#he arrives home one day and there's a DUCK there in the carpet a DUCK which means STEVE'S IN DANGER WHERE IS HE

[starthecozy]

Thinking about Steve volunteering his house for a temporary pet housing kind of thing. It starts by accident with a hurt baby bird Dustin found at the woods. The little bird is so fragile and Dustin was so scared of hurting her further, so he went straight away to Steve's and with some help (who knew Eddie had such experience with it) they nurtured the little thing back to health.

Then Max brings like, a wounded raccoon she found by her trailer and at first it's chaotic but Steven, The Raccoon needed help and learned to trust Steve, the Human and things eventually worked. It's a mutually earned respect.

Then Steve starts having over kittens, rabbits, frogs (that's on Will), birds, etc. The party with the older ones are always over anyway and help him keep an eye on them when he's out. He needed to call the local vet many times now to know what to do and eventually he learned a lot and offered place to house animals who were in process of being adopted. Now the house is definitely never empty.

Ok I'm gonna be honest, I wrote all this because I want him to have over a duck at some point, scaring the shit out of Eddie

[mcumorningstar]

Prove It, Cowboy

pairing: dodge mason x reader

summary: after the player's ball, you find yourself without a bed for the night until dodge offers for you to stay at his, but when his mom and sister catch you sneaking in they get the wrong impression.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dry humping, protected sex (p in v), dodge’s mom and sister being kinda invasive about his sex life (?)

a/n: dodge and his mom being so open about her sex life was so funny to me. this is kinda the reverse of a canon conversation... kinda! also i had a dream i went to one of dodge’s rodeos but he was flirting with all the girls so he was my enemy for a few days <3

A midnight sky hung over Carp, Texas when you arrived at Dodge’s house. Dodge put a finger to his lips fruitlessly as the front gate creaked loudly. The curtains of the front room twitched.

A female voice came from inside the house, “Dodge’s brought a girl home!”

Shit.

“That’s Dana,” Dodge sighed, fiddling with his keys and rubbing his forehead with a tight smile. Before he turned the keys in the lock, he turned to you, “Sorry, in advance.”

Your brows screwed together as he guided you inside.

After the player’s ball, Heather disappeared and so you were left without a bed for the night. God forbid you sneak into your own house and face the wrath of your parents.

Dodge came to the rescue.

A sigh fell from his lips at the sight of his mom and sister waiting in the living room doorway with excited smiles and hooded eyes. They behaved more like sisters than mother and daughter. It was sweet.

A dim lamp on the entrance table and the bright colours of the TV cast shadows across the room.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You smiled politely despite two pairs of unfamiliar eyes trained on you.

God they must think you’re here to sleep with him or something.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Jessica. You want something to drink?” Dodge’s mom raised her glass of red wine, “We’re watching Jeopardy.“

She was a very beautiful woman, cherub cheeks and bright green eyes. Dodge was all hard angles, he must take after his dad.

Dodge ducked into the sea-foam coloured kitchen to grab two waters from the refrigerator.

“I’m Dana!” His sister beamed. She shared an unspoken look with Dodge, who rolled his eyes. Before you could thank her, Dodge rejoined your side.

“She’s locked out and just wants somewhere to sleep,” He quelled their unspoken barrage of questions.

His mom nodded along, as if he was lying, “Okay well there’s spare blankets in the laundry room, condoms in the bathroom...”

“Oh my god,” Dodge cursed under his breath, “We’re going now.”

Jessica and Dana giggled behind their glasses of wine, the right side of drunk, “The book, Dodge.”

She winked with exaggeration, her filter totally gone with the amount she’d drank but she was clearly having a fun night in.

Dodge shook his head with a flustered laugh.

With a hand on your back, Dodge guided you to his bedroom. Your face flushed at the unexpected attention and the suggestive situation.

The two laughed rather loudly, saying how pretty you are and how Dodge will fair with a girl spending the night, for the first time you assumed.

The sound of the women stifling laughter echoed around the house. Dodge closed his bedroom door with a sheepish and apologetic smile.

His room was pretty plain; grey bedsheets, grey walls, rodeo trophies and medals, a bookshelf with framed photos on. It smelt like laundry soap and his cologne.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” He offered, tossing his backpack onto the carpet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite,” You teased, as you looked at his collection of trophies and books, “Plus they already think we’re fucking.”

Dodge gave a quick laugh, watching you read the spines on the shelf.

“What book was your mom talking about?” You turned to him and his face flushed.

“You heard that, huh?” He mumbled, “It was a joke really. She thinks she’s funny.”

Even more intrigued by his avoidance, you sized him up with squinted eyes.

Dodge cleared his throat, tidying away a pile of laundry sitting on his bed, “They uh… god this is… They used to worry about me with- with girls. They thought I was a virgin because I never brought girls home to meet them or anything… and so for Secret Santa one year I got a book about… women… My mom insists it wasn’t her and that whoever it was was trying to be funny…”

There was a long pause. Dodge shied away from your eyes, his body turned away from you, despite the little air of embarrassed laughter.

Dodge cleared his throat again, “Super weird, I know. She had kids super young and didn’t want us to make the same mistake. Not that me and Dana are mistakes but it was hard for her. She’s cool about that sorta thing though. Dana’s ex-boyfriend used to stay over all the time and she didn’t care. So if you’re worried, she won’t say anything about you being here or anything.”

Another bout of silence fell between you as Dodge assessed your features, his lips pursed and shoulders tight.

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me,” You laughed and Dodge visibly relaxed.

“No, it’s cool. Not cool but, you know, I wish my family were cooler about sex. My dad saw your name in my phone and reached for his shotgun,” You laughed, “Anyway, a book is probably better than drunk hook ups at the lake.”

“Yeah probably,” Dodge nodded, leaning against the bookshelf, and there was a lull in the conversation.

“Oh… did you read it?” You giggled, a flush of red creeping up his neck and ears, “You did!”

“You can’t prove anything,” Dodge shook his head with a half-cocked smile.

“But you could,” You raised your eyebrows and he furrowed his. It was a joke, he knew that, but Dodge steeled his expression and licked his lips.

“Yeah?”

You kept your eyes on his for a long moment before smiling, “Yeah. Prove it.”

You reached out and rested a hand on his stomach. His abs were tight and lean under his button-up shirt.

One by one, you unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, running your hands along the sturdy plane of his stomach and chest.

Conflicting thoughts ran through your head. Heather was like your sister and Natalie had been planning to win Panic for years.

Would fucking Dodge Mason, their competition, be a good idea?

Your judgement was clouded by the heat radiating from his skin and the smattering of hair on his chest. His dual coloured eyes watched your face as you stood before him, admiring him.

“I saw you like this at the jump but not up close,” You rested your hands on his shoulders, biting your lip, “Thank you, saddle bronc.”

Dodge couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his cheeks, as a sputtered laugh escaped his lips.

In one movement, Dodge threw you over his shoulder and deposited you on his bed, kneeling over you.

A soft line of kisses traced along your arm to your shoulder. With every press of his lips, you itched to feel them against yours, whining at the wait.

Pink and plump, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth before he pulled back to look down at you, stilling hovering over you.

Taking his head in your hands, you craned your neck to kiss him. Each press of his lips had you sighing contently and the swipe of his tongue had you moaning.

Dodge licked into your mouth with fervour, tongue and lips colliding with no precision, only desire.

You hooked your leg over his hips and rolled him onto his back beneath you, straddling his hips.

Dodge instinctively gripped your hips and watched with kiss-bitten lips and doe eyes as you discarded your dress onto his bedroom floor.

“You gonna give me some tips, cowboy?”

Dodge groaned, your hands pressing against his chest, as he slowly guided the rocking of your hips against his.

With every roll of your hips, your tits bounced in the lacy cups of your bra. His eyes flickered between your chest and your pink panties, rubbing against his bulge.

Dodge groaned, tightening his grip on your hips, “Lean forward.”

Following his instructions, a loud moan escaped you at the change in pressure against your clit.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good,” He rumbled, rutting his hips against yours in a perfect rhythm. Warmth bloomed in your chest at his praise.

Thank you, saddle bronc.

His muscles rippled and bulged underneath your hands as the slick between your legs dampened the skin of your inner thighs.

Cupping a hand at the nape of your neck, Dodge guided your mouth to his, kissing you with pinched brows and deep groans. Pulling away from the heated make out and pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you sat up and unbuttoned his jeans.

Dodge lay back, stroking your thighs and watching you with bated breath. Pulling him from his trance, you hooked a finger into the elastic waistband of his boxers, twanging the material against his alabaster skin.

A smile twitched at his lips as he slowly sat up and kissed you softly, rolling you onto your back. Dodge pushed his jeans off and lay between your legs, the hard length of his cock pressing into your inner thigh.

Settling your hands on each other's heated skin, Dodge kissed you deeply and nipped at your bottom lip playfully. His strong arms wrapped around you, his hand palming at the globe of your ass.

Warm and plump lips mouthed at your neck, teeth tugging the strap of your bra from your shoulder and kissing at the newly bare skin. He unhooked your bra, tossing it onto the floor and laving his tongue at your pebbled nipples.

"Please, need you," You whined, clawing at his shoulders. Dodge pressed a final kiss to your chest before sitting on his haunches and pulling your panties down your legs.

With firm hands on your inner thighs, Dodge parted your legs and bit his lip, staring at your dripping sex. You squirmed under his undivided attention, hooking your calf around his waist and pulling him on top of you.

Kissing him deeply, you pushed his boxer briefs down his hips, dragging your nails across his back once his erection sprung free. The wet tip smacked against your heated skin.

Dodge kicked his boxers off and reached into his nightstand, tearing the foil of a condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling the rubber onto his cock.

Caressing his biceps, you watched as he hovered over you and lined himself against your entrance. You hooked a leg around his hip, gasping into his open mouth as he slowly thrust into you.

Dodge's eyes fluttered shut as his hips pressed flush against yours. A ragged breath escaped his lips, tickling the skin of your neck. Dropping his head to your shoulder, Dodge sighed shakily.

"C'mon cowboy," You rolled your hips, "Buck."

Dodge let out a mix of a soft groan and a laugh into your neck, "You feel really good."

A small giggle fell from you, scratching your fingers through his hair. You bucked your hips again and Dodge clamped a hand on your hip, pulling back and rolling his hips against you.

Picking up the pace, Dodge fucked his thick cock against the sensitive spot deep within your cunt. Sloppy wet sounds echoed around the room with each buck of his hips.

Sweat beaded on your skin as the coil within the pit of your stomach tightened. Your nails clawed at the rippling muscles of Dodge's back, his skin slapping against yours.

Groans tumbled from his lips, pressing heated kisses to your skin, silencing your loud moans with his tongue in your mouth.

Digging your heels into his ass, you tightened your legs around his hips, letting him push one against your chest and his cock sinked deeper into you.

A broken gasp escaped you before his hand clamped over your mouth and his hips stopped, pressing his weight onto you.

The sound of footsteps outside his door and the subsequent flicking of light switches and closing doors alerted Dodge to the presence of his mom going to bed.

Dodge met your eyes, willing you to be quiet, as he continued to fuck you. Your brows pinched together as your interrupted pleasure began to build again, noises muffled by his strong hand.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Dodge slowed his pace and you took the opportunity to turn him onto his back, keeping his cock nestled in your cunt.

A surprised grunt tumbled from his chest and his hands groped at your body, holding you against him. You wasted no time before raising your hips and bouncing on his cock.

Dodge moaned and his eyes rolled back, covering his own mouth. A sheen of sweat on his skin glistened in the limited light. Leaning forward, your clit caught against his pubes, igniting a hotter flame within you.

"Good," Dodge praised, brushing your hair out of your face and watching your tits bounce in his face, "Such a good cowgirl."

