smirk aimed at the Simulacrum stood over you.

The seven-foot robot gave a single, dry laugh before he held up a large bag, “Way ahead of you, skinsuit.” He reached in and pulled out a heavy looking metal dish, “Don’t give me that look.” He gestured to your face, “So happy, doing that thing with your little beady eyes. Its revolting.” With a scoff he pushed past you and headed towards the cowering cub before plucking it from the floor, ignoring the black teeth snapping at him as he pulled at its frill and admired the deep blue and orange colours along his back.

“Hey.” You cautiously approached, “Put him back on the floor, I have a good idea on how to win him over.” You gestured to Revenant who rolled his eyes but dropped the cub with a huff and grabbed a bottle of liquor to watch from the bar as you took off your sweater and gently eased it under the table.

 The Prowler ignored you, mouth agape and dark under its neck. Next you took the food bowel and pulled out the food Revenant had gathered. A small amount of cubed beef was enough, and you placed it in his bowl before filling the other and leaving for the bar.

“Really? That’s it?” He droned, “How boring. I thought you might wrestle it and get eaten alive.” He trailed his fingers over the wood, “Now what?”

“We leave him alone. He needs to settle in. Its all new and traumatic.” You insisted as the cub took a sniff of your sweater and laid in the mass with a sad whimper.

“How dull…Maybe he’ll chew through a pipe in the night.” Revenant wondered as he tipped his head back and poured some liquor into his mouth.

“Hopefully not…but thank you. I didn’t think you were capable of being nice.” You whispered as you watched the Prowler bed himself down.

“Don’t get used to it.” Revenant snapped, but without as much of his usual bite, “It might come back to bite you.”

“Well, it very well might. Look at his teeth.” You joked, for once feeling at ease with the murderous robot in the room.

Revenant only gave another series of dry laughs.

“Demonio.” You cooed at the small cub as he attacked a hunk of meat with talons and teeth. It chewed on its back teeth before its ears pricked behind the frill around his neck.

“Demonio.” You cooed once again and the Prowler looked at you with a grumbling chirp, licking the blood from around its mouth as it eyed the small, marrow filled bone in your palm, “Come on boy.” You wiggled the bone back and forth as the orange eyes tracked your hand along its course.

“Do you like making fun of me?” Revenant grumbled from his seat at the edge of the bar, “That damn brat is the only one who calls me that.” He hissed.

Demonio eyed the bone before he got to his feet and prowled over before licking at your fingers. He took a nip before waiting for the bone.

“Good boy.” You reached with your other hand and touched his frill, gently running your hand down his nose before you gave him the bone and stood up to head back to Revenant.

 “He seems fonder of you.” Revenant observed with a hum, “Almost like a soft little dog.” He spat at the cub, “How delightfully boring.”

“Maybe, but I appreciate not being bitten by him anymore.” You answered as you looked back at the Prowler. He was already growing, and you were more than happy to look after him, but he was going to get large, “Even if he might outgrow me one day…well and maybe try to eat me at any moment.” You huffed.

Revenant snorted, “Ha. Maybe he will, but I’m sure Predators are less inclined to eat people they like.”

You looked at the Simulacrum, “Is that why I’m still alive?” It was barely a whisper, “Because you like making my life miserable?”

 Revenant looked taken aback, his orange eyes turning into pinpoints as he considered his next words, “Miserable…No.” His metal jaws clicked, “You’re the only person that can make me laugh.”

Those words were heavy, and you watched him struggle for a moment with himself, “I don’t understand anything. I was programmed to kill for…I don’t know. A long time. This is new for me and I have hated every second of feeling more than I did being nothing but a slaughter machine.” He growled.

“You should call me by my name then.” You smiled as you said it for him, and the Simulacrum nodded once before repeating it back to you and turning to watch Demonio gnaw on his bone.

“Oh,” Revenant looked back at you and you poured him another drink, “For the record, I like you as well Revenant.” You smiled as you sat down next to him and watched Demonio work on his bone a little longer.

 “Demonio!” You rushed after the Prowler as he launched himself at a customer. He was now a juvenile, and the hound like beast was quick to dislike anyone that touched you over the bar. You kept him behind the bar, but the creature was quick to jump at people that took hold of you. Revenant laughed from the end of the bar, tucked in the shadows of the wall as he ran his claws back and forth over the bar, “He knows people shouldn’t touch what isn’t there’s.” The Simulacrum sneered as the patron whipped around to look at him.

“Oh yeah, you metal fucker? What are you saying?”

“That your disgusting little skin sack hands don’t deserve to be near ‘em.” Revenant’s fingers snapped together, the fusion metal slamming together as he raised himself over the bar, spun and stuck up against the ceiling over the man, “Maybe I’ll take more than your hand like the hound would.” He ran the sharp spear of his hand down the man’s cheek, “I think your innards would make a lovely adornment to my mantle.”

“Revenant.” You tugged the hand away, “Enough.” You hissed at him, “Sir, I’m sorry for the drama…”

“Save it. I’m out of here.” He shoved his drink over the side and rushed to the door, “Bunch of fucking weirdos.” He snarled as he left.

 The night drew to a close and Revenant spent the rest of the opening hours sulking in the back of the bar, alone on a table, with his feet propped up on the metal, his drink untouched as he watched the patrons with a vicious glare.

“Revenant.” You uttered as Demonio pattered along behind you, his frill flared as he dragged his tug rope for play time, “Are we going to talk about what happened, or are you going to sulk forever?” You asked as you sat across from him, pushing his feet to the side in order to see his gaunt metal face.

The Simulacrum snorted, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, there is.” You huffed, “You threatened to kill a man tonight who grabbed hold of my hand.” You sat back as Demonio pushed his head into your lap and you rubbed the scaley skin around his ears.

“Is there? I wasn’t aware that it was a problem.” Revenant moved his feet from the table, “He was an asshole. I won’t apologise for my actions.”

“I’m not…”

“And I sure as hell won’t be giving you money for his drinks..”

“Will you shut up and listen?” You snapped.

 Revenant felt anger threaten to spill over, but he slumped back in his seat as you pushed your finger down against the wood and scowled. He watched you with a huff.

“You’re lashing out and I want to know why.” You demanded, “From day one you were horrible. A cruel and mean machine that wanted nothing but to inconvenience me every day, but now you’re…giving me gifts. You’re here constantly and you just…You stopped me from getting a very horrible string of abuse. So, explain this to me, because I’m at a loss.”

Revenant was silent. His chassis was still and his wiring and pistons clunked as though he was being jolted back to life. He opened his hand on the table and dared to reach for one of your own. Smooth, cold metal fingers grazed your fingertips before they gingerly moved up and over your palm to stroke the soft skin. His orange eyes watched the pulse in your wrist before he linked the fingers once, squeezing tightly before he moved away again and guarded himself, crossing his arms out of your reach.

 “I…” He paused again, “I care for you.” That was it, he was silent again, his eyes watching you as you took in the meaning of the words he had dared to utter.

“Care for me?” You whispered back at him.

Anger laced him once again, “Yes, you stupid skinsuit! I might even feel something like love or joy!” He hollered as he flashed his claws and scraped them against one another, “Its infuriating and…And it hurts!” He threw his hand at the wall, “It hurts because I know I’m nothing but a giant killing machine! I’m stained in so much blood I could swim in it and nothing can ever make you love a disgusting creature like me!” Revenant heaved, almost like a human, his spinal column lurching as he screamed in frustration again and moved to stand up.

Like a viper, you grabbed at his hand and tugged, hard enough to jolt his fingers, but he was unfazed. He towered over you and watched, looking down at you with lonely eyes as his fingers dared, once again, to wrap around your own, seeking the heat they no longer possessed. He uttered your name, once, softly, as though he wasn’t allowed to say it, and then he looked you in the eyes.

 “That week you didn’t show up was like torture.” You said carefully, “For the first time, I was actually worried about you. It was then that I realised I liked having you around. Everything you did it was not to piss me off… well it was, but you haven’t had to speak or make friends with someone in so long, you just forgot how to do it anymore.” You felt your hand begin to shake in his, “But then the gifts started, and you thought about them. I said I wanted a dog one day, and well Demonio isn’t a dog but he’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever been given…So,” You smiled at him, “What I’m trying to say is that I think I might love you too.”

Revenant’s hand fell from your own and he looked to the wall for a moment before replying, “You really think you can love me?” He whispered, appearing small despite his towering height.

“Yes, I think I can.” You affirmed before leaning up to wrap your arms around him. The Simulacrum flinched before wrapping his thin, cold arms around you, taking in the warmth of the hug before pressing his face to your neck and humming at the gentle sensation of a kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” He asked quietly.

“Because I love you.” You whispered as you hugged him tighter.

[ashes-and-ashes]

"I wish you could just admit you made a mistake" "I didnt make a mistake, I like it with salt" *while stirring coffee*. Any pairing you want and it doesnt have to be romantic.

I had a blast writing this!! Some domestic!drarry for the soul :)

Coffee

~

Harry wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of clattering in the kitchen. The light streaming in from the windows makes him blink blearily, the blankets warm where they wrapped around his legs. He reaches groggily over to the other side, where Draco usually slept and touched only air.

For a heartbeat, just a heartbeat that old panic comes back, of waking up and finding the other person gone. Harry’s spent too many mornings like that; Draco having slipped away some time before dawn, the bed cold and so, so empty. He clenches his hands, fists slipping on the sheets. It always took awhile for him to calm down, to be reminded that he was here, in their apartment in Diagon Alley, all old windows and exposed brick.

Draco had picked the place out, half-forgotten on a small side street, the windows boarded and the door locked. Harry had thought he was crazy at first, crazy for wanting an old wreck like this was.

But they had cleaned it up nicely: exposed beams and huge windows with emerald shutters, hard wooden flooring covered in soft rugs. Pansy had done most of the decorating - Harry wanted too much red and Draco wanted too much green. The flat was now a comfortable amalgamation of them both - broomsticks on the floor, Harry’s coffee mugs and Draco’s crystal wine glasses, a Muggle television and an old pensieve that Draco had bought from god knew where.

It felt like home. Harry’s never really felt like that before, having a place to truely call home.

He gets out of bed slowly, wincing at the bright lights. There’s a mess of clothing dumped on one of the chairs; he grabs something at random (Draco’s - only he would bother to buy a sweater this nice) and pulls it on, padding into the kitchen.

