#got my hair straightened for the first time in months and got a trim so im feeling very fresh and rejuvenated

[tumbler-dot-com-user]

having straight hair fucks hard it feels so nice

[purplesurveys]

1697

Do you know anyone whose birthday is tomorrow? Maybe if I checked the birthdays tab on Facebook...but right off the bat, no, I wouldn’t know anyone having a birthday tomorrow.

What was the last thing you found that you thought you lost forever? Reena’s necklace gift that I talked about around three surveys ago. I’m so happy it’s back in my sight :(( 

Have you ever been to Times Square to watch the ball drop for the New Year? I’ve never been to the US.

If you have a Twitter, do you use something else besides the computer to update your tweets? Oh I rarely use my laptop to tweet now. It’s always through my phone.

The last time you said ‘I love you’ to someone, who said it first, them or you? They did.

Do you like potato salad? Can’t say I do; I don’t think I’ve ever tried one.

Who was the last person that apologized to you? Angela, although I did apologize right back because I felt like I was more at fault about the thing we were both saying sorry for.

Have you ever driven and ended up running out of gas? Noooooooo I avoid that happening at all costs. I wouldn’t know what to do if I got stranded somewhere, regardless if the area is familiar or not.

When was the last time you uploaded pictures from your camera? Around a week ago on Instagram when I did a photo dump of my recent trips. Did you do the laundry today? No.

What was the reason behind the last time you stayed up all night? Eh, just going through Instagram reels and edits which I can do long enough to have me stay up all night.

Did you straighten or curl your hair last? I don’t do either. It’s always either a trim or having it dyed altogether.

Have you ever been off-roading? Nope, not my thing.

Who was the last person you loaned money to? I didn’t exactly loan, but when my friends and I were booking Klook tours I had been the one to shoulder the full costs then they just paid me back within the month.

Was the last number you added to your cell phone a guy’s or girl’s number? Idk I never add contacts to my phone anymore.

Do you enjoy being a tease? I don’t do that.

Have you ever had a UFO sighting or a sighting of strange lights in the sky? Nope. I’ve seen what I thought were strange flashing lights but they always got debunked in the end. Usually just a plane, lol.

Who was the last person you caught lying to you? That hasn’t happened lately.

How old were you when you were first pulled over by the police? 18. I was changing lanes where I shouldn’t have been.

Do you have a webcam that’s built into your computer or did it come separately? It’s built into the laptop.

Was there ever a time that you lived on an island? I...kind of do? The Philippines is an archipelago.

Have you ever made a time capsule? Nah.

When was the last time you drank out of a champagne glass? I’ve never done that.

What was the last casino you went to? City of Dreams.

Does it flood easily where you live? Not here. The other parts of my village are less lucky though, so it’s fortunate we live where we do.

If you drive a car, does it come with side airbags? As far as I know, it doesn’t.

[down-in-dixie]

Fill in the blanks

Basics

What’s your name: Lauren. Do you have a nickname: No. Do you have a middle name: Nicole. Do you like your name: I do. Do people often mispronounce your name: It really isn’t that hard to pronounce. Do you like the meaning of your name: It's okay. When is your birthday: December 10th. How old are you: I'm in my 30s. Do you like your age: There's nothing wrong with it. What’s your zodiac sign: Sagittarius.

Appearance

What’s your hair colour: Dark brown with just a hint of red that's barely noticeable. Is your current hair colour your natural hair colour: It is. Do you dye your hair: No. I feel like it would be too much of a hassle. When was the last time you had a haircut: I had it trimmed a few months ago. What length is your hair right now: It hangs a little ways past my shoulders. Do you have straight, wavy or curly hair: Slightly wavy. Do you have frizzy hair: It does get a bit frizzy when I’m out in the humidity. Do you use a curling iron: No. Do you use a hair straightener: Only on my bangs. Do you braid your hair: I do when it’s long enough. What’s your eye colour: Bluish-gray with green. Do your eyes change colour: It seems like they do but I can't say for sure. Do you wear contacts: No. I can’t stand putting stuff in my eyes. If so, do you use colour contacts or regular contacts: Do you wear glasses: No, but I need to buy a pair. My eyesight isn't as good as it used to be. Do you have naturally long eyelashes: They’re not that long. Do you wear braces: I’ve never had them. Do you have dimples: Nope. Do you have moles: One, right in the middle of my chest of all places. Do you have outstanding cheekbones: I don’t know. No one has ever said anything about them before. Do you have freckles: No. Do you have piercings: Two holes in each ear. I'm thinking about getting a third. Do you have tattoos: None as of right now. Do you wear make up: Yes, but it's always the bare minimum amount. Do you paint your nails: Sometimes, and the color is usually either black or a dark burgundy color. Do you wear jewelry: All the time. Are you happy with your height: I am.

Personality

Would you consider yourself outgoing or shy: I'm definitely NOT outgoing. Are you sarcastic: Me? Sarcastic? Never… What’s your guilty pleasure: Animation. Are you religious: I could care less about religion. Do you get along with people easily: I think so. Do you cry easily: Not really.

School

Do you go to middle school: I’m old enough to be a teacher at a middle school. Do you go to high school: See above. Do you go to a private school: I went to public school. Have you graduated from school: I graduated YEARS ago. What grade are you in: I JUST told you that I’ve already graduated… Have you skipped a grade: I WISH I had skipped a grade, but I wasn’t smart enough for that. Have you been held back a grade: Thankfully, I was never held back. Have you ever failed a class: I failed Algebra 2 my Junior year by one point (math was my weakness). And I wasn't happy about it. Have you been sent to the principals office: I was sent there once but it wasn’t because of bad behavior. Have you skipped school: I skipped quite a few times. Have you cheated on a test: I did once, got caught and never did it again.

Family

Do you get along with your parents: Most of the time. Do you tell your parents everything: They don't need to know everything. Do you have strict parents: Thankfully, they were never strict. Do you have siblings: One younger brother. Are you the oldest: Well, if I only have one sibling who is younger than me, then that would make me the oldest now wouldn’t it? Are you in the middle: See above. Are you the youngest: See above the above question. Are all of your grandparents still alive: They're all dead.

Relationships

What’s your relationship status: Happily single. Have you ever been in love: Once upon a time. Do you believe in love at first sight: No. I think you have to get to know a person before you can truly be in love with them. Lust on the other hand… Have you ever been in a relationship: Yes. Have you ever had a secret admirer: Yes, although it didn't remain a secret for very long. Have you ever been asked out on a date: Yes. Have you ever been kissed: Yes. Have you ever been cheated on: Not that I know of. Have you ever been proposed to: Yes, but it was done in a jokingly manner. Do you want to get married: I’m enjoying the single life too much right now to even consider it. Do you want kids: Hard pass. I prefer to keep what little patience and sanity I have left.

Country

Where were you born: The United States. Where do you live right now: The United States. Have you ever been out of the country: No, but I would LOVE to get the hell out of here. Do you prefer country or city: The country where it’s nice and quiet. Do you like sightseeing: Yes. Is one or more of your parents from another country: They’re both American. What places would you like to visit: I wouldn't mind traveling all over the world. Are you fluent in more than one language: I’m only fluent in English. What languages can you speak: Not fluently, but I’ve picked up a few words and phrases in French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, and Russian.

Health

Do you have any allergies: I'm allergic to pollen and I think I'm starting to develop an allergy to grass as well. Are you lactose intolerant: No. Have you had surgery: Never. Have you had stitches: No. Have you broken a bone: No, just a few sprains. Do you exercise a lot: No, but I need to start doing it again.

Experiences

Have you ever had a near death experience: Yes. Have you ever been on a plane: No. Have you ever pulled an all nighter: I've pulled so many all nighters over the years that I've lost track of the amount. And I still do it. Have you ever been to school/work after a sleepless night: Unfortunately. Have you ever been in a physical fight: Yes, but it was always with my brother. Have you ever been to a wedding: Several, and I’ve also been IN one. Have you ever been to a funeral: Sadly enough, I’ve been to more funerals than weddings. Have you ever lived in a different country: No, but I would like to. Have you ever been drunk: I don’t drink enough to get drunk. Have you ever been trick or treating: Of course, I was actually young once. Have you ever been in a school play: Yes. Have you ever been to a camp: I went a few times when I was younger. Have you ever driven a car: Yes, and I don't like it.

Skills

How many languages are you fluent in: Haven’t I already answered this question? Have you ever read a book in another language: I’m only fluent in English, remember? Can you roll your tongue: Yes. Can you braid hair: Yes, but I can only do a regular braid. I never learned how to do a French braid. Can you do a handstand: I used to be able to do one when I was younger. I don’t know about now.

Habits

Do you crack your knuckles: Yes, but I should probably stop doing it. Do you bite your nails: I haven’t done that in years. Do you bite your lips: Sometimes.

Favourites

What’s your favourite movie: Don't What’s your favourite TV show: Make What’s your favourite book: Me What’s your favourite song: Choose. I hate getting these types of questions… What’s your favourite colour: Black, purple, blue, turqoise and red. What’s your favourite animal: Cats(big and domestic), dogs / wolves and horses. What’s your favourite season: Fall.

This or That

Summer or winter: WINTER. I hate Summer. It's too hot and humid around here. Day or night: Night. Cats or dogs: I’m more of a cat person, but I do like dogs as well. Rain or shine: Both, but I only like the rain when I don't have to go out in it. Coffee or tea: Tea, although I will drink a mocha frappuccino every once in awhile. Reading or writing: Both, although I read more than I write. Humorous or serious: Depends on the mood / situation. Brown or blue eyes: Both. Single or group dates: Depends on the person / people. Texts or calls: Text. Driving or walking: Walking, but depends on the distance.

Last

Last phone call: My boss. Last text: Mom. Last song you listened to: Black Velvet by Alannah Miles. Last thing you ate: Caramel Creams candy. Last thing you drank: Sunkist. Last purchase: Some new watch bands. Last time you cleaned your room: Yesterday. Last time you’ve been on a date: It's been almost twenty years. I've basically given up on dating.

[meditating-dog-lover]

This week + my health

So this week has been great so far. My dad came to visit us and I am taking the week off. So I have the chance to relax and enjoy my time off.

It's nice to have my dad come visit. We spent some time playing Super Mario Sunshine (my favorite Nintendo game of all time). It's been a lot of fun. We also took my dogs out for morning walks which have also been nice and exciting. My younger dog is still getting used to my dad, and these walks really help. We did go to the dog park too, so now she will associate walks with my dad with going to the dog park (which she really loves).

I've been obsessing a little less about my health and the general anxiety levels I have regarding my health has been less this week. Because I have the chance to relax and not be stuck with my obsessive "what if" thoughts (the ones I get at work sitting at my desk).

I am looking for a healthy way to minimize bloating. A few days ago I did buy a probiotic, prebiotic, and digestive enzyme supplement. However, I swear as soon as I took it, my eczema and angular cheilitis got worse (these both cleared up well after taking my daily multivitamins for a few weeks). I also had random itchy spots on my body too. So I'm not going to take these anymore. I know it had to be from the probiotic supplement since these symptoms started after I took the first pill. I've never done a gut or stomach acid analysis, so I have no way of knowing if I really do really need this supplement. Unlike my multivitamin and magnesium supplements which I do need as I did show deficiencies across a lot of vitamins and minerals. So those 2 are necessary. I also take oral probiotics and I feel I can benefit from those. I even bought some chlorella powder since it helps with heavy metal detoxing (I have heavy metal exposure, and everyone does). So I hope this is something I can benefit from.

I was looking at my old blood test from Oct 2021 and noticed my vitamin D levels were in the normal range but on the lower end. So I remember I was taking my daily multivitamin supplements at the time and each tablet has 250% of the daily recommended dosage of vitamin D. Which feels like it's plenty. But my results were on the lower end? Maybe because I was not taking it for a long time (I cannot remember how long I was on these supplements for as I know it takes a few weeks to months for deficiencies to be corrected, depending on the individual vitamin and/or mineral). But I don't know. Now I'm a bit confused as to how much vitamin D I truly need. I definitely do need it and I need it in a good dosage because the health problems I have been experiencing are very likely a consequence of this (and other specific vitamins and minerals but vitamin D seems to be the main one because it's a hormone/regulator of other minerals in the body) as opposed to other factors. So this is something I'll have to figure out. Vitamin D is so important and has several health benefits, but vitamin D deficiencies are so common, and correcting these deficiencies can be a bit tricky. But I'll figure it out (because I always figure things out).

Because I was able to enjoy some relaxation and "me" time during these past few days, I actually wanted to do some things for my physical appearance. I got a haircut yesterday and it looks nice. All the split ends are gone and the layering looks nice. I plan on getting my hair trimmed every 3-4 months and I might do some color next time if I'm up for it. I'm happy I went. I even booked an appointment for a manicure and pedicure for Thursday (I'm waiting for the skin on my hands to heal after the eczema flare-up). These are fun things to do for self-care, not vanity. There isn't anything wrong with getting a hair cut or a foot massage. I'm quite simple when it comes to style so a simple layer and trim and color, as well as a simple nail style, really does the trick. My teeth now make such a huge difference because I straightened them with Invisalign and have had whitening treatment. So they look nice and healthy too. I do want to shape my eyebrows too but I'll have to look for an online guide for some shapes and styles (I've already looked at those before).

I'm just happy I'm taking care of my health and my physical appearance. This helps with my confidence and makes me feel a lot better in general. These are great forms of self-care. And again, I will add more and more steps to improve both aspects over time (more health improvement and I will eventually work on body confidence and clothes, etc...).

I've also spent some time reading an investment book. I want to invest money for both retirement and home purchase, so I'm reading this book to get some advice on how to do so. I'm in my late 20s so knowing how to invest now is a great idea and saves a lot of stress and guesswork in the future. The book is easy to follow and I have been taking my own notes on each chapter.

I have not had the energy to exercise for the past week, and neither have I in the past few days. I think it's because HIIT can be exhausting, so has work and having to come home to walk my dogs. And I've had some other health concerns I wanted to address (my nutritional deficiencies and some inflammation which I will discuss a week from now). Exercise is important, but these other aspects of my overall health and well-being are too and are currently more important than exercising as they require more modifications and interventions now. My back and body overall have been sore recently, so I needed some time to take a break and to rest my muscles.

I had a great time and am hoping for the rest of this week to play out well.

Some other things I want to achieve regarding health and appearance (both): posture, nasal breathing, and to stop picking my skin and biting my nails. Anxiety reduction too.

[lollytea]

So an extra funny part about Darius & Willow's weird friendship re: him helping her get ready for her date, is Darius used to essentially be Harvey's boss for many years

Like it was already a little strange initially for Gilbert & Harvey that their daughter started dating the ex-Golden Guard/nephew of the deceased emperor, but one of his parents is the ex-Abomination Coven Head too??

First Willow befriended THE Blight family's youngest kid years back, and now she's dating the adoptive kid of a Coven Head, girl just keeps collecting kids related to very important figure heads her dads have worked with/for, I love that for her. Gotta be a 🤏 weird for them tho haha

I know there's a post in my drafts somewhere talking about this exact thing. Like!!! Darius was Harvey's boss!!! That's hilarious!!!!

I like the idea that Harvey and Gil were initially in the dark about Hunter and Darius's relationship. Like when Hunter started dating their daughter, they obviously wanted to invite him and his family over for dinner. (Willow had to repeatedly beg them not to be embarrassing.) So of course, Hunter brought Camila, Luz and Vee along. At this point in time, they're his set-in-stone family, while he and Darius are still kinda in this grey area.

And oh god the Parks LOVE Camila. She's a treasure. She's so sweet. She knows very little about this world so she asks them questions about themselves and their jobs and listens with rapt attention. And the Parks know little about her world so they're just as invested. And even though the food they served made Camila throw up, she took it like a champ. They got along so well.

So they're all proud of themselves for having a WONDERFUL relationship with their daughter's boyfriend's family. They're so good at being functional sociable adults. (I see Harvey as the kinda guy who gets a rush of exhilaration every time he performs adulthood correctly.)

Anyway it's not until a few months later when they're well acquainted with Hunter and their daughter's relationship with him that Willow is like. "Oh, by the way. Hunter's grouchy father figure has invited us over for dinner. He wants to meet you guys."

Which just has Harvey and Gil like "Huh???????" There's ANOTHER parent they have to form a relationship with now??????

And OH GOD. When Harvey finds out who this man is, he goes fucking BONKERS. That's the guy!!!! That's the MAIN guy!!!!! He worked for that guy!!!!!!! And though the Coven system has been abolished, I don't think Harvey can really get that image of Darius the Boss Man out of his head.

After all Harvey is a guy who's very concerned with appearances and making connections for the sake of your career. And Darius still has a huge reputation in the abomination field. So he believes it's in his family's best interest that they remain civil with him.

Like Harvey worked hard while in that Coven and he only met Darius like once or twice. So he flew relatively under the radar. Gave Darius no real reason to dislike him. It was fine.

So the idea of going to his HOUSE and having dinner with him is fucking batshit. Because now he has to make an IMPRESSION.

He panics the whole week and then on the night they're about to leave for the Deamonne residence, he's bustling around making sure He, Gilbert and Willow look presentable and insisting that they all behave themselves. A million times worse than Willow was the first time Hunter came over.

Gilbert, combing his hair: Well, how do I look, Harv? Do you think I'll impress your boyfriend Darius looking so neat and polished? :)

Harvey, straightening his collar: Oh, your sense of humor is alive and well, I see. Fantastic. Make him laugh if you can. I love you.

Willow, polishing her boots after Harvey told her they weren't shiny enough: He's not worth all this effort y'know. He might think he is but he's just some guy at the end of the day.

Harvey, meticulously trimming his beard: Please don't tell me you've ever spoken to him like that.

Willow, who would prefer not to give her dad an aneurysm right now: Of course not 💕

Anyway I absolutely see Darius as somebody who may act like he really doesn't give a shit about anybody who's not in his inner circle but at the same time, he would still be the kind of boss who goes to the effort of learning all the witches in his old Coven by name.

So when he opens up the door and warmly announces "Harvey Park! Wonderful to see you again." Harvey nearly fucking passes out from shock.

Now I KNOW, I know in my heart Willow will not obey that order to behave herself. Once she and Darius are seated at the same table, they are going at it. It is impossible not to.