He tipped his head back further into his plush pillow and his knees bent off the bed, fucking into you, his body pulling taut at the impending release.

"Gonna cum," Dodge rasped, panting and licking his dry lips.

You couldn't form words, only nodding, meeting his eyes and rocking your hips with the uncoordinated buck of his. The band within you was one thread away from snapping before Dodge gripped your jaw and pulled you into a heated kiss.

White hot bliss coursed through your body as you moaned into his mouth. Dodge mouthed at your unresponsive mouth, too preoccupied with moans of pleasure to reciprocate his kisses.

Dodge pulled back to watch your orgasm wash over you before he hit his peak, white ropes of cum filling the condom as he groaned deeply.

Sinking into the mattress, you lay on his sweaty chest, both trying to catch your breath. Dodge discarded the condom in the trash by his bed and pulled you into his side.

His cheeks and neck were rosy with exertion and he ran a hand up and down your back, "You should try saddle bronc."

Fucked out, you laughed into his sweaty chest, "You should keep that book."

Slowly you drifted into a blissful sleep, bodies entwined and satiated.

[ghoulsister1]

🎃SpookTober 31 Days Prompts🎃

Day 18: Raven🐦‍⬛

Edward Leeford x GN!Reader. Some angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Happy ending. Monks loves feeding the ravens. AU: Victorian. Monks just wants comfort, pls protect him. Befriending animals, in this case ravens. SpookTober Prompt: Raven.

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☆●~ The Raven’s Call~●☆

Edward Leeford, more known to you by "Monks" has been courting with you for a while now and today, Monks wants to introduce you to his closest friends. One Autumn day, you two head to the park to meet his friends.

Whenever Monks was around ravens seem to be nearby. When he visited your home for some afternoon tea, there was a raven sitting outside looking into the window at you two. Whenever he walked along the street, you'd see a raven flying or perched above a gas lamp near him. At first you didn't seem to think it strange, your elderly neighbours loved birds and wherever they went pigeons would seemly be there so maybe Monks just had that with the ravens.

One day Monks invited you to the park to spend a picnic with him. You eagerly agreed to his request.

"I'd love to join you for a picnic!" You Replied excitedly. Monks smiled warmly and blushed.

"That's wonderful to hear! Um....hopefully you can also see my um...friends there too" Smiled Monks shyly. You raised a curious eyebrow at that. Monks never spoke about his friends.

"Your friends?" You Reapeated.

"Uh yes! If you wouldn't mind" Replied Monks and you smiled warmly, cupping his cheek.

"I'd love to be introduced to your friends Monks" You Answered and Monks smiled at that. With a kiss to your hand, he promised to come by tomorrow morning early to take you to the park and you let out a delighted giggle. This to you was a big step. You and Monks were courting for a long while now and to be now meeting his friends, was a big step. You hoped his friends would approve of you.

The next morning, Monks arrived at your home bright and early with a bright smile on his face. You packed up some refreshments in a basket and you two walked along, arms linked together to the nearby park.

"I do hope your friends approve of me Monks, I don't want them to think ill of me should I do something by mistake or cause an error" You Admitted, smiling nervously. Monks shook his head at that.

"Oh n..no! They'll love you, I assure you! They might be a little reluctant at first but that's because they've only seen me alone" Assured Monks and you leaned in close to Monks.

"Are you sure they won't think ill of me?" You Asked nervously. You cared very for Monks and you'd hate to lose him because his friends think you unfit to court with.

"I assure dear Y/N, they will not think bad of you. I promise. Good thing we brought food as they love to eat, food makes a good start" Assured Monks. You looked confused at that statement but decided to not think too much into it. Maybe his friends just had big appetites and if food was a good way to start, why not?

The park was awash in the colours of autumn, all red and orange mixed with brown and yellow, leaves covered the ground in a crunchy carpet as you two made your way to a good spot. The lake was empty, all geese gone away to a warmer place. Squirrels were dashing across the grass, stashing away their food.

"Here's a perfect spot to have a picnic" Remarked Monks leading you to the spot and you two set up the picnic. You looked around, trying to spot where his friends were.

"So, are your friends coming?" You Asked and suddenly a loud, deep caw echoed through the park, startling you. Monks looked up and smiled.

"Here they come!" Smiled Monks and you looked up to a tree to see 5 or 6 large ravens perched on the branches and letting out their signature cries. You ducked as they swooped in to land near you and Monks's picnic spot, cawing loudly at the two of you.

"Are the ravens......your friends?" You Asked, bewildered as Monks gave them some seeds, throwing the seeds in the air, scattering them around and watching as the ravens all gathered to peck at the food. Monks turned to you and blushed, shyly looking away.

"Um....yes" Answered Monks shyly and you tilted your head curiously as he explained.

"You see Y/N, I don't have a lot of friends. In fact I really don't have any to speak of. I came here one day and a raven went up to me. Of course I gave the bird some bread and then whenever I came to the park, the raven would always be there and of course I fed it. Soon the raven brought friends and then before you know it, I would spend time in the park, just talking to the ravens and they would sit sometimes on shoulders, just listening to me and it made me feel better, made me feel not so alone. So yeah, I consider these ravens as my friends" Explained Monks.

Your heart ached for poor Monks before warming to see how close he and these ravens were. You reached out and cupped Monks's face, smiling warmly at him.

"Oh Monks, poor Monks. I'm so sorry you didn't have anyone to call friend but I'm glad these ravens keep you company and if you see them as your friends, then I'm happy to meet your friends" You Smiled softly.

A warm and bright smile graced Monks's lips and your heart fluttered at the sight of it. He looked so sweet and happy. You would promised yourself to always make sure he smiled, even once a day if you must. He had a lovely smile.

"Well, shall we get this picnic underway?" You Asked sweetly. Monks grinned, grabbing a bag of seeds and getting out the sandwiches.

"Let's" Grinned Monks happily as the raven gathered near and cawed loudly as if agreeing.

You and Monks spent that wonderful autumn morning, in the park enjoying a picnic, feeding his raven friends and enjoying each other's company surrounded by his feathered friends.

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[desastre-fag]

I put a spell on you (and now you're mine) Chapter 1: The Overture

There’s a chill in the air of Salem as Tommy stalks the streets, feet dragging behind him through the damp snow. ‘This is shit,’ he thinks to himself, ‘I just want to go home.’ His foot kicks at the ground as he comes to a stop, glancing up at the bus stop sign above him, lit only by the passing car lights.

His latest shift at the shitty diner he works at 7 days a week had left him utterly and completely drained, never-mind the fact he was asked to stay behind an extra hour meaning he would be home late. He knew Schlatt wasn’t going to like that, but he certainly wouldn’t have anything bad to say about the extra pay for his booze.

Finally the bus arrives and he stumbles on, legs aching from standing all day, pays for his ticket and slumps into the nearest seat possible. The ride feels like it lasts an eternity, the dim city lights keeping the young 15 year old from falling asleep against the cool window beginning to steam up from his breath.

Reaching his stop Tommy jolts awake as the bus jerkily pulls to a stop against the pavement, the old doors squeaking loud enough both he and the bus driver cringe. Luckily for Tommy, the stop is right outside his home and he only has to take a few more steps before he can sink into his nice warm bed and just let the world fade away. Unluckily for Tommy, there is an obstacle standing between him and peace.

“What fucking time do you call this?” He hopes that if he ignores the man in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen that he can escape to his bedroom just up the stairs. But, the universe never really was on his side growing up, why should it be now?

“Fucking answer me!” Schlatt’s voice booms across the room, bouncing off the walls right into Tommy’s eardrums, causing him to wince before turning to face the man he lives with. Leaning to one side at an awkward angle, Schlatt holds onto a dining chair to keep himself from falling to the ground, glaring at Tommy.

“I got held up at work.” Mumbled into the floor but still picked up by the drunken man, the excuse seems to put him at ease. Falling back into the chair behind him with as much grace as a baby gazelle, Schlatt hungrily pulls a glass bottle with a peeling label towards himself, silently dismissing Tommy with the thought of drinking now at the forefront of his mind. Taking the opportunity provided to him Tommy finds himself trudging up the creaking stairs - that could do with a fresh carpet put down - at a faster pace than he would ever admit to himself.

The door to his bedroom has seen better days as it’s pushed open, lightly being shut behind him once he’s inside, a soundless click of the lock following. The room is bare excluding the essentials, an old squeaking bed and mattress pushed against the far wall (which isn’t really that far) and a small plain wooden dresser opposite holding his clothes and possessions, which also functions as his ‘desk’.

Kicking off his trainers, wrapped in duct tape to keep the sole from falling off, Tommy falls backwards onto his bed, huffing at the ever present ache in his back. It’s dark, the late winter evening providing no light into the small room, which allows the boy to sink into a deep, calming sleep.

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Early morning light is what wakes him, not the usual harsh knocking on his door, which is the first sign something’s wrong. Quickly pulling on his trainers, Tommy leaves his room and sneaks down the stairs, staying crouched low down and stopping at the halfway point.

Ducking his head to peer through the bannister poles, he spots Schlatt at the rickety kitchen table, a book clutched in his hand, the other hand holding his hair back. Rather than investigating the situation further Tommy ignores the man and walks to the counter, grabbing a chipped bowl from the drying rack to the left of the sink, then filling it with cereal and milk.

‘This tastes like shit,’ he thinks as the cheap cereal turns to mush in his mouth. He dares to glance across the table he is now sitting at, only to make direct eye contact with the man in front of him. It feels as though he’s being studied, like a product, with the older man’s deep stare set on him (who knows how long he’d been watching). Tommy is the first to break eye contact. ‘Oh wow this table is really interesting.’

“I need you to help me with something today, call in sick,” and with that he’s gone, only the sound of his footsteps retreating left behind. “Bastard.” Tommy mumbles to himself as he pulls himself from the table, dumping the soggy cereal into the sink and then moving to follow Schlatt into his altar room. The entry way is hidden in the corner of the living room, disguised by low level magic that can still be felt, like electricity in the air, dancing along his fingertips.

Emerging through the other side leads to a dimly lit room, candles along every available surface, a dark wallpaper and books lying across the floor. The energy is different, a small pocket dimension - unstable but real - keeping the rest of the world shut out. A single rotary phone, red in colour, sits on the cluttered desk in the middle of the space, and is the phone Tommy picks up to call into work.

“Yea, sorry I’m just really ill, must be something I picked up after work last night,” he tries to put on a convincing performance, a scratchy voice and the occasional cough seem to work, his boss telling him to get well soon before hanging up.

“What’s this all about then?” Tommy turns to face Schlatt as he asks, finding the man hunched over a book with a maroon cover and gold lettering, magic crackling from the pages and filling the room. The pages have yellowed and turned brown with age, a sign of ancient magic, which sets off alarm bells in Tommy’s mind. Schlatt shouldn’t be able to comprehend magic that strong, never-mind own the book containing the high power spells.

“Tommy,” Schlatt starts, standing upright and moving to stand behind his desk, “This is our ticket out of this shit hole.” He grins, but it’s not right, his lips curving in all the wrong places, too sharp to be considered good. “This book is our only hope, the only way I- we can get what we deserve.” He leans over the desk, causing Tommy to lean back slightly, before swiftly turning to look out of the large window behind him.

“What does that have to do with me? I’ve got shit to do, to you know, pay the fucking bills.” Tommy complains as he crosses his arms, quickly quieting when Schlatt turns with a withering glare.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I asking too much of the great Tommy Innes? I didn’t realise you were the man of this household, think you know what’s best do you?” A beat of silence passes and Tommy turns his head downwards to the floor in fear. “Huh, do you? Do you?!” Schlatt shouts as he gestures towards the desk, his sparks of magic causing it to crash into the wall, books and candles falling in a heap around it, all the candles extinguishing with an unnoticeable gust of Tommy’s own magic.