Draco’s perched on the counter, a newspaper in hand. Harry watches him, all tousled blonde hair and long legs and the faintest edge of a rosy blush on his cheeks. The sun hits him from behind making him look like he was glowing, the entire room lit up by the beauty of his smile.

Harry remembers a time long ago, back to the War and the fighting. Draco had been colder, harder, painted in shades of grey instead of gold. Still beautiful - he always had been beautiful - but nothing close to what he was now.

He could have watched Draco for hours, flipping through the Prophet idly, the smell of warm coffee in the air. Draco notices him before long though; he rolls his eyes, tossing the newspaper over Harry’s head and onto the sofa behind him. “Creep,” he says, though there’s no venom behind the words. “How long have you been watching me?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face, like he might’ve so long ago. He’s long learnt that Draco was Draco - he never needed to hide anything around him. “Few minutes. You know we have a couch right?”

“Oh really?” Draco says in mock surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Maybe you’re just stupid,” Harry says and Draco lets out a long laugh.

“Bitch,” he mutters and flicks his wand. The mail comes soaring into Harry’s hands, the door swinging slightly behind it. “Here’s all your precious fan mail by the way.”

Harry scowls, examining the parchment in his hand. “How do they keep finding us?”

“Probably a tracking spell or something. How come I never get any fan mail?”

“You have the fucked-up Death Eater guy.”

Draco pours. “Yes, but he’s a fucked-up Death Eater guy. You get all the admirers. No one has ever sent me a condom before.”

Harry shudders. “Oh please no,” he says, dropping the stack of mail onto the coffee table with a groan. “That was one time! One time!”

“It was an extra large!” Draco calls out as Harry shoves his way into the kitchen, slamming an empty mug onto the counter. Ron had gotten it for him as an 18th birthday present - one of those tacky souvenir ones that seemed to have sprouted up everywhere after the war. The Bae Who Lived was stamped on one side, along with a lipstick mark that did not resemble Harry’s lips at all.

Draco had now stretched himself out on the counter, legs dangling idly over the edge. His arm was out and bare next to him, the Dark Mark covered up by beautiful flowers, rendered in soft purples and blues and greens. It was a Muggle tattoo for the most part, with the exception of one single hydrangea - in ever shifting colours of pale pinks and soft teals. Draco had designed it himself - they still had the parchment sketched on the wall in the bedroom.

“Move,” Harry grumbles, unceremoniously shoving Draco off the counter. “Why are you even up so early? It’s not like we have practice or anything.”

Draco gives him a disbelieving stare. “It’s almost 8.”

“Too fucking early.”

“Go to bed earlier then.”

“I did!” Harry shakes his head. “You’re the one keeping me up all night.”

“Well,” Draco says, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I’m sure I could wake you up by - “

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Harry scowls into his empty mug, running a hand through his hair. “The only thing I want to be woken up by today is the Lord and coffee. I need coffee.”

“Pot,” Draco says, gesturing vaguely towards the coffee machine. “My boyfriend. The handsomest idiot in the world.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry grumbles as he pours himself a huge cup. Draco had an unusual talent for making incredible coffee, despite not knowing how to use a french press about 6 months ago. “I defeated Voldemort, right? That’s got to count for something.”

Draco laughs. “Please. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” Harry scowls. He finds the milk in the fridge, adding copious amounts to his coffee. “Where’s the spoons?”

“This is your fucking loft too,” Draco mutters. He hands Harry the spoon from his own coffee mug, smirking as he did. “Honestly. Remember that headline a few weeks ago? ‘Harry Potter; the Hidden Mysteries of the Boy Who Lived?’”

“Vividly,” Harry mutters, now rummaging around the cupboards for the sugar. “Made me sound like some sort of bloody celebrity or something. Anything Skeeter writes is trash.”

Draco hums. He kicks his feet out in front of him idly. “True. It’s a load of bullshit anyways. Hidden mysteries my ass.”

Harry flips him off. He finds the sugar in a jar next to the stove and adds a few heaping spoonfuls to his coffee, the rich scent already helping with his headache. “I’m mysterious!” he protests. “And handsome. And attractive. And devastatingly intelligent.”

“Apparently not,” Draco says, “Seeing as you just put salt in your coffee.”

Harry freezes. He turns back towards the stove. For the first time he notices the small black letters on the side of the jar. Sea Salt.

He inwardly groans, turning back to face Draco, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. “No. I meant to do that.”

“I wish you would just admit you made a mistake,” Draco sighs, watching as Harry serenely stirs his coffee. “Gryffindors.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” Harry mutters, clinking his spoon against his mug. “I like it with salt.”

“Oh really?” Draco says. Harry sees the glint in his eye and gulps. “Then you wouldn’t have a problem with drinking it?”

Harry swallows, hard. Shit, he thinks. Draco’s eyes are full of challenge, that streak of competitiveness that made him fall in love in the first place.

Harry slowly raises the mug to his lips. “Fuck you,” he says and chugs the whole thing. Halfway through he regrets it - it’s burning hot and excruciatingly salty, like drinking warm ocean water. He never could turn down a dare though, draining the cup to the dregs.

“See?” he says, slamming the cup down in front of Draco. “Delicious.”

Draco gets to his feet, smiling wickedly. He crosses over to the stove, picking up the jar of salt. “Delicious?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, trying to hind the grimace and the lingering taste still in his mouth. “I could drink this all day.”

He regrets the words as soon as it leaves his mouth. Draco grins, his face turning evil. “Well then,” he says. “It’s a good thing I love my boyfriend so much then.”

Fuck.

“Draco - “ Harry starts, but Draco just winks.

“Love you,” he says, and then dumps the entire pot of salt into the coffee.

[flightrules]

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Summary: You’re from a deeply sex-positive culture. He hasn’t gone unarmored in front of another human in... It’s been a very long time.

Three days on board the Razor Crest featuring moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Din/cis female OC, on the hetero end of the scale. Ending is bittersweet.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Watch for upcoming chapters here, or read the complete story on AO3. 

Chapter 1

He's sitting there looking at you, head tilted, and it's like somebody needed an illustration of curiosity for a children's book so they drew this Mandalorian and stuck that on the page.

"Isn't 'stop' good enough?" he says.

"Sometimes people like to say that and not mean it. Having a different word lets you both know you don't want what's happening anymore."

"If I say stop, I'll mean it."

There's something about that voice modulator that makes everything he says sound final.

The two of you are sitting across from each other on the floor, in the cramped hold of the Razor Crest. You're dressed in your usual practical trousers and shirt, but you've kicked your boots into a corner and your rifle's propped against a nearby wall.

He's still wearing the beskar.

The child is spending the night with Peli, who took him delightedly, crooning about getting him some decent food and a nice soft place to sleep. 

She also spared a moment for you, looking you up and down before shooting a pointed look at the armored man beside you. "It's about time."

"Can you trust her?" you asked on the way up the ramp, as Peli and the child disappeared into her shop.

He shrugged. "With my life? No. With his? Yes."

How exactly does this man decide whom to trust with his life? 

You've known each other, what, a few days? The acid burn on your right shoulder is still raw, the skin still peeling away in shreds. Interesting lesson, that. Gark-vipers don't bite, they spit. 

The scar will be your souvenir from a three-day trek through the jungles of Silicaria. One day in to snatch the little green rug-rat back from the bounty hunters who took him, two days back on tired legs, without food and no idea if the water in the streams you passed was safe.

You were hired help at the beginning. 

By the end, between fighting off hungry jungle creatures, sharing watches through pitch-black nights, and taking turns carrying the kid, you and this man were something like friends. 

Not that you didn't still collect your credits. A girl's gotta eat.

But you also didn't turn down the chance to get cleaned up in his ship's refresher, or to bunk down in a corner of the hold for a decent night's sleep.

He got the baby to bed first, briskly bathing the yawning little creature in the galley sink, then wrapping him up in a clean blanket and tucking him into a hammock in what looked like the man's own sleeping quarters. 

Then he indicated the refresher and sonic shower for you to use. "I'll wait upstairs." 

It was nice of him to give you privacy to get cleaned up and changed, even if it seemed a bit odd to you. Where you come from the human body's nothing to be ashamed of. But not all cultures see things that way.

Clearly his did not. You'd think after what you'd both been through, he'd want to get into some comfy clothes and leave the armor in storage for a while. But no, he switched places with you in the cockpit, disappeared down into the hold, and came back up a little later smelling a heck of a lot better but fully decked out again.

"I promise I'm not dangerous," you said, teasing.

It was a little insulting how easily he said, "I know." But he added, "I have food. If you're still hungry," and that felt like something a friend would say. So you bit back the temptation to remind him that if you wanted to, you could be dangerous, indeed.

The Razor Crest's food stores were nothing to write home about. Your body was going to make good use of the calories though, whether they tasted good or not. You leaned against the galley cabinet and gnawed on a protein bar. He started working on cleaning weapons and putting them away in what looked like a small but impressive armory.

"So what's the deal with the outfit?" Curiosity wasn't a sin where you came from, either.

"What do you mean?"

"You're home, right? We've agreed I'm not dangerous. Who are you planning to fight?"

"I'm not," he said, settling a blaster in its place next to an array of grenades. 

"So?"

"Mandalorians don't go unarmored around anyone but family."

You were struck by a sudden image of him with the kid, the two of them playing tag or something down here among the crates and stowed weapons. The kid in his little brown robes and the Mandalorian in, what? A pair of soft trousers, maybe a shirt that showed his arms. Barefoot, maybe. Probably hair all a mess. If he had hair. Or would he shave his head?

You had to shake your own head to get the image to clear.

"Huh," you said in reply. "Really? I crossed paths with some guys like you, a couple years back. They didn't seem to have any issue."

You were surprised to hear a sigh. "There are different kinds of Mandalorians."

"Do you get to choose?"

He didn't answer. 

You finished up the protein bar and looked around for somewhere to toss the wrapper. There wasn't an obvious wastebin, so when he looked back your way again you held it up, inquiring.

"Behind the door, lower left," he said. And then, "You don't get to choose."

"Who chooses for you, then?"

He turned back to the armory. It looked to you like everything was in its place now, but he lifted out the grenades, turned them over in his hands, put them back. "I was a foundling," he said. "They raised me in the Way."