Which has Harvey sweating BUCKETS at first, especially with how Gilbert barely tries to hold it in before he's in peals of laughter at their daughter's retorts. Even Hunter is snickering.

It takes him a bit to get accustomed to how this dynamic works, just like Hunter, but Harvey does eventually realize that Darius and Willow's rivalry comes from familiarity more than anything. And that's when Harvey realizes that he understands.

Because like!!! Oh!!!! It's a little bit like Harvey and Hunter.

Similarly to how Darius sees his younger self in Willow, Harvey sees his younger self in Hunter. And they're not nearly as witty and graceful as the former two, but two personalities that are so very similar sometimes leads to clashing.

Not even of the antagonistic variety. They're both just nerds who love to info dump and they've both read the same books so they're often very competitive over who can get the words out the fastest and be the one to share the Fun Fact. Like:

Harvey: And the thing about mindscapes is--

Hunter: They reflect the individual!

Harvey: I knew that, yes. I was just gonna tell them that.

Hunter: You were talking too slow so I helped :)

Harvey: Thanks, Hunter.

Hunter: No problem :)

Initially, while the two were still getting used to each other, Hunter used to be so embarrassed by his tendency to speak over Harvey. He just got nervous and blurted shit out to prove he was smart and was terrified Willow's dad wasn't gonna like him. But on the flipside, Harvey, who was initially wary of Hunter, is now like "wow he's just like me fr" And starts to encourage this playful sort of "rivalry" which Hunter is aware is just a joke. And though they DO get on each others nerves, they have an understanding.

That's it!!! That's exactly what Willow and Darius got going on!!!!!

Anyway it's nice that they get to do this and Harvey actually gets an opportunity to talk to Darius in a more casual setting so he can see him in another light that's not the Big Boss Man. Cuz Harvey is crazy smart when it comes to abomination magic, as is Darius. So they actually gel really well. But the boss-employee barrier always prevented them from actually being friends.

Also Gilbert manages to make Darius laugh several times, a feat many cannot do, so Harvey kissed him senseless after they got home. 💕

[the-late-one]

So my volcano brain erupted, and I started to imagine Stede and Sam first meeting. There is no plot, just this scene :

*

Stede opened his eyes in a dark room, lighten by a single lamp next to him. He blinked a few times before distinguishing a silhouette sitting at his feet.

"Ha ! You’re awake !"

The man approached his chair closer to his head. Stede could barely see his face, hidden under a large hat.

"Just one thing quickly. Are you by any chance Stede Bonnet ?" Asked the man.

Stede hesitated before answering, his mind still blurred. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t form proper words.

"Why ?"

"Oh yes, pardon my lack of mannerisms."

The stranger gave his hand to Stede.

"I'm Sam. Sam Bellamy."

"...Stede."

Some déjà-vu impression was floating in the air. Stede shook his hand slowly.

"Bellamy ?" Stede coughed. "Isn't he dead ?"

"Isn't Stede Bonnet dead ?"

The two pirates looked at each other for a few seconds before breaking the contact.

"You're not the first one to come with this idea, Capitaine Bonnet."

Stede started to see better when Sam laid back on his chair. The man was black haired, with a well trimmed beard, black clothes and a black hat on him. This situation was definitely something familiar, except from the palpable tension fulling the room.

"You saved me ?"

"Yes. I did."

"Why ?"

"Oh this is a funny little story. I'm glad you're asking."

The tone of Sam's voice was well articulated, and joyfull. He sounded like a kid that just found a new toy. And it wasn't reassuring in any way. A creepy forced smile appeared on his face when he straightened his back to cross his legs, moving what seemed to be a long cape hanging on his shoulders.

"I heard rumors about you. So many rumors. That you were dead, or still alive... but my favourite one is when people are saying that you and Blackbeard himself were buggering each other."

Stede furrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh is it true ?" Asked Sam.

"We were not- Why did everyone think that ?!... We sailed together for a few months yeah."

"Interesting. Very interesting."

Sam's dark eyes surrounded by khol got lost in the void.

Stede didn't know if he should be on the defensive or not. He was definitely not at ease, but he was alive thanks to this man. He risked another question.

"Do you know him ?"

"Blackbeard ? No. Never met him. But we have something in common."

Stede thought for himself that yes, he was seeing kind of a patern. Sam focused back on Stede.

"Anyway ! I am dead for years now. Decades even. Pretty boring, if you wanna know, being dead. I'm not gonna lie, I started to go from tavern to tavern everyday. That's where your hear the best rumors. And so I heard that Blackbeard made an alliance with the gentleman pirate, and they where sailing side by side, even more than just sailing. And that, my dear gentleman, was a really good new for me."

Stede was listening, trying to find where this story was going.

"So I told to myself "Samuel. Wake up ! You're a pirate ! It's time to claim your lost booty !". And I stole that ship you’re in, and got a new crew, and off I was on the ocean again."

Sam took a more serious face, almost sad.

"But then... I heard that you were dead. So the game was over, because Blackbeard didn't have his new toy anymore, he was gonna play with his old one again"

"I don't think I'm quite following you-"

"I stopped everything !" Shouted Sam. "Back to the port ! Me and the booze again. When I heard that fantastic mumble behind me. You were alive !"

The captain made a pause.

"Well I'm very happy that you're glad I'm alive but-"

"And you know what is the most interesting part in this ?" Sam asked, going half mad.

He soothened his voice.

"Blackbeard is searching for you."

Stede face lightened.

"Is he ?"

Sam seemed to react more than necessary to this question, staring in the deep of Stede’s eyes.

"Is he really searching for me ?" Repeated Stede.

"Well yes. I think so."

Stede smiled uncontrollably.

"That’s why I saved you. For him."

"You did that for Blackbeard ? But I tought you weren't friends ?"

"Oh that's not a friendly move."

Stede lose his smile as Sam leaned way too close to his face.

"I don't know Blackbeard, but it didn't stop him to take something from me a looong time ago. And now, I have something in exchange to offer him, and take what's mine back without risking to get killed."

Stede started to understand.

"The toy ?" He asked. "May I ask what it is ?"

Sam smiled a bright smile.

"The most handsome and charming man this ocean ever carried."

Stede thought for a second, only able to think about Edward. But Sam didn't let him the time to think further.

"Israel Hands."

Stede brain stopped working. He contained a nervous laugh, starting to seriously fear for his life.

"My Israel..." repreated Sam, playing with a ring tied around his neck.

He suddenly stood up and headed for the door. That's when Stede realised he wasn't in a bedroom, but in a cell.

"Now you are gonna help me find this thief lover of yours, so I can get mine back !"

Stede panicked.

"But I don't know where he is ! He could be anywhere !"

"Oh I'm not in a hurry, I can wait a little more days." Said Sam, locking the grilled door behind him. "I'm a very patient man."

*

And then I just imagined Izzy and Sam reunion :

*

Izzy entered the tavern, directly finding Jackie at her table.

"One of your dogs said that you had something for me ?" He asked.

"In the back. I hope you believe in ghosts." Answered Jackie.

Izzy furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the back door. He headed there and entered slowly, taking the time to grip his gun.

"Israel ?" Said a voice in the corner of the room.

Izzy stopped. He knew that voice. He haven't heard it in years. Thank god he had a cane, otherwise he would have fall.

He turned his head to the voice to find Sam standing here, opening his arms toward him, saying with a bright smile of his :

"Daddy's home."

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Birthday Gift

Pairing: Nomad!Steve x fem-Reader

Word Count: 5665 (I know, I know)

Summary:  The nomad crew have been holed up with you for months and tensions are high. Nat, being an unrepentant pot stirrer, decides to arrange a pleasant birthday surprise for you.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit descriptions of consensual violence, SMUT! PORN! 18+!

A/N: Hello my fellow hoes and sluts! My birthday is today and it has me in some kind of mood, so I hunkered down and blasted out this fic. @stargazingfangirl18​‘s lovely Tree Trimming fic has my holes quivering for some hot Nomad sex, so please sit back and enjoy my birthday present to all of you!

You had always hated your birthday.

Fortunately, Nat was completely willing to take your mind off it with a good sparring match. The snow was falling heavy outside of the large windows on the side of the gym, but the minor exertion was keeping you pleasantly warm. You’d been on the mat for almost an hour, but you still couldn’t seem to get your mind to focus.

Of course, it didn’t help when Rogers came in, glowering, to work the bags, giving you a wary look before he settled into his routine.

Nat and the rest of the team had been with you for almost 3 months now. When she had called you after the events in Berlin, to arrange a potential safehouse for her and her compatriots, you of course offered to have them join you at your isolated lodge on the Snæfellsnes peninsula. You were as off the grid as they come, and with the help of your Wakandan friends, still able to provide the modern creature comforts you were sure they had become accustomed to at the Avengers compound.

You had missed Nat, after all. It had been almost 7 years since you last saw her, but the grin she gave you when they landed in the early Autumn made it seem like she’d never left. You got to know everyone else over the months as well. Sam and you bonded quickly after you introduced him to Aquavit and spent the next 2 days helping him slowly move back to solid foods. Vision of course took everything that happened in stride, and while you couldn’t say you were friends, you had developed a mutual respect for each other. Wanda took longer to warm up (understandable after everything she had been through) but when you told her about the time you had spent in Sokovia, she quickly came out of her shell, and the two of you would often stay up through the night reminiscing about your homes. Even Barnes had softened once he got a look at your weapons room and you took it out to the Fjord to test out some next gen tech Shuri had sent you.

The only problem was Rogers.

No matter what you tried, it seemed that every time you got near him his hackles went up. You could feel him watching you constantly, and whenever you met his gaze, he would simply clench his jaw and stalk off like a cat.

“He’s just overprotective.” Nat always said. “He’s a big papa bear protecting his cubs. He’ll warm up.”

You snapped back to the present as Vis and Wanda wandered into the gym chatting idly. She had convinced him to join her out in the snow for a brisk hike, and was now laughing lightly as she brushed a dusting of soft flakes off his shoulders. Bucky was working his way down from the weights level, patting his neck dry with a towel. You heard the pounding on the bags stop, and glanced over to see Rogers unwrapping his hands as he stared at you, but this time he didn’t break eye contact when you met his gaze.

Those deep blue eyes disarmed you, and you lost your concentration for a split second. Nat seized her opportunity and crawled up your back, wrapping he legs around your neck and shoulders to try to get you into a submissive position. You tried to regain your composure, but your instincts kicked in for just a moment, and when you drove yourself back into the mat to break her hold, you landed quite a bit harder than you intended and thought you heard a snap as she gasped out in pain.

“Shit, Nat you good?” You scrambled onto your knees and looked at your friend with concern. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rogers striding over, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. Vis and Wanda stopped their conversation to glance over and Bucky moved quickly to intercept his best friend with a hand on his chest.

Nat broke the tension with a laugh, and everyone in the room relaxed. “God, Y/N, guess you’re still an aggro bitch. I though I might’ve had you for once.”

“Jesus, Nat. I’m sorry, lemme grab you some ice. Anything broken?”

“Don’t think so, just a bruised ego. Look at you, you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

You tossed a pack to her from the freezer, along with her typical post spar electrolyte drink. She gave you a wink as she pressed the pack to her ribs, and you could only shake your head at her.

“Steve, you wanna take over for me?” She said to the large man who was now leaning against one of the windows, only half listening as Barnes tried to distract him, while glaring at you.

You both snapped your heads around to stare at her and started protesting over each other while she grinned back and forth between you.

“That’s probably not a great idea…”

“Don’t want to hurt her…”

“Oh my god, you two are ridiculous. Y/N, you obviously still have to work out your birthday issues, and Steve, you’ve been complaining for the past 3 weeks that me and Buck are getting too predictable.”

“Y/N, it’s your birthday? We should bake you a cake!” Wanda exclaimed, always the little ray of sunshine.

“That’s ok Wand, please don’t.”

“Should we perhaps sing?” Vision was now adding his two cents to the discussion.

“No singing. Thank you, so much, for that, Nat.”

“She’s right Rogers, you’ve been looking pretty bored during our sessions, change of pace might be good for you.”

While you were eternally grateful to Bucky for getting the topic off of your birthday, you really didn’t think Rogers was going to go for this.

“Fine, we’ll give it a shot.”

You looked at him with surprise, but gave a shrug and nodded. You definitely still needed something to take your mind off the day. You loved Nat, but always felt the need to hold back during your sessions, and it might be nice to take the safety off.

Nat looked like the cat that ate the canary for some unknown reason, as she giggled and clapped her hands before setting down onto one of the stools to observe. Bucky looked relieved as he leaned back against the wall, chugging the contents of his water bottle. Wanda and Vis went back to their flirty conversation, content to let you two do your own thing.

You unzipped your hoody and threw it to the side, stretching your neck and bouncing on the balls of your feet to loosen up. Rogers looked you over, eyes lingering over your tattoos that you realized he’d never seen since most of them were easily covered by a long sleeve shirt. He pulled his own sweatshirt over his head, and you had a hard time not taking a second to appreciate just how good his torso looked in a simple grey tee.

“Jesus, you two, just get to it.”

The look you shot Nat was pure poison. You weren’t sure what her game was, but you’d be sure to break out the vodka later tonight and get it out of her.

You squared up with the captain, keeping a loose stance on the balls of your feet while he brought up his fists and shrugged his shoulders.

His first strike seemed sluggish, and you slapped it aside easily, frowning at him. He shuffled forward, throwing a few more jabs that you also dodged. Was he holding back on you?

The next few shots he tried to take all but confirmed it; he was pulling his punches. You ducked around them easily, starting to get frustrated. You stepped inside his reach and delivered three quick strikes to his abdomen, followed by an open-handed push to the center of his chest, causing him to take two steps backwards.

His eyes narrowed at you. He was just hoping to get Nat and Buck off his back. Nat had been trying to get him to interact with you for months, but there was something about you that set off warning bells in his head. He trusted Nat and Nat trusted you, which should have been good enough, but he couldn’t get over the thought that there was something dangerous about you that he couldn’t figure out. He’d hoped that a quick spar would appease Nat and get whatever was bugging him about you out of his system, but he had expected you to be on Nat’s level of physicality. The contemptuous way you slapped his blows aside, and the way you got under his guard fast, only made him more wary.

You saw him adjust his stance and tucked in his arms, and gave him a small smirk as you stepped back and raised your fists again.

He moved forward quickly this time, throwing a quick combo of punches aimed at your head and torso and trying to get his arms around you for a hold. You still dodged his strikes easily and when he tried to put you in a hold, you delivered a swift knee to the juncture of his waist on his left side, dancing back again.

His long hair had fallen into is eyes at this point, and when he straightened back up, the look of appraisal he gave was laced with frustration.

Your breathing was still even and relaxed, and Nat had been right, you hadn’t broken a sweat at all in the past 45 minutes. You loosely rolled one tattooed shoulder and gave him a grin, practically begging him to try again.

He clenched his jaw and rushed you. You kept dodging his blows or batting them aside but when he brought his foot around suddenly you moved a little too slow and felt it glance off your cheekbone. He took advantage of your brief surprise and moved behind you whip fast, wrapping one arm around your neck as he braced the other around your right shoulder and he tried to force you to the ground. You sprung your legs off the mat, raising them above your waist before swinging them back down as you got your left hand behind his head and grabbed the back of his tee, then used your momentum to fling him over your shoulders and toss him 15 feet across the room.

He shot up fast and turned back to with a look of complete shock on his face as he crouched into a protective stance. He stared at you like that for a beat before clenching his jaw and straightening up, rolling his head to right.

You followed his line of sight, perplexed. Bucky had jolted off of the wall and looked ready for a fight, flicking his gaze between you and Rogers. Wanda was staring at you with surprise, but was still relaxed. Vis looked at everyone around the room in confusion, trying to understand where the sudden tension had come from. The only person who seemed unfazed by what happened was Nat, all doe eyed innocence as she sipped her drink, not making eye contact with you or Rogers.

Poor Sam chose this moment to wander in. “Hey, Y/N, I heard it’s your b-day. You ready for me to drink you under… What happened?”

“Fuck’s sake Nat, you didn’t tell them.” You hissed at her.

“It didn’t really seem important, Y/N. Besides, it’s your secret.”

“Not a secret Nat. Jesus.”

“Someone want to tell me what the fuck I missed?” Sam was still flicking his gaze around the room, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Y/N just threw Steve across the room like a ragdoll.” Bucky said.

“Oh, word? Interesting.” Sam said.

“Someone want to explain this situation to me, slowly?” Rogers was looking murderously between you and Nat, and you honestly could have killed her yourself.

“Oh, did everyone not know about Y/N’s brain implants?”

All of you looked at Vision when he piped up, and he got a grin on his face like he had just solved an especially difficult puzzle.

“Baby, I think it’s safe to say only you and Nat knew.” Wanda whispered to him.

“But wasn’t that why we came here? Y/N has been hiding from multiple governments for years and her expertise has been very helpful in shielding us from both the United Nations and Stark industries.”

“Yeah, honey, just assume that you’re the only one who knows what you’re talking about.” Wanda said exasperatedly.

“Oh, well then, Y/N was part of an experimental program run by HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD during the 1990s where adolescents received brain implants designed by Dr. Emil Zola to increase sensory perception, decrease pain receptors, and specifically, maximize the efficiency of fast twitch muscle fibers via the phosphagen system, allowing use of these muscles for longer periods of time without negative effects. This was of course after multiple failed trials with a new super soldier serum.

“The program’s graduates were deployed at the beginning of the second Gulf War, purportedly to hunt terrorists, but were also used as HYDRA’s own assassination squad in the eastern hemisphere. The program was discontinued at the end of 2007 and it was thought that all the graduates were culled, but Y/N simply disappeared on mission at the Wakandan border. I admit, I was a bit surprised when she greeted us as she’s presumed dead by most intelligence agencies, but I thought her history was the reason we chose this location. Did I miss anything?” Vis looked at you with genuine interest.

“No that’s pretty much it, thanks.” You said flatly, running a hand over your face.

“See, not that big of a deal.” Nat shrugged.

“Well, Vis and I are going to head to bed.” Wanda chirped up, looking nervously between you, Nat, and the two super soldiers who were now staring at you again. She ushered Vision out of the room quickly and shushed him as he tried to ask if he had done something wrong.