His heart is beating so hard and fast he fears it may escape his chest. He’s suddenly grabbed by his shirt collar and lifted into the air, legs kicking desperately as sparks of magic that feel like surges of electricity flood his bloodstream. He grabs onto Schlatt’s arm, hoping to relieve the pressure and that he’ll be granted mercy.

“I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry! I don’t, I don’t!” He cries out in fear as terror clutches his heart and lungs, constricting his breathing, grasping onto the sleeve of Schlatt’s long sleeve shirt. A few more seconds pass before he’s dropped to the ground, Schlatt finding a cloth to wipe his hands with, “Fucking brat.” Tommy’s hands instinctively move towards his chest, hovering over his heart which is beating a mile a minute, as he sits hunched over on the dusty wooden floor.

‘Fucking prick.’ While trying to calm his racing heart, he fails to notice Schlatt opening the ancient book, pages flipping at high speeds with the assistance of his magic. He also fails to register the soft ‘ah-ha’ from the man once he finds the page he needs.

Finally, his heart calms and as he flicks his eyes upwards they meet with a dark swirling red pair. Darkness falls over the room, the remaining candles extinguishing as a harsh gust of wind enters through the now open window, curtains closing behind it. All that can be seen is the maroon eyes peering at the boy from the darkness, under-lit by the words on the page glowing a subtle gold.

Mumbled whispers fall from the man’s lips, too rushed to make sense in Tommy's muddled mind. Life surges into the small altar room, a wind with no source circling around, pulling books and candles alike around the room, soon moving to surround Tommy.

He finds himself trapped in a mini tornado of rushing magic, the crackling of it crashing into his ears igniting an ache all through his body. He hears a guttural scream before registering it as his own, backed by maniacal laughter coming from every corner of the room. He catches one last glimpse of Schlatt staring him down with a manic glint in his eyes before the world fades from his grip, and he is swallowed by the darkness.

[remma3760]

Consequences

Chapter 17

Summary:

The wedding day finally arrives.

This was it. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were finally going to be married. While a wedding ceremony with two grooms and only the one family was a little different, no-one seemed to care. There would be no procession of the bride leaving her home. No difficulties for a groom to face. Instead both grooms would walk together, a carpet of red rose petals leading to the family alter. 

Lan Qiren sat proudly beside Baoshen Sanren, each holding the tablets for Wei Wuxian's birth parents. Since Lan Wangji's father refused to leave seclusion even for the wedding of his son, Lan Xichen took his place alongside Lan Yi. Lan Xichen held the tablet for their mother. For so long, this had been denied, but it was Lan Yi who had insisted that both boys needed to be allowed to honour their mother. The Elders had not been happy, but what could they do? 

They took their bows. To the heavens, to their families and to each other. Then it was done. Wei Wuxian laughed with delight, hugging his new husband. A cheer went up from the gathered Lans, surprising the guests who had come to expect only reserved behaviour from the Lan. They politely applauded the newly married couple and wished them well. At least, most of them did. Wen Ruohan scowled. Jin Guangshan tried to look unconcerned but mostly looked constipated. As for Madam Yu, well, it was fortunate that she had been forced to leave Zidian behind in the guest quarters.

More surprises awaited the visiting sects once the banquet was brought forth. Baoshen Sanren had been right. The usual Lan fare wouldn't cut it. Tables laden with crispy duck and roasted chicken. Suckling pig, lobster and fish. Piles of rice and noodles. And wine. Rivers of wine. This would be a wedding to remember for a long time. 

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"Yu Ziyuan." Baoshen Sanren had been watching the woman as she sat sourly at the banquet. She had refused all offers of food. It was obvious that she didn't want to be there. In fact, the Jiangs had arrived at the last possible moment and intended to leave as soon as was polite. 

Yu Ziyuan gave the tiniest of nods. "Immortal Sanren."

Baoshen Sanren sighed. "Madam Yu, let this be an end to your spite against my grandson. Understand that neither my daughter nor her son are responsible for the disappointment of your life. It is regrettable, but you have options. You have always had options. You had a sect to run, children to love but you did neither. You have wasted your time blaming a child for your unhappiness. Look at your children, Yu Ziyuan. See how you hurt them with your malice. Your son is becoming an accomplished cultivator, but all you see is that he is being outshone by Wuxian and Wangji. You refuse to see the kind compassionate woman your daughter is becoming, but instead see only her weak core. Can you not accept them for who they are? You could have a good life, Yu Ziyuan. A fulfilled life if you would only let go of your hate."

Yu Ziyuan turned her head away, unwilling to listen. Baoshen Sanren watched her for a moment longer before leaving her to her misery.

***

Jiang Yanli watched as Wei Wuxian laughed with Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji standing indulgently by. He was so happy, and she was glad for it. Nervously, she approached. 

"Wei Wuxian."

"Ah, Shi...Lady Jiang."

"Please, I know I never got to be your sister, but could you call me Yanli?"

"Of course. I would like that. And you must call me Wuxian."

Jiang Yanli smiled a little sadly. "I wanted to congratulate you both on your marriage, and to apologise."

"You have nothing to apologise for, Yanli. You were always kind to me."

"No, Wuxian, I wasn't. I see that now. I was never fair to you. I never meant to hold you accountable for my mothers actions, but I can see now that I did. I very much regret my behaviour. I hope you will one day forgive me."

"We were children, Yanli. Please don't blame yourself. Are you going to be coming to the lectures? We could spend some time together, get to know each other as friends."

"Oh, I would like that, Wuxian. Hanguang Jun, Nie Huaisang." She bowed to them as she left, her smile this time a little hopeful. 

***

Jiang Cheng sat at the edge of the party, refusing to take part in this travesty. Didn't these people know that Wei Wuxian was nothing more than the son of a servant? His mother was right. He deserved none of this. His mother said that Wei Wuxian was intended to be a servant to the Jiang - to Jiang Cheng. But now here he was, claiming an immortal as family. Adopted and married into the Lan. How was that fair? How was it right?

How was it right that he already had a title? Taiyang Jun! Not fair. None of it was fair. He, Jiang Cheng was sect heir, yet he had not been given a title of honour. He was never given the respect owing to him. It wasn't fair. His mother was right. 

***

Jin Guangshan tossed the lobster claw onto the dish with annoyance. Delicious, damn it. Everything was delicious, and oppulant, and perfect. The Lans were not supposed to hold a banquet that could rival the Jin. The Lan were austere. The Lan were boring. Yet here they were holding a wedding that boasted two immortals. Two. It wasn't fair. 

***

Wen Ruohan, as Chief Cultivator, had been given a place of honour. He had been bowed to, his every request fulfilled. But he was still only a guest. He should be the host. The Wen Sect should be at the top and every one else should bow down to them. But here, all he heard was praise for the Lan. What a wonderful wedding the Lan had put on. The greatest wedding in the history of weddings. The praise should have been his. This should all have been his. It wasn't fair.

***

Lan Qiren sat happily with Nie Jiahao as the party began to wind down. The food had been eaten, the young people had danced. A good party. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had been incandescent. Xichen had been a surprise, spending almost all his time talking with the Qin girl. Hm, he would need to find out more about her. "Jiahao, what do you know about the Qin girl?"

"Qin Su? Sect Leader Qin's daughter? Pretty little thing. Seems like a good sort of girl. Why?"

"She brought gifts for our orphans. Xichen seems quite taken with her."

"Really? Min looked into her as a possible match for Mingjue. She was quite impressed, I believe, but Mingjue wasn't interested. You should go to Min if you want any information. She knows everything."

"Mn. I was thinking of inviting Lady Qin to the lectures. Give Xichen some time to get to know her without pressure."

"Good idea."

"Hm." Lan Qiren nodded. Yes, that's what he would do. Two of his boys already settled, and the third one on the brink. How satisfying. 

***

Notes:

[svfttachi]

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 | 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐎

TYPE: GN!reader, Fluff, Modern AU

WARNING(S): None

WC: 1452

NOTES: This is my piece for the first day of the birthday event for the Konoha Simps. The first day was titled Domesticity, so here is my depiction of that with our favorite family man, Naruto! Here is the masterlist for the event so you can check out all of the amazing works! Thank you to @bakubabes-tatakae for allowing me to be apart of this collab, and I hope everyone enjoys reading this!

HITTING those amazing and wonderful milestones at such young ages is a big deal, especially in your household. Whenever your son took his first steps or said his first words, you were there to experience it in the flesh, and your phone was there to collect it and store it into the album you set aside just for your child. Everytime he did achieve a new milestone in his mere toddler years, excitement followed by applause for doing such a good job would be rewarded, and it would bring about a smile to his chubby face. Such development was so highlighted in your household that you needed to send the videos of your son’s achievements to his father and your husband, Uzumaki Naruto. The man was always buried deep into the piles of work he has to do on a daily basis that he is rarely ever home on time to see his son work through his life in the flesh.

Today, your son was running around the living room and uttering complete nonsense with every step he took. You were taking videos of the entire thing because of how cute and adorable his face contorted, especially whenever he encountered something new in his peripherals. As you were sending some of the videos of your morning with your son to Naruto, your son invited himself to stand in your lap and reached his tiny, stubby hand out in an attempt to take your phone. It has come to your attention that recently, your son was able to realize that any connection he had with his father would be done through the phone, and it saddened you whenever he did this. So rather than connecting a face call with Naruto, you turned off your phone and cupped your hands underneath your son’s arms to lift him into your own arms as you stood up from your seat on the carpeted floor.

“Let’s go visit, Dada. How do you like the sound of that, S/N?” you asked whilst you walked over to his bedroom with him held in your arms. Glancing over at your son, he began to clap his hands excitedly and giggle tremendously with the occasional Dada uttering from his pinky lips. It was enough to bring a smile of your own to your lips.

As soon as you arrived at your son’s bedroom, you walked over to the closet and began sifting through the tiny hangers holding his equally tiny clothes. To be honest, you couldn’t decide which outfit to go for today since it was such an impromptu act of yours to go to the office to see your husband. However, it looks like you didn’t need to put any more effort into picking an outfit. You looked down at your son to find his hands fisted aggressively onto a particular outfit he was gifted recently by your parents. “You want to wear this one?” you asked, reaching out for his hand to release his tight hold on the fabric. His response was just a couple of noises coming from his mouth as well as some light giggles. Chuckling, you took the hanger off of the bar and walked over to the bed to set it down.

The outfit consisted of a red sweater with a Daffy Duck image pressed on in the center of it paired with some light grey sweats that had the same character printed on one of the legs near the ankle. It took a couple of minutes to get your son dressed and looking cute, and once his clothes were snug on his body, you picked him right back up and set him down on the floor for him to play with his toys whilst you prepared a bag for him.

Once everything was set for him, you took him into your room, along with his bag and everything essential, and began to look for an outfit yourself. Little feet padded against the wooden floor, prompting you to look down at your two year old son who had one of his plushies in a tight grip. You watched him walk into your closet and reach a tiny finger out to point at a significantly beautiful, modest dress. Taking it off of the hanger, you let your eyes roam down its entire length. The white dress was up to your calves in length, and it was short sleeved and decorated with light blue flowers all over it. It was the perfect dress for a hot summer day like today.

After getting changed, you hold your son in your arms and both his and your things, beginning to exit the house and head for the large, white SUV in the driveway of your smallish home. As soon as your son was secure in his carseat, you sat down in the driver’s seat and proceeded to start driving in reverse to get off the driveway before beginning to head over to your husband’s workplace.