How he said "the Way," you could hear the emphasis, like it was a sacred word. "A foundling? Like your kid?"

"Yes."

"So, you're going to teach him to live like this, too?"

The answer came quickly: "No." He closed the armory doors. They latched with a clicking sound. "We should go."

"We?"

"The child and I need to get off-world. Someone knew we were here. Where do you want to go?"

What made him think you didn't already belong in the village where he met you?

"You're not from here."

No, you weren't. The place you're from isn't there anymore, though, thanks to the Empire. 

It wasn't a story you cared to tell right then. 

"Sure, yeah, wherever you're headed next." Anywhere you could find work would do. "I'll jump off at the next port." You indicated your shoulder, where the acid burn still stung. "As long as they don't have gark-vipers."

You slept cozily enough that night, wrapped in a blanket he gave you and using the bivy bag from your own pack as padding beneath. At one point you woke to the sound of the child fussing, followed by the man's voice softly singing. The child quieted down and you found yourself lulled back to sleep, too.

“Are you sure the kid’s safe down there?” 

“He’s safe.”

You’re picturing the dusty repair yard, the bare-bones shop behind it, the handful of repair droids who were probably great with wrenches but not so much with guns. Peli looked like she had some wiry strength to her, but she was on her own. “She a former soldier or something?”

“She has a safe-room behind a hidden panel with a ten-centimeter durasteel door. They’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrows go up. Mos Eisley looks like a shambling backwater town. 

“Tatooine has wildlife. Some of it has guns.”

You glance at your own rifle, leaning against the wall nearby. You’ve fought off some of that kind of wildlife before. 

What a strange family you’ve fallen in with. 

“All right,” you say. “Good. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

You expect him to nod, confirm, like he did when you said you weren’t dangerous. Instead, you see pauldrons and breastplate shift as his shoulders sag a bit. “Sometimes.”

This thing you’re doing now, or about to do. It started with a joke. Well, mostly a joke. A victorious mission, the child safe, the two of you safe now too, and alone behind closed doors. The sweat of the mission washed away, guns laid down, a chance to rest. Back home, you said, as you took the blanket he’d found for you, a man and a woman would celebrate. 

You hadn’t expected him to take you up on it, but you also hadn’t expected him to freeze like that, one hand still holding the blanket. Until this moment, he’d looked like that armor was part of him. Suddenly, somehow, the way he reached out to you looked awkward, pauldron and vambrace no longer in line, and that helmet turned the tiniest angle, like he didn’t know where to direct his eyes.

“Never mind,” you said, smiling to let him know it really was ok. “We’re not where I come from, are we.”

Something shifted back now, and the shapes of his armor made sense again. He let go his grip on the blanket as you took it. “No.”

As you went to shake the blanket out and make up your bedroll, you noticed that your shirt was sticking a bit to the burn on your shoulder. “One thing, though, I could use from you. Do you have a medkit?”

“Sure.” He turned in the small space, graceful now, broad shoulders under the beskar pauldrons shifting as he reached up to open a high cupboard. You couldn’t help noticing how trim his waist looked, even under all that steel and fabric. Oh well, some things were not for you. 

The medkit had burn ointment and bandages, but no bacta. You’d have been hesitant to use any, anyhow. It would heal that wound in a day, but you knew what it cost. You’d never had the credits to buy it yourself. 

He started to turn his back, to let you undo your shirt in private and get a bandage over the oozing burn. But the acid had dripped far enough down your shoulder blade that you couldn’t quite be sure you’d covered it. “If I promise to stay decent, can you help here?”

He made quick work of anchoring the gauze to your skin with strips of steritape, while never putting pressure on the places that still ached and stung. Those were hands that had bandaged up wounds before. You’d wondered already what was underneath the armor, but suddenly you found yourself wondering what pattern of scars you might find. On a man who clearly fought as easily as he breathed, maybe almost as often--and apparently didn’t have the credits for bacta, either. Unless he went through it so fast, he couldn’t keep it stocked. 

He flipped the medkit closed. He stowed it back on its high shelf, then crossed to the little room where the baby was still sound asleep, curled in that tiny hammock. “Sleep well,” he told you, before lowering the room’s metal door. 

When you woke in the morning that metal door was up and you were alone in the dimly lit hold. You took advantage of the refresher and used your fingers to comb down your hair, where you could feel it was standing on end. No mirrors in here. You’d been too tired last night to notice. 

Well, if you really wanted to know what you looked like you could check your reflection in that armor.

You made yourself at home in the galley, poking around until you found some caff powder and another of those protein bars. Then, mug in one hand and bar in your pocket, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s chair, helmeted head framed by the lights of hyperspace beyond the windows. The little green child was nowhere to be seen. You made your way forward to settle into the passenger seat, meaning to ask if one of you should check on the baby. But there he was, after all, perched on one armored thigh, staring wide-eyed at the lights while his tiny hand held fast to the man’s gloved index finger. 

Neither of them looked over at you, but neither one seemed startled when you spoke. You addressed the child, because why not. You’d been through a lot together, the past couple days. You figured you’d reached an understanding. “Does he sleep in that armor, too?”

The baby looked your way for a second, cooed cheerfully, and returned his gaze to the sky. 

You took a sip of caff, appreciating the spark it sent straight to your brain. Caff was a rare treat for you at the best of times, and on that jungle planet, where every bean had to be imported, it had usually been out of your reach. “Well? Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Last night?”

“Last night you might have needed something.”

“But most of the time, you don’t have to. You said, family.” You gnawed off a corner of the protein bar and washed it down with another sip of caff. “So where are the rest of them?”

He reached forward to adjust something on the console, a smooth movement of arm, shoulder, and back that left the baby peacefully balanced in his lap. “This is my clan,” he said. “Until I find the child’s people and return him to them.”

“He’s your whole family?” You needed another gulp of caff to process this. “And when you’ve dropped him off you’re just going to--” That couldn’t be right. People couldn’t go their whole lives walled off like that, beskar steel and cloth padding between them and the whole entire world. “Are you sure you don’t get a choice, here?”

He was silent for a long time. During the quiet, the baby looked up at him, then looked your way. The man disentangled his hand from the baby’s grip and rested it on the tiller. “This is the Way,” he said. It was hard to hear emotion through that helmet and whatever the electronics were doing to his voice, but--he sounded quieter than usual. A little slower. He sounded sad. 

“Well,” you said. “There’s got to be other Ways. Those other Mandalorians I met, they sure had a different way. Pretty sure they weren’t flirting with the barmaids because they wanted to keep their armor on.”

“There are different kinds of Mandalorians,” he repeated, same thing he said the first time you asked. 

You wrapped both hands around the mug you were holding, enjoying the warmth against fingers that still ached a bit from the punches you’d had to throw. “Which kind do you want to be?”

For some reason, you couldn’t let it go. You didn’t push, exactly. That wouldn’t have been right. But there wasn’t much else to do as the ship sailed through hyperspace. He was making a couple jumps, he told you, right-angle turns at out-of-the way nodes, to make it harder for anyone to guess the ship’s trajectory and follow. 

In between setting the next course, there wasn’t much to do besides watch the sky, play with the baby, and talk. After a while, he started asking you questions, too.

“What’s it like?” was one of them. What’s it like to walk around exposed all the time, nothing between your fragile skin and the world but a thin cotton shirt and trousers. You’d never thought about it all that much, but he had a point. The knife scar just below your ribs was a testament to that. 

“What’s it like,” you asked him back. He told you about the electronics in the helmet that make it hard for anyone to sneak up on him. He showed you a few of the hidden weapons, although you’re certain there are many more you haven't gotten to see. He explained the history of some of them, how he’s wearing not just the latest technology but a thousand years of Mandalorian history. He said, in a way, it’s like always having your own backup. Like never being completely alone. 

It wasn't until much, much later, when the ship was on its last trajectory, the baby was in bed, and the two of you were sitting side by side on the floor down there in the hold, a jar of bitter ale in your hand and him still stone-cold sober, that he admitted it was lonely.

And that’s how, after a couple more hours of talking and a night of much more restless sleep, the child’s ended up with Peli as a babysitter and the two of you are alone up here in the Razor Crest, sitting cross-legged across from each other, knees almost touching but with space and several kilos of beskar definitely still between you. 

“All right,” you say. “The word for stop is, stop. You sure you still want to do this?”

“No.”

You’re disappointed, but it’s got to be up to him. You start to scoot back, ready to stand up, to give him some actual room. 

A gloved hand closes around your calf. “Yes.”

You cover that hand with your own. When he doesn’t pull away, you lift his fingers gently from your leg, find the cuff of that glove, and slide it from his hand. 

His hand is trembling.

“You’ll remember? The word for stop?”

He laughs, short and sharp. It makes a faint sound of static through the helmet’s modulator.

Carefully, slowly, you use your own hand to guide his fingers to the bottom edge of that helmet. “How do I…?” He lifts his other hand to help you. There’s a soft, electronic sigh as whatever holds it in place loosens. And then, all on his own, he lifts the thing from his head.

He’s got curly hair. It’s the first thing you notice, as you run your fingers along his scalp and those curls, flattened by the shape of the beskar, spring back into ringlets. You’ve no idea what color his eyes are because they’re closed, and his head is bowed down as, fascinated, you wind one of those curls around a finger. You slide the other hand down to his neck and lean in to plant a single, gentle kiss against his temple. 

It takes him two tries to gasp out the word. “Stop.”

You drop your hands and rock back from kneeling to sitting, putting space back between you.

He huffs out a short laugh again, catches his breath, then raises his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark brown, almost black. Tiny lines at the outer corners hint at how old he might be. The paleness of his skin reminds you, it probably hasn't seen much sun. You might look the same age, but you bet he's got a few years on you.

"Was that a stop for now, or a stop altogether?"

"I don't know," he says. "No one's done that since…" His voice trails off. 

"Do you want to get put back together? We can try again later. Or not."

He's so solemn when he says, "There's no going back." He adds softly, as if to himself: This is the Way. And then, looking at you again, "Do you mind if I…?" He indicates the vambraces covering his forearms, moves as if to take one off.

You can't resist. "Can I help?"

The whole thing is more complicated than you might have thought. It's not just the individual steel plates. Each piece connects into an underlying electrical array, woven into the fabric of his clothing. He shows you first, on one side, then lets you follow his hands with yours to do the other. 