“You really didn’t think this is something I might have wanted to know Nat?” Steve had now turned his attention back to your friend, murder written all over his face.

“No, Steve. Like I said, this is Y/N’s business and it changes literally nothing about how much I trust her. I can’t help it that you got your panties in a bunch over some perceived threat when I told you over and over again that I would willingly put my life in her hands in any situation.”

“You should have told them Nat.” You shook your head at her. She was still playing some sort of game, you could tell, but you didn’t know what.

“Ok, fine, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you wanted the drama, or to have Barnes look at you like some little lost lamb.”

“Aw geez, Buck, stop looking at me like that or I’m going to punch you. I’m fine.”

“Ahm, sorry.” Bucky’s look of overwhelming sympathy would have been heartbreaking if it had been directed at anybody but you, and you really couldn’t handle that right now. “I’m here to talk if you ever need it.”

“Thanks, Barnes.”

“Besides, you and Steve are both in desperate need of a good fuck, and I thought an impromptu discovery like this would give you the push you need.”

And there it was.

“Well, I’m going to have to make it a rain check on those birthday drinks Y/N, look at the time, it’s… 6 PM. Let’s go Barnes.” Sam was now looking everywhere except at you and Rogers as he did his best to drag Bucky, who was doubled over crying with laughter, out of the gym.

You and Steve glared at Nat as she just sat there grinning, looking overly pleased with herself. A flush was creeping up Rogers neck as his fists tightened and loosened. You could see his jaw clenching under his beard and the tendons on his neck stand out in a look of absolute fury.

“You are such a meddling bitch, Romanoff.” You growled at her. Sure, it had been a while, but you were plenty capable of taking care of yourself, which you had told her after she plied you with three bottles of good Russian vodka.

“Yep.” She hopped off her stool and tossed her ice pack into the freezer. “I’m gonna leave you two to it. Talk, fight, fuck, do something. Your sexual tension is bringing down the vibe.”

She easily dodged the kettle bell you lobbed at her head with a laugh as she scurried out of the gym, closing the door behind her.

After about a minute of uncomfortable silence, you and Rogers turned back to each other. His face was no longer bright red as he looked at you, but you noticed something new in his gaze. His pupils were dilated as he peered at you through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. His breathing was deeper as he stepped closer and looked down at you. You were quite a bit taller than Nat, but still only came up to his eyes. He had moved his gaze to your chest, which was rising and falling in a slightly faster rhythm as he took you in, before moving it to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

“Wanna talk?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Fight?”

“OK.”

You both took several steps back, retreating to your corners. Some unspoken agreement passed between you and Steve ripped off his t-shirt and sweatpants, until he was down to only his boxer briefs. You removed your sweats as well until you stood there in your sports bra and boy shorts. Neither of you examined whether you were doing this to increase your range of motion or for some other, hungrier reason.

You gazed at each other for a beat, drinking each other in. Steve rolled his broad shoulders and neck, bending from side to side briefly as you watched the muscles in his abdomen tighten and relax as he stretched. You reached your arms over your head before folding yourself over to wrap your arms around the backs of your thighs, twisting yourself to loosen your back muscles and feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

After straightening back up, you each gave each other a swift nod then rushed forward wordlessly.

You managed to gain the upper hand first when you vaulted over him as he dove at you, wrapping one arm around his throat as you carried your momentum and brought him to the ground, coiling your legs around his torso like a snake and stretching his right arm out with yours, pinning it in place.

He reached his left arm over his shoulder and punched you in the face.

You let go of him with a grunt and rolled up quickly, but he was able to get behind you and grabbed your left wrist with his right hand, hauling you over his shoulder while his left arm wrapped around your thigh and he drove you backwards into the mat, knocking the air out of your lungs before rolling over to try to pin you.

You got one leg between the two of you and drove your foot into the center of his chest, sending him flying across the room to crash into the free weights. You didn’t give him a chance to recover before charging back into him driving a fist into first his ribs, then his hip and causing him to buckle over before you wrapped one knee around his chest and rolled forward, slamming him into the ground so hard the floor cracked as you went to straddle him.

He caught your knee and carried you into a kneeling position before throwing you into the sandbags with enough force to knock one loose. You landed heavily and grabbed a kettle bell, whipping at him. He barely dodged it as he covered his head and it glanced off his forearm, giving you enough time to rush forward.

He caught you in the center of the mat and twisted you over him until you were pinned; one of your wrists in each of his hands above your head, legs wrapped around your thighs forcing them apart as he pressed his whole body weight into you.

You stopped struggling finally and stared up at him. You both were breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Steve’s hair was falling into his eyes, which were now lust blown as he stared at your lips. You could feel the muscles in his torso twitching against you as he held you in place.

He suddenly released your wrists without a word, and brought one hand behind your head to pull your mouth to his hungrily. His tongue ran along your lower lip and you opened yourself up to him, sighing into his mouth.

His other hand worked its way down your back as his legs loosened their hold on yours and he pressed your hips into his. You felt him start to grind his hardened cock into your mound and let out a low moan. He growled into your lips before releasing your head and started to kiss and bite his way down your neck, drawing soft whimpers from you as he did.

When he reached the tops of your breasts he pulled away from you suddenly to skim one hand up your abdomen before hooking three fingers under the edge of your sports bra and slowly drawing it over your head, eyes boring into yours as he did so. Once his obstacle had been removed, he nuzzled his face into the valley between your tits before gently sucking a bruise there as his beard scratched against your skin. He then moved his mouth to first your right nipple, then your left; rolling them between his teeth and tongue as you pressed your chest further into his face with a gasp.

He continued his downward journey, dipping his tongue into your navel before he reached the top of your shorts. He slowly drew them down your thighs and off until you were laying underneath him, fully bare and wanton, your cunt clenching around nothing as he stared up at you, resting his chin on your lower abdomen as his eyes asked you a silent question and you nodded, almost imperceptibly.

He drew your knees over his shoulders and pulled you down until his beard was flush against your mound. He nuzzled into the soft hair there before kissing the inside of your thighs slowly, his beard scratching the soft skin there as he gently ran the edge of his teeth up to your juncture then back down at an agonizingly slow pace. When you felt him breathe against your entrance, you wrapped one hand in his hair and moaned, and when his tongue found your clit you screamed and arched your back into him.

His tongue slowly circled your clit as he brought up his right hand and brushed his pointer and middle fingers through your arousal slowly, before inserting one finger into your pussy at a deliciously slow pace. You felt him smile against you as you moaned, wrapping your thighs around his neck as he moved in and out, curling his finger against that soft, spongy spot over and over again before adding another finger.

His tongue had stopped drawing it’s slow circles and was now pressing and releasing against you at faster intervals, causing your breath to hitch in your chest as you writhed against his face. He held a third finger at the edge of your entrance and when you pressed yourself into it, he inserted it into your canal, stretching you so good you let out a thin whine. He shook his head back and forth quickly but gently, adding a brand new sensation before he began to suck on your clit.

All the breath rushed out of you at once as you brought your second hand to press his head further into you. His fingers were fucking into you fast now and you felt the tension in your abdomen building as he alternated between sucking and licking at the small bundle of nerves. When he finally latched on, at the same time he curled all three fingers against your g-spot, you came apart around him, screaming his name as your thighs wrapped around his head like a vise as every muscle in your back tightened, thrusting your torso off the mat violently before you sank back down, relaxing as Steve helped you ride it out.

His name was the first thing either of you had said in almost 15 minutes, and he didn’t want to break the silence now. He was afraid if either of you spoke, you’d break the spell that seemed to have settled over you. Instead of saying anything, he gently pulled you down until you were straddling his waist, then nuzzled his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder before resting his forehead on yours and staring into your eyes.

You looked back at him, blinking slowly as you moved your hands down to his hips and slipping your fingers under the edge of his boxer briefs. You slipped them over his hips slowly, and you felt his legs shifting in between yours as he moved himself to help you remove them, never breaking eye contact with you. You matched each other’s breathing as he shifted his hips and lined himself up at your entrance, his eyes giving you a pleading look. You shifted your hips closer to him, and he slowly breached you with his tip, closing his eyes as he did so and letting out a low moan from the back of his throat. He started thrusting into you slowly, trying not to collapse on top of you as he held himself back.

You brought your face up to his and slowly kissed him, gently drawing your tongue along the outside of his lips. The hand you didn’t have buried in his hair moved to his lower back and pressed him into you further, and you softly whispered against his mouth “Please…”

He let out a feral growl and settled his full weight on top of you as his hands moved from their supportive positions. One moved underneath you to hold you against him as he fucked into you fast, the other buried itself in your hair as he wrenched your head back and ran his teeth over your throat, nipping at the small hollow at its base. His hand on your back tilted your hips so each drive of his brought him flush against your clit, and you started breathlessly whimpering as he drove into you at a punishing speed.

Your second orgasm came almost without warning. You felt yourself flutter around him one moment when he suddenly tilted your hips just right and you were seeing stars, your body spasming as an uncontrollable wave of pleasure crashed over you repeatedly.

Steve still wasn’t finished though. He gave you a kiss like a starving man before pulling out of you suddenly. You groaned at the loss before he flipped you over fast and slammed back into you, causing you to let out a cry as his tip kissed your cervix.

He maneuvered you into the position he wanted quickly; one knee hooked over his leg and brought up close to your side with your other leg stretched behind you. He brought one arm underneath you to wrap a massive hand around your throat while the other tangled itself in your hair and drew your head back enough for him to kiss you hard, shoving his tongue down your throat as he continued to drive into you.

You had another orgasm almost immediately. Your pussy was fluttering and clenching like crazy as your body almost vibrated with pleasure. Steve still wasn’t slowing down and you were having so much trouble catching your breath you were worried you were going to pass out. You couldn’t stop driving your hips back into him though, matching his pace and feeling the tension in your core begin to gather again. You rolled your eyes back in your head and let out a thin whimper as you moved a hand between your thighs, trying to gain some sort of control over your own pleasure before your brain short-circuited.

Steve ripped your fingers from your throbbing clit with a growl and replaced them with his own, drawing harsh circles around the overstimulated bundle as you gasped and whimpered. He moved the hand he had at your throat to cup your chin, and tugged at your bottom lip with his thumb. You opened your mouth to gently nip at the rough pad as you felt his hips start to stutter, and he when he bit into your shoulder harshly you let out a scream and came apart violently, shaking underneath him uncontrollably.

His own release was right behind yours, and you felt his hot spend coating your insides as you fluttered around him and he wordlessly roared into your ear. He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your neck and breathing deeply as he moved his hand from your face to softly cup your breast, lazily rolling one nipple in between his fingers and you came down from your respective highs.

You felt him softening inside you as you started to untangle yourselves. He slowly pulled out and you let out a small sigh at the loss of him. You heard him groan as he caught the sight of his cum slowly leaking out of your swollen cunt, and he left a slow trail of kisses down your spine before gently turning you over.

You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and pulled your face up to his, kissing him deeply as your other hand trailed through the hair on his chest before coming to rest on his abdomen. He rested his forehead against yours again as you both got your breathing under control, before he broke out in an absolutely sinful grin.

You both started laughing then, the previous tension completely broken as you buried your face in his neck and he held you close to him, shaking with laughter.

“Oh my god, I really did need a good fuck.” You said breathlessly, tears leaking down your cheeks.

“Yeah, well I’d say we shouldn’t give Nat the satisfaction of knowing she’s right but I doubt she wasn’t listening in this whole time.”

“Jesus, of course she was. She’ll never stop meddling now.”

He grunted in agreement before giving you a brief kiss to the top of your head, then you separated yourselves to stumble around and locate your clothes.

The gym was an absolute wreck. Aside from the crack in the floor, the weight racks had fallen over in a domino effect after you had kicked Steve into one and two of the sandbags were leaking everywhere.

You were both covered in bruises from the sparring session and the stiffness you always felt after overexertion seemed to have multiplied tenfold as you struggled to pull your sweats back on, groaning at how tight your muscles were. Steve seemed to be feeling it as well as he let out a hiss through his teeth when he pulled his sweatshirt back over his head.

Once you were both dressed, he stalked over to you like a cat and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulling you in for one more kiss.

“Guess we should go face the rest of them.” He said, resigned.

You groaned as he dragged you out of the gym, hand in hand, to endure what you were sure was going to be a chorus of cat calls and innuendos, but when the two of you arrived in the living area, it was just Nat curled up on the sofa, giving the two of you a satisfied smirk.

“Where is everyone?” You asked her, looking around to see if maybe they had moved into the kitchen.

Nat threw back her head and laughed. “Oh they all ran out into the snow once you two really got started. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look as embarrassed as Bucky did in my entire life. He forgot his shoes.” She was crying with laughter.

“Outside, Nat, it’s freezing out there!” The sun had already gone down with how late in the year it was and once that happened, the temperature would drop severely.

“I told them but they couldn’t handle it. Bunch of prudes.”

“Yeah, while you sat here and listened, you pervert.” You and Steve started pulling on boots and coats to head out after them.

“I’m the pervert! While you two had the world’s loudest fuckfest less than 20 feet away from the rest of your housemates, hey!” You had thrown her coat at her face and she caught it to shrug around her shoulders. “They probably had to go out five miles before they weren’t able to hear you.”

Steve growled at her as he ripped the front door open and headed out with you on his heels.

“Oh, you’re welcome by the way! It sure would be nice to get some appreciation for your birthday gift, Y/N… shit.”

Steve had lobbed a snowball the size of a golden retriever at her that she barely dodged at the last minute, cursing under her breath.

Steve wrapped an arm around you as you headed out into the fields to find your poor housemates and apologize, nuzzling himself into your hair with a grin. “Happy birthday.” He murmured to you, giving you a quick kiss before ruining the moment by bellowing “Barnes, get your dumbass back here, you forgot your boots!”

You grinned at him, looking up at the sky where the borealis had started and thinking that maybe birthdays weren’t so bad after all.

[meg-moira]

A short story based on this writing prompt.

Follow my Patreon for more writing!

.

.

The woman sloshed from the water, waves frothing about her knees as if the cold ocean was straining to keep her. Once on land, her soft toes sunk into wet sand as her legs wobbled with disuse. Lush black hair hung over her shoulders and back in sodden, twisting ringlets, and she crossed her arms against the cold as she stumbled toward a rocky outcropping in the distance. Goosebumps rose along dark skin as her eyes, black as the sea-depths, searched the beach for movement.

Save for the scuttling of a gray crab, all was still.

Naia was the name she had chosen, and when she emerged from the rocks, Naia wore a thick shawl, cotton breeches, and boots which made her toes feel warm but terribly constricted. Standing on the sand, she brushed her fingers along the fabric, hands tracing down the sides of her legs. With an eager, if not somewhat ungainly skip, she set out toward the white bluffs which stretched above the beach - and the red-roofed buildings which piled atop them.

In the city’s streets, Naia was treated to a series of friendly nods. She’d visited the city a handful of times over the past year, and it seemed that at least a few of the residents recognized her. The thought warmed her, and Naia made the rest of the journey to the tea shop with a delighted spring in her admittedly, still wobbly steps.

She was jittery with an energy which was both excited and nervous, for she had made a friend. A human friend. Her friend’s name was Saoirse, and Naia had met her after unknowingly venturing into town on a market day. Saoirse was selling bracelets made of pretty ocean polished stones, and though Naia had no money at the time, she’d stopped to admire the jewelry all the same. Touched by Naia’s admiration of her work, Saoirse slipped a bracelet over Naia’s hand, and the only payment she asked for was to meet for tea a month from that day.

And now, a month later, Naia stood at the tea shop entrance, stone bracelet cool against her wrist.

Saoirse sat at a round wooden table in a tucked-away corner, beneath a window trimmed in emerald curtains. Her pale hands were folded together atop the table, and chestnut brown hair, cropped short, curled about her ears. She had a narrow face, a strong, high bridged nose, and large dark eyes. As soon as Naia stepped into the shop, wooden floorboards creaking beneath her, those large eyes flickered up. Instantly, Saoirse was smiling, the kind which filled her face, dimpling her cheeks.

When Naia sat, it took her a moment to figure out how to fold her legs comfortably between the chair and table. Fortunately, Saoirse seemed not to notice, and when Saoirse reached across the table, squeezing Naia’s hands, Naia squeezed back. She was determined to avoid scaring her new friend away with the truth - that it was a mermaid who’d joined her for tea.

“It’s good to see you, friend,” Saoirse said, smiling brightly.

“And you,” Naia replied.

“I hope you don’t mind - I ordered tea for us both.”

“I don’t mind.”

Saoirse’s smile widened, and up close, Naia noticed that the teeth at the corners of her mouth looked surprisingly sharp. If humans hunted for fish in the sea like merfolk, Saoirse’s sharp teeth would be particularly useful, Naia thought - before forcing it out of her mind. She was meant to be making human conversation, not discussing the best methods for catching fish in one’s mouth.

Naia cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. Granted, the practice had been with a particularly talkative gannet. But practice was still practice, and Naia was determined to make a good, very human, impression.

“So,” Naia said, folding her hands in a mimicry of Saoirse’s posture. “Is selling jewelry your means of collecting coins?”

Saoirse’s chin dipped in a hurried nod. “Oh yes. I collect many beautiful coins from my jewelry sales.”

“Wow,” Naia said, a little breathlessly, as she imagined what it would be like to hold so many pretty, gleaming coins in her hands.

“What of you?” Saoirse asked.

“Oh, I-” Naia stammered. “I - um, find my coins. In the sand.” There really was no way to explain that she collected the stray coins which dropped like fallen stars to the sea floor.

“The sand,” Saoirse breathed, black eyes growing wide. “How marvelous.”

Naia grinned, pleased that her answer had been satisfactory. Breathing easier, she relaxed back into her chair.

A young man delivered their tea. He carried a teapot and two earthen mugs. As he bent over the table, nimble fingers deposited the teapot and then the two mugs before them. He had long black hair that fell over his shoulder in a long braid and eyes as bright as a kelp forest in shallow water. Dipping his head, he said, “Please enjoy,” before hurrying away.

Naia stared for a moment at the pot in silent consideration, and when she looked up, saw Saoirse doing the same. However, when Saoirse saw Naia looking, she straightened up, grabbing for the teapot. Pulling it in front of her, she plucked the lid from the top and peered down at the liquid inside. Her nostrils flared as she eyed it critically.