— — —

Arriving at the large, glass covered office building, you had your son in your arms once more as you were allowed onto the floor where your husband resided. Walking up to his receptionist, the light clicking of your heels against the tiled flooring was enough for the woman to look up and awe at the little boy in your arms. “Hi, Y/N! Oh my goodness, S/N has grown a lot since I last saw him. How are you doing?” the receptionist asked, looking up at you. “We’re doing great, thank you for asking. Is Naruto in right now?” you questioned, creasing your brows with concern.

“Oh, yes, yes. He’s been in his office all morning working on some complicated corporate contracts and stuff, but with you here I hope he will take a break for a while, especially with his cute son!” she exclaimed, smiling at the giggling boy in your arms.

After thanking the receptionist, you walked past her desk, arriving at the double, dark wooden doors which were the only things separating you from the man inside of the room. You pushed open the door and peeked your head inside, your eyes landing on the hunched over figure at the desk. You further opened the door, and by the sounds of the creaking doors shutting behind you, Naruto looked up from his complicated paperwork and widened his eyes at the sight of you with his son. With a smile on your face, you walked over to his desk, and in an instant, Naruto got up and took both you and his son into a warm, loving hug with his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

Naruto pulled away and pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking your son in his hands, lifting him up high in the air. You watched your husband bring down your son to his face and fluttered lots of little kisses over his chubby cheeks.

“You know he was reaching for my phone because he wanted to spend some time with you, Naruto,” you stated, walking up to your boys. Naruto glanced over S/N’s shoulder and over at you with his widened, ocean blue eyes. You reached a hand up to brush back some of the bright blonde strands of your son’s hair, but the little boy kept fiddling with the collar of his father’s dress shirt. “He really misses his father,” you whispered, looking up to meet Naruto’s gaze.

Naruto’s eyes dotted down at his son’s pout on his lips, and a sudden wave of emotion crashed into his mind, replacing his confused expression with a slight frown. He sighed and turned to look over at the crowded desk that was occupied by many corporate documents and contracts needed to be signed.

“You know what, Y/N? I think it is lunchtime, and I know just where we should go,” Naruto said, looking over at you. A smile instantly came to your lips, and a small giggle came out of your mouth when you looked over at your son’s exaggerated and widened eyes. His tiny hand was clutched onto Naruto’s dress shirt, and his E/C eyes stared directly into his father’s contrasting, shining eyes. “Ramen?” S/N mumbled in a hopeful way.

“Now see, this is my son, Y/N. Come on, let’s go before the lunch rush settles in!” Naruto exclaimed, carefully throwing S/N up in the air twice. The little boy’s giggles never surpassed as Naruto carefully sat him onto his shoulders with one hand holding onto one of his legs and another held out in front of you. “Ah, yes, my ramen loverboys,” you joked, taking Naruto’s hand and letting him drag you out of the office.

NARUTO MASTERLIST

WRITING MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

[mrsluthordanvers]

Everything’s Different

Kara returns from the phantom zone, and some relationships just aren't the same as she left them 

Read on AO3

Being sent to the Phantom Zone was Kara’s worst nightmare come true. It had chilled her to the bone. Left her teeth chattering and her muscles aching, even after weeks being back on Earth under the yellow sun. The emptiness had wrapped itself around her, suffocating her, making her lose her way as she stumbled through the darkness, making her lose her grasp on reality.

It haunted her at night. Every time she closed her eyes she was back there, fighting to get back home, fighting for her family. Every night she woke up gasping, feeling small and scared, the noises of the city ringing in her ears. It felt just like when she first arrived on Earth. 

The Phantom Zone was her worst nightmare come true, and yet; sitting outside Andrea’s office waiting to be reprimanded feels like a close second.

Not only does Kara not have the Cat Grant article Nia had promised in order to cover for her sudden disappearance. She has to watch Lena sit in one of Andrea’s chairs with her high heels tucked underneath so she can curl up comfortably. One hand lazily looped around a glass of amber liquid as she laughs.

After days of lying alone on a stainless-steel bed under a yellow sun lamp hoping to have a chance to talk to Lena. Praying to Rao for the opportunity to tell Lena her last secret, one she didn’t even know she had until she was navigating the phantom zone alone, grasping to thoughts of her loved ones to make it through. The sight of Lena laughing with another woman, her hand gently squeezing Andrea’s, makes Kara’s heart clench.

She wishes she could slip away. Duck out of CatCo and avoid this situation altogether. But Kara knows that Andrea has already seen her. Just like Cat, Andrea’s office is strategically placed to give her the best vantage point – and put on the best show.

But this is one show Kara would rather not witness.

Kara’s thoughts are spiralling so rapidly now, that she’s missed Lena putting on her heels and walking in her direction.

“Kara?” Lena looks just as surprised to see Kara, she halts in the doorway as Kara stands so abruptly that she has to scramble to keep her notebook from hitting the floor.

“I didn’t know Alex- “Lena quiets as she glances over her shoulder before she steps forward, letting the office door close against her back.

“How are you feeling?” Lena asks so quietly it makes Kara want to rush to comfort her.

“Good.” Kara immediately responds, without giving much thought to the truth of it. Lena’s head tilts in a way that says she knows that too.

“Better.” Kara adjusts, with a slight shrug and a touch to the corner of her glasses.

They stand in silence for a moment, neither one willing to make eye contact and unsure where to go from here.

“I should go-“

“Would you like to-“

Both laugh awkwardly as they finally look at each other.

“Go ahead.” Lena offers.

“I was going to ask if you would like to have lunch with me? If Andrea doesn’t fire me that is.”

“Oh.” Lena pauses as she looks over her shoulder again, arms folding in front of her. “I actually have lunch plans with Andrea today.”

“Oh.” Kara nods aggressively, “Of course, maybe tomorrow? Big Belly Burger?”

For a second Kara thinks Lena looks guilty but it’s gone in a flash.         

“Andrea and I– “

“Right.” Kara waves Lena off not wanting to hear the rest, doing her best to ignore how her stomach rolls and her jaw clenches.

Lena turns quickly to give Andrea a wave through the window before she steps around Kara in a cloud of expensive perfume. “I’m really sorry Kara, but I have to go.”

Lena’s gone before Kara can mumble out her understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Kara steps inside Andrea’s office with a light knock.

“I’m not paying you to hide outside my office all day.” Andrea scolds as Kara steps inside. “Ms. Nal told me that you’ve been working on an article with Cat Grant?”

Kara opens her mouth, still unsure of what she’s going to say to get out of this predicament.

“Before you tell me another lie,” Kara tries not to squirm under Andrea’s gaze. “I’m not going to ask where you’ve been. You’re a popular writer amongst our subscribers so I’m not going to make the mistake of firing you... Yet. But you will have to make this up to me. So, for the next month you are taking over the How-To column for Andy. And I don’t want to hear complaints.”

Kara jerks her head understanding and tries to take her leave.

“Kara.” Andrea calls her attention back just as she’s about to push through the door. “Don’t even think about trying to ask Lena to change my mind.”

Kara’s phone breaks in her palm as she exits the office. grabbing her purse on route to the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Nia hisses after her.

“To find a story.”

---

Kara only catches glimpses of Lena at the tower after that. She sees more of Lena on the cover of tabloids at the grocery store than she does in person. Today it’s a red-carpet photo that stares at her across the packs of pop-tarts she has on the conveyor belt. Lena’s turned into Andrea as she looks at the camera over her shoulder. Andrea’s hand sits low on her hip as she looks in the opposite direction, her jawline on full display as she smirks at a different camera.

Kara barely notices when she reaches across to grab the magazine. She does her best not to tear the delicate pages as she rapidly flips through them until she finds another photo. She can feel the heat growing behind her eyes the longer she stares at it. Lena’s posed almost the exact same, but Andrea is leaning in this time to press a kiss to the corner of Lena’s mouth. It’s oddly intimate for a red-carpet photo and it makes Kara throw the magazine onto the conveyer belt next to a case of cookies just to stop looking at it.

---

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” Kara practically throws the magazine on Lena’s coffee table in greeting as she walks in through the balcony doors.

“I’m sorry?” Lena blinks slowly as she looks from the superhero to the magazine that’s fallen open to the picture of her and Andrea.

“You and Andrea are pals now?”

Lena snorts as she untangles herself from the couch to put the kitchen island between them as she starts to make a pot of tea.

“What?”

Kara’s fist clenches as Lena shakes her head. “That might be the only time that has been used correctly by the press.”

Kara watches Lena with a blank face as she looks up from filling the kettle.

“Andrea and I are hardly friends.”

“Then what is it?” Kara asks exasperated, as she slowly approaches the kitchen island but doesn’t sit. “If it’s not Andrea, what is it? Why have you been avoiding me?”

“Andrea’s been helping me.”

“With what?” Kara tries to keep the hurt out of her voice as she takes another step forward, watching Lena scoop some loose tea leaves into a pot and put a strainer over her mug.

“Lex.”

“Lex?” Now Kara’s confused. The tower has been trying to deal with Lex, albeit unsuccessfully.

“Andrea is helping me to take down Lex.”

“I don’t understand... I thought we were taking down Lex together.”

“Lex knows that you’re back from the phantom zone, and he knows I’ve been helping you. I just thought if it looked like I wasn’t helping you anymore he might let his guard down.”

“So, you’ve just been kissing Andrea instead?”

Lena sighs heavily as she pours hot water into the tea pot. “Kara…”

“No.” Kara crosses her arms, “You could’ve told me. I could’ve helped you!”

“I didn’t want you to help me!”

That makes Kara freeze. Her face contorting as she watches Lena snap at her.

“I thought we were over this.”

“It’s not about that.”

Kara doesn’t listen as she turns on her heel, trying not to put a foot through Lena’s floor as she marches to the balcony.

“I love you!”

Kara pauses, one hand on the glass door.

“I didn’t want your help because I love you. And I can’t keep losing you.”

“You love me?” Kara asks as she turns slowly.

“Against my better judgement.” Lena snarks, but it holds no heat as she lifts her chin that Kara can only laugh.

“Are you laughing at –“

“I love you too.” Kara blurts, refusing to let Lena get the wrong idea. “I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks.”

“Oh.” Lena nods to herself as she drops her gaze to pour her tea through the strainer. “That’s good.”

“Lena.” Kara whispers immediately appearing at Lena’s side as she wraps a hand around Lena’s slim wrist. “Look at me.”

Kara uses her other hand to reach for Lena’s chin, a finger gently hooking underneath to move her gaze. When pale blue-green eyes settle on her Kara smiles.

“I love you.” Kara repeats with all the earnestness she can muster. “And I’d really like to be the one to help you take down Lex.”

“Okay.” Lena replies in a hushed tone as she gives Kara a tiny nod.

“You won’t lose me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[efyra]

Bubble Bath • Fred Weasley

pairing: dad!fred weasley x mom!reader

summary: after an exhausting day at work, fred comes back home to his wonderful family.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: fluff (?); mentions of sex.

author’s note: i had a dream about having kids with fred and this idea came into my mind - so i just had to write it?

like always, i’m sorry for any grammar mistake 🥺

reblogs are always welcome

you can check my other works here

The first time Fred Weasley thought "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life" - which he could remember - was in a summer of 1985 when Bill and Charlie taught him and George how to play Exploding Snap. The second was when he started his studies at Hogwarts in September 1989. The third was the following year when he and George were accepted into the Gryffindor’s Quidditch team as beaters. The fourth time was on a winter's afternoon in 1993 when he had his first kiss. The fifth was when the dream of opening a joke shop with his twin had become even closer to reality after Harry gave them the Triwizard Tournament prize. The sixth was in a 1995 night when he lost his virginity. The seventh time was the day Weasley's Wizard Wheezes opened at Diagon Alley in 1996. The eighth was in May 1998 with the defeat of Lord Voldemort. The ninth was when he met you on a spring morning in 2001. The tenth time was when you agreed to go on a date with him a few days later. And since then, Fred Weasley had lost the count. 