It's probably good you're helping, actually, because his hands are shaking again. By the time you get to the shin guards above his boots, he needs you to undo the catches. 

"No wonder you never take this stuff off." You're kneeling at his feet now, and you reach over to set the second boot next to the pile of beskar that has now joined your rifle against the wall. You worried briefly about just stacking it up like that, but he shrugged. The stuff was made to take blaster bolts. You weren't going to hurt it.

"How long does it take to put it all on again?"

He's watching the tremor in his hands. "It's faster when I'm alone."

"I can go," you offer. "Climb up to the cockpit for a bit and let you…" Let him what? This whole thing got started because he was tired of being alone.

"No," he says. "Stay."

All right. "You've still got a lot of… machine going on there. Am I going to break something if I touch you?"

He looks down at his own body, as if surprised to realize he's still wearing anything. 

"Where do we start?"

The bodysuit array turns out to be a single piece with a diagonal seam across the chest and down to his waist. You work together to undo the line of hook and loop tape that holds it shut. His hands, so capable with fists and weapons, have gone clumsy, and as you help slide the array from his shoulders you can feel the shaking has spread. The man's whole body is trembling.

Underneath, he's wearing a simple, soft shirt with sleeves down to his wrists and black leggings that you can't help but notice cling to slim hips and defined quads.

You knew he was fit. You spent three days fighting beside him. It's still fun to get to see, even if he also looks like he's not going to last much longer on his feet.

You step closer and reach a hand out, and although you can't see his face well now--he's still almost a head taller than you, even with you both now standing in stocking feet--you can hear his breathing quicken as you lay your palm against his chest. His heart is pounding like you've been in battle. 

He's proven he knows how to say stop when he wants to. You move closer again, thighs up against his, belly to belly, your chin against his collarbone, and wrap your arms around him. You're not sure if the sound he makes is a grunt, a laugh, or a sob.

Before long you've sunk to the floor and you end up half in his lap, tangled together, and usually by this point with a new partner you'd be laughing and reaching for bare skin beneath each other's clothes. Here, he's now holding you so tight you couldn't get free if you tried. His face is buried in your neck and there's no mistaking it now. He's absolutely sobbing.

Where you're from, the human body was nothing to be ashamed of. And that includes all the awkward things that bodies do. You slide one hand from his back, up his neck, to rest your fingers in those lovely curls again, and you let him cry.

When he finally winds down, the shaking has stopped too. Gradually his hold on you loosens, and you find yourself shifting against him so you can see his face. His hair's plastered against his forehead now and those warm brown eyes are lined with red. He looks awful, and the thing you want most in the world right now is to kiss him.

He doesn't smile, but he gives another of those short laughs. 

You bring a hand to his face, curving your palm against his cheekbone, using your thumb to wipe away some of the wetness below his eye. You lean in slowly to try a kiss against his temple again, and then his cheek, and then, gentle as you can manage, against his mouth. 

He's already warned you this would be new for him so you're careful, slow, pressure first and then tracing his lips with your tongue. One hand still caressing his face, the other against the back of his head, and you can't resist a gentle tug on those curls. 

But when you do, suddenly he's not responding, until he chokes out your safeword. Stop.

You do, of course, disappointed until you see he's gasping to catch his breath. "That good, huh?"

"It is." And then, he shakes his head. "I don't think I can. I don't know what to do with it all."

You've never been shy around men. Where you're from, a tumble is so normal you don't even count partners. This is new for you. Usually, they keep asking for more.

All you can think to do is say, "You got any more of that bitter ale?" It's not for him exactly, you wouldn't want him making decisions he'd regret. 

It's for you.

He does, indeed, have a whole stash of the stuff, although the dust on the lids suggests he doesn't get into it all that often. You end up sitting side by side on the floor again, backs against a row of cupboard doors. 

When you get up to get you both a second round, your own judgement's fuzzy enough that you plunk back down right next to him, hip to hip, and rest your head a moment on his shoulder. 

A little later his hand finds yours. 

You sit there, side by side, fingers twined together, until both your ale jars are empty. By now you're tired, you're a little bit drunk, and you're still turned on. And you can't do a damn thing about it because the last thing he said was, stop, and now he's probably a little drunk, too.

"I should get some sleep," he says beside you. "You should, too."

You end up back in your makeshift bedroll, while he's a whole two meters away in his sleeping quarters. You lie awake for a while, wondering if he's lying awake too, until the combination of ebbing hormones and the effects of good ale finally lead you to sleep.

It's easy to lose track of time on the Razor Crest, where sunlight doesn't make it down into the hold. But the ship's chrono wakes you with its loud, annoying buzz. 

He's already up. He hits a control panel to silence the noise, then takes the few steps from the galley to bring you a cup of caff. He crouches beside your bedroll to hand it to you.

He stays there a moment while you sit up, drag your fingers through your hair, then take the mug from his hand.

He's dressed now in a pair of black trousers and a black shirt that shows off chiseled arms. The color makes his brown eyes look even darker. Overall, the effect is making it hard for you to think.

"I need to pick up the child," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

You rub your eyes, trying to clear your head. "Give me a minute, I'll come with you. I need to figure out where to stay tonight. Look for some work. Maybe your friend can point me in the right direction."

You've gotten so used to having to read him through the armor, it's startling to see the expression of surprise on his face. Like he'd forgotten he only offered you a ride this far. I'll get off at the next port, you'd told him. Tatooine is it.

He settles down beside you, now, watching you sip at the caff. You're halfway through the mug and thinking you'd better get up and get ready, when he reaches out to rest his hand against the side of your head, then draw his fingers through your hair. 

"We didn't get to finish, did we," he says. "Will you stay?"

Tatooine's twin suns are making complicated shadows on the ground of the repair bay. You have to squint against the bright light as you and he make your way down the ramp. 

You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday--it's all you've got that's anywhere close to clean--but you've made yourself presentable, checking your hair in the shiny surface of the beskar breastplate that's still propped against a wall. 

You made sure he looks presentable too, finger-combing tangled curls into submission before you let him out the door. 

Peli emerges from the shop with the child perched on her hip. As soon as he catches sight of the man beside you, the little arms reach out and he's bouncing to be let down.

Peli looks up and lets out a whoop of surprise. "Well how about that! I always wondered what was under there." She finally notices the child's struggles and sets him gently down. "You go ahead to your papa."

The little creature toddles across the yard to be scooped up and examined. "Did you have fun?" He tucks the child in the crook of his arm and crosses the rest of the way to Peli. "What do I owe you?"

She's staring at him unabashedly. You can appreciate her appreciation for how that shirt fits.

"I don't know how you did it," she says to you, "but I'd say this is an improvement. Although," she confides, as if he's not standing right there, "there was something appealing about all that--" she gestures to her own shoulders, hinting at the shape of pauldrons-- "all that shiny.

"Now go on." She's waving the three of you back toward the ship. "I've got a freighter coming in here any minute, and he's actually going to pay me. If you can get that thing off the ground," she adds as if to herself, and then to you, "You tell him if breaks that thing again he better bring it here to be fixed. No more of that Mon Calamari nonsense."

You've got no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to know that somebody else cares about this man and his odd little child. 

You'll go along with them for a while, you think, see where things lead. Offer to do what you can around the ship, help out wherever they're headed next. 

Mostly though, you're looking forward to seeing what happens tonight, once the baby's tucked in and you're alone together again.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 12

A/N Narrowing in

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

My mind had been telling me lots of things over the prior twenty-four hours, dear reader, trying to force me to piece together a memory I didn’t remember. But there was something all too familiar about the realization that came over me while sitting on the side of the resort bathtub with Avalon’s hand in my own. I could hear her soft gasp as the glass hit the kitchen floor as clear as day, I even heard it in my mind that morning but the pieces weren’t fitting until now. 

She never threw her glass at me. I never followed her screaming into the studio. Hell, I didn’t even know where the knife set was among the neatly stacked array of wedding gifts until I woke up that morning with one laying next to me.

I vowed to love her until the end of time and, although I couldn’t trust myself at first, it came back to me so obviously that I never would have hurt her - never would have laid a finger on her yet alone took her life - no matter how much we disagreed. 

Jonah returned to the hotel room with buckets of ice to find me sitting in a complete mess of tears on the side of the tub, clutching Avalon’s hand until my knuckles were nearly turning white. He left the bucket of ice on the counter and hurried over to me, setting his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Jonah asked in that gentle voice he could always put on when someone needed consoling.

“I didn’t do it!” I cried, turning to lean into him as he stood beside me. “I-I don’t know who did, but I didn’t kill her! We fought and she went to sleep in the studio and…and I-I should have…I should have fucking followed her…protected her…I’m such a fucking asshole for ever thinking I was ever better than her!”

Jonah simply stayed quiet, rubbing his hand over my shoulder in consolable stripes as I cried out my grief. The fact that he wasn’t correcting my slight self-deprecation was proof enough that he saw my faults throughout the past four years too. Everyone seemed to see them but me, and I only saw them once it was too late.

“I gotta tell you something, bro.” Jonah said softly.

I looked up at him through my tears.

“When I was getting the ice in the lobby…” he licked his lips nervously as if to buy himself time, “The news reported that they found your bloody handprint on the piano in your studio. The missing persons case has been switched over to a homicide investigation.”

The irony of the blood draining from my face was nearly comical and looking back now it truly was. If finding Avalon’s body that morning caused my heart to stop in my chest, the news that the police now thought I did it when I had just pieces together that I was innocent truly felt like I was experiencing death just as strongly. I felt sick. I wasn’t safe anywhere. It was often cases like this locked up the innocent and if my memory served me correctly, the numbers still weren’t on my side.

“I-I didn’t do it though!” I stumbled out.  

“I know.” Jonah said calmly, “Come on. We gotta get her in some ice and then we can decide on our next steps.”

“I…I can’t.” I breathed.

“Daniel, you can’t shut down on me. I know you’re scared and…and sad but…” Jonah raked his hand through his hair as we stared down at Avalon laying in the empty tub. “Shit.”

His own obvious slight panic weighed heavy on my heart.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” I said shakily, “Should have never gotten you into this.”

“No. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Jonah said strongly. He pried my hand out of Avalon’s, “But we gotta keep moving if we’re going to figure out what we need to do next.”

I nodded. I really had nothing else to say. What was there to say? I could cry and scream and try to point fingers all I wanted but nothing was going to bring her back. She was dead. And I was a widow.