“Is it...okay?”

Saoirse paused before nodding. “Yes. You’ve got to check beforehand to be sure, though.”

Naia nodded as if this made perfect sense. In truth, she knew little of tea, and had yet to consume any in her visits to land.

Wordlessly, Saoirse plucked a spoon from a tray at the table and set about scooping sodden leaves into each of the mugs. Tilting her head, Naia watched the process, utterly fascinated. She had always assumed tea referred to the liquid - but clearly it was meant to describe these leaves once they were soaked in water.

When Saoirse slid her a mug, Naia grabbed a spoon of her own. Before eating however, Naia paused. She recalled a ritual she’d observed humans practicing at meals. Meeting Saoirse’s eyes, she dipped her head down and said, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

Saoirse blinked, and then she was nodding. Dipping her head, she repeated Naia’s words, “I pray to you my thanks for this meal.”

And then, lifting their spoons, they scooped the wet leaves into their mouths.

The taste was...bitter. But no more bitter than a bite of an urchin not yet matured. Naia turned the leaf over in her mouth before grinding it between her teeth and swallowing.

“A delicacy,” Naia said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Saoirse replied, poking at the other leaves in her cup.

Naia watched as she spooned another glob of leaves into her mouth. As she leaned forward over the cup, Naia noticed, for the first time, the thick pelt that wrapped around her shoulders. It was odd. The pelt was dark - almost oily in appearance, and it certainly should have been one of the first things she noticed - but until now, Naia’s eyes had slid right over it. It was pretty, she reflected, admiring the sheen.

“I like your shawl.”

When Saoirse stiffened, Naia froze, wracking her brain to determine the human social norm she had violated. Perhaps Saoirse thought she wanted it? Because that was what had happened with the bracelet, wasn’t it? But it was one thing to give away a trinket and quite another to give away the pelt which kept you warm.

“I do not want it,” Naia hurried to explain. “Your bracelet was gift enough for me.”

Saoirse’s tight expression relaxed, and she lifted a hand, running her fingers along the pelt. “It is special to me.”

“It is lovely.”

“Thank you,” the corners of Saoirse’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

When the waiter returned, he glanced a little oddly at the teapot and mugs. When he asked them if the tea was satisfactory, both women assured him it was. Before returning to the back, he turned a dark, contemplative look upon them both.

Both Naia and Saoirse watched him go.

“Perhaps I should have given him shinier coins,” Saoirse mused in a thoughtful whisper.

Naia swallowed, nodding, for that must have been what offended him. “We humans love our shiny things.”

“That we do,” Saoirse agreed, and promptly dug a gleaming coin from the pouch at her waist. Holding it triumphantly up, she set it on the table with a click. “I’m sure this will please him.”

“If it doesn’t, he’s a fool,” Naia said a little haughtily. “It’s very shiny.”

Both women gazed a little wistfully at the coin.

“So,” Saoirse said at last. “Tell me more about yourself. What do you like to do?”

Naia didn’t hesitate with this answer. It was one she had prepared. “I walk. Everywhere. All of the time. Walking. It burns my muscles most pleasantly.”

“Walking is wonderful, isn’t it?” Saoirse agreed, an excited flush crossing her pale cheeks. “Not always convenient. But it’s always an adventure.”

Naia nodded in eager agreement. She was overjoyed to have so much in common with this human.

“Perhaps we can walk after our tea,” Naia ventured. “Where the cliffs overlook the sea.”

Before Saoirse could answer, the waiter returned. His hands slammed the table, and Naia and Saoirse both jumped in their seats as the teapot and cups rattled on the shaking wood. Saoirse’s lips curled back, and her white teeth gleamed. From Naia’s mouth, there escaped a hiss.

Gone was the waiter’s easy cordiality. His fine-boned cheeks were pale, and those green eyes were sharp as the broken glass which collected beneath the shipyard waters. His elegant fingers curled around the edges of the table as he glared.

“I know,” he said, and his voice was trembling. Whether with rage or fear, Naia couldn’t be sure.

Naia’s heart was a rock in her chest. Mouth dry, she could only stare as her toes curled helplessly in her boots.

It was Saoirse who spoke. “Know what?” she snapped.

“You can stop hiding. I know what you are.”

Naia heaved a shuddering breath. Swallowing, she looked across the table. Saoirse, her gaze filled with inexplicable terror, stared back.

“I don’t understand why you fae hunters won’t just leave me alone.” The waiter’s voice hitched, and he sounded near to tears.

Naia’s head whipped around so fast that her neck gave a twinge. “What?”

At once, the waiter's rage fled, melting instead into an exhausted sort of grief. Green eyes welling with bright, inhuman tears, he bitterly shook his head. “I saw that you refused the tea. Not a drop of it was drunk! It’s a myth you know. I can’t bespell folk with just any food or drink.”

“Oh,” Naia said, drawing a wondering breath. “You’re meant to drink it.”

“Yes of course you drink-” the waiter’s mouth snapped closed. “Wait what?”

“What?” Saoirse exclaimed, looking at Naia.

“Wait...” Naia said looking back at Saoirse, taking in her dark eyes and the pelt around her shoulders.

“What?!” the waiter said, throwing his hands up as he looked between them.

“You’re not human,” Naia and Saoirse said in unison.

For a long moment, all three were silent.

And then Saoirse was laughing, and it was a sharp, barking sound.

Naia pressed a hand over her mouth as she looked at Saoirse. “You’re a selkie,” she said between her fingers.

“Well of course I am. And you’re merfolk,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Yes well you’re both responsible for the couple hundred years that stress probably took from my life,” the waiter said, tossing his braid over his shoulder and crossing his arms against his chest.

“Is leaf water good?” Naia asked, looking at him doubtfully.

“Of course it is,” the waiter said with a sigh and pulled up a chair. “Here, let me pour it.”

Steam rose from the mugs, and Naia watched as it softened Saoirse’s sharp features. “I thought you were my first human friend,” Naia admitted.

Saoirse bit her lip, and Naia again glimpsed those sharp teeth. “Maybe instead I’ll be your first Selkie friend?”

Wrapping her fingers around the hot mug, Naia smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

“And we can still take that walk. I do so like moving these legs,” Saoirse said. Gaze sliding to her right, she studied the waiter. “Would you like to join us, faerie?”

“It’s Adam,” he said with a sniff. “And yes, alright.”

“I’ll give you a bracelet to make up for scaring you,” Saoirse said.

“And I will not eat you should you slip and fall into my waters,” Naia generously offered.

“...thanks.”

Naia grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Tea was good, as it turned out. And once the teapot was empty, the mermaid, selkie, and faerie left the shop to walk together.

If any should have turned their gaze toward the ocean that day, they would have observed three windswept silhouettes trailing along the pale bluffs. And should the watcher have persisted in watching, they would have seen the figures’ outlines shifting, becoming something beautiful and other when faced with the vast blue of sky and sea.

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop

[renidyy]

A few of my TMA hair headcanons(SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS)

I’m an artist so naturally I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve visualized the characters throughout the seasons, & I’ve decided I’m just gonna compile my headcanons here for some of the characters’ hair. These are just the characters I’ve put thought into btw so plenty are missing

(Also apologies for any mischaracterization, I listened to TMA in very spread out intervals and am relying on what I remember interpreting the characters as and what few notes I took on them)

Gerry has curly hair. No one knows until it storms one day on the way to work and his freshly straightened hair is now drying into tight curls. Everyone bothers him about it all day, to his dismay(it’s his mother’s hair type, after all). He brings his straightener with him every time he and Gertrude travel. He forgot to pack it once and casually just traveled back home to get it. She hates that damn straightener.

Melanie uses her hair as a way to keep a little bit of control in her life, so it often reflects her feelings at the time. She cuts and dyes it herself, and through most of the early seasons it’s shoulder length with the occasional trim or touch up. She pulls a classic Mental Breakdown™️ and chops several inches off after she gets shot in India. Her hair goes through every color imaginable after that and is probably very fucked up from all of the hair dye & bleaching. Once she blinds herself and leaves the institue behind, she completely stops dyeing and cutting it. Not that she thinks she can’t take care of it herself, but she trusts Georgie to take care of it now. It looks healthy again by the end of the series.

Daisy has had the exact same somewhat well-kept haircut since she first got a job. Her hair has always been short. Always. After escaping the coffin with Jon, she lets it grow out. Not on purpose, though, she means to get it cut but she just never does.

Jon’s hair starts out quite short with only a few streaks of grey hair, and is more of a dark brown than anything. He starts forgetting to get it cut through the stress of season 2 and decides to just let it grow out so he could put it up in a bun and forget about it. It gets surprisingly long and always seems to be a little bit tangled(until he starts to brush his fingers through his hair out of stress, at least). By the end of the series, his hair has almost completely greyed. It goes from brown with streaks of grey to grey with streaks of brown. No one ever comments on it getting worse. Martin notices Jon’s hair getting worse before even Jon does, but never pries. He knows why it’s getting worse, anyway. He does bug him to cut his split ends in the later seasons, though.

Martin is one of the only ones to keep his hair decently taken care of throughout the entirety of the seasons, and it only started to grow out and get messy because he stopped going out to get it cut during season 4(for obvious reasons cough cough self isolation cough cough he hates interaction cough cough). He finally has Jon help him cut it when him and Jon go out to the cabin. It doesn’t seem to grow after that.

Tim takes care of his hair RELIGIOUSLY. The guy is a fuckin trooper. Even when he stops giving a shit about his crappy job, he still follows his hair care routine and goes to get it cut every couple months. His hair is physically incapable of looking bad. It just always looks absolutely amazing. Steve Harrington kinda vibes. He just has such good hair even when he starts to collect trauma like pokemon cards. He hardly even styles it, it’s just Like That when he uses the right products.

Elias doesn’t actually take care of his hair like Tim does, but he does style it everyday. Literally everyday. Even in jail(he uses water to style it in his stupid little Victorian-era waves). His hair is probably greasy as hell. He probably doesn’t care much about shampoo. The kinda guy to use a 4 in 1 shampoo coz he just doesn’t care enough about products as long as he can still wear his Evil Boss hairstyle. Probably only washes his hair when it starts to get absurdly greasy from him styling it everyday.

That’s all I have for now. I wish I had smth for Basira, sasha, & not!Sasha but I haven’t been able to decide on designs for them yet :/. Maybe I’ll add to this later

[narutogwriting]

18

⋇✦ Pairing: Shikamaru x Reader

⋇✦ Genre: smut; NSFW; oneshot

⋇✦ Synopsis: You just turned eighteen and are rebelling against your dad and his new wife. Good thing Shikamaru finds you before some douche can take advantage of you

⋇✦ CW: DARK CONTENT!! NSFW; statutory mention; mean shikamaru; dirty talk; anal mention; slight dacryphilia; cheating mention; anal mentions drugs?

⋇✦ Length: 2.3k+

⋇✦ Inspiration: 18 by Anarbor

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” Shikamaru praised as he shoved your head further down on his length, hissing in pleasure as you gagged around him. He had your hair bunched up in a makeshift ponytail in one of his hands, using it to work you back and forth on his cock. In his other hand, he held a cigarette between his fingers. Holding you down, your nose nuzzled in the trimmed pubes at his base, Shikamaru took a long drag. He yanked you off of him, causing you to cough and splutter as your lungs sucked in greedy gulps of air.

It didn’t last long before Shikamaru was bending over, blowing his smoke into your face. You inhaled in straight, coughing as it burned your throat.

Shikamaru only snickered as you blinked up at him through bleary eyes. “Don’t cry, baby. I help you out, you help me out, remember?”

You did remember. Part of you was starting to wonder if it was all worth it, but you shook the thought away as you licked at the head of his shaft again. A sharp tug of your hair made you yelp. “What are you, a kitten?” Shikamaru jeered. “Put it back in your mouth.”

How had you gotten here? Well, alcohol had been involved, of course.

“Wanna know a secret?” You giggled from behind your glass as you swirled your finger in your drink. It was only your second one, but it was already going straight to your head, making the room spin. You weren’t much of a drinker, afterall. It wasn’t like you could hang with the big boys, though you were doing your best to.

Shikamaru rolled his eyes as he lifted his own glass to his lips, knocking it back and wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “Sure,” he agreed, deciding to play along.

The two of you had met at this same bar a week prior and ended the night with a drunken quicky in the bathroom before closing.

If he was being honest, Shikamaru didn’t even remember your name. He hadn’t expected--or cared, really--to see you again, but when he walked in that night, there you were, already drunk. So if he had to put up with your blabbering for an hour or so before he could bury himself in your cunt again, well, that was a price he was willing to pay.

Placing down your drink, you leaned over to Shikamaru unsteadily, placing your hand on his thigh for balance as you grinned stupidly up at him. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.” You slurred.

“That’s what makes it a secret, isn’t it?” Shikamaru couldn’t help but roll his eyes; god you were dumb. If he hadn’t already seen how pretty your pussy was, he wouldn’t even bother talking to you right now.

You nodded, gripping his leg. “Okay… My secret is that I’m not even supposed to be in this bar!” You began to laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world, but Shikamaru stared at you a bit dumbfounded as he felt a sense of nausea turning in his stomach.

“I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean…” He muttered, straightening in his seat. In your drunked state, you were oblivious to his clear disdain.

So you just pushed yourself up, bringing your drink to your lips and taking a sip. “I’m only seventeen… I borrowed my friend’s ID to get in here.

And that was what Shikamaru had been hoping you weren’t going to say. You were a minor. At seventeen, that put Shikamaru seven years older than you. You were still in high school; meanwhile, he’d graduated from college three years ago already. All of this to say that your inebriated hookup in the bathroom was statutory.

Shikamaru felt sick with anxiety wondering who you told, if anyone. Would he get caught? Did it matter than he didn’t know you were a minor when he'd fucked you?

And yet, even in the midst of his worry, the words went straight to his cock. You were clearly in some kind of rebellion, probably a daddy’s girl who was trying to revolt against the good girl image you’d grown up with.

Shikamaru wanted to help with that; he would absolutely ruin you given the chance. Take this good girl and turn you into his little toy.

But Shikamaru wasn’t an idiot; he wasn’t going to risk jail time or the words “sex offender” on his record just for an easy, gullible lay.

So he brushed your hand off of him, pushing himself to his feet. Pulling out his phone, he called you an uber. Shikamaru wouldn’t call himself a good guy, couldn’t care less what you did on your own time, but he figured that maybe if he got you home safe, you wouldn’t retaliate against his rejection and turn him in.

“Come find me when you’re eighteen,” he muttered before shutting the car door behind you.

Lucky for him, that was only a week later.

You’d walked right into that bar clad in little red heels and a tight black dress that had him drooling. All eyes were on you, but yours were only on Shikamaru as you sauntered up to him and his friends.

He was leaning back in the booth, eyeing you expectantly as his friends drooled by his side. You reached into your purse, pulling out your ID and tossing it to him. It slid across the table in front of you, and he picked it up, eyeing it curiously before a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s eighteen.”

You dangled your keys in front of him, the BMW logo on the remote visible to the whole ground. “My place or yours?”

That was how you ended up in Shikamaru’s bed, face down and ass up as he pounded into you from behind. He pushed your head into the mattress as he battered your cunt with his large cock. He hadn’t even taken time to prepare you, not that it mattered much. As soon as he rubbed his tip against your pussy lips, you were practically dripping.

“Couldn’t even wait for this cock, could you?” He taunted as he placed a hard smack on your ass before rubbing his hand over it delicately. “What is it, baby? Those high school boys weren’t satisfying you? You needed a real man?” As if to punctuate his point, Shikamaru pressed his thumb against your tight, unused hole, making you squeal as he pushed it inside. Yeah, he’d definitely be using this hole at some point, too.

You were blabbering incoherently, the noises muffled into the bed as his cock dragged deliciously against your walls. You’d never been fucked like this before.

Shikamaru was rutting into you without rhyme or rhythm, chasing his own high, but you were already coming around him, making him laugh. “And I wasn’t even trying to get you off,” he ridiculed. “You’re just that desperate for me, huh?”

After hammering into you for god knows how long, he pulled you back up, using your hair as leverage to ride you even harder. “Shikamaru!” You cried out, clenching around him again. You’d lost count how many times you’d come.

“That’s it, baby… Say my name…” he grunted, smacking your ass again. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up. You want that, baby? Want me to come in this stupid little cunt?”

You really were stupid because you were nodding, squeezing around him harder, practically begging for his load. You hadn’t been sexually active long enough to realize you should be on birth control, hadn't even bothered to make sure he was wearing a condom.

A string of curses fell from Shikamaru’s mouth as his grip on your hair tightened, and his hips began to stutter into yours, and then he was cumming, shooting his load deep into you as he bottomed out. His fingers went to your hips, gripping so hard you were sure they’d bruise. He held your hips tightly to his as he rolled back into you, pushing his cum deeper inside.

“Fuck,” he breathed before pulling out, collapsing down onto the bed. With shaky legs, you flipped yourself over to lay next to him, trying to cuddle into his side, but Shikamaru just shrugged you off.

“So, tell me…” He cocked an eyebrow as he looked over your naked form. You tried to pull the blanket up over yourself, feeling suddenly vulnerable under his gaze, but he yanked it off. “Don’t. I want to see you.”

Reaching into his night stand, he pulled out a blunt and his lighter. Placing the smoke between his lips, he lit it and took a deep drag. “I know that’s not your car you pulled up in. Who’s is it?”

He blew out the smoke, and you wrinkled your nose at the smell. He smirked. “Never smoked before?” You shook your head and then wished you hadn’t as he shoved the blunt between your own lips. “Suck,” he commanded.

You did as you were told, your eyes watering as you held the smoke in your mouth before releasing it, making Shikamaru laugh at your patheticness. “No. Again. All the way into your lungs.”

Again, you did what he said. Your lungs immediately began to burn as you inhaled the smoke, making you cough and hack violently. It seemed like every time you did, it only made you have to cough more.

You were light headed as you watched Shikamaru shake his head as he took another hit. “I asked you a question.”

“It’s my dad’s,” you managed between coughs.

He’d figured as much. You looked like you came from daddy’s money.