But he remembered the most special days. 

The day you kissed. The first night you spent together. The lunch his mother prepared at the Burrow so that you could be introduced to the Weasley family. When you finally said "I love you" to each other. That afternoon you agreed to have a picnic, but you didn't check if it would rain and came home soaked. The next morning that Fred woke up sick and you made him some soup. The time you two couldn't sleep then you stayed up all night talking while drinking hot chocolate. When Fred asked you to marry him on the first day of a new year. That summer day in 2004 when you and Fred said "I do" and made a vow to love each other for all eternity. The dinner where you revealed that you were pregnant with your first child together. The day Maeve Weasley was born and your world had changed completely. And since then, Fred Weasley went to sleep every day thinking, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life." 

He was enchanted with every little moment. 

Fred was thrilled the moment he hold Maeve for the first time and nested her in his arms; he pressed a delicate kiss on her forehead, feeling that newborn baby smell and watching her sleep peacefully, finally realizing that she was his baby - his baby to care for, to protect, to love; his daughter. 

He remembered the first time Maeve opened a toothless smile, that she babbled something in the baby’s language, when she ate solid food when she was six-months-old and ended up with banana puree - made by mommy - all over her face, the way she clapped her hands when she heard Hermione singing muggle’s nursery rhymes, when she took her first steps two weeks after her one-year birthday. Fred was not ashamed to admit that he cried when Maeve first called him "Daddy", that he got emotional every time she lay on his chest and fell asleep there as if it was the most comfortable place in the world, of how he couldn't stop smiling silly while watching her dance "head, shoulders, knees and toes". Since Maeve was born, Fred Weasley thought he couldn't be happier. 

But you got pregnant again; and in 2008, Alexander Weasley was born - better known as "lil’ Alex". 

And Fred was, once again, in heaven. 

Just like happened with Maeve, he was enchanted by his son from the moment he heard that little weeping for the first time; he couldn't help but be amazed to see that the e/c color of your irises were reflected in Alex's eyes, that his nose was very similar to his father's and that he had much more hair than his sister when she was born - and once again, he had fallen in love with that newborn baby smell. 

Fred's heart melted completely when he saw the scene of you in bed holding Alex in your arms while Maeve was sitting next to you, her neck stretching so she could see her little brother more closely; he opened a broad smile with that vision, the vision of his family - his to care for, to protect, to love, his family.

That day, Fred sat next to you on the bed, taking Maeve on his lap and placing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body; he remembered the way you looked at him with a tender smile decorating your face and said: "you and I make beautiful babies," but before he could answer, Maeve exclaimed: "but Alex looks like smashed potato!”.  Fred used his free hand to tickle his daughter briefly, who let out an angelic laugh and squirmed in his arms, saying: "not the tickle monster, Daddy!", he laughed once again, kissing Maeve's fluffy cheek; his heart seemed to barely fit inside his chest of how much love he felt at that moment. Then, your head rested on his shoulder, Fred turned his head to give you a long kiss on the temple; you, in turn, lifted your face towards your husband, sealing your lips in a very short but passionate kiss - passion for the beautiful family you built together, for the life full of joys that awaited you and without forgetting, of course, the overwhelming passion you still felt for each other. 

It wasn't always easy. 

Despite the joys that fatherhood brought in your lives, conciliating raising your children with your jobs and the marital relationship was something that sometimes you failed at. Sometimes you fought for silly reasons, other times for more serious issues, but you never forgot that in the first place you loved each other. 

The worst fight you and Fred had was when the two of you were facing difficulties at work, and without even noticing it, you started to take your frustrations out on each other; you both spent a whole day not talking - just talking about your children - but in the late afternoon, when you and the redhead were distracted with work matters while Maeve and Alex were playing in the middle of the  living room, your daughter shouted cheerfully: "Mom, Dad, look! Alex likes when I dance!", the two of you immediately dropped the papers you were reading and watched the scene before your eyes: Maeve - with 3 years-old - was making extravagant ballet moves and Alex - who had just completed 8 months - was sitting on the fuzzy carpet, applauding his sister with a smile of few teeth decorating his face. At that moment, your eyes met with Fred's, and as if you were having a mental conversation, you two agreed: "No work in this world was more important than this: Maeve dancing ballet while Alex applauded". When the children slept, you had a long talk and made up in the best possible way: in bed. 

And you were fine. Better than just fine; you and Fred were happy with the life you built together. And even if some days weren't so good, the redhead would still sleep thinking that he had lived the happiest day of his life because it was one more day by your side while raising your children together, because it was one more day with his family. 

Today, Fred felt exhausted; he and George stayed until later at the shop because they needed to make an inventory of their products, and even though they had several employees so they didn't need to overload themselves with work, that task was something they didn't trust anyone else to do but each other. 

As soon as he arrived at his home through Floo Network, Fred was surprised that there was nobody in the living room and that no three-years-old girl jumped on his arms saying: "Daddy, Daddy, you're home!", but he heard laughter coming from the upper floor. He took off his shoes and socks, leaving them in the corner, and went upstairs; Fred followed that familiar sound and stopped in front of the bathroom suite you two shared, which was with the door ajar. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to watch the scene: inside of a huge white ceramic bathtub, were his wonderful children and sitting on a stool right next to it while holding Alex - who had already completed one year old - with both hands, you were wearing only a simple t-shirt and cotton shorts, your hair was in a tight bun on the top of your head; you were laughing while looking at Maeve, who was pretending to be a fish and imitating Dory's line in "Finding Nemo" when was speaking whale - you two really thanked Hermione for all the childish entertainment she introduced to you over the years -; the little girl was talking to Alex - who was supposed to be the whale.

"Ah, so you’re there" Fred said with a broad smile on his face; Maeve exclaimed an excited "daddy", splashing drops of water on all directions when she jumped. "I thought I was abandoned" he joked, walking towards the bathtub, and squatting close to where you were. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, love" you answered, smiling sweetly and leaning slightly towards your husband so you can greet him with a peck on the lips. 

Fred also greeted his children, saying tenderly: "Hi, little princess. Hi, little prince"; you two chatted distractedly while watching your children play in the bathtub - Maeve still pretended to be a fish and Alex played with a rubber duck. 

"How was your day?" he asked. 

"Normal" you shrugged. "Nothing new, which is a relief." 

"That's good. And how are our little angels?" 

"They've had dinner, played a lot and now they're taking a bath to go to bed. Did you have dinner?" 

"Yes, I ate something at the shop with George." Fred placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry for staying..."

"Don't apologize" you interrupted him. Your husband had never helped you to take care of the children; he had never helped you because that was his job too - he wasn’t “helping” you; he was taking care of his kids. Fred never expected compliments or medals for putting his children on bed, for giving them food, for waking up in the middle of the night when they were crying or for changing diapers; he knew that those were his responsibilities as much as they were yours. "I know" you sent him a reassuring smile. Days like this when you and Fred didn't do those things together were very rare - after all, you were partners for life. 

"Thank you" your husband smiled.

"And what about your day? Could you finish the inventory?" you asked. 

He let out a tired sigh, watching Alex chewing on the rubber duck. "Well... yes, but not everything. I still need..." 

"Daddy!" Maeve demanded his attention, interrupting him. "Look what I can do!" she said before immersing her head in the water for a short second before pulling it up again, her hair sticking to her cheeks as she wiped the water off her face. "See?" she opened her eyes and looked at her father, waiting for his answer. 

The redhead didn't take long to react, quickly applauding enthusiastically. "Wow, princess! You truly are a little fish! Did you see her, Mommy?" he looked at you. 

"I did, Daddy!" you smiled. "Our little Maeve already is a big girl!" 

Fred got rid of his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves to his elbow and sat on the bathroom floor, standing next to the bathtub as he listened intently to his daughter tell him about her fun day with Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur; Maeve said that Uncle Harry and Ginny showed up for a visit, so she played with her cousins all afternoon - she was asleep when you arrived at the Burrow right after work, but Alex was very agitated. 

You both took the opportunity that the little girl was very distracted and started to give your children a bath; you were soaping Alex's body while Fred washed Maeve's hair. He took the handheld shower and used it to rinse the shampoo, being careful to not let the foam fall in her eyes or ear. So, you two changed; now, you washed Maeve's body while Fred poured the baby shampoo on Alex's hair. Your husband stayed on his knees, leaning over the bathtub to hold his son firmly with one arm while using the other to give him a bath; the one-year-old was still very focused on chewing the rubber duck. 

Fred laughed. "You really like this toy, don't you, big boy?" he said to his son, who looked at his direction with his big e/c eyes. "This lil' duck is tasty, isn't it?" he said in a higher pitch and musical tone. Alex pushed the rubber toy away from his mouth just to laugh at his father, bouncing in his arms. "Yeah, you like it," the redhead smiled. "Maybe you can tell Grandpa Arthur what is the function of these rubber ducks, huh?"

You were washing Maeve's armpits when you heard the sound of your son laughing; you looked at that direction and a broad smile appeared on your face as you watched Fred talking to Alex about his toy. Then, your daughter also laughed. 

"Mommy!" she said between laughs. "You're tickling me!" 

"I'm sorry, honey," you said with a smile, pulling the little girl close so you could give her a kiss on the cheek. 

Minutes later, the children were properly dressed in their pajamas and Fred went to take a bath. And the scene he found when he returned to his room was even more adorable than the one in the bathroom: you were with your back against the headboard and, on each arm, you nested Maeve and Alex while singing them a lullaby as they were drinking hot milk from their bottle. 

His daughter was the one who saw him leaning against the door, she demanded that he come to bed with you, and as soon as Fred did, Maeve left her position to lay her head on her father's chest - now you and Fred were lying on the edge of the bed and your children in the middle of you two. 

"Daddy, can you tell us a story?" the little girl asked. 

"I don't know, honey," he said. "Mommy was singing."

"But the song's over, isn't it, Mommy?" your daughter looked at you. 

"Yes, dear" you nodded, opening a little smile. 

"Will you, Daddy? Please?" Maeve made a pout. "Alex also wants you to tell us a story," she looked at her little brother, who was almost asleep on his mother's arms. "Yes, Daddy, tell us a story," she said in a soft tone - as if it was the little boy talking - "see? He wants it too!" 

You both laughed at your daughter's little trick. "Well, Daddy, it seems they want you to tell us a story," you shrugged, still with a smile on your face. 

"How can I deny a request from the three loves of my life, huh?" Fred smiled, squeezing Maeve in his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. 

You listened carefully as your husband told the story of two fire-haired brothers who fought against a terrible one-eyed monster and managed to obtain a precious magical item: a map that led them to various adventures around the world. And when the two brothers discovered how to get to the Candy Land, you and Fred noticed that your children were already deeply asleep in your arms. 

You both shared a look and a smile. A passionate look at the love that existed in your family. A proud smile for the life you had together. 

"I love you" your husband whispered at you.

"I love you too" you whispered back. 

And before Fred fell asleep, he thought, "bloody hell, this must be the happiest day of my life."

taglist: @eunoia-kth

[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.” 

[missskzbiased]

Eggy First Date

Summary: You can’t seem to catch a break this week. You’ve run out of eggs, visibly stained your living room carpet with grape juice, and worst of all: your laundry machine has broken down. Such an event has resulted in you awkwardly shuffling your dirty clothes to the nearest laundromat, but hey, at least the boy using the machine next to you is cute!

WC: 2,3 K

Requested: By Stayndays <3 Thank you, Buddy!

Genre: Slice of Life, Fluff, Humor (?)