“Daniel.”

I looked up at Jonah again. The concern on his face was unmissable.

“Why don’t you go lay down? Try and get some sleep and I’ll finish up out here.”

“Where are we going to put the rug?” I asked. I hadn’t even realized I was thinking about that. All the evidence in my car? Nothing was on my side here.

“We can bury it in the desert or something on our way to the lodge tomorrow.” Jonah suggested.

“And the knives too.” I added. I looked back to Avalon but spoke to Jonah again, “What are we going to do with her?”

“I…don’t know. Depends on if you find the person who did this.”

“Fuck!” I swore loudly, balling my hands into fists and held them in front of my face to hide my onset of fresh tears, “I’m so fucked!”

“Okay, Daniel, just go lay down. I’ll take care of it.” Jonah helped me to my feet from the side of the tub and I couldn’t help but fall right into him, throwing my arms around his shoulders and embraced him tightly. He patted my back gently and let me cry into his shoulder, clutching onto the back of his shirt as I let out all the sorrows of the previous hours, the evil mix of grief and relief and fear swirling in my mind.

I didn’t remember getting into bed. Apparently I had a tendency to forget aspects of my days but I woke up in the hotel bed to Jonah turning off the bedroom light and getting into his own bed beside mine. I stayed still to make it seem like I was still sleeping. I wasn’t ready to face in the influx of “are you okay?” questions that I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer.

I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, mind whirling, as I heard Jonah’s breathing eventually fall into a steady rhythm and his soft snores started to fill the quiet hotel room. Sleep felt nice. I envied him a little. I was exhausted but I was not tired in the slightest. The bed felt terribly empty.

I hadn’t slept alone in a long time. Well, not counting the few times Avalon made me sleep on the couch.

I didn’t want to waste one more moment when I could be figuring out how to prove my innocence in this situation that seemed to turn against me so quickly. How could I have been so stupid as to forget to wipe down the piano? The prints were all over the damn place. I was only hoping that whoever was behind this was at least a fraction of as stupid as I was and left some sort of trace behind for the detective team.

With Jonah fast asleep, I slunk quietly out of bed and over to the desk across the room. I turned on the small lamp to light up the corner and sat down with the hotel paper and pen to try and collect my thoughts. The silence of the night was eery and I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought of my wife’s dead body just beyond the thin wall across the room from me. With the paper left blank, I got up from the desk and grabbed my laptop bag from beside the wall, pulling out my phone as well as Avalon’s to search through.

The bathroom was dark and if I listened hard enough I could hear the faint cracking of the melting ice that filled the tub. My heart was beating hard in my chest with nervousness as my hand hovered over the light switch. I felt just as nervous as I had the day I asked her to marry me but now, I was nervous for a whole other reason. I hated nothing more than seeing her like this.

I turned on the light and stalked over to the side of the tub. Her eyes were still closed, and she still looked peaceful and yet a terrifyingly pale.

“Hey, honey.” I spoke softly as if she could hear me. As if it would make this any easier.

I brushed my hand hesitantly over her tangled hair and angled her phone towards her face. The screen unlocked. I hurried to change the setting to keep her phone from locking again before leaning down towards her habitually. I froze a few centimeters from her head but still managed to work up enough nerve to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

Back at the desk in the hotel room, under the light of the single table lamp, I laid out Avalon’s phone, my phone, and the blank pad of paper in front of me. I copied Jonah’s idea with writing each name at the top of the sheet. I started with Jack.

Motives:

-She was the reason he can’t see his daughter

-She was the reason he was evicted

-She was the reason his business flopped

-Revenge

-Knows the human body, has a collection of scissors and blades

-Has been to our house

I moved onto Zach.

Motives:

-We took away something important to him, so he could want to do the same back

-Wanted to hurt me

-Knows his way around knifework

-Knows our address

-Seems to have no remorse or empathy for human life

I hovered my pen over the paper for a moment, re-reading my notes so far. I set the pen down and picked up Avalon’s phone to go into her messages. I found Christian’s contact and opened the message thread, seeing only a bunch of unanswered texts from him from just before the wedding to even during our honeymoon. Things such as:

Stay away from Daniel.

Going through with this wedding will be the last thing you will ever do; I swear to God.

I refuse to let you fuck up his life anymore.

You and I need to have a serious talk when you guys get home. I’m not going to tolerate your whiny bullshit about his career just because he’s successful and you’re not.

I set her phone face down on the desk with a shaky inhale, stunned to silence with the few messages I had read. I knew my brother had a dislike for Avalon but calling her out and sending her aggressive texts was a level I didn’t think he would stoop to. And the fact that she didn’t think she could trust me or confide in me enough to tell me what he was saying to her hurt even more.

The pen glided itself across the paper, spelling out Christian’s name under Zach’s list of motives. I continued the list for my own brother:

Motives:

-Strange hatred for her

-Aggressive and threatening texts

-Clingy in regard to my whereabouts consistently

-Gifted the knives to us and knew where they were

I clicked the pen closed as I scanned the list of three names again. Honestly, I was more than relieved I didn’t have to write my own name but this was far from over. I wasn’t safe until someone came clean…or I forced the truth out of them.

The warm light of the desk lamp glinted off the gold band around my left-hand ring finger. I slid the ring off gently and it came off with ease since it hadn’t been on very long at all. The light reflected along the metal and I turned it over in my hand to see the engraving on the inside, dated with 25/07/20 and her name in soft curling letters beside it. Avalon. My one true love ripped from my hands before I even had a moment to truly appreciate what I had. It’s true, dear reader; you really do not know what you have until it is gone.

I fell asleep at the desk while rereading my list for the nth time, the exhaustion from the day having finally caught up to me. The wedding ring stayed clutched in my hand.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​ @the-girl-who-cried-wolf​

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A Wedding in Paris

Trigger Warning: Light mentions of setting appropriate homophobia, alcohol use

“What’s a marriage anyway? Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

Lucian and Stephen spend their first day in Paris, the first day of their new lives.

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Stephen had been nervous about Paris.

It was his first step outside of England, the first of a headlong sprint that was going to take him even further than he’d had the free time to read about in books. Paris was meant to be a gentle start, just a hop over the Channel, within three day’s reach of the country he’d grown up in all his life, but it had still frightened Stephen to imagine. A new city, a new soil, a new tongue. A new him, supposedly, a Stephen Day who wasn’t a justiciar and wasn’t alone but now had to find out where he fit into the world, starting with Paris.

It had taken him all of a day to decide he really, really liked it.

That day had consisted of waking up in a very expansive, comfortable bed, made all the more comfortable and slightly less expansive by the fact that he was sharing it with all six feet of his lover. Then he’d padded around the lavish hotel apartment he’d been too exhausted to take any notice of after yesterday’s boat ride, in  a mix of wonderment and apprehension, until Lucien had woken and summoned him back to bed with a crook of a finger and a smile. Not all that different from his fonder mornings in London.

But then there had been bright sunlight, walks along boulevards familiar enough to Stephen that he could relax into the excitement of the chatter around him in unknown, lyrical languages, the smells of herbs he couldn’t name coming from the street stalls, the bright fabrics and colourful buildings. Then there was a park, open space and the smell of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, a museum with paintings from far away and long ago that Stephen felt he could fall forwards into, a patisserie with cakes that looked like perfect sculptures and tasted like heaven. Even the ether felt different, like rich velvet, less fettered by smog. There were smiles, laughter that made his jaw ache, a heart lighter than he could remember.

And through it all, more than anything else, there was Lucien. At Stephen’s side and smiling as he stared like the dumbstruck tourist he was, walking a few paces behind with a proud, patient chuckle while Stephen surged ahead to see something new, lounging beside him and explaining the ways in which French fashions differed to British fashions with each example that passed by. He indulged his little witch completely and for once Stephen didn’t argue or allow himself to become embarrassed by it, the cakes tasted too good for him to recoil at Lucien happily buying him as much as he could eat. It brought that smile of satisfaction to his lover’s sharp features, the warmth in his eyes that their troubles in London had made rarer than either would like.

And there were the touches.

The first time it happened, Lucien casually placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as they walked, he’d frozen in place. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, certain they were still in England and even a simple, friendly touch like that would get them spat at in the street. Lucien had taken his hand away quickly with an apologetic, understanding expression, endlessly patient with Stephen’s anxieties, willing to go slowly. Stephen appreciated it, his heart hammering in his chest until the next delight chased it away.

But then, sitting in the park, Lucien had made to reach for Stephen’s hand, stopping only at the last moment when he caught himself. His quick amber eyes had noticed and, for a moment, the fear jolted through him, a sour, metallic taste on his tongue. But only for a moment, the sugar and fresh air rushing back in and, with it, a sense of giddy courage. They were in the shade, dappled by the leaves overhead, and no one was looking their way.

And if they were, what of it? Lucien had promised Stephen a life of freedom. He’d told him they’d go places where everything about Stephen- his magic, the fact that he liked men- wasn’t something to be hidden and ashamed of. And every other impossible thing Lucien had promised was apparently true, so why not this?

So he’d joined their hands together, threading his fingers through Lucien’s larger ones until they knit together naturally. Not a manipulation of the ether, not a spell, just the honest scrape of rough, callused skin against his lover’s, scar brushing against scar, fingers slotting perfectly into the gaps between hair dusted knuckles. It had been Lucien’s turn to jolt in surprise but, God, the look he’d given Stephen put every wonder they’d seen into the shade.

Possibly that look, possibly the wild and welcome sense of freedom, possibly the fact that Merrick knew of a wine bar that didn’t close until one in the morning and served the most delicious ruby red burgundy and a very reasonable price, possibly a combination of all of these factors decided how Stephen’s first day in Paris ended.

Which is to say, piss drunk and dancing with his lover in an empty Parisian street at half past two in the morning. And happier than he could ever remember being.

“Lucien!” he cackled, clinging to him for dear life as he spun him around in what a waltz might look like through a haze of wine, “Lucien, I’m going to be sick!”

His lover laughed, finally letting them stop, moving into a slightly less disorientating four step that neither of them could really keep up with, “I thought you practitioners could hold your alcohol better than us mere mortals?”