Shikamaru was able to coax your situation from you with fake niceties, how your parents had divorced because of your dad’s affair. He’d married the lady not a month after the divorce was finalized. She wasn’t even thirty yet.

So that was where your rebellion had come from. Probably the first hard thing you’d ever experienced in your life, and you couldn’t handle it. You were so pitiful, so clearly lost.

Well, lucky for you a guy like Shikamaru found you. Who knows what kind of creeps were out there just waiting to take advantage of a sweet, vulnerable girl like you?

Shikamaru was your boyfriend now. You couldn’t have been more thrilled. With his smoking, his long hair, his tattoos, he was your father’s worst nightmare. And there was nothing your dad could do to stop you. He’d already hurt you so much, broken all your trust. He was desperate to get back on your goodside.

So when you showed up to dinner one night with Shikamaru in tow, cigarette still tucked between his teeth, your dad nearly had a fit. It was clear by the look on his face; you’d never been so delighted before. But he sucked up it, sticking out a hand for Shikamaru to shake.

Your boyfriend only stared at it.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in my house.” Your father said.

“Sure, no prob.” Shikamaru dropped the cigarette on your front porch, crushing it under his heel before pushing past your dad into the home. You just smiled up at him sweetly before following behind.

“Nice place you got here,” Shikamaru said, cocking an eyebrow.

Dinner was awkward at best and everything you’d wanted. Shikamaru didn’t mind either. He was more than happy to play along with your antics for a fancy meal. You were so focused on how uncomfortable your dad was with every question Shikamaru answered that you didn’t notice the way your boyfriend was eyeing your new stepmom.

Later, when he had you on your knees in the bathroom as you father and his wife sat in the living room, it was her he was thinking of as he shoved his cock down your throat over and over again.

“Cmon, take it baby. You know you want it,” Shikamaru moaned, head thrown back in pleasure. “You owe me, don’t you? Using me to make your daddy mad. Such a bad girl, huh? Well, I held up my end of the bargain, sweetheart. Now you’re gonna hold up yours. Gonna let me use you to dump my cum in whenever I want, aren’t you?

He took the gurgled moan against his cock as confirmation.

It was a few more minutes of using your mouth before he was cumming long and hard to the thought of bending your stepmom over the bathroom counter. His load spilt down your throat before he pulled out slowly, making sure to fill your mouth before pulling you off him completely and finishing over your face.

He groaned at the sight of your tears mixed with his cum, making your makeup run and smear. The sight was almost enough to get him hard again.

“Better clean up, darling.” He jeered as he rubbed his cock over your messy face. For good measure, he smacked it against your cheeks a couple times.

Nodding and sniffling, you took him in your mouth again, cleaning the cum off of him so he could tuck himself away. “Don’t be too long,” he told you as he left you alone in the bathroom, a mess and covered in his cum.

He wasn’t too worried. He knew that you wouldn’t be dumping him any time soon. Then you would have to go running back to daddy, and he knew you didn’t want that. So you’d put up with just about anything he did.

Including when, a week later, you would walk in on him in his apartment, balls deep in your stepmom’s ass.

Through tears, you would just nod in agreement as he insisted it wasn’t cheating if it was in the ass.

He was nice. He even let his friends fuck you in the ass whenever they wanted, and he didn't get mad at it, so how could you?

Shikamaru loved eighteen year olds. They had so much to learn.

And he was willing to teach.

[thetravelerwrites]

Alexei (Satyr) Part 1

Rating: Mature Relationships: Female Human/Male Satyr Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Satyr, Arranged Marriage, Fake Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Reader Insert Words: 5834

A commission for @thebimess​! A woman escaping an arranged marriage proposes an unusual agreement with a man she just met: marry her for six months to get out of the marriage contract. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Being on the road was rather terrifying for a woman traveling on her own, but you weren’t wavering in your intent. You had to get to Dunmountain and disappear. You didn’t care if you lived in a hovel shoveling shit for a living, you weren’t marrying that man. Not in a million years.

A few days on the road sleeping rough hadn’t done much to deter you, though it was cold and uncomfortable. You managed to get to Chesterfield long enough to buy road provisions and get rid of your old clothes, but you didn’t want to stay there too long. You didn’t know if they’d have people out looking for you.

You ached for a bath and a bed. You didn’t realize how much you’d taken being clean and comfortable for granted. And it looked like rain tonight. You figured the horses wouldn’t mind a bunk mate.

As you were coming around to go into the stables, it began to rain rather hard. As you ducked in, the stablehand shouted at you.

“Oy! Get out of here! No homeless wenches sleeping in here for free. Go get a room or sleep in a gutter!”

“Oh, but sir--”

“No buts! Out with you!”

You had no choice but to duck back out of the stable and into the pouring rain. You went around the back, praying that there was a cart you could sleep under.

Instead of a cart, there was a lovely lavender vardo parked there. The front and rear doors were locked, but there was a window. It was small, but you thought you could squeeze through. And if you got stuck, at least half of you would be dry.

The shutters had a latch on the inside, but it was easy enough to open with a hair stick. Using the wheel as a boost, you threw your bag inside and jumped up. Getting your shoulders through was the hardest part, and your hips were a bit of a struggle, but finally you fell to the floor of the vardo like a spilled sack of potatoes. Slightly bruised, you re-latched the shutter windows and looked around.

It was fairly neat and tidy, looking a bit larger on the inside that it did on the outside, with things secured safely to the walls and inside trunks. The walls had beautiful filigree scrolling all the way up and the roof had a lovely fresco of a countryside near a body of water, the field full of flowers. There were things that hung along the ceiling, making gentle jingling noises as the vardo moved.

There was a small cot latched up against the wall that would fold down. Wearily, you folded it down, pulled out your cloak, which was still dry in your bag, and laid it over the cot to prevent the wet from your clothes from seeping through, and settled down on it. You’d deal with the owner in the morning. If you weren’t arrested for trespassing, that is.

Once you were horizontal, you fell asleep immediately.

You were awakened rudely when you felt water being poured on your face. You sputtered and shielded your face, sitting up abruptly.

“Ah, the stowaway is awake at last,” You heard a masculine voice say. “Since you seem to have had a nice rest, you can get out now.”

You wiped the water out of your eyes and looked up. Standing there was a satyr with deep brown fur on his legs and tan skin. With his short, black horns jutting up just behind his hairline, you thought he might be only slightly shorter than you. He had hair the same dark color as his fur and bright blue eyes, a closely trimmed beard and mustache, and dimples you could see even with the beard. He wore no trousers, covered by his fur, but had on an off-white tunic and a buttoned-up brick red vest with gold embroidery. His cloven hooves were shiny black and dainty.

“I’m sorry,” You said, coughing and sniff the water out of your nose. “I’m sorry, I just needed a dry place to sleep.”

“And so you did,” He said, putting his water skin aside and folding his arms. “I’ve been on the road for hours now, and I didn’t know you were back here until I stopped for lunch. So, you’ve had your sleep. Get out.”

“Which way have you traveled?”

“I’m halfway to Red Landing,” He said.

“No!” You moaned, your head in your hands. “It took me so long to get to Chesterfield from Red Landing. That’s almost a full day backwards!”

“That’s not my problem,” He huffed. “You’re the one who trespassed in what is ostensibly my home.”

“Can I pay you to take me back to Chesterfield? I’ll give you ten gold. That has to be enough to ferry me for a few hours.”

He sighed sharply. “I mean… I guess? I don’t owe you any favors, you know.”

“No, I know,” You replied, fishing around in your bag. “Here,” You pressed ten coins into his hand. “It’s not much for inconveniencing you, I know, but I don’t have much as it is.”

He bounced the coins in his hand, frowning down at them.

“What’s so important in Chesterfield?” He asked.

“I’m not going to Chesterfield, I’m going to Dunmountain,” You replied. “Do you really care why?”

He snorted. “I guess not. Fine, fine. You’ve already taken up too much of my time, I might as well get paid for it.” He snatched up your bag and began looking through it.

“Hey!” You said, grabbing the bag back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure you didn’t steal anything of mine while you were in here,” He retorted. “Let me see or I’ll dump you off right here.”

You scoffed, but held open your bag so that he could see inside, refusing to let it go. He shuffled things around and you waited anxiously until he was satisfied and straightened up.

“You’re not riding in here,” He said. “Get up in the driver’s box. I want to be able to watch you.”

“Alright,” You said, standing and following him out of the back of the vardo and led you to the front. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know my name and I don’t need to know yours,” He said, vaulting up and not offering his hand. You were forced to clamor up the opposite side. “Once we get to Chesterfield, I expect to never see you again.”

“Fair enough,” You said, hunkering down in the driver’s box, sitting as far away from him as you could, and fell silent as the carriage lurched forward.

He pulled out a small bag of puffed grains and dried fruits and began to munch on them as the vardo trundled on, the lone mule’s head bobbing up and down as it took each step. You took out a small amount of hard cheese and nibbled on it.

“I’ll trade you a bite of cheese for a handful of your trail snacks,” You told him.

He shrugged. “Sure,” He replied, taking the morsel of cheese you offered him and pouring some of the grains and fruits in your palm.

“What were you going to Red Landing for?” You asked him.

He looked at you sidelong before answering. “I was going to buy some shells to make paint.”

“Are you a painter?” You asked.

“Yes,” He replied.

“Did you do the scrollwork and the fresco in the vardo?”

“I did.”

“Wow,” You replied, impressed. “It’s really good work. I mean, I’m not an expert, but I enjoyed it very much.”

“I don’t know what weight the praise of a trespasser might carry, but thank you all the same.”

You bristled. “I said I was sorry. And I’ve paid you. There’s no reason to be rude.”

That effectively killed conversation and your appetite. You put your food back in your bag and sat still and quiet, staring at the trees as they passed.

After an hour, the vardo stopped, and you looked at the satyr for the first time since his quip.

“Why have we stopped?” You asked.

“Shh,” He replied. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

You strained your hearing. “I just hear birds and the trees rustling.”

“Stay here,” He said, throwing down the reins and jumping down. “If you run off with my stuff, I’ll hunt you down.”

“I’m not going to run off, relax,” You said in annoyance.

He sniffed and walked into the trees and out of sight. You waited nervously for him to return, clutching your bag against your body, until eventually you heard a sniffling and whimpering. The satyr emerged from the trees carrying what you thought was a dog at first, but on closer inspection, it was wearing a shirt and pants.

“Oh, my goodness!” You cried, putting down your bag and hopping down. “Are you alright, little one!”

He whined much like a puppy. You reached from him, and he crawled into your arms, hiding his snout in your hair.

“I haven’t been able to get much out of him,” The satyr said. “But I remember the sheriff in Willowridge is a gnoll and has a couple of young sons. The crossroads to Willowridge is nearby. We may be making a detour.”

“That’s just fine, isn’t it?” You cooed to the little gnoll boy. “That’s no problem, eh? Let’s get you home, sweet pea. I’ve got some jerky in my bag. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” The boy said watery.

“Alright, sweetie pie, let’s get you some food, then.” You popped back up into the driver’s box with the boy clinging to you like a baby possum. The satyr got back up and snapped the reins, pushing the mule to movement.

After he ate, he seemed a bit more calm, and you were able to get him to talk to you. You learned that his name was Declan and he was indeed the youngest son of Willowridge’s sheriff, Feera. He was three years old and apparently a sleepwalker, having woken up in the forest a little while before the satyr heard him crying. How he managed to cross so much land in his sleep was unimaginable, but at least he was heading home now.

It didn’t take long for him to become rambunctious, and the satyr pulled Declan into his lap and let him take the reins. Declan squealed happily as he wiggled the reins back and forth. The mule was patient and didn’t take off when he felt the slapping on his back.

After a while, he fell asleep in the satyr’s arms. The satyr cradled him while still keeping a firm hand on the reins.

“You’re good with kids,” You remarked.

He shrugged. “I grew up around a bunch of kids, so I’m used to handling them.”

“Do you have a lot of younger siblings?”

“Something like that,” He replied.

As you rounded the bend, Willowridge came into view. You’d only been there once when you were ten when your father was still a builder. He’d retired from construction just afterward.

“Hey, Declan!” You said, tickling him awake. “Look, you’re home!”

Declan woke up in the satyr’s arms and looked around, his ears perking up. He yipped excitedly.

“Oy!” The satyr called out. “Anyone missing a kid?”

“Oh, thank goodness!” An older woman said, running out from a nearby trail. She was wearing trousers and had long brown hair with wisps of white in it. “Where have you been, you naughty thing! We’ve been looking for you everywhere! You come to Gramma right this instant!” She took the little boy from the satyr’s arms and hugged him tight. She turned and called to a large centaur that was next to her. “Can you go and fetch Eris and Feera?”

“Yes, Mama,” He said, and he dashed off with a flick of his tail.

“Thank you two so much,” She said, reaching up to shake your hand.

“Oh, it was all him,” You said. “He heard Declan crying in the forest.”

“Keen hearing,” The satyr said, flicking his long ears. “Alexei, pleasure to meet you, madam.” You introduced yourself as well.

“My name is Ryel. Let me buy you folks dinner and a bed for the evening. It’s the least I can do. Who knows what might have happened to Declan if you two hadn’t found him.

As you were about to answer, a large gnoll and a woman with a river of golden hair flying behind her sprinted toward you. The gnoll was on all fours and much faster than the woman, who was clutching her skirts in her fists so she didn’t trip on them as she ran. Running at her side was another gnoll child, slightly bigger than Declan.

“Declan!” The gnoll cried out, and Ryel handed the boy off to his father as soon as he skidded to a stop and reared up on his hind legs. “By the gods, son, you scared the life out of me!”

The woman, Eris, stopped next to her husband, her face wet with tears, and she took the boy without a word, squeezing him tight and crying silently. Feera encircled both of them in his arms and held them for a moment. The other gnoll boy stood with his grandmother, holding her hand and biting at one of his claws in wide-eyed confusion.

After a moment, Feera let go of his wife and approached you.

“Thank you, strangers,” He said, reaching up to shake your hands like his mother had.

“It’s my pleasure, sir,” Alexei replied, shaking firmly.

“Please, let me buy the two of you a drink,” Feera said, waving over a stable boy from the nearby tavern. “We’ll take your mule and cart and make sure they’re both taken care of. Are you folks hungry?”

The family ushered you and Alexei into the inn and sat you down at a table, ordering ale and a meal for everyone. Eris had a firm grip on her youngest son and an arm around her oldest. Declan now seemed to be completely over his sojourn into the woods by himself, though his parents still seemed slightly traumatized by it.

“That’s the farthest he’s ever gone,” Eris said. She was a taciturn woman who didn’t smile much, which made her appear rather stern. “We’re usually good about keeping everything locked up tight. I still don’t know how he got out. We’ve even nailed the windows closed.”

“Who knows?” Feera said, rubbing his wife’s back soothingly. “He could have shimmied out of the slats in the attic. Looks like I’ll have to nail that shut too.”

“Here you go, dearies,” The innkeeper said, laying a key on the table. “Here’s your room for the night. The bed is nice and big, so you’ll both be comfortable.”

“Oh,” Alexei said. “No, we’re not together. I was giving her a ride. I hadn’t met her before today.”

“Oh,” The innkeeper said, dismayed. “I’m afraid I only have the one room available right now.”

“That’s alright, we’ll take it. Thank you for your generosity,” You said, taking the key and smiling. In an undertone, you said to Alexei, “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s no big deal.”

He grimaced but said nothing.

That night, you unrolled your bedroll and got ready to lay down. He had taken the bed, since you offered it, and was already half asleep. He had taken off his vest but left his tunic on. You stared at him thoughtfully, debating with yourself.

“Alexei,” You called.

He snorted and opened his eyes, looking over at you blearily. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“What is it? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Would you marry me?”

His eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling for a full minute before sitting up to glare at you.

“What?”

“Look, I know it’s a weird thing to ask--”

“It’s a crazy thing to ask!”

“Can I just explain myself before you think I’m crazy?”

“It’s too late for that, but please, go ahead.” He sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed and his hands clasped in his lap, looking at you expectantly.

“I’m escaping an arranged marriage,” You began bluntly. “I was only told of the engagement three days prior to leaving home. I met him at a dinner the night before what was to be our wedding day for the first time. You could not imagine a more boorish, rude, inept man.”

“I bet I could.”

You snorted. “He did nothing but drink wine during the dinner, leering at both me and the serving staff and making rather unseemly comments about my face and body, considering he’d only just met me. His parents just shushed him, but in a dismissive, boys-will-be-boys kind of way that made me want to tear my hair out.”

“When was this whole thing set up?”

“I’d apparently been promised to him since I was five years old. His family is rich from textile money, but they have a less that immaculate reputation. His parents need the respectability that my family’s name offers in order to regain many of their clients and trade routes.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s the son’s, my so-called husband-to-be’s, fault. I learned through conversation with his parents that he didn’t work in his family business at all and traveled quite often on his parent’s dime. After they had gotten rather drunk, his parents admitted that he had already fathered two children out of wedlock that they knew of.”

His head rocked back. “That’s concerning. Are your parents still on board with the wedding?”

“Yes. Part of the deal is a large investment from my fiance’s parents; my parents need the money to retire.”

“So you decided to escape in the middle of the night, is that it?”

You nodded. “Thankfully, my parents hadn’t paid the officiant yet, and therefore the wedding hadn’t been formally recorded with the county as a done-deal, so I decided to leave until the contract ran its course. I knew where my parents kept their money and only took what I thought I would need to get to Dunmountain. They aren’t exactly rich, after all, just well-respected. I plan to pay them back at some point. I just pray they understand.”

“So, you’re asking me to marry you to get out of the engagement?”

“Yes,” You said. “The contract is void if I turn twenty five before the wedding or if I have been married to someone else for a minimum of six months with verifiable proof. Meaning I have to have both my husband and the marriage certificate in hand and meet with a mediator to authenticate it. And since twenty five is three years away, the only hope I have of freedom is to marry someone else.”

He folded his arms. “And exactly what do I get out of this? Six months is a long time to be stuck with a stranger, you know.”

“I know. I’ll give you every penny I have. Wherever we end up, I’ll pick up jobs. I’ll pay for everything. I’ll cook and clean. You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll do whatever I can to make this as painless for you as possible, and then when it’s over, we can have the marriage annulled and you never have to see me again.”