AUs: College, (Implied) Classmates to Lovers, Crushes, Kinda Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Yang Jeongin X GN! Reader

Rebloggable Masterlist   //   Main Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of food, Language (Crap/Shit)

                                                   ////

   Yep… Turns out it’s impossible to fix one’s life in a few hours.

      You should have known better than letting everything pile up like that, but now it was a little bit too late to be sorry. As your phone insisted on reminding you ─ alarm shouting for anyone to hear ─, your parents should arrive at your apartment in about two hours. It didn’t sound too bad when you put it like this, but when you think in perspective, it’s kinda easy to see why you’re screwed up…

      The first problem: You have no eggs.

     It may not sound that alarming, but you promised your mom to flex your culinary skills and bake her favorite cake as soon as she came to visit you. Funnily enough, when you tried to fix some scrambled eggs on Tuesday ─ a hopeful attempt to eat anything other than cup noodles ─ you had to drop half of them to your recently cleaned floor. In other words, not only you had to clean your floor again but you also had only four eggs to make your lunch and survive the week… Which meant you ran out of eggs by Wednesday.

      Now, you didn’t have to be a genius to know that having no eggs meant no favorite cake for your mom… And as much as having no cake didn’t sound like the end of the world, it was only the beginning. No cake meant questions, and questions meant answers, and answers meant you would have to either tell them the truth or lie to them… Unfortunately, you couldn’t tell them the truth or else you would expose your Thursday’s mistake, but we’ll get to that later.

      That being said, you were left with two options: Lie to them ─ and risk being caught ─ or buy fresh eggs to bake her a cake. It was needless to say that you went with the last one. However, by Wednesday night ─ when, despite having no eggs, you had finals to worry about ─, buying your groceries after your exams, on Friday, sounded like the perfect plan. And it kinda was… At least for the next 24H that followed it, before you managed to screw everything up on Thursday.

      The second problem: Grape juice.

      You were stressed out, alright?! You had only one more day to go with your exams and it may or may not have gotten to your head. So drinking grape juice on the couch ─ since you had no actual food to eat and have been feeding on liquids ─ while watching a 20 minutes episode of Brooklyn 99 was a good way to relax. Perhaps, you should act more like the nonfunctional college student that you were. This way, you would be studying in your room instead of missing the coffee table as you laughed; spilling your juice on the carpet.

      Of course, it couldn’t be a normal carpet that was totally replaceable… No, it had to be the very own carpet your grandma gifted to your father when he moved out… It happened to be the same one her mother gave to her when she moved out as well! Of course, it had to be this one and not the stupid carpet on your bathroom that meant absolutely nothing. It had to be the carpet your father gifted to you while saying that this new journey full of responsibilities ─ also called miserable college life ─ would be blessed by your previous generations or whatever!

     Basically, you just drowned your whole family in cheap juice that tasted like purple! Because of a joke! A joke that wasn’t even that good! It definitely wasn’t worth it.

     Whatever was the necessary skill to remove a stain from a carpet, you didn’t have it. And you didn’t have the time to learn it either. So, as a desperate student, you did the best you could: Blot the liquid with a wet cloth, pour about half of the ocean over the spot, mix the most random stuff you had, soak the carpet overnight, and go off to sleep so you wouldn’t botch your finals.

      The third problem: The Rise of the Machines. 

      When you got home after your exams ─ no eggs, ‘cause your mind was too focused on saving the carpet ─, you were still hopeful that everything was going to be okay. The Internet blessed you with the ultimate knowledge to remove any stains from a sacred carpet and you followed each step as if your life depended on it. Because it did. You did such an amazing job that the spotless area turned into a clean spot on the dirty carpet… And that, dearest friends, was the real problem.

      It was exactly 10:27 PM when you decided to shove your carpet into the washing machine and go downstairs to buy a burger on your friend’s stand. It was about 11:13 PM when you got back to your place, happily fed and unworried about your life. It took you less than a minute to have all of your happiness fading away as you saw that the foam spilled over the floor, bringing you a sad realization: Your washing machine had failed you.

     In other words, you had a damp, dirty carpet to save, a dozen eggs to buy, a cake to bake, and a lie to keep in the next… Twelve hours or something. And you needed to sleep for at least half of that time. But that was okay! Everything was fine… You had six hours to fix your entire life tomorrow, right? Yeah… Except that not really, no. Because obviously ─ how didn’t you see that coming? ─, your phone had decided to not wake you up the next morning.

     The fourth problem: Your parents.

     The two hours ahead of you could mean twenty minutes or even a second… Knowing your parents, they could be standing right in front of your door, ringing your bell and asking themselves why you weren’t home. The answer would be because you were at the laundromat next to your building, which wasn’t the cheapest one but it was the closest thing you had to a miracle right now. Well, it would be, if the washing machine actually gave a shit about your struggles.

      As the water slowly spilled over your carpet ─ instead of being gushed to soak the damn thing ─, you let your shoulders drop and a sigh escape from your lips. You didn’t know if you felt more relieved for finally having things working out or defeated for having to go through all of this. The exhausted eyes you met in your reflection were a good hint, though, and you got closer to the glass door to rest your forehead on the cold surface and take a small break. At least ─ as long as your parents didn’t arrive before the drying cycle ─, they would never know about the truth and everything should be just fine… You wouldn’t need to worry about being kicked out from the family.

      “Crap” You grumbled, mindlessly knocking your head on the door on repeat.

      “Tough day, huh?” The soft voice was familiar, but the warm hand preventing you from hitting the glass again wasn’t. You frowned before turning to check if you weren’t going crazy. To your misfortune, the cute boy smiling sympathetically at you was exactly who you thought it was “That’s bad for you” He pointed out, chuckling as he watched you snapping your head away from his hand.

      “Hey!” You blurted; face burning to the thought of him seeing you like this. Why everything had to go so wrong in your life?! Why did Jeongin have to see you wearing the most sloppy outfit you could ever wear? Your hands flew to your hair to try and fix the nest on top of your head “What’s up?” You huffed playfully; hitting his shoulder lightly in the most unnatural way that you could.

     Way to go, Y/N! Humiliate yourself in front of your crush!

     “Just washing some stuff” He shrugged, pointing to the machine next to yours, “You don’t usually come here, though… Well, at least, I never saw you here before” He mused, arching his brow “Are you following me around now?” He whispered teasingly, cupping his hand around his mouth as he smirked at you.

      “What?! No!” You panicked, widening your eyes and floundering your hands in the air “I’m not, I swear!” You insisted as he stared at you mockingly, “If anything you’re the one following me! I live nearby! Where do you live?! Is it even close?!” You defended yourself vehemently; poking his chest as you visibly lost your mind.

      “I’m joking, jeez!” He chortled, rubbing his torso “Calm down, Y/N… It’s your neighborhood, I know” He reassured you, squeezing your shoulder and chuckling as you relaxed under his touch “I was just trying to make you feel better” He explained; hand sliding to pat your back “What’s up? Did you mess up on your exams?” Jeongin asked; tone wandering around curiosity and worry.

      “No… I did just fine” You sighed; getting him to tilt his head in confusion ─ he’s so cute scrunching his nose like this! ─ while you smiled at him, getting back to your senses.

      It was just Jeongin, for Lord’s sake… He was your classmate! He had seen you look way worse than this before, if you were being honest. Which wasn’t that reassuring now that you think about it… But anyway! He had seen you drooling all over your desk, and snoring, and looking like a zombie! There was nothing to worry about… Even if he kinda is really cute and you kinda have a crush on him.

      “Wanna talk about it?” He offered friendly. Did he really have to be this kind and bubbly while smiling at you? Couldn’t he be a little bit less cute? Or just look like a normal human being while doing his laundry? Like having messy hair… Or messy clothes… Or dark circles under his eyes… Or just not look this fresh and perfect and… “Y/N?” He called unsurely, waving his hand in front of your eyes.

      “Sorry” You rushed to say, ducking your head between your shoulders “I... I mean, there’s a lot going on in my mind now” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth. You were just thinking about him, but he didn’t need to know that, “Mom and Dad are going to come and visit me today… I promised to bake her a cake, but I ran out of eggs” Now you were just spilling whatever was on your mind, hm? It probably didn’t even make sense for him.

      “And you thought doing your laundry could get you some?” He joked confusedly, laughing as you pouted at him.

      “No…” You whined, kicking him lightly “I knocked my grape juice on the family’s sacred carpet… So I’m trying to make it look okay or else my dad is going to kill me” You explained further, pinching the bridge of your nose “But they’re coming and I still have to buy those damn eggs, and bake this damn cake, and wash this damn—”

     “Hey, hey” He shushed you, holding both of your shoulders to prompt you to look into his eyes. They held a thousand million stars… But that wasn’t really the point “Everything’s good, okay? Why don’t we go to buy some eggs, then you go and bake your cake?” He suggested calmly, massaging your skin as he smiled reassuringly “I can take care of your laundry… Mine is here anyway” He chuckled, seeing the way your eyes lit up to his plan “I can get it to your house before they get there… They’ll never know” He promised.

      “No way” You chirped; hands jolting to his face and grabbing his cheeks firmly “Jeongin” You said seriously; eyes unwavering as you stared right into his “You’re my hero” You stated matter-of-factly, enticing a wide grin from him “I owe you my life, I mean it” You concluded, quickly letting go of his face.

     What were you doing?!     

     “Ask me on a date and we’re even” He joked.

      “Don’t be silly” You rolled your eyes, pretending not to be affected by his friendly banter.

      “Fair enough… So go out with me on a date and we’re even” He smirked; eyes glinting amusedly as you let your mouth fall agape to his request. You took a while to react properly, and the growing silence seemed to get into Jeongin’s head, “I mean… I’d like to if that’s okay with you…” He shrugged, gulping down nervously “I’ve been wanting to… I was going to ask… I was just waiting for…” He floundered, clearing his throat to make it less obvious.

      “Well, if it makes us even…” You fought back your smile, watching as his anxiety dissolved into relief before he beamed at you “I guess I’d love to go on a date with you...” He laughed wholeheartedly, taking your hands in his “What about next week?” You suggested coyly, enjoying the warmth of his touch.

      “What about now?” He grinned like a fox.

      “Have you listened to what I said before?” You chortled “I have to buy some eggs and –” You began to enumerate on your fingers, but he giggled playfully, interrupting you.

      “You know what’s funny?” He smirked “My dream was to buy some eggs with you as a first date… I don’t think we’ll ever get this chance again” The corner of his lips twitched; dimples showing as he looked fondly at you “Shall we?” He asked in mocking politeness, extending his arm for you to take.

      “I must say you have such a weird taste…” You hummed, studying his extended arm amusedly “But you’re cute, so it’s all forgiven” You shrugged, chuckling as he locked his arm with yours and took the lead to find a grocery store nearby.

[lumosinlove]

Coast To Coast

Hi Hazelnuts!! The final chapter of Coast To Coast! The technical end of the SW universes. I can’t even believe it. Thank you all so much for loving these three boys--and all of my OCs. When I first started writing Sweater Weather, I didn’t expect people to care about the rest of the team. I am so thankful that you do. From me, Leo, Logan, and Finn, thank you, thank you, and bitch ass moves.

Love, Haz

part ix

tw: brief minor panic attack

Finn could relive it when he closed his eyes.

They’d ducked into a dark room at Hogwarts stadium, empty save for some spare equipment. The noise had been loud even from within, or maybe it just rang in Finn’s ears. He’d hoisted the Cup. They’d won on home ice. He’d pressed his lips to Logan and Leo’s cheeks out there—and some others, for good measure—and now all he wanted was to do this. Finn had not so much gotten his breath back before he had been kissing them. He could feel Leo and Logan, their hands gripping his uniform just as tightly as he held theirs.

“The Conn Smyth,” Finn remembered saying into Logan’s mouth. The kisses had been beyond sloppy, and Finn had everything. The Cup. Logan. Leo.