“Not when it’s this much alcohol,” Stephen snorted, tilting his head back to watch the stars lurch drunkenly across the velvet blue sky, “God, Lucien, this place…”

“I know,” Lucien purred, catching him in the pool of gas light coming from a streetlamp, letting Stephen slump bonelessly against his chest as they swayed in a lazy circle, “This is what it should be like, my love. This is how you’ve deserved to live your entire life.”

Stephen giggled, loose limbed and loose lipped with the weight of the sweet wine on his tongue,  “No one cares...I’m dancing with my lover in the street and no one cares…”

Luien’s cheeks were a little red too, his speech a little slack and grin overly wide, but he was a few glasses down on Stephen, “Well, we can still get arrested for disorderly behaviour and waking the neighbours.”

“I see,” Stephen hummed with exaggerated seriousness, face still pressed to Lucien’s chest so it came out a little muffled, “We should be inside then so we can be as disorderly as we wish.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucien chuckled, half dancing and half dragging Stephen to the door of their hotel which they’d been wonkily aiming for when they’d started their impromptu waltz.

Getting through the lobby with whatever wine soaked dignity they could muster took a few moments when Stephen stumbled on the steps and Lucien couldn’t remember his own name briefly when the front desk asked but eventually they staggered up the stairs to the apartments they were calling home until they could book passage further into Europe.

Fortunately they didn’t have to fumble with the key in the door, the French helpfully built their door knobs in brass and he sent it swinging inwards with a thought, unfortunately just as Lucien swept him up to kiss him against it. The two of them burst into helpless laughter, sprawled on the mat, giggling like children.

“Get off me,” Stephen managed to get the words out, through the laughter and the fact that shy of two hundred pounds of muscular lordship was resting on him, “I can’t breathe, you great lump…”

“Some poorly timed romance on my part, I apologise,” Lucien laughed, finding his feet and pulling himself up, snagging Stephen on the way up.

“Oh,” Stephen’s eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, the only thing keeping the apartment from complete darkness, “Well...don’t let this keep you from trying again.”

Lucien seemed to take that as a personal challenge, not letting his lover find his feet, just sweeping him into his arms and carrying him straight to the canopy bed. With a few assists from Stephen, bending the ether to shove an ottoman and curl the corner of a rug out of their path, they made it with no broken necks or barked shins.

“Did I tell you the ether feels different here?” he found himself murmuring, once they’d toppled into the pool of silk and down, his mouth doing that thing where the wine rather than his brain made it move.

“Hmm?” Lucien had collapsed next to him, looking like a scarecrow that had been dropped from a height. A scarecrow dressed in Hawkes and Cheney’s finest, “Don’t recall. Tell me anyway. I like when you talk about magic, your eyes light up.”

Stephen reddened until he was probably a similar colour to the wine they’d been drinking but he held his hands up above himself, backing them against the rich muslin of the canopy. He twitched his long fingers as he spoke, like he was stroking something.

“I work with my hands so it feels different to me. It feels richer, like I’m moving my hands through honey rather than water, like it is back home. It...drags on me, like it’s alive and it’s touching me as much as I’m touching it. Like the difference between velvet and cotton, you know? You just want to dig your fingers in and see how far it goes. I bet if Esther was here, she’d say it smelled different too and I’ll ask Saint if it sounds different…” he trailed off, glancing to the man lying beside him, realising that Lucien was gazing at him with an expression warmer and more adoring than anyone he’d ever given a magical lecture to.

“Did my eyes light up?” he asked shyly, mouth cocking into a smile.

“All of you does,” Lucien purred, looking at him the way Stephen had looked at the paintings and artefacts in the museum, like he was something precious and masterful, like the whole world around them and dimmed and Stephen was all that mattered, “This is just...this is everything I wanted for you, my love.”

“To eat my own body weight in cake twice over?” Stephen hummed,

The jesting tone was a little flat and shaky but he needed some way to blunt this. Because if Lucien kept talking like this and looking at him like that then he felt me might cry. Because they were alone in a beautiful place and everything was changing, because he loved this man so much and he loved him back and light could be as overwhelming as dark. You could drown in honey as easily as blood.

But, as ever, Lucien was the one who was unafraid. They lay practically nose to nose but it still wasn’t close enough apparently, he reached over to hold his cheek. His palm was cool from the chill night air and Stephen leaned into it instinctively.

“To be somewhere you can just be your incredible self,” Lucien murmured, keeping their voices low even though they were alone, just because the words were Stephen’s and no one elses, “Magical and powerful and mine.”

Stephen turned and pressed his lips to the centre of that slightly roughened palm, “Thank you. I know I’m going to be saying that a lot from now on and it’s never going to feel like enough but still. Thank you so much.”

Lucien kissed the bridge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheekbone, protective and comforting, “And I will always reply that you don’t need to thank me. You came with me, that’s more than enough.”

Stephen melted under the touch, sighing softly, finding a way to relax even beyond what the drink and dancing had already accomplished, “And it only gets better from here?”

“The further we get from England, the less anyone will care,” Lucien promised, fingers moving up to tease the tighter curls at the edge of his hairline, “In China I’ll be able to take you to dinners, kiss you in the street, introduce you as my partner to my fellow traders, brag shamelessly about my talented, handsome shaman…”

Stephen groaned, though he was betrayed by his lopsided grin of incredibly endearing goofiness, “Wonderful...though I like being called your partner.”

“Well,” Lucien patted his cheek and let him go, apparently too drunk and tired to engage his neck muscles, “I’d rather call you my husband but not even Shanghai allows me that.”

This certain kind of moment happens often between two people with more wine in their bloodstream than sense in their head, that one of them will casually blurt something without realising the magnitude of their words, their runaway mouths jumbling up the filing system in their head and confusing the one labelled ‘deeply personal thoughts’ with ‘casual conversation’. People said in vino veritas, Lucien recalled, though the more succinct phrase that snapped his eyes open and froze him in place when he realised what he’d said was ‘complete fucking stupidity’.

Stephen was watching him with wide, golden eyes, no expression but naked surprise, “You’d marry me? If we could?”

Lucien wasn’t often caught on the back foot, even around Stephen. His little witch could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him blush as he was now, the amount of times he’d seen his mouth twist into the shy, vulnerable smile of a much younger man who’d been through far less in his life.

“Well...of course. Honestly, if we lived in a different time, I’d have done it long before now. Pretty much as soon as I got the slightest inkling you’d actually have me,” the blush deepened as he spoke and, God, Stephen would have been lying if it wasn’t damn endearing to see his lover’s cold, angular features having to deal with embarrassment.

Lucien caught his expression, laughing exasperatedly and dragging Stephen closer, “Oh fuck off, is this really that much of a surprise?”

Stephen giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucien in turn, “That I could land one of the most eligible bachelors in England? Somewhat...oh heavens, would that make me Lady Crane?”

That set them both off again, gripped by helpless laughter, giddy on wine and fantasy.

“I think you’d be Lord as well?” Lucien snorted, the idea of his radical little witch having a title too funny for words, “Or Lord Consort which even you have to admit is an inherently fuckable title.”

“Well, you’ve got me there…” he snickered, rusty curls falling into his eyes, “Stephen Vaudrey….”

Thinking if he was in for a penny on emotional vulnerability, he may as well be in for a pound, Lucien shook his head, “Actually, if we’re indulging ourselves completely, I’d ask you to keep your name. And, if you’d be so kind, extend it to me?”

Stephen’s jaw dropped, “Pardon? Did I hear that right?”

Lucien shrugged lazily, managing to haul himself up into something more like a sitting position against the bolsters, “Come on now, darling, like I’m going to cling to the surname of my abusive father and brother when I could join a loving family of people with actual integrity and honour.”

Stephen scrambled after him, resting his head on Lucien’s chest, gazing up at him adoringly, “That’s...I don’t even know what to say, Lucien.”

Lucien pushed that wayward hair back, his heart thudding at putting that expression of bewilderment and love on Stephen’s face and wanting to admire every inch of it, “So you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with Lucien Day?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephen said emphatically, turning into his hand the way a cat being petted would, “And I will. No matter what the law says.”

Lucien seemed to consider that a moment, an amusement dawning in his grey eyes, the kind of idea that could only happen when one was a little bit drunk and madly in love clearly taking root. His mouth quirked upwards at the end.

“Fuck the law then,” he grinned, “Marry me. Right now.”

Stephen blinked, clearly missing a few pieces of the puzzle, “Excuse me?”

Lucien lurched to his feet so suddenly that Stephen was left to fall face down into the space he left behind with an ungainly yelp. He turned onto his back to see Lucien straightening his lapels, trying to shake out some of the rumpledness in his suit from their raucous evening. He deftly untied his cravat, somehow managing to force hands that had held several wine glasses over the last few hours to handle the knot expertly. Then he held out his hand to Stephen.

“Your leg please, sweet boy. This can be the something new, I only bought it today, and borrowed too as I’m lending it to you. I’d say your suit can be your something old, given the state of it, as I’ve pointed out many times. Don’t think you’re getting out of Paris without some new clothes by the way. And blue…”

“Our tattoos have blue in them,” Stephen grinned at him as he complied, shivering a little as Lucien pushed up the leg of his worn trousers, “You’ve lost your mind completely.”

“It's this or we become pirates and enter into matelotage, my love,” Lucien hummed, tying the lace around his thigh in a decent approximation of a garter, “And the journey across the Channel made it clear you get seasick far too easily for that.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, he’d had a near constant sour taste in his mouth for the entire trip, “Granted…”

“What’s a marriage anyway?” Lucien hummed, kissing Stephen’s knee before letting him go, “Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

“Spoken like a true smuggler,” Stephen gazed up at him, feeling like he could float.

Lucien flashed him the kind of grin that made shivers run up his spine, as he slid the magpie ring he’d had made to fit Stephen’s from his finger, “Now I know we already did this part but why not...take mine and I’ll have yours, if you don’t mind…”

His hand felt naked without the ring but Lucien’s larger one lying in his palm was a solid certainty, still warm from his lover’s skin. Stephen clutched it like a talisman, a delighted, bewildered laugh bursting from him as Lucien pulled him to his feet. The two of them stood facing each other like they were before an altar, framed in the enormous bay windows that lay the glittering entirety of Paris out before them. Neither man gave it a glance.

“Now, I’ll do my best to remember how it went at Leo’s though the wine might not be helping,” Lucien frowned as he thought, “Although, having said that, I was drunk for that wedding too.”