He considered you for a long moment, chewing his lip.

“I know it’s sudden and out of the blue,” You continued. “But I’m desperate and willing to put my trust, and money, in a stranger.”

He sighed and raked his fingers through his beard. “Look, give me a day to consider it. This is a lot for me to process.”

“Alright,” You said. “Thank you for even entertaining the idea. I haven’t done much to endear myself to you, so I appreciate that you didn’t turn me down outright.”

He flopped back down on the bed. “Go to sleep.”

“You still don’t know my name,” You said, lying down.

“If I accept, you can tell me. Just go to sleep. Or don’t, I don’t care.” He rolled over toward the wall, facing away from you, clearly indicating the conversation was over. You covered yourself with your cloak, your thoughts in a roil, and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, Alexei was gone. After a moment of panic, you packed up your things and rushed downstairs, hoping to ask after him, only to find him sitting and eating breakfast. He looked up when you came stumbling down, but made no gesture of greeting, simply continued to eat. You almost went to go sit with him, but thought, why? You don’t know him, after all. Instead, you went to sit at the bar.

“Getcha anythin’, darlin’?” The barmaid asked. She had a friendly north-eastern Scottish accent.

“You folks offer a breakfast plate or something like that?” You asked.

“Sure do. Mulled cider to go with?”

“Sounds great, thank you.”

She went off to get your food and drink and you sat there, feeling anxious.

“Pardon me,” A voice said to your right. It was Eris, the young mother of the gnoll child. Despite her somber face, she was actually rather lovely when she wasn’t crying.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, what can I do for you?”

“Take this, please,” She said, holding out a small drawstring sack. “It’s not much, but I wouldn’t feel right if you walked away with no reward for what you did for my family.”

“Oh, ma’am, no, you don’t have to do this,” You protested, but she held up a hand to stop you.

“Please, it would mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to him,” She said. She scratched her neck self-consciously. Though she wore a high collared dress, you could see a scar peeking out of the neckline.

“Really, Alexei should get this, he’s the one who found him,” You told her.

“He’s already been given his share,” She said. “Take it, please.”

You smiled and sighed. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” Her normally reserved, neutral expression lightened into a smile. “I hope we meet again.” And she took her leave.

The barmaid laid a plate of scrambled eggs and a fried potato hash in front of you along with a large tankard of cider.

You’d eaten half of it when Alexei sidled up and sat on the stool next to you. He didn’t look at you, but set his tankard in front of him and flagged down the barmaid, who refilled it.

“Do you get on with your folks? Are they good parents?”

“Yeah,” You replied, stunned by the sudden question. “They’re nice parents, they’ve never been cruel to me. I supposed I’m closer to my mother than my father, but we all get along well. I’ve never had to doubt if they loved me, if that’s what you mean.”

“But they’re okay with you marrying this pissant, though?”

You sighed. “Their marriage was arranged, and they were fine with it. I suppose they think that my fiance, Gregory, will settle down when we marry, but I doubt it. I don’t see how being married to a stranger is supposed to make someone like him straighten up.” You set down your fork and leaned your elbows on the bar. “Besides, even good parents may not always do what’s best for their kids. Sometimes they do what’s best for themselves. They’re just as capable of being selfish at the expense of others as any other person can be.” You took a gulp of cider and blew out a breath of frustration.

“Do you hate them?”

“No,” You said slowly. “I’m angry at them, but that doesn’t mean I hate them.”

He took a drink and huffed. “It’s all so confusing.”

“How do you mean?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. What were you going to do once you got to Dunmountain?”

“Hide. Get a job somewhere, anywhere. Sleep in a shed, if I have to. Lie low until I turned twenty five. Maybe go back when the contract runs out. Maybe.”

“You don’t want to see your parents again?”

“It’s not that,” You said, poking at your food. “I didn’t want to leave in the first place. If it wasn’t for the engagement, I wouldn’t have had to. I don’t know what they’ll do if I ever go back. Maybe they’ll disown me. Maybe they’ll force me to work or write up another marriage contract with Gregory or someone else to get the money they need. I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have a say?”

You scoffed. “Of course not. Women are the property of their fathers until they get married, and then they’re the property of their husbands. Property doesn’t get a say.”

He was silent for a long time, every so often reaching over to pick an onion off of your plate.

“I guess I just have one thing left to ask you, then,” He said.

“Which is?”

He turned to you and clicked his tongue. “What’s your name, pet?”

The two of you left Willowridge heading for Dunmountain, stopping for a few days in Chesterfield to have a quick courthouse wedding. He managed to find a simple iron ring in his belongings to use as a wedding band. After the wedding, you gave him half of your money, telling him he’d get the other half after the annulment.

Once in Dunmountain, you left Alexei to handle the mule and vardo, and immediately began to look for work. The bathhouses were your best bet; there was always laundry that needed doing.

You also found a small apartment at an inn made up of a single room with a fireplace one could cook over. It wasn’t furnished with anything, not even a bed, but you figured you could make do with a bedroll and a simple table and chairs. You paid the rent for the next month and got the keys, rushing back to Alexei to tell him where you’d be living.

He drove you back to the apartment on his carriage, and the two of you began hauling your belongings up the stairs to your room.

“I’ll buy furnishings tomorrow,” You told him. “We’re not staying here long, so we won’t need much.”

“Didn’t you say you’d see to my every comfort?” He teased. “I want a canopy bed with feather down and a lounging sofa and--”

You shushed him. “I said I’d cook and clean and pay the necessary expenses. You want anything else, you can pay for it yourself.”

He chuckled. “Did you find a job?”

“I start at the bathhouse adjacent to the inn in two days. I’ll leave you food for the day and cook when I get home. That’ll have to do.” You opened the door to the room and stepped inside. “I have enough provisions to make a simple stew, unless you’d like something else.”

“Stew sounds fine,” He said, setting down a small trunk. “I think I’ll go out tomorrow and look for paint supplies. I sold all of my paintings on my trip and I need to create some new ones. If I go too long without painting, I get irritable.”

“I’d hate to see what that looks like,” You said snidely. The only thing in the room provided by the inn was a bucket for drawing water from the nearby fountain. “I’ll fetch some water for dinner.”

A few months passed awkwardly but uneventfully. Alexei was companionable enough, but the two of you hadn’t made any attempts to bond or become close. You exchanged passing pleasantries, but the two of you didn’t converse much. He sometimes teased you by asking if your “wifely duties” extended to sharing the marital bed, seeing as how your bedrolls had been placed on opposite sides of the room. You merely smacked his backside with a hand towel and told him to get back to his paintings.

“Would you ever consider sitting for a painting, pet?” He asked you once as you were cleaning dishes.

You snorted. “I expected you’d want me to model nude for you or some nonsense.”

He laughed. “Only if that’s what you’d like, dear wife of mine.”

“Don’t call me that,” You said, lobbing a crumb of bread at his head. He didn’t duck, just let it hit him and caught it, popping it in his mouth. “And I will do no such thing.”

“Offer is open, if you ever change your mind.”

“If the earth opened and the devil himself ordered me to do it, I’d still refuse.”

Alexei laughed full-throated. “That’d be a sight worth seeing.”

As annoying as he could be, he wasn’t an unpleasant man to live with. He didn’t do any of the washing or cooking, but you didn’t care since you promised to do it yourself. Even still, he was fairly tidy and didn’t make much of a mess. He liked to joke and tease, but he was mostly harmless. For all his teasing, he never once made a move on you or gave you any reason to fear he might take advantage of you.

You also had to admit, he was very talented. He sold his paintings just as fast as he made them, which was a little bit of a shame, you thought: your room was a little plain and dour, and you’d have liked one or two of them to hang on the wall to brighten the place up. You never asked, though. You couldn’t go asking for favors from the man who’d already promised six months of his life to you.

On your birthday, you got permission to finish work early and decided to go and buy the ingredients to make an apple and honey pot pie to go with dinner that night. Since you didn’t have a stove, you’d have to bake it in a pan over the fire, but you knew how to do it. It was one of the first treats your mother had ever taught you to make.

Apples were in season and would be cheap enough--the cheapest of the fruits available anyway--but honey would be quite expensive. A single spoonful cost several days worth of work. But you figured, you’d been working hard. You’d earned it.

When you arrived back at the apartment, he stood up from his painting stool to take your shopping basket.

“Is that honey I smell?” He said, sniffing. “That’s pricey. What’s the occasion, pet?”

“It’s my birthday,” You told him. “I was going to make a pie.”

“Is it!” He said, smiling. “That certainly is reason for celebration. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not like we have regular conversations, you know,” You said, unpacking the shopping. “Besides, I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

“Well, that’s a bit unfair,” He said, frowning. “Are we not friends?”

“Are we?” You asked, stopping to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Out of the way, please. I need to start the crust now or I’ll be cooking all night.”

He frowned at you still but said nothing, taking two steps back so you could bustle about making dinner.

“What would you want as a gift?” He asked, leaning against the wall and watching you work.

“I don’t want anything,” You replied, not looking up. “If I did, I’d get it myself.”  

“Oh, come now,” He said, tsking. “You may not think of us as friends, but after four months, I would assume we’d have developed some kind of rapport. What would you ask of a friend?”

“I wouldn’t ask anything of a friend,” You said. “I’m not the type of person who expects gifts.”

“Didn’t your parents ever give you gifts?”

“That’s different, they’re my parents.”

“Family, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m family now, aren’t I?” He asked.

“I will throw a plate at you.”

“Just tell me,” He said, his voice a little wheedling. “There must be one thing I can get you that you’d allow.”

You sighed forcefully and stopped kneading the dough, turning to him and looking him up and down. “Are you serious about this?”

“Have you ever known me not to be serious?” He asked, grinning.

You rolled your eyes and when back to work, and he stuttered a retraction.

“No, no, I am, I’m serious. Please, tell me, what would you like?”

You stopped again and wiped your hands on your apron, and then crossed them over your chest. “Well… I’d like a painting.”

He looked like you’d hit him in the head with your baking pan. “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be anything grand, just a little painting of anything, flowers or trees or something like that, to brighten up the room. It’s a bit drab here.” You waved around vaguely. “There isn’t even a window. Just… some color. That’s all.”

“You want me to paint for you?” He asked, incredulous. “That’s all?”

“Well… I know painting supplies are expensive and I didn’t want to ask for anything, seeing as I promised to take care of everything myself. Like I said, I’m not the type to expect presents or things like that.”

“You don’t like to ask for things for yourself, do you, pet?” He asked shrewdly. “Not just from me, huh? In general.”

You turned your back to him and started kneading again. “My parents were both born peasants. Peasants don’t get gifts. When they married, they lived in a one-room cruck house that my father built them as a wedding gift. A house of straw and dirt was all my father could offer my mother, and it was good enough. They both worked their hands to the bone to get where they are. They live in a much nicer house now and don’t have to work as hard as they used to, but they raised me to appreciate what I could do with my own hands and not to rely on gifts. ‘A gift is never free,’ they’d always say.” You stopped working again and stared at your hands. “They used to tell me that I was ‘a gift’ to them. I wonder now if that meant they always saw me as a means to an end.”

“I always thought parents were supposed to put their children above everything else,” He said softly from behind you, continuing to watch you.

“Is that what your parents were like?” You asked in return. He didn’t answer and you looked over your shoulder at him.

“I wouldn’t know,” He said eventually, sitting down at the table and taking an apple from the basket. “Never met them. I grew up in an orphanage.” He took a knife from his pocket and began to peel and slice the apples.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” You remarked.

“Hush,” He said, not looking at you. “It’s your birthday.”

Dinner was pleasant, and the pie was delicious. There was enough left over to to have for breakfast the next morning. Alexei even helped you tidy up. The day had been rather nice.

So why, when you lay down for bed, did it suddenly feel like you couldn’t breathe?

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[panda-noosh]

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

   there are guests today.

    little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern. 

   you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

    you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

    you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint. 

   you close your eyes.

    the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

    a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

   “clearly not.”

    “good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

   you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

   rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

   “well, no. i never really asked.”

    “then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

   “then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

    you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

    but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

    breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

    a risky day ahead.

    you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

    the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests. 

   even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

    but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair. 

     finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

    a man you recognise immediately.

    he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions. 

    you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

    the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

    “call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

    you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice. 

    the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

    finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

   you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

   and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

    you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

    and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

    you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

    “all clear.”

   you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

   was he here for you?

   you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

    you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

    it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

   and you’ve known him for a while.

   you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

    having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

    you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

     you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

    you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

    a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

   you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

    “so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

    you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

    you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose. 

    “so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

    “cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

   “why are you here?”

   “ah, asking the right questions now!”

   “just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

    his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little. 

    “fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

   you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much. 

    “you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

    your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting. 

    he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

    he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

   you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

    he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

    “i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

    his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

    “i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

   you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

    “she asked for you.”

    “kaz-”

   “inej is sick.”

    your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

    “sick.” 

    kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

    “so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

   “not walking alongside us, no.”

   you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

   “she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

   you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

    the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

   you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

    kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

    kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

    “you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

   “well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

    you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

   you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip. 

   and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

   it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

   that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life. 

   this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

    the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.     

   you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

    kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.   

   you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

    “spoiled,” he says.

   you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

    “or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

   “i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

    kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

    ouch.

   “we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

    “the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

   “go to hell, kaz.”

    he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

   you pause. “has he invited you?”

   “i don’t need an invite.”

    “you’re not permitted to be there-”

   “i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice. 

    you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

    “sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

    “it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

   “y/n can call me kaz.”

   you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet. 

   “y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

     “mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!” 

   you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

    kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

    you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools. 

    “do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

   “no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

    the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

    you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

    kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

    “mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

    “no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

    you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

    “what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

    “then i get poisoned.”

   he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

   “on hand to do what?”

   “don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

   you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you. 

    “i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

    “never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

    “no life is as bad as the barrel.”

    kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

    even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. 

    “the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

    “you don’t move on from that.”

   “maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

    his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

    you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

    kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow. 

   ----

    inej really is sick.

   “so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

    you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were. 

   she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

   she whispers, “it’s you.”

   you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

    “what are you doing here?”

    you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

    “yes, it is.”

   “i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

   inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

   “of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

    “i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends. 

   “clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

   “some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

   “and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

   inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

   you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej. 

    finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong. 

    “i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

    her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

   “i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

    “has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

   your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

    inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

    silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

    “he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

    “past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

    inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

    “well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

   ---

    you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

    trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

   tonight is no different.

   the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

   you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

   the bang sounds again.

   you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

   you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

   kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

    dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

    “i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

   you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

   “oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

    you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

    “yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

   you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

   “rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

   you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

    “i can’t.”

    “try.”

   “you know i can’t.”

   you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

   and you know why.

   “i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

    “are they bad again?”

    kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

   a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him. 

    you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

    “trying to get me drunk?”

   “kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

    he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

    “let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

   “didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

    everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

   but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself. 

    “okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

   “did i really wake you?”

    “i couldn’t sleep either.”

    you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

    his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

    you nod. “thanks.”

   “how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

    “i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

    kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body. 

   you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

    ----

     “good morning, royalty.”

    the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

   kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

    “good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

    “i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

    “y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible. 

    kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

    you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

    “you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

   there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny. 

    you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

   “kaz.”

   “he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

   kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

   you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

    “any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

    kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

   and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

    “you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum. 

    “i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

    “he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

   “tone what down?”

   “the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

   “i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

    “oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

    kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

   such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

    “i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.  

   “oh?”

   “she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

   you shrug. she’s right. 

    “that worries me, you know.”

    “nothing worries you, kaz.”

   “the thought of you in danger does.”

   you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

    “why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

    “because everything you say means something bigger.”

   kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz. 

 “are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

   you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

    “since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

   your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

   kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

    “we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

   kaz glares. 

   you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

        “how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

   kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

    “worse?”

    “for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

    “yeah. he does.”    

    you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

    he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

    “does jesper know how to make your brew?”

    there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

    your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

   “listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

   “no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

   kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

   you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

    “for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

   “because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

   “because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

    his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

    your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

    but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

   you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence. 

----

    final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

    kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so. 

   tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now. 

   kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

    you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

   you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

    finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

    kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

   the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

   your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

   “what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

   kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz. 

    he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

   you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

    “how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

   “why do you care?”

   he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

   he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

   “it was enough.”

   “if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

    your head snaps up. soft spots?

   he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

   you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

    “so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

   your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

   and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

   you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

     “well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

     “you are unbelievable.”

   kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

   “you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

    “you know i am.”

    you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

     “this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

   “is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

   he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

   “there is no one worse, kaz.”

   his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

   “don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

   and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop. 

    “saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

    “is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

   and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

    his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

    but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished. 

    “is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

   “kaz-”

    “what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

   “kaz, i’m-”

   “what about this?”

   he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

   you wrench away from him, gasping.

    he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

    you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

   “kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

   he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

   he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

   “kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

   “you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

   you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

   but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

    kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

     “kaz-”

   “stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

    you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

    ----

    “why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

    you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup. 

   “are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

    you wince, which is answer enough.

   “what about this time?”

   “he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

    inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

   “wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

   “no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

   “that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

   “well,  you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

   you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too. 

    but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

    “i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

   “can you?”

     “take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

    “he said we were nothing.”

    “he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

    you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

   “well, do you love him back?”

   your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

   she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

    you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

    so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

    a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

    “what are you suggesting?”

   inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

   you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

   you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

    even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother. 

    and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

   and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

    it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

   you nearly cry at the sight of it.

   you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind. 

   you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

    “morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

   “i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

    you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

   you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

    you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

    and then the door opens.

    your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

   “kaz.”

    he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

    his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

   “kaz-”

    he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

    “kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

    his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

    but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

    “is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

    “yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

    he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

   “everything.”

   the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

    “everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

    “i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

     he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric. 

    he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.” 

[foodieforthoughts]

Dirty Secret

Summary: Henry is promoting his new movie and is in her studio for a talk show. Both of them know it means there's going to be a little bit of fun for him and her behind closed doors.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (female receiving), squirting, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, exhibition kink (I think hope this counts)

A/N: First Henry smut ya'll! I wanted him to be different this time, a bit mischievous maybe, and not soft!Henry. Thirst away!