He had everything. Right then, he didn’t even mind that no one knew it. He knew it. His family knew it. The people that mattered knew it.

Leo’s mouth had dragged up Logan’s neck and met Finn’s in an effort to kiss Logan, too.

“Hat trick,” Leo said. Leo had stripped himself of his goalie pads, and knelt, right there on the rough carpet, long legs jammed between Logan and the door. He had pushed Logan against the shelves and undone Logan’s pants, pulling his jock aside and his spandex, getting at his cock. Logan was already a little hard when Leo took him in his mouth, nose bumping the swell of his jock. When he moved, his jersey rustled against his padded pants, mixing with Logan’s breathing. Logan leaned into Finn’s side, a moan punching out of his mouth.

“Leo—”

“Shh, baby,” Finn said, and turned Logan’s head so that he could kiss him, mumbling into his mouth. He reached down to cup his balls, thumb stroking Leo’s lip. “Kiss me now.”

Logan did, Finn silencing his sounds. Their fingers were tight in Leo’s hair.

Logan had been shaking a little under their mouths. He was half-laughing, half-panting, green eyes bright and pupils blown. He’d whined low in his throat as he came, as they both kissed his neck, fingers in their damp hair. His skin had tasted like the champagne from the locker room, and when Finn kissed Leo, Leo’s mouth had, too—from drinking it out of the Stanley Cup.

The Cup.

There had been Pascal’s, too, and kisses without having to hide, and clinging clothes in the pool. And then they were home, alcohol filtering out of their systems and still wide awake, at four in the morning, stripping off their clothes for a hot shower. And everything had lulled. Finn thought about Logan’s head on his chest, Leo’s, from behind him, on his shoulder. The hot water pounding around them.

Finn blinked away from the memory and back to the warm light of their bathroom, where he was sitting on the counter now, Gryffindor turned to summer outside and Leo between his legs.

“Hold still,” Leo said.

“I’m trying,” Finn said. He tapped his heels against the back of Leo’s knees. “Logan’s making me laugh, yell at him.”

Logan held up his hands, one holding his phone. “What? I’m just standing here.”

Leo ducked closer, his fingers gentle on Finn’s jaw as he carefully scraped the last of Finn’s stubble away. Finn hummed when Leo wiped the last of the shaving cream with a warm towel.

“There,” Leo ran a hand over Finn’s jaw. “Done.” 

“Perfect, should I do you now?” Finn grinned, moving his hands to Leo’s ass. “Oh, wait—”

Leo flicked Finn’s freshly shaven cheek.

“—Baby face.”

“Lo, you’re up,” Leo mocked glared and Finn laughed, pulling him in closer.

“I like baby face,” Finn said, and made a show of biting at the skin of Leo’s jaw with a growl.

“Don’t turn him on,” Logan said, shoving at Finn. “I want this thing off of my face.”

“I’m a little turned on,” Leo said.

Finn kissed Leo’s neck twice before sliding off of the counter, letting Logan take his place.

“That was so hot,” Finn said.

“What?” Leo said, spreading cream onto Logan’s cheeks.

“I don’t know, everything.” The equipment closet, the bathroom at Dumo’s, getting home to their bed. “I was just thinking about the Cup night. It was pretty fucking perfect.”

“Just think about when we have the Cup,” Logan said.

Leo shook his head as he tilted Logan’s chin up with his fingers. “I don’t even want to think about what the thing has been through, it is not going in our bed.”

“We can clean it before,” Finn said and Leo just scoffed.

“When does your plane leave tomorrow?” Logan asked, messing with a piece of Leo’s hair.

“Pretty early,” Leo started on Logan’s other cheek. “I’ll leave for the airport at seven. What about you guys?”

“I go to New York on Thursday, my Cup day is on Friday,” Finn said, looking up as he remembered. “And then I’ll meet Lo at Harvard.” He grinned. “And then we’ll meet you in good o’l New Aw-leens after that for your Cup day, and then to Canadia for Tremzy.”

Logan snorted. “Canadia?”

“I always want to say that because of Canadian. America gives you Americans, but Canada doesn’t give you Canadans.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shaving cream always looks like it would taste good,” Finn continued, as if he didn’t hear Logan. He reached out and swiped a finger along Logan’s jaw, gathering some of the white foam. “But it really doesn’t.”

“I could try doing it with whipped cream,” Leo said.

Logan just looked between them, bewildered. “Just get this thing off.”

Seeing Leo’s bags by the door did something to Finn’s chest. He knew exactly where he was going, and knew he was coming back, but it caused a thin string of worry to begin to unspool itself in his chest. Hockey wasn’t the securest job in the world, and he knew they were all highly valued by the Lions—they had just won a Cup—but still. Finn worried. He would always worry, especially now. He was in love now. He was locked in.

Leo looked up from counting through his wallet, ID, and printed out ticket.

“Alright,” he smiled. “See you there?”

“Call us when you land,” Logan said. “You have to call us when you land or else I’m gonna, like…”

“He’ll freak out,” Finn said.

Logan smushed Leo’s cheeks with his hands. “I’ll freak out.”

“I’ll text you before the wheels even hit the ground,” Leo said, leaning down for a kiss. “How’s that, Lo?”

Logan leaned into Leo’s body, into the kiss, and Finn loved that. “Okay.”

When the door shut behind him, Logan sighed. “I’m going to be all alone in this apartment until my flight.”

Finn smiled, wrapping his arms around Logan from behind. “That’ll be, like, four hours.”

“Still.”

Finn’s hands traveled down to below Logan’s sweatpants band. He was still warm from being in bed, from taking Leo’s cock that morning. “At least you have something to think about until we’re together again. And then we’ll give Nut something to think about until we get to Louisiana.”

It made Logan smile. “Yeah…”

“Come help me pack,” Finn said and kissed Logan’s neck.

“You suck at packing.”

“I know, that’s why I need help.”

Finn laughed when Logan groaned, but followed him into the bedroom.

~

They were bringing the Cup back to Harvard. Finn had spent the majority of his day with the Cup in New York City. His parents were there, and Alex, and there was a parade. He’d wanted his boys with him, though. And now Logan was here, waiting for him in the summer night heat in front of an already rowdy OKN that was anticipating the Cup’s arrival.

The last time Finn had stood in this driveway, Logan had said goodbye. Finn had pulled over the second he had gotten off of campus because he couldn’t see. Standing there, in front of their old house and holding the Cup, the flashbacks of sitting and crying with his forehead against the steering wheel, feeling like his lungs were trying to burn up, wasn’t exactly welcome.

“Mon coeur,” Logan whispered as he approached Finn. He clapped a hand on Finn’s shoulder, a perfectly friendly gesture to any onlookers who couldn’t feel the way his fingers slipped beneath the neck of Finn’s t-shirt. “I know.”

Finn looked at him, flexing his fingers against the Cup’s rim. “I love you, Lo.”

Logan was wearing one of his old Harvard hats, flipped backwards. He had a gray t-shirt on and black shorts that cut just above his knee. His Nikes were ones that he’d had since Freshman year. He looked just like he had then. He looked just as he had when Finn couldn’t have him.

“I love you,” Logan said now.

Most of their old teammates were there, having traveled back just for this, and were already well on their way to drunk. Finn forced himself to push the feelings aside—he was used to doing that in this house. He raised the Cup above his head and shouted along with the rest of them, with Logan. Finn could hear his own heart more than he could hear the shouts of welcome and elation. He could feel the sweat beading down his back and temples more than he could register himself setting the Cup down on a high table, among beer cans. Most of the guys here wouldn’t dare touch it out of bad luck, but they started up a round of We Are The Champions anyway. Finn felt too hot and too cold all at once, looking around at the familiar house. Logan was shaking people’s hands, people were shaking Finn’s hand, and clapping him on the back. He walked around and he was smiling, and laughing. He was handed a drink, and then another, and he was cracking jokes to make others laugh. And something felt like it was blocking part of his throat. What air he could draw was clammy. He had lost Logan about an hour in. The Cup was gleaming on its card table pedestal. It looked too bright. Everything looked a little too bright. He put his drink down.

“Where are the drinks at?” he asked a sandy-haired guy. He needed water.

“Kitchen, man,” the guy grinned. “Knock yourself out, you deserve it.”

Finn looked for Logan, but still didn’t see him.

“Thanks,” he said instead.

The kitchen was only more shouts and bodies, more back slaps. It felt even hotter with the sun completely gone outside, like there was nothing except this house, nothing except this feeling. Most people were too drunk to really talk to him, though. There were girls, too. Girls kissing his cheeks, their hands on the back of his neck—

And there was Logan. He had a bottle of rum in one hand, in the middle of pouring it over some coke and ice, and there was a girl pressed along his side. She had her hand on his chest, twisting his fleur-de-lis pendant in her fingers. Finn could see plainly that Logan was carefully trying to extract his body from hers. He had that slight smile on his face that he got when he was uncomfortable. He set the bottle down when he finished pouring his drink and stepped away, willing to talk, but that was all. There would be pictures, probably.

Finn remembered seeing Logan kissing a girl. He remembered a mouth against his own neck while he watched, and then Logan’s mouth against his, for the first time. He remembered Logan leaving, and he remembered going to sit in the car, waiting for him to come out—and sitting in the pulled over car, leaving Logan for Gryffindor, his stomach churning, memories blurring, he wanted him and he couldn’t have him and Logan said no—

Finn stumbled back a step just as Logan looked up. Harz. Finn watched Logan’s mouth say the word, but he couldn’t hear him. Finn turned, walking until he found a dark hallway, somewhere near the back of the house with the trash bins and dusty cleaning supplies. His fingers were shaking as he took out his phone. It only rang twice.

“Leo?”

“Hi, Harz,” Leo said. “Sheesh, big party, huh? I didn’t know college parties actually sounded like that.”

“I—” Finn wiped sweat from his forehead, pushing his hair back. He sort of wondered if he was going to pass out.

“Finn?” Leo said, more carefully this time.

“Leo—”

“Hey, sweetheart, hey, what’s wrong?”

Finn blew a breath out, glancing around the corner to make sure he was still as alone as he could get before ducking his head to his chest. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong, I should be having fun. I tried to have fun.”

“Okay,” Leo said. The music was making his voice hard to hear. “That’s okay, is Lo with you?”

“Yeah,” Finn rasped. “I mean, no—I mean, he’s here somewhere.”

“Can you find Lo and then somewhere quiet for a second?”

“What the fuck is wrong? I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Harz, I think—I think it’s just tough on you being back at that house. I was thinking it might be, actually.”

“The house,” Finn repeated.

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Finn, I really want you to find Logan, okay? Logan can help you better than I can right now. Especially now. Okay, sweetheart?”

“Sorry, Knutty, you’re—” Finn dug his fingers into his eyes. “You’re with your family—”

“No, no, no,” Leo said. “I love you. Love you so much. Call me always, okay?”

“Okay,” Finn said. “I’m—”

“Harzy?”

Finn looked up. Logan was standing there, green eyes bright from the street lamps outside.

“Finn, ça va?”

“Lo’s here now,” Finn said into the phone. “Bye, Nut. Love you. Call you later.”

“Love you,” Leo said, and then hung up.

“It was Nut,” Finn said. He swallowed over his dry throat and shoved his phone back into his shorts. He pointed to Logan’s drink. “Can I have some of that?”

Logan glanced behind them, but the hallway was empty. He walked forward and handed Finn the plastic cup, hand between his shoulder blades.

“Harz…” Logan’s voice shifted into concern. “You’re burning up, what’s—”

Finn took a long swallow. It was all too sweet. “I’m just—it’s hot. I’m really thirsty.”

“Let me get you water,” Logan said. “Stay here, don’t move.”