“Which one?” Stephen grinned teasingly, “The one years ago or the one last month?”

“Both,” Lucien hummed, taking Stephen’s hands in his own, enveloping them safely in his own, “Now…”

Stephen tilted his head upwards, taking a breath and focusing on Lucien’s face. Something inside him fought through the burgundy fog and the giddiness and the fear of those emotions that felt too big to hold, something whispered focus, this is important, you’ll want to remember every second.

Lucien slid Stephen’s ring back onto his finger, fitting it perfectly where it had sat since last December, “I, Lucien Vaudrey, take thee, Stephen Day, to be my completely unlawful but much devoted and adored husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, when you’re vomiting over the edge of an ocean liner or in health, so on and so forth and whatever…” he clearly abandoned the traditional vows and his eyes softened with sincerity, “You are the person who woke up my heart when I’d rather forgotten i even owned one. You’ve saved me, you’ve made me a better man and you’ve put so much trust in me. All I can do is swear to you that I am yours, completely and utterly. For whatever it's worth to you, my love.”

For a few moments, Stephen couldn’t speak or move or do anything but stand in place with his eyes fixed on Lucien’s and wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the place he stood in now. He only realised how long he’d been struck dumb when Lucien stifled a chuckle and pointedly cleared his throat, prompting Stephen to scramble for the ring and nearly drop it, managing to get it onto Lucien’s finger.

“Um, okay, ah…” he shook himself, “I, Stephen Day, take thee, Lucien Vaudrey or Crane or Fortunegate or Day or whoever the hell you want to be, I’ll take every single one of you as my unlawful husband and I’ll do it gladly. I’ll take you for better or worse, though God knows we’ve had plenty of the latter. For richer, hard to do in your case, or poorer, even harder to do in my case. In sickness and in health and whatever else the world wants to throw at us because I swear, you are the best thing in my life and nothing is taking you away from me now. Thank you for helping me see something worthwhile when I look in the mirror, thank you for being that little bit more stubborn than me, thank you for...everything. For the whole damned world. I don’t know what I can do to pay that back but I can promise you I’ll try.”

“You can start by kissing your husband?” Lucien’s voice was rough and thick and if Stephen didn’t know his lover better, he’d say there was wetness on his eyelashes.

Not that he had time to properly take note before he threw himself into Lucien’s arms, kissing him hard enough that he would have buckled if he was a shorter man. Instead they met and melted into each other, kissing hard enough to bruise, hard enough that there would be aching jaws to go along with aching heads the next morning.

And outside of the window, Paris still glittered, gaslamp stars in their cobblestone sea, the Seine the path to the rest of the world that lay beyond. All of Europe, all of Asia, wherever they wanted to go was waiting.

And it would have to wait. Because tonight all that mattered was each other.

[lykegenia]

Nate Sewell x Leah Kingston, hurt/comfort

--

I manage to make it all the way to my apartment and into pyjamas before I wobble. It’s just as well – getting into a crash because I was too teary-eyed to see the road would have been an embarrassing way to go – and at least the hour is late enough that none of my neighbours are around to bear witness to my return. Now that there’s time and distance between me and the warehouse, the adrenalin has faded enough for my stomach to start growling again. Hunger is a practical problem, one that I know how to solve.

Nothing in the fridge will make a proper meal, but the jar of kimchi and the leftover sausages can be cobbled together with one of the packets of instant ramen Nate shoved to the back of my cupboards with a distasteful curl of his lip. It’s ready fast enough that there’s not much time to dwell, but not even the care I take to make it look fancy, garnished with chives from the new pot on the windowsill, can make it taste of more than cardboard. I force it down anyway. The blank wall opposite the sofa stares back at me as I sit, curled up, trying to figure out what to do with my evening now that my plans have gone sideways. The sting in my eyes is easily blamed on the spice in the noodles.

Reading is out of the question, I need something to do with my hands. After a long moment, I set the bowl aside and cross the room to get the workbasket sitting half-forgotten down the side of one of the bookcases. The rag rug unfolds in my hands, creased from long storage. I started it in the quiet nights after Murphy’s capture, intending it to cover the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the repetitive action of tying knots in strips of fabric almost as good as sleep when sleep eluded me. The only choice to be made with it is what colour to choose next, a simple, easy decision without any consequences at all. And silent, so the neighbours aren’t bothered by the noise of power tools in the wee hours. I had intended to have it finished weeks ago.

I’m completing the fourth new row when someone knocks on the door. The time blinking on my phone screen brings a frown to my face, the deep silence tingling over my skin. As unlikely as a trapper would be to knock, I lay my work aside and reach for the Volt gun stashed in the drawer of the coffee table. My feet make no sound as I creep to the door. The shadow cast by the hall light moves at my approach nonetheless, as if coming to attention, and I risk a glance down to check the safety.

And then I look through the peephole.

It’s Nate. He glances up as if the door isn’t even there, his expression a tight knot of worry clear even through the distortion of the lens as a breath shudders between my teeth. The Volt seems ridiculous now. Flicking the safety catch back on, I shove it into the utility cupboard beside the door and take a swift inventory of myself, smoothing a hand through my hair and across my cheeks before I dare lay it on the door handle.

He answers my smile as I swing the door open, but it’s guarded. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I can’t hold his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so late.”

“If I woke you –”

“You didn’t.” A pause. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’ve no idea –” he starts, then interrupts himself. “You’ve been crying.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have.” Because of me, he doesn’t say, but it’s easy enough to read in the tightness around his eyes.

“Alright, yes, fine,” I grumble, as something harsh squeezes in my chest. “Human lie detector. You should come in.”

As I step aside there’s a heartbeat before he crosses the threshold, ducking his head to avoid a collision with the door lintel, and then he pauses just inside the living room, shifting the weight uneasily between his feet.

“But I’m not human,” he says, with no trace of his usual humour. A shiver runs across my shoulders as I lock the door behind him.

“You’re close enough.”

When I turn back to face him, his features are contorted into incredulity. “How can you say that after what almost happened?” he demands. “What I almost did?”

He reaches for me, but the hand curls back around the words that stick in his throat before he can touch me. The shake of his head informs the shape of them anyway, what I knew they would be.

“If you’ve come to break up with me because of one stupid accident you can come back and do it in the morning,” I snap. “I’m not dealing with it now.”

The shock that meets such a blunt statement might have been comical in other circumstances, but there’s also the flicker of other emotions beneath the surface that pass too quickly for me to recognise. For a long, speechless moment the space between us unfolds with all the paths the brewing argument might take. Finally, with a helpless shrug, he licks his lips and makes a choice.

“I’m dangerous, Leah.”

“I think you proved tonight that you’re not,” I retort. “Not to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing here.”

He flinches, hunching over as if winded. “You have no idea how much I wanted to – how tempting it was. It keeps playing through my mind.”

“Nate, I’m fine.” I dare a step towards him. “Everything’s fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore – you can stop worrying.”

When he doesn’t respond, the hopeful smile falls from my lips as I turn away. It’s a fight to keep my hands from wrapping around myself, from betraying exactly how lonely it feels with him so far away, but I won’t give in to the urge. They bunch into fists at my side instead; I’ll be able to wallow as much as I want after he leaves.

He notices. A gaze soft and full of regret falls on me as he crosses the floor, and my skin burns where his fingertips brush my arm. “I’ll always worry about you, and… I’ll always want to know that you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” I insist.

His touch falls to my injured hand, to the plaster on my finger. “I frightened you.”

“A little.” I swallow. “But it wasn’t just fear.”

He’s closer now than he was in the kitchen, brown eyes heavy on mine, shadowed by a frown as he tries to work out my meaning. Maybe in the end the flush in my cheeks give it away, because he blinks at last and his mouth falls open, held taut as if he can’t decide whether to advance or retreat, and the embarrassment of the whole thing forces me away with a huff of laughter and a ragged hand shoved through my hair. It doesn’t say much for my sense of self-preservation that I’m turned on by my boyfriend’s predatory instincts, especially when guilt twists so clearly at the corner of his mouth, but he deserves the honesty.

“No one’s ever looked at me with such… intensity before,” I mumble, staring past his left ear. “And I noticed you weren’t staring at my hand. It felt like you wanted… well.”

He hooks a finger under my chin. “I’ve never wanted to kiss you more.” With the confession spoken his gaze drops to my mouth, his fingers turning to trail along the curve of my jaw and down my neck, reverent over the sparking line of my pulse, and he leans closer. “But it might not have stopped there, not once I’d tasted you.”

“You really are like the hero in a vampire romance novel.”

A laugh breaks from his lips at the unexpected tease, my face cradled in his hands as he brings his forehead gently down to mine. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Can I kiss you now?” I ask, winding my arms around his neck. The moment hangs between us – there shouldn’t be any trace of blood left, but Nate is always cautious, always considerate.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he murmurs.

My smile bows against the pad of his thumb, and then the press of his mouth as he closes the last of the distance. After everything that’s happened, the relief of his touch is like a physical thing, setting a tremble in my knees that I’m glad no one else can see. Strong arms wrap more tightly around me to keep me standing, the scent of leather and rain that always follows him as soft as the kisses slanted across my lips.

The movement shifts our positions a little and I pull away at the unexpected sensation it brings, a sharp prod against my stomach.

“What is in your pocket?”

He laughs again. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

“Then I have some serious anatomical concerns.”

Still chuckling, he lets his hands fall from my shoulders and after a moment of rummaging produces a small, square tin from one of the oversized pockets in his leather jacket. The series of Chinese-style paintings decorating the sides suggest that at one time or another it was used for tea, probably directly imported from some small, artisan family business, knowing Nate.

“They were meant to be dessert, but they won’t keep,” he says in explanation.

Curious, I take the offering and pry off the lid. Inside is a nest of soft, crisp tissue paper, and hidden beneath the topmost layer –

“Macarons?”

I hardly dare to breathe. The smooth, round shells are unmistakeable, their sugary almond scent immediately conjuring an image of the old tearoom where I first tried them, complete with pristine white tablecloths and fussy porcelain teacups.

They’re a pain to make, and I’ve never tried. Not only do all the measurements have to be precise, the process followed to the letter, but humidity or a wind from the north or the wrong moon phase can ruin them, and you’d better hope you don’t have plans for the rest of the day. They’re also far too expensive to buy regularly on a cop’s salary. With anyone else I’d wonder what occasion I’d forgotten, or the reason for trying to butter me up, but Nate is just… like this.