Tags: @wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @luclittlepond @momowhoo @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @singeramg @supersweetstache @demivampirew @cavills-cavalry @raspberrydreamclouds @ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover @fuckoffbard @filmforb @thiccgeralt @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @iloveyouyen

**Let me know if your want to be added/removed from the taglist**

Title: Dirty Secret

I straightened my dress as I walked through the studio halls. My ID laid between my cleavage, the card swinging over my breasts as I took my steps.

I had gotten his text. A simple, "Meet me after it's over." He didn't have to say where, because it was always his changing room. And he looked particularly mischievous today.

I hadn't missed that sly smile and the half wink he had thrown my way. Conviniently so, I had stood behind his hoard of fangirls, who had shrieked thinking it was for them. I shook my head at the thought.

If only they knew.

The concrete floors of the studio reverberated with the clicking of my heels. I had a little surprise for Henry today. I had planned on it for months since we had scheduled him for the talk show. My core was already aching for him and the crotch less panty hose, that he had casually mentioned about last time, making it uncomfortable for me to walk with the wetness between my thighs. I awkwardly smiled at an intern passing by me, headphones in her ears and a notepad in her hand.

With a sharp rapt of my knuckles, I entered Henry's changing room. He always preferred them to be at the far back, probably for all of his secret rendezvous' much like this one.

"Took you long enough," He sat on the couch with his legs wide and his tie loosely hanging from his neck.

I locked the door behind me and walked to where he sat, his eyes following every move of my body like a hunter looking at his prey. "Being the boss around here, takes me sometime before I can excuse myself."

Henry smiled as I covered the distance between us. I looked down at him, his coat thrown to one side hanging by the arm rest, two of his buttons straining on the vastness of his chest to be freed.

Sitting up, he ran a hand up my thigh, making it's way to my center. His eyes widened feeling my folds, naked and ready, surprised to not find my panties.

"Crotchless," I smirked, seeing the effect of my sex on him.

"Perfect." He remarked and lifted the hem of my dress up to reveal my wet pussy.

I shivered looking at him eyeing my aching folds as his prize, lust overtaking his brilliant blue orbs. He licked his lips and ran a finger over my slit making me jump a little. He looked up at me, smirk playing evil on his lips, and grabbed me by my hips towards his mouth.

A sigh escaped my mouth as his warm tongue ran over my cunt. I placed my hands over his shoulders as he began devouring me like he had been hungry for ages.

Henry was a master with his mouth, using his tongue, his lips with expertise. He held my folds open with his hands, running a finger over my hole. He sucked my clit, pulling the hood back, making my thighs tremble with each flick.

"Unnh...," I moaned, careful to not be loud. Even if his room was away from the bustle of the studio, there were people around. The probability of getting caught made me feel more aroused than I expected.

"Sweet as always," he mumbled against me. I felt his fingers teasing my pussy, running up and down and in circles. I moaned, like a sex starved whore, when he inserted two thick fingers inside me.

"So tight, darling. Every fucking time." He kissed the inside of my thighs over my panty hose, leaving a wet trail of my juices. His fingers began pumping in and out, slow but powerful, going deep with each thrust.

My breaths came out short and I groaned as he added another finger, spreading me out. I dug my nails in his shoulders, grabbing a hold of his shirt.

Henry kissed me above my trembling clit, nuzzling the trimmed outline of my hair, breathing in the smell of my arousal. His other hand travelled behind, slapping my buttock hard and squeezing it simultaneously.

When he hooked his fingers inside me, I groaned. Henry bit my clit with his teeth, smiling against my cunt, when I let out a yelp. His digits, long and thick, found the spot inside me, hitting it with each pump. I thrusted my hip against his fingers, the overwhelming feeling of the oncoming orgasm knotting inside me.

This felt different. This felt like I was on a verge of an orgasm and it was building up like a tornado, fast and thunderous. My nails dug into his skin making Henry grunt. He looked up at me, fingering me faster. He was knuckle deep inside me everytime.

My thighs trembled and my belly contracted but with a primal moan, I came so hard, squirting a sheer liquid out with a force. "Ooh!" It befell from my cunt, uncontrollable, wetting Henry's shirt but he kept pumping me until my knees buckled. I had to grab onto him from falling and felt my juices dribbled down my thighs like rivulets.

"I-I'm so s-sorry. I don't-" I blushed, warmth spreading to my ears. I apologized, with trembling voice, to Henry who was looking up at me like he just won the race.

"It's okay, love." He chuckled looking at his wet shirt. "That was a first, wasn't it?"

It was. Never in my thirty-five years of my life had I squirted. But this man, all blue eyed and curly haired, had reduced me to a puddle. He grinned at me, victorious and proud.

Regaining my breath, I pulled him by his tie to stand up. He gladly obliged, standing up tall in front of me. He looked down at me making me feel small even with the five inch heels I had chosen for today.

"Let's get you out of this," I muttered and started unbuckling his belt. His cock felt heavy against the fabric of his pants, ready to be released from it's constraints. He groaned, gruff and loud, when I took him in my hands and gently stroked him.

Henry pulled me to him, taking my lips in his. I could taste myself on him, rolling our tongues together, fighting for dominance. His hand snaked down to my swollen labia, running his finger slowly over my stimulated clit in circles.

Just when we were beginning to pant, getting each other off with our hands, we heard the muffled voices from someone outside the door. Both of us stopped, frozen in place, carefully breathing in and out without making a sound.

"Someone is out there," I whispered. Yes, I owned this place, but I really did not want to show up on the front page of a gossip blog with the headlines showcasing what a wanton whore I was.

Henry looked unperturbed, mischief glinting in his eyes. He slapped my pussy, making me jump and yelp, again. "It just means we'll have to be quiet." With that said he took my lips back in his and kissed me with a renewed fervour.

He pushed me back against the dressing table with the blinding white lights, placing my ass on the cool wood surface. He walked in between my legs, spreading them with his body. Quickly, he took out a condom from his back pocket and dropped his pants down to his ankles, pulling his shirt off as well and throwing it across the room.

I marveled at him. His chest covered with dark hair, travelling down his taut stomach and joining his dense and darker hair above his cock, showcased what a real man should look like. I bit my lip as I took his throbbing dick in my hand. He was thick and long, twitching in my hand.

Henry leaned down to kiss me, pulling the zipper of my dress down from the back. It fell open, my lacy bra covering my mounds. He pulled the cups down, my breasts bouncing with the force. His lips travelled down the side of my neck, making me shivered and moan.

"Guide me in, love." He said against my neck, as he sucked at my skin. Grabbing a handful of my breasts and squeezing it.

I tore open the silver foil and rolled the latex onto his throbbing cock before lining it with my entrance. With the anticipation coiling inside me again, I guided him in, just the tip, letting my juices coat his twitching member. He thrusted his hip shallowly, letting the tip enter my wet pussy. I threw my head back, letting go of his cock as it disappeared inside me. I grabbed onto his back, the muscles tightening under my touch as he sheathed deep within me.

He groaned as my warmth enveloped his pulsating dick. I could feel him teasing the opening to my womb, his entire length not even fitting inside me. He held me close to his warm body, the hair on his skin feeling fuzzy against my breasts, as he began pulling out.

"Uh," A sound akin to mixture of a moan and a grunt excaped his lips. Henry was a loud lover. The last time we were together, I had to cover his mouth with my hands to stop him from scarring the life of the kids running about outside. But this time, I was the one who seemed to be unable to stop myself from moaning and grunting.

The voices outside grew louder and sounded closer than before. And the noise of our love making only got raucous with every passing moment.

Henry covered my mouth with his hand, smirking at me, no doubt remembering the exact same thing I had done to him. With one hand supporting my leg on his waist and the other covering my mouth, he plunged in my welcoming cavern. I moaned against his hand, our eyes glued to each other. He looked majestic in the white light, his face now beginning to be layered with a thin sheen of sweat.

The table rocked underneath us, it hitting the wall with each of Henry's thrust. He began grunting louder, his breaths beginning to come out labored and short. I pulled his face to my neck, muffling his voice as he groaned against my body.

His balls slapped against my bottom with every thrust of his hip. The sound of our muffled moans, the squelching of my folds around him and our bodies slamming together enveloped us. With a carnal roar, loud and guttural, Henry grounded in me with fast thrusts. His voice sounded loud against my ear, making me clench around him. I pushed him over the edge, for his breaths came in fast, emptying himself completely. He panted against my body, my leg falling from his grasp and his hand slipping away from my mouth.

His cock twitched as he rode his high. I ran a hand up and down his back, making him shiver under my touch.

"Oh God," He said, pulling away and taking himself out carefully. "That was something else." He chuckled, regaining his breath and pulling the condom off and throwing it in the waste bin.

I hopped down from the table, my legs feeling wobbly on the ground. My panty hose stuck wet to my thighs, bringing a blush back to my cheeks. We hurriedly pulled on our clothes, Henry changed into completely different ones, and I struggled with the zipper.

"Here, let me." He offered. "How are the kids?"

I laughed out at his question. "You are not asking me about my kids after we went at it like that."

"One friend to another."

I turned around after he was done. He looked dashing even in a simple tshirt and denim. But it was the smile of innocence that took my breath away. "They are with their dad this week."

"So," He began to speak but I interrupted.

"You know the drill, Henry." I said before turning on my heels to walk out the door. Smoothing my hair back in place, I turned around to face him before opening the door. "Should I be expecting your NDA to arrive at my office too?"

Henry rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch. "Can't let the secret out, now can we?"

I nodded before striding back to my side of the world, already anticipating our next meeting three weeks from now.

[serrj215]

Road Trip

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair"  He sang with the radio. He couldn't be more off-key if he tried.  As the song went on he fumbled and mumbled half the words.  "da da Hoooteeel California"

Beast Boy found himself looking out a windshield. He was in a car, traveling on a highway heading north. It was either very late or ungodly early. Rain was lightly falling on the windshield and save for the headlights and the occasional street lamp it was pitch black. His head was resting against the passenger window. He sat up in the seat, straitening his back trying to remember where he was and what was going on.

"There he is!" The driver says. "You've been out for almost 300 miles, you missed me doing a heartbreaking rendition of Margaritaville about an hour ago. I might have missed my calling."

Beast Boy turned to see a skinny but older man in the driver's seat. He had shaggy blond hair that was months overdue for a trim, and was graying around the temples. When the street lights passed through the windows, he could see he had grey-blue eyes behind chrome wire-rimmed glasses. He must not have shaved for the last few days. The driver's voice was friendly and familiar but Beast Boy couldn’t place it.

The driver arched his back in his seat, stretching tired muscles. "Aggh, I am fading.  Don’t get old Gar, trust me. You ready to switch?"

Beast Boy just sat there staring at him as the music ended and the driver turned down the radio.

"Gar, you still asleep?"  He asked glancing at him before turning his attention back to the road. "Will stop for gas soon, I will buy you a cup of coffee. Three sugars right?"

"Um, Yea." Beast Boy didn’t know what to say which was new for him. He knew the driver and the driver knew him or at least knew him well enough to know how he likes his coffee. He just couldn’t pull the name from his mind. This man was important, he was safe with him but at that moment he would love to see his driver's license.  

"If you pay a few more bucks for the good stuff you don’t need all that sugar. There used to be a little coffee place near the university, they roasted their own beans. I will take you, If it is still there it's been almost 20 years."

"What time is it?" Beast Boy asked.

"Well it's too early for breakfast and too late for dinner " He replied with a smile "but we’re making good time."

Beast Boy knew he had heard that expression before. In fact he was sure that he had used the expression before.  But before he could think too much about it.  

"Please thank Raven for me," he said.  "You found a good one Gar,  It's not many women that would be okay with this.  I mean especially with a little on the way. " He flipped the turn signal and started merging to the right. "I just hate planes. I think it's worth it taking 14 hours to get someplace if it means I get to pick what and when I eat and I am not stuck in a metal tube with no leg room."

"I guess I am lucky I can fly myself " Beast Boy responded then in unison they both said.

"But boy do your/my arms get tired!"

They both started laughing at the very old humor.

"So when is Raven due again?" the driver asked

"Late September."

"So that means you and Raven got frisky right around New Year’s or the Christmas party?

"HEY!?"  He responded he could feel the blood rush up his neck.

"Oh, what?!"  The driver expounded.  "I am one of the foremost experts in primate biology, also I used to be 22 with a hot wife. " He laughed to himself. "You going to tell me that you and Raven go out and save the world, then go home and play Jenga?"

Beast Boy just retreated a bit in embarrassment leaning back against the door.

"You know you should keep it up, it can help with a lot of the pregnancy symptoms. The stress management and blood pressure benefits alone-"

"I do not want to talk about this!"

"Okay. Okay, changing the subject. Have you settled on names yet?" He started again not letting this conversation end.  "I know its tradition to name the firstborn son after the Mother's father but I doubt you're going to do that!"

"Yea that’s a no."  "We were thinking of Marie for a girl."

"Your mother would love that."

The exit came up and the driver pulled off the highway into a gas station. He turned off the car and tossed Beast Boy the keys.  "Okay throw $20 in it, I will get the coffee and you one of those peanut butter jobs if you don’t tell your mother I am getting one too. She worries"

"Dad?!"

"Yea?" he said looking at his son straight on.

Beast Boy really saw him for the first time with the car's dome light.  

"Your dead."

Mark Logan heard that statement and mentally weighed it, after a moment. He said with a smile that Beast Boy had only seen in old photos. "Yea, but I am still around."

The door slammed.

Beast Boy shot up in bed and then tumbled out of it onto the floor, taking the covers with him.  He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees trying to get a hold of reality.

"eg Gar are you okay?" Raven struggled a bit to sit up in bed. She wrapped her arms around herself. "And may I have the blanket back?"

Beast Boy got up, gathered the covers, and made the bed over his pregnant wife.  As he tucked her in he told her about the dream.

"Are you okay? She asked laying on her side looking up at him.

"Yea, I mean it was weird but it was just a dream."  he said not sure if he was buying that himself.

"Was it?"

"Rae? Are you saying that was real?”

"Gar, we have seen so much, different dimensions, time travel, different levels of existence. We have been to so many places and met beings that can use reality as a plaything. it wouldn’t be  unheard of that you were visited." she said just before a long yawn.

"Really?"

"No." she put a small but sympathetic smile on her sleepy face. A pale hand slipped out of the blankets to take his. "We have talked about this before Gar. I know you are-"

"Scared shitless"

"Apprehensive." she corrected "But I know you are going to be a good father. I know you wish your parents were here to help, but we have family and we are going to be okay."

"Yea I know Rae, there is just so much I wish I could ask."

"We will figure it out. Try to relax we have a big day tomorrow. Now come to bed, you neglecting your duties as my personal bed warmer."

He kissed her hand before letting it disappear back under the blanket.  "Okay, I will be there in a minute," he said before walking off.

Beast Boy looked flipped on the bathroom light and went to the sink.  He splashed some water on his face a few times and ran his wet fingers through his hair.  He straightened up and looked in the mirror, when he saw his face he jumped back a bit.

He slowly touched his face, making sure that the person in the glass was doing the same. Somehow he had missed it. He would look at himself every day, and see the goofy kid he was when he joined the Titans. That night he looked in the mirror and saw his father. His skin, eyes, and hair were still green but his chin, and nose, even the barely controlled chaos of his hair was the same as his Dad's.

Maybe Rae was right. Could it be he was trying to tell himself something? Could it be that in the vastness of creation and all of the unknown his father did visit him? Could it be that he just saw the Lion King too many times?  

He took a few deep breaths and headed back to bed.  He found his wife where he left her lying on her side, the blankets pulled tight around her.  He carefully climbed into bed kissing Raven's head.  But before he settled in he leaned over to whisper to his wife's belly.  "Grandpa says hello, and he loves you."

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

This story has been with me for a bit.  My father passed a year ago this month. We didn't see eye to eye about many things as I got older.  When I do remember when we did get along it was when we were on the road together.  Long road trips going up and down I-95, where we could talk.  In the passenger seat is where my father would forget that I was his son and we could talk like two men. 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

The Portrait of Love

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader  (Reader wears a dress, but other than that no gender sign posts) 

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Requested by @iamburdened​: ‘Heart eyes when the other talks, sings, dances, argues, does literally anything especially things which others make fun of them for or find annoying’ with Pike because this baby boy deserves just the absolute best!! Cont.

Summary: When Marcus takes to you a work gala for the first time, he just expects a nice night chatting with colleagues and being proud to have his partner on his arm. He’s in truth a little bit worried that you’ll get bored hearing him talk about the latest art recoveries, truthfully, there’s nothing you enjoy more than listening to Marcus talk passionately about something. 

Notes:  Spent about 15 minutes just deciding which painting he should talk about in depth because research is important to me. Every time I write Marcus I just get this deep longing to curl up with him and express my love. 

Archiveofourown

“Hey, honey, you ready to go?” He’s straightening his tie in your hallway mirror. Marcus had been predictably early to pick you up for this FBI Gala, but he didn’t mind waiting for you to finish getting ready. It gave him time to straighten out his tie, brush off his suit jacket, and check that his beard wasn’t getting a little too wild now that he’d decided it was staying for the foreseeable future. 

The two of you hadn’t been dating long, four months at this point, and he’d never taken you to any of his work parties or events before. But, after a little bit of a pep talk consisting of talking to himself in his bathroom mirror one morning he’d decided to take that leap and invite you further into his life. Even if the possibility of getting hurt again gripped his heart with fear. 

The gala was just the usual sort, schmoozing with officials and encouraging interdepartmental cooperation. There’d be alcohol, finger foods, some music, but mostly talking. He didn’t mind them, they usually meant he got to have a chat with friends in other departments and it helped to meet new people who might be helpful on a future case. He wasn’t sure, however, if you’d enjoy yourself at all. You weren’t a big party person, preferring to stay in with him and cuddle on the sofa while watching a movie and eating take-away food, and you didn’t know many people there. Conversation would be work based and he’s not sure how riveting talking about stolen art really is in truth. But, you’d agreed and he was at least proud to know you’d be hanging off his arm tonight. He usually went to these things alone and his team were starting to tease him about this mysterious partner of his that he never brought along, not that he was trying to hide you. He just...he just didn’t want to rush things, that had been his failing in the past. 