“You made me macarons.”

“They’re not perfect,” he cautions, reaching out.

I shake my head. “Yes they are.” They’ve even been dusted with glitter powder, which I suspect is a touch added by Felix – Nate’s romantic but he would never deign to be gaudy. “Thank you.”

“After ruining dinner I thought at least I could give you these.” He shrugs before I can contradict him. “Thank you, by the way, for clearing everything up.”

“Of course,” I answer, reaching for his hand. “Will you stay?”

“I would like that.”

Flashing a smile, I hand back the tin of macarons so I can clear away enough space on the sofa for us both to sit. The scattered rags are stuffed back into the workbasket with the scissors, and the tape measure fished from its attempted escape down the side of the cushions.

Nate helps fold the rug. “I haven’t seen this before,” he says. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s just something I do in spare moments.” I shrug. “Actual crochet is a bit beyond my skill level, but it’s nice to have something to do that doesn’t require thinking. What’s that smile for?”

“No reason in particular,” he murmurs, once more stepping close. “Every time I think I can’t be luckier to have you in my life, you prove me wrong.”

I have to drop my gaze, stammering against the urge to protest. “You’re the one making me fancy desserts.”

“I have to find something to do while you sit buried under all that paperwork,” he teases. “Shall we enjoy them?”

His hand stretches out in offering, and with it he draws me down to his side, patient while I get comfortable, tucked up under his arm safe and small and enveloped in warmth. A kiss brushes against my forehead. Even after months, I still marvel at how Nate can make my apartment feel so much more like a home just with his presence, and as he tilts the macaron tin towards me, knowing how easily I might have gone without it tonight – how I would have thought it normal, once – turns the gesture into something even sweeter.

[dorotheajanegilmore]

She saved me - VILLANELLE

Villanelle x OC!Female

Trigger warning: Drunk, passing out, men surrounding vulnerable woman (safe to read, nothing violent occurs).

Hope you enjoy!

————————

The blonde assassin sat in her expensive blue and red floral dress, watching the crowds gather around the man playing guitar outside of the French bakery.

Villanelle siped her coffee and took a verocious bite out of the circular pastry. “Ugh.” She spat it out onto the plate just as a waiter walked by.

“Is everything alright, Mademoiselle?” The twenty-something year old waiter asked with a thick French accent, looking down at the chewed, spit covered pastry lumped onto her plate.

Villanelle looked up at him in disgust. “That was cinnamon.”

“Yes, our cinnamon swirls are made with the finest cinnamon in-“

“I hate cinnamon.” Villanelle interrupted, picking up her boutique shopping bags and storming off in a huff.

Villanelle headed down a dark alleyway, a short cut to her hotel. As the alley lit up and exposed the street at the other end, Villanelle turned the corner. Immodestly, she collided with a stranger, her bags flying into the air and landing a few feet away.

“Perfect.” She whispered to herself, feeling a cold liquid drip down her front, and her damp clothes stick to her. Her hand was in her pocket, ready to take out her small blade, then the stranger pulled herself up from the ground.

“Oh, my god. I am so sorry!” The young woman pulled herself up from the wall and held a lidless coffee cup in hand.

Villanelle frowned, there was wine on her dress but the women was holding a coffee cup. She watched the stranger stumble and realised it took her a while to get up. And she was awfully quiet on impact. Villanelle left the blade where it was and began gathering her clothes, deciding that it wasn’t worth it.

As she stuffed her brown Gucci scarf into her bag, Villanelle saw the women attempt to help, she reached down to pick up a bag and stumbled. Falling back down onto the pavement. “Sorry, M’not help. Three heels. Drain.”

Villanelle looked over at the two heels on the drain and rolled her eyes. She picked them up and began heading on her way, leaving behind the drunken state that ruined her sweater.

But as she walked across the street, she saw three young men head towards the alley way. She heard whistling and yelling and couldn’t help but take a closer look. There was something in her gut telling her to go back, to check on the intoxicated woman.

Villanelle has barely crossed the street when she saw the men gather around, kneeling on the ground. “Hey! Hey! Get away from her!” She yelled, dropping her bags and raving down the alley. Immediately the men took off, realising that her yelling would draw attention.

Pressing her fingers to the woman’s neck, She sighed when she felt a slow and steady pulse. “Shit.” She cursed.

The taxi driver helped Villanelle carry the women into her hotel lobby where the security approached. Villanelle turned to the taxi driver and handed him a tip. “Thank you so much for your help. Stacey just can’t handle her French wines.” She out on her poshest English accent and the man chuckled before leaving. The hotel security guard overheard her and guided her to the elevator.

—————

She opened her eyes and her vision was blurred. She blinked a few times before her eyes focused on the window just across from her. The night sky was lit up with stars and the Eiffel Tower a bright yellow glow, against a navy background.

She sat up and realised that she wasn’t in her hotel room. This one is far fancier. Had she gotten that drunk at lunch?

“Harriet?” She called, hoping that her best friend that she was on vacation with would answer. Instead, she was met with silence. Throwing her legs over the end of the bed, she found her legs clad in pink silk pyjamas. She looked down as saw her top half matched. She lifted her left arm and found the letter ‘V’ sewn into the wrist with champagne coloured thread.

She frowned and stood up, feeling like she had a bookcase on her head she nearly fainted. She groaned feeling the dreaded hangover take over, but nevertheless, she wandered out of the bedroom.

“Harriet?” She asked, stepping into the hall. She looked up from the ground and saw a grand living room spread out in front of her. Crisp white walls and gold accents. A huge flat screen tv and grey velvet sofas. The place was a palace.

“Who’s suite am I in?” She whispered to herself. “Oh my god!” She clasped a hand over her mouth as she realised that in her drunken state, she might have hooked up with someone.

The door to her left opened and a tall, tan blonde woman walked out, wearing a white bathrobe and fluffy white slippers. “You’re awake.” She smiled.

“Hi. I. I don’t. I don’t know what’s happening.” She stuttered, feeling anxious, scared and vulnerable all at the same time.

“What’s your name?” The blonde asked, padding over to the sofa in her soft slippers.

“Florence.” The girl’s voice faltered as she spoke, her throat croaky and dry.

“Florence.” The woman nodded. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

The woman wondered into the kitchen while Florence slowly walked into the living room. The room was square with two grey double doors on the right hand side. On the left hand side was one grey door for the bathroom, and opposite the hallway she had just walked out of was a fireplace with a large tv. In the middle of the room was a white fluffy rug on top of the marble floor. Two sofas opposite each other with a glass table in between. It was lavish and expensive, it smells of fresh roses and coffee and the only sound audible being the traffic of cars outside.

Florence sank into the unbelievably soft sofa as the stranger walked in from the kitchen, two bottles of water in hand. She placed them on the table and took one for herself, gesturing for Florence to take one.

Usually, she wouldn’t take from strangers. However her mouth and throat felt like sandpaper. She removed the security seal and unscrewed the lid. The cold water felt heavenly against tongue and the relief on her throat was orgasmic. “Thank you.” She breathed as she finished the bottle.

The woman nodded with an amused smile. “You’re welcome.”

Florence noted the Russian accent and felt even more foreign. “I’m sorry but do you know how I got here?”

The woman nodded. “You barged into me in town. Spilled wine all over my expensive dress and passed out in the alley. Men tried to bother you so I brought you here.”

Florence felt sick from the information being spat at her. “Crap, crap. I am so stupid. I’m so sorry. Please, send me your dry cleaning bill, I’ll fix it for you. Or buy you a new one.”

“It was by The Vampire’s Wife.” The women stated dryly.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Florence nodded confidently. “I’ll call the boutique, please tell me what was the name of the piece I trashed?”

————————

Villanelle frowned. She expected this woman to be nothing more than cheap trash and yet, here she was offering to purchase a one thousand dollar dress? Now the assassin was intrigued, even more so than she was.

“Forget it. But please, let me ask you some questions.”

Florence nodded and Villanelle sat up, twisting the towel from her head and letting her freshly washed hair drip onto her bathrobe to dry naturally.

“Where are you from and what are you doing here?”

“I’m from London but I’m on vacation here with friends. It’s my birthday tomorrow so.” The woman shrugged.

“How old are you tomorrow?” V asked, wondering if she had accidentally kidnapped a minor.

“I’ll be 24.”

Villanelle sighed in relief. “And what’s your job?”

“I’m a writer. You?”

Villanelle chuckled. “I’m a perfume designer.”

“Aw that’s so cool!” Florence exclaimed excitedly, a big fan of perfume and all things girly. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Villanelle nods, she supposed that was fair.

“What’s your name? And why did you help me?” Florence’s mind was going a hundred miles a minute. She felt ill, and wasn’t sure if she should be leaving and trying to find Harriet, or if she should take this woman out and buy her a replacement sweater. And pyjamas, since she was now dressed in hers. Either way, she needed answers.

“Villanelle. And I felt bad for you.” Villanelle shrugged.

Florence’s face lit up with a smile and chuckled at how blunt Villanelle was. “You don’t sugar coat it do you.”

Villanelle shrugged, feeling comfortable around this stranger. “Sugar coatting is for babies. Are you baby?”

“I could be.” Florence joked.

Villanelle’s eyes widened before Florence shook her head and and said, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I should leave.”

Florence stood up and looked around. Villanelle stood up too, and watched her move.

“Do you have my phone?” Florence asked. “Did I have it when I stumbled into you?”

Villanelle shook her head and shrugged. “You came with a coffee cup.“

“Can I borrow your phone please? I just need to call my friend and let her know I’m safe.”

With that sentence, Villanelle’s eyes darkened. She slowly walked towards the girl, smirking evilly as her hand reached into her pocket.

Florence’s heart quickened as Villanelle stalked towards her. Florence took a step back and gulped. “I am safe right?”

Villanelle’s smirk dropped and she began laughing wickedly. “Hahaha! I got you! Haha I scared you didn’t I? Hahaha”

Florence’s shoulders dropped and her heart sank. “Oh..my god. Oh my god. You totally had me there.”

Villanelle took her phone out of her pocket and brought up the number pad. “Here. Call your friend.”

“Thank you so much.” Florence gratefully took hold of the phone, but Villanelle didn’t let go.

“By the way,” Villanelle started, leaning in closer to Florence’s face. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now, baby.”