“Yeah, sorry for making you wait,” You’re fastening the clasp of your necklace as you walk down the hall from your bedroom. When you’re greeted by silence after grabbing your bag off the sofa, you flick your eyes to Marcus. 

He’s standing stock still in the hallway, hand still gripping his tie, mouth slightly agape as his lower jaw drops just a fraction of an inch. He’s handsome, always is, but there’s something about a well cut suit and crisp white shirt that looks especially good on his broad shouldered frame. He’s even trimmed his beard, just enough to neaten it up, determined to keep it’s length after you commented on how handsome he was with it one too many times. 

“Marcus? Are you okay, baby?” 

“Yeah...yeah, I’m...I’m fine. You just..” He takes a deep breath, stilling himself. C’mon, Marcus, this is your partner for God’s sake. “You look beautiful, wow, really, really good...wow, sweetheart.” He wants to kick himself for how inelegant that was, of all the things he could say and he’s stumbling over how radiant you look, practically effervescent, some sort of ethereal being that he’s lucky enough to call his. 

The dress really does look beautiful on you, following the curvature of your body, the soft lines that he’s hugged close more often than not. He’s half tempted to just forgo the gala, grab your hand and tug you back to your bedroom where he can get lost in the shape of you. But, you’ve put so much effort into getting ready and there’s an excitement in your eyes that makes him think you might actually want to go to this thing. He’d never take that opportunity away from you. 

You laugh at him, but it doesn’t feel mean or mocking, just the sweet humoured expression of enjoyment at his words. A wide smile, the one he loves the most, twisting at the corners of your lips and crinkling the skin by your eyes. God, he loves you. He’s not ready to say it and he’s sure you’re not ready to hear it. But, he knows he loves you and this time, this time he hopes that it’ll work out. 

“Thank you, baby...you look very dashing. The picture of a handsome gentleman.” You walk up to him, hands smoothing out the lapels of his jacket, gentle touches over his shoulders, before easing his hands away from his tie and holding them in your own. The kiss you place on his lips is soft and chaste, but he can feel that warmth in the pit of his stomach, the longing for you that burns brighter whenever you’re around. 

He’s sure there’s a hint of redness to his cheeks, he always burns brighter in the face around you too. You have a way of flustering him like he’s 17 years old again and not a fully grown adult with a house, a car and a proper and responsible job. 

“C’mon, if we don’t go now we’ll be late and didn’t you say you wanted to talk to Andrews about that case you just finished up?” 

“Yeah, yeah I did.” It’s the fact that you remembered something so minute, something so miniscule that has him smiling wider at you and holding your hand as he walks you to his car. Like always he opens the door for you and helps you get in, adjusting the bottom of your dress so that it doesn’t get trapped in the door, before even thinking about getting into the car himself. He’s a gentleman and it’s the thoughtless, unthinking nature of it that makes your heart jump the most. He doesn’t do it to impress you, he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, he just...does. 

                                                  -------------------

The gala is enjoyable, it’s not some massively energetic affair but you like that, like that it doesn’t feel too overwhelming, that you can wrap your arm through Marcus’ and not fear losing him in the crowd. That you can chat with his colleagues, get to know the team mates who tease him about you saying ‘Oh, so this is your mystery partner!’, and enjoy the soft instrumental music that plays in the background. 

Marcus practically preens every time someone compliments you on your outfit, there’s no jealousy, just pride and it amuses you to see him puff his chest out and stand a little straighter before looking over at you like you’ve got the world in the palm of your hands. You hope he sees you react in much the same way when someone compliments the cut of his suit or the trimmed beard. He’s a handsome man, a kind man, a good man, and everything about him makes you proud to say he’s yours even if you’re only four months into your relationship.

You’re just nibbling on some small pastries of some kind when a booming voice calls over the other people, many of whom turn to look before rolling their eyes as if they should have expected it. 

“Pike! How’re you doing?” The man in question is older than Marcus by quite a few years, coiled grey hair and a warm smile on his face as he grabs Marcus’ free hand in a friendly shake. 

“Hey, Andrews, not too bad, yourself?” It’s clear from the smile on Marcus’ face that he likes this man, but having heard him talk about Andrews in passing you knew the two were something of work buddies despite being in completely different departments. 

“Oh, well given the amount of complimentary booze I’ve been throwing back, pretty good!” 

“Andrews, this is my partner, Y/N.” 

“Y/N, this is David Andrews he works in the Behaviour Analysis Unit.” Marcus introduces you to him, with an arm around your waist pulling you tight against him. The smile that beams down at you is nothing if not bright and proud to introduce you to his friend and you can’t help but smile back with similar ardor. 

“Should I be worried that you’ll psychoanalyse me?” 

“I’m a gentleman, Y/N, I’d never profile and tell.” It’s said with a wink, but that sort that’s more humour than flirtation. It puts you at ease and makes him seem more approachable. Unlike, some of the people you’d met tonight who were a bit stiffer in personality and harder to relax around. 

“So Marcus, about that last case you mentioned? A Klimt?” You know Marcus has been dying to talk about the case too, always on the verge of bringing it up before telling you that he’s sure you don’t want to hear about it. He always ends up stopping himself and every time something distracts you from forcing the issue because there is nothing boring about Marcus’ work or anything he’s passionate about. 

“You really want to know?”

“You know you’re the only one who’ll talk to me about art! Even my wife gets bored of hearing me talk about art and behaviour analysts are more interested in serial killers and their mummy issues!” David Andrews is a warm man and you settle yourself comfortably against Marcus’ side knowing he’s about to finally talk about his most recent case of art theft. You’re not an expert on art, not in the slightest and you’d never call it your calling in life or your major passion, but anything that gets Marcus to talk passionately is something you are enthralled by. 

“The Portrait of Adele Bloche-Bauer I, this rich guy bought it a couple years back for $135 million dollars. Big money, big painting, and pretty interesting history too. You know it was stolen by the Nazis during World War Two? Adele had asked her husband in her will to donate the Klimt paintings to the Austrian State Gallery when he died. When the Nazis took over Austria, he had to flee to Switzerland and leave them behind. The Nazis confiscated them and it in 1941.” 

You’re sure there are proverbial hearts in your eyes as you watch him, neck craning. His free hand moves as he talks, gesturing with each word and there’s a sparkle in his brown eyes when he talks about art, any art. Even art that he hates he talks about so passionately that you can’t help but enjoy anything he says. You lean your cheek on his shoulder as he talks and you’re sure it’s obvious in that moment how deeply in love you already are, even this early into your relationship.

“Now, this is a painting that’s over 100 years old, early 20th century, commissioned by a Jewish Banker, owned by a Jewish Banker and stolen by Nazis. The granddaughter won a legal suit to get the painting back and then sold it the exact same year.” 

David’s listening to Marcus, he really is, but he’s also watching you. If there was ever a time when the expression ‘like sun shines out of his ass’ applied then it was now. You were so clearly in love with Marcus, the soft crinkle of your eyes as you listened to him, the way you wrapped both arms around his waist, the attentive way you listened. You weren’t fawning over him to distract him, you were fawning over him because you enjoyed listening to him. It made the older man smile, Marcus had had it rough and it was clear he was finally on to a winner in the relationship department. He briefly considers starting a betting pool on when Marcus will propose or if you’ll beat him to the punch. Now that would be a surprise. 

“So this guy is sitting on this painting, he’s got it up in a gallery and it’s a Klimt, so you can imagine...It’s one of his last ‘golden phase’ paintings so all that gold has people flock to it and it’s a pricey painting too! Now we get a call a few months back saying it’s been stolen and it becomes a wild goose chase from there…” He’s too enthused with the art to really think about whether he’s boring you. It had been one of the most beautiful paintings he’d ever managed to recover and had he been dating you officially at the time he probably would have broken a few rules to let you see it. 

The night continues much like that. Marcus tells you and those around you about the cases he’s recently done, the paintings and sculptures he and his team had recovered and the history behind them. His knowledge was bolstered by an Art History degree and personal interest and research. While he does this you spend your time listening, genuinely interested in all the knowledge he displays, curled as close to him as you can be at a formal party, and staring at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky. 

It’s not hard to stare at him like that. In the few months you’d been dating he had proven to be a wonderful boyfriend, the perfect partner. While he had expressed a desire to move slowly because of past failed relationships and clearly had reservations about how far to go with you, what to say, what to withhold, and what was okay and not, he was nothing but loving. He respected you greatly, something easy to see with every action he took and every word he said. He always made sure you were okay with a course of action, asked your opinion regularly and listened when you had something to say. The few times you’d raised issues in your relationship he’d listened and so had you, the two of you working through the teething problems together to come out the other side better and stronger. He was unfailingly kind and considerate to you, there was never a day he didn’t compliment you or send you a good morning text, in return you always let him know you got home safe from work and told him how wonderful he was. He made sure you were okay when you were feeling sick or under the weather, always popping round after a long day of work to care for you. He never made you feel bad for a single thing you did for him, like the time you brought him flowers, nervous he’d hate them because your past boyfriends had been less receptive to the thought of them. He always held doors open for you and offered to carry your bag if it was heavy. He always made sure to leave you with a smile on your lips and never made you feel silly when you were upset or panicked. 

He had proven to be a wonderful person and wonderful boyfriend all on top of being so incredibly handsome that you wondered how you’d lucked out to find a man who was quite literally the whole package. If there was ever a man who screamed ‘I’m husband material, take me home to meet your entire family’, it was Marcus. He was mature, responsible, safe, and comforting. He wasn’t boring either, the whole concept of safe as a boring baffled you. There was nothing better than knowing you could rely on Marcus, that if he said he’d be somewhere he would, if he said he would do something then he would, that if he made a mistake or messed up he’d own it and apologise for it, that you could discuss problems and figure them out together. He made it all seem so easy and simple, he made the effort and the energy you put in worth it because it was appreciated and returned in equal measure. You never had to baby him or mother him, he was an adult who could look after himself. 

“Did you have a good time, honey? I know I talked a lot...hope you weren’t bored?” It’s asked as your hands are clasped swinging between the two of you on the walk back to his car, footsteps echoing around the quiet car park.

You lean your head on his shoulder, turning your cheek to press a quick kiss there even though he can’t feel it through the layers of clothing. “I had the best time...I love listening to you talk, baby, I don’t think you could ever bore me.” You want him to believe you, to be confident in that. The hesitation to talk to you about his interests bothers you because you love him and his passions, because you don’t want him to ever doubt your desire to listen. 

You pull him to a stop, both hands now holding one of his, forcing him to stop and look at you with raised eyebrows and a bemused smile. “I love listening to you talk about the things you’re passionate about, Marcus. Don’t hide it from me. Please.”

“You...you mean that?”

“Yes, I really mean it!” You say it with a laugh on your lips because how could you not love listening to him talk about the things he loves the most, the things he’s interested in. He had said on multiple occasions how much he loved hearing you talk about your interests, so why was it so hard for him to understand that you felt the same way. 

There’s something blinding to him about your smile in that moment, about the realisation that you actually want to listen to him, that you enjoy listening to him, that his love of Art history, something that his past partners have had little to no interest in, is something you want to hear about. From him. It...it stuns him a little bit in the best sort of way and for a minute he thinks maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe his ex-wife, Teresa, all of it was supposed to happen to bring him to you. Where he was supposed to be. 

He kisses you because he can’t bring himself to say he loves you yet. He’s scared if he says it, this magic feeling, this peaceful place you’ve found yourselves in will shatter like a dropped mirror. So, the love he feels for you, he pours into a kiss, arms wrapping tightly around you, a hand cupping the base of your head. You open your mouth to his without a second thought, your hands trailing up over his arms and shoulders before diving into dark brown hair that had been combed neatly for the evening. Kissing him always brings a warmth to your chest, a sort of ache that makes you want to cry happy tears. There is something so safe and welcoming about his embrace, something so warming about the gentle slide of tongue against yours and the press of his nose into your cheek. It’s all consuming, all you can think about is his touch, his smell, his presence, his warmth. The outside world fades away and only Marcus exists. 

“Can I take you home, Honey?” A large palm slips down low on your back as you pull away from each other, Marcus’ nose grazing against yours with a cheeky little smile and a familiar twinkle in his eye that means trouble.

“Only if you stay.” The twitch of one eyebrow and lopsided grin tell you you’re on the same page as you rush to his car like naughty children about to get in trouble and not fully grown adults. 

                                                 -------------------

He’s grabbing some shitty coffee from the little kitchenette on his floor the day after the gala, feeling like his heads too fuzzy after a late night with you and the horrible event that was forcing himself out of a warm bed next to a warm body, when David walks by and spots him. 

Marcus is sure he probably looks as grumpy as he feels, he just...he really didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. Not with you there all warm, gentle and soft. Bedhead everywhere and a little, little pool of drool underneath your arm, not that he’d tell you about that. It’s easy to get up at his place when he’s alone, there’s no one drawing him back, no warmth calling to him.

“So, how’s the partner? Still hanging on your every word?” The grin of David’s face spells trouble, the sort of trouble that usually ends with Marcus bright red in the face and feeling less put together than he should be as head of a department in the FBI. 

“What are you talking about?” The words confuse him...separately and individually they make sense. He knows David’s talking about you, who he left in your bed at 5am this morning to come into work early for a meeting. He knows he’s referring to something but not quite what, something to do with words and...and...did he miss something? He feels like he’s missed a whole chunk of a conversation. Marcus decides it’s far too early for this, especially after a long meeting that didn’t get anywhere. 

“Last night.”

“What about last night?” He’s definitely putting more sugar than is healthy in his coffee this morning, mostly to combat the bitter fatigue and maybe the short sugar buzz would make his brain understand what the hell David Andrews was talking about. Though that seemed less likely by the second, maybe he’d call you later...you might know what he was getting at. 

“Y/N, you did notice right?” The look he gives Marcus can only be described as shock turning to hilarity, as if Marcus had missed out on some obvious punchline to a joke. For a minute he wonders if he’s fucked up again...have...do you not like him anymore? Was this David’s way of warning him that he’d seen something in your face last night that spelled the end of his relationship? “Wait, you don’t...kid, you’re not seriously telling me you’re that blind?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, David.” He’s getting a little frustrated at this point. Usually not quick to get angry or annoyed, the thought that maybe you’d given some sign that you were ready to end their relationship was making him more irritable than normal. While he’d accept it if that was the case, he’s not sure his heart would survive another knockout in the love ring. 

“The heart eyes Y/N was giving you all night? Hanging on every word you had to say about art? Looking at you like you hung the moon? Not leaving your side for more than a few minutes at a time? Y/N’s in love with you, kid.” The grin on David’s face is so wide that all of his shiny white teeth appear blinding. There’s a panic that begins to grip Marcus’ heart, an instinctive reaction to the pace at which everything suddenly feels like it’s happening.

Once upon a time he would have enjoyed the rush, ran head first into it, but after too many failed relationships, rushed seemed scary, fast was too much. It was too soon, you’d been dating four months, you couldn’t possibly love him. Sure, he loved you but...but he always fell in headfirst, too quickly

“No...no...I mean...it’s too soon, right? We’ve only been dating a few months and...and…” He thinks back to Teresa, their quick, fast paced romance, the ultimate end when she left him for another man. About his ex-wife, how they’d rushed into marriage young, how it hadn’t been enough to keep her attention, he hadn’t been enough. Then he thinks of you. Of your smiling face, the softness with which you trace your fingertips over his shoulders when he stays the night, the way you laugh at all his jokes even the bad one’s...how you said you enjoyed hearing him talk about his passions last night.

“Look, just because you’ve been burnt before doesn’t mean you’re going to get burnt now. Pike, I've seen love and that was love in Y/N’s eyes. Not attraction, not like, not a crush, love. Maybe you’ve finally found someone going at your speed? Think about it.” 

He does. Think about it, that is. Takes his coffee back to his office and sits there for ages not looking at the files on his desk or the case work he has to get done, just thinking about you. He can’t really stop himself when he picks up the phone and dials your work number, knowing that you’ll answer, assuming something’s wrong most likely. 

“Marcus? Are you okay? Is everything alright?” You’re worried and that worry adds to the pounding of his heart, the ache in his chest. You worry about him. You care about him. You barely let the phone ring before picking it up. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay, honey...I just…” His eyes drift to the paper weight on his desk, the one shaped like Michelangelo’s David, that you’d bought him on a trip to an Art Gallery. It reminded him of you whenever he looked at it. His free hand scratches across his beard as he leans more comfortably back in his chair. 

“Did...did something happen? Baby, are you…? You don’t sound okay?” You’re worried. Marcus doesn’t just call you in the middle of a work day, not unless something has happened. Despite his words he seems off, not his usual self and there’s an anxiety that fills your chest at the thought that something isn’t right, something isn’t like it normally is. 

“I’m great I just...I wanted to say I love you. I don’t say it enough...or at all.” He bites the bullet, knows it’ll come out at some point because he very rarely has any sense of patience. He knows the moment David said you might love him, he was a goner, he wasn’t going to be able to contain his own feelings. Because he loves you. Loves you so much that it’s hard on a morning when he actually wakes up beside you not to tell you he loves you. It’s hard not to say it when he leaves for work or when he phones during a rough case. 

There’s a pause on your end. He can hear your shaky breathing, the quick inhale of breath at his words. He has to close his eyes tight, just for a second, just to swallow down the feeling of nausea in his stomach at the thought that you might be about to tell him to take a hike. 

“You...you love me? Really?” It’s said with a happy little laugh in your voice, the sort that comes from awe, shock, an unexpected happiness that fills your chest. You can see some of your colleagues looking at you funny from the corner of your eye, but don’t really care in that moment. 

“Yeah, honey, I love you. So much. I just...it’s okay if you don’t want to say it, I...I don’t want to rush you or ruin what we have.” 

“Marcus, how could telling me you love me ever ruin what we have? God, baby, I love you too. So much, so so much!” 

He can’t help but laugh, it’s the relieved sort of laugh. You can hear the happiness in the breathy chuckle, can feel a few tears coming to your eyes because he loves you and you love him. Nothing could be better than that, then this feeling. 

The two of you stay on the phone for longer than you should considering you’re both at work, but in that moment, revelling in the happiness that only comes from sharing a declaration of love and receiving that love returned, you can’t find it within yourself to care.