Finn barely had time to set the cup down before Logan was back, cracking open a bottle of water for him. It was slick with condensation, and Logan held it to his lips when it nearly slipped out of Finn’s hand.

“Your heart’s pounding,” Logan said, hand still between Finn’s shoulder blades.

“I don’t know,” Finn said, and finished half of the bottle in one go. Logan’s thumb caught a drop from the corner of his mouth.

“What can I do?”

Finn let his head thunk back against the wall. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “Okay…”

“I’m…” Finn began. He was sorry, he knew he was freaking Logan out. He could see it on his face.

Logan shook his head a little, but was quiet. He moved his palm from Finn’s back to Finn’s neck. It was cool from the water bottle and Finn rolled into it. He looked at Logan, and then reached forward and took the Harvard hat from his head. It made his hair fall forward, dusting gently near his eyes. It eased Finn’s heart.

“I need to breathe,” Finn said, and Logan seemed to know what he meant.

They were suppose to go to the roof. Finn needed air, he needed to not be in this stuffy house anymore, as seeped in hard memories as the carpet probably was in alcohol. But they both paused at the top of the stairs. The door to Logan’s old room was ajar, the one he’d had as a Junior. The year Finn had left.

“I asked about it,” Logan said hoarsely into the silence. “What’s-his-face said the guy living here’s abroad this semester.”

Finn could only nod.

The music from downstairs seemed far away as they walk inside. The bed was in the same place. The dresser, everything. There was the same metal trash bin. The whiteboard above the desk had never even been erased. It still had some guy’s schedule across it. Finn remembered the flight scheduled for Thanksgiving that he always chirped Logan for never erasing.

Finn turned away and only barely quieted the first breath of tears. They surprised him as much as a trip and a fall would.

“Finn,” Logan’s voice came out pained. “Finn…”

“Sorry,” his breaths were hitching too fast for his words. “It’s just a lot—like, looking,” he gestured vaguely to the bed where he’d held Logan for what had been the last time for a long time. A long time. “Looking at it all. Fuck, sorry.” Finn pressed his hand over his eyes, his other arm going around his stomach.

Logan was there in a moment, though, pulling his hands away from him, like tearing a wall down, and he held Finn tightly, pressed up on his toes to wrap his arms around him. Finn clutched him, crying into his neck.

“Lo.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan was crying, too. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“You don’t have to,” Finn began, but he really couldn’t speak. He could feel himself shaking only because Logan was so steady in that moment.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Yes, I do.” Logan pulled back, hands slipping to Finn’s neck and jaw. “I knew you were hurting. And you were hurting more than I was because you were okay with what you wanted. I wasn’t. I—on the phone, after you got to Gryffindor, you were crying.”

Finn shook his head, not to say no, or stop, but just against the onslaught of memories. They ached.

Logan wiped his eyes on his sleeve and then his hands were gentle on Finn again, wiping his wet cheeks. “I knew you were, and I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s—”

“It’s not okay,” Logan said fiercely, then pressed forward and kissed Finn quickly. “It’s not okay. You never stopped being my best friend. Not for a second, and I should have been there, even if it was only as that. We should have talked. Like you wanted to. And I’m—” Logan’s voice broke. “Finn…”

~

Finn’s contact photo was one that Logan had taken of him secretly. In it, Finn was reading, slouched in a library chair across the table from him, his glasses on and his hair messy from a long bus ride, coming home from an away game. Logan had acted like he was on his phone, and snapped the picture, blushing despite himself.

Logan loved that picture.

Now, he could barely look at it.

It popped up, along with Finn’s name.

Call me when you get there. Logan wished he’d never said that. He took his headphones off and pushed his laptop screen down. And stared at his phone. It rang again, and again, and then Logan jolted and picked it up.

He opened his mouth to say something and froze again, breathing through his heartbeats. Maybe it wasn’t Finn, maybe he just wished it was and some robot spam voice was going to—

“Lo?”

Finn.

“Hello?” Logan managed, which was stupid, as if he didn’t know who it was. That was not how he answered Finn’s phone calls, ever.

“Hey, Lo,” Finn’s voice sounded soft, and so tired. “I’m at the hotel. In Gryffindor.”

“You made it.”

There was another handful of painful seconds, then, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Logan breathed. “Yeah, good. Good.”

“Meeting some of the guys tomorrow.”

Logan nodded, eyes staring. “They’ll—love you.” The words choked him.

Finn didn’t respond for a long time, but Logan knew he was still there by his breathing. It was…it was like—

“Yeah,” Finn said, finally, and his voice was raspy, barely there. There was a sharp sound of breath.

Finn was crying.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Finn said again, and it was muffled, like he had a hand over his mouth.

Logan had a sudden, horrible image of Finn sitting in a hotel room, all alone, hunched over at the end of a cold bed, cheeks flushed beneath his freckles from tears, hand locked over his mouth so Logan wouldn’t hear.

Logan threw his hat off and pushed his hair off his forehead. He felt too warm. He needed to respond. They were just sitting there, on two ends of an invisible line.

“Tremz—” Finn started, and then there was another rush of breath through the speaker, like Finn couldn’t finish the sentence.

And Logan was still stuck, listening. He couldn’t listen to Finn cry. He couldn’t do it.

“Tell me what Black is like,” Logan said. “Call me later, if you want—” Logan clamped his mouth shut, briefly closing his eyes. “I—I’m really proud of you. You know that, though.”

Finn was really, really quiet then, like he’d pull the phone away entirely. Logan put a palm over his eyes. His head hurt. His chest hurt.

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Okay.”

“Bye, Harzy.”

There was an exhale that maybe had a goodbye in it somewhere, and then the line went dead.

Logan lowered his phone from his ear and stared at the screen. The call had lasted all of five minutes.

He clicked it off, closed his computer, and curled into his bed. He fell asleep, finally, with the lights still on.

~

Logan was stroking his hand through the back of Finn’s hair gently. Finn’s breathing had calmed, but he didn’t hold Logan any less tight, bent to tuck his face against Logan’s neck.

“I love you,” Logan whispered. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

Finn whispered it back.

“I’m sorry I pretended. I was scared.”

“I know. I was scared, too,” Finn replied.

He straightened, then, and looked at Logan. His head hurt a little, but he felt clearer. Logan looked ready to pull him back in again, and Finn would have let him—if they were really alone.

“Come to me tonight, okay?” Finn said. His nose was a little stuffed up from crying. “At the hotel. After we’re alone, and we’ll call Peanut, and just—sleep next to me.”

Logan nodded. As if he could do anything else.

“What do you want to do now?” Logan asked.

Finn sniffed, wiped his red eyes, but smiled. “Let’s go downstairs. We have the Cup, and…despite it all, this is where I found one of the loves of my life.”

Logan smiled and let Finn kiss him slowly.

“Let’s go enjoy this.”

“Finn,” Logan said before they left the room. “Tell me if you want to talk about it. Ever. Tonight. I will, I’ll talk about it with you. I don’t want you to feel what you just felt downstairs.”

Finn turned back around and took Logan’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly. “I don’t think that was about you. I think that was about me. You hurt me, and I hurt you,” Finn softened the words with another kiss. “But now we’re what helps each other. Yeah? Some people aren’t that lucky.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah.”

~

Logan knocked on Finn’s door about ten minutes after they had arrived at the hotel. It opened to reveal Finn wearing a gray Gryffindor t-shirt and sweatpants. Logan stood in the doorframe for a minute, socked-toes digging into the hotel carpet.

Finn stepped aside, closed the door once Logan had stepped in, and Logan tucked his fingers up and under Finn’s shirt, resting his cheek against his chest.

“Oh,” Finn laughed a little. “Hi.”

“They have video games on this TV.”

Finn scratched Logan’s scalp lightly, his other hand resting on his hip. “I’d own you, but you’re tired.”

“Non.”

Finn chuckled. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“You smell good.”

“Me?”

Logan nodded. “Like you.”

Finn rested his cheek in Logan’s hair. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” Logan said. “Let’s call Nut.”

When Leo answered the phone, he was somewhere noisy, but he smiled when he saw the two of them sprawled out.

“Hey, baby,” Finn said. “Partying it up?”

Leo looked between the two of them knowingly and smiled. “I’m glad you two talked.”

Finn laughed. “How’d you know?”

“Logan’s got that look. It’s basically his I-just-scored-a-goal look, but it goes for this, too.”

Logan rested his head on Finn’s shoulder. “How are you?”

Leo looked around. “Good. Just at a family get-together. Eating, celebrating,” he tilted his head in the way Logan loved. “Missing my lover boys. Especially now that I’ve seen you. How are you?”

“Our party was…intense,” Finn wrapped an arm around Logan and kissed his temple. “We’re glad to be chilling, I think.”

Logan nodded, palm over Finn’s heart. “We miss you.”

“We really miss you.”

Leo pushed a hand through his hair. “Well, text me, okay? After you’ve,” Leo snorted. “consummated the hard talk.”

Logan laughed loudly, jostling Finn. He couldn’t deny that Leo was right. Logan needed that closeness right now. And by the way Finn held him closer at the words, he thought Finn did, too.

“Not during,” Leo said. “As much as I want it, I’m surrounded by cousins and shit right now.”

“If you’re sure,” Finn grinned.

Leo opened his mouth to respond, when the camera was yanked away from them to reveal a smiling Eloise Knut.

“Hi, boys! Oh, aren’t you two cozy.”

“Hi, Eloise,” Logan smiled. “Ça va?”

“Honeys, we’re so excited to have you coming to stay with us. Leo’s glaring at me for the phone.”

Finn laughed. “We’re excited, too.”

The screen was pulled back to Leo. He was closer now, and half-whispering a rush of words. “Okay, I love you, text me, feel free to send me pictures later, I’ll be all alone in my room.”

Finn touched his fingers to the phone camera, as if to touch Leo. “Love you, Butter.”

“Can’t wait to see you,” Logan leaned in close to the camera. “You look tan already. Fuck.”

Leo grinned, dropped a devastating wink, and hung up.

Finn set his phone down on the bedside table and looked at Logan. They were both quiet for a minute. The overhead light buzzed a little, but other than that, it was just them.

“Should we be cheesy and order champagne?” Finn asked softly, smile teasing.

Logan shook his head. “I don’t want to see anyone but you all night.”

Finn sighed, a sated huff of breath. “Lo.”

Logan reached up to brush his fingers along Finn’s jaw. “Viens ici.”

Finn didn’t seem to need a translation. He came, leaning forward slowly to brush their lips together. He stopped with a gentle laugh.

“Quoi?” Logan said, tilting his chin forward to press his mouth against Finn’s cheek.

“Why does it feel like I’m kissing you for the first time?” Finn murmured.

Logan looked at him, pulling back only enough to do it. Finn’s eyes were still closed, dark eyelashes ending it a lighter, reddish blond color. He opened them then, looking back at Logan. Logan pushed Finn’s hair away from his eyes, a little long with the flurry of the playoffs, and smiled.

“It sort of does, yeah. Better than our actual first kiss.”

“No, I love our first kiss,” Finn eased Logan back into the pillows and crawled over him. “Knocked my fucking socks off.”

“I saw you with that girl,” Logan said, pushing his hands under Finn’s t-shirt. “I don’t know, I just…I couldn’t let you go. We had just pulled that all nighter, remember?”

“I thought about that today,” Finn said. “When I was…freaking out, I don’t know. And of course I remember,” Finn bent to press a kiss to Logan’s neck. Logan’s eyes slipped closed at the feeling.

“We made coffee at, like, three in the morning,” Logan whispered, holding Finn closer. His skin was warm, his mouth familiar. “We were in the kitchen.”

“I said you put too much sugar in your coffee,” Finn moved to the other side of Logan’s neck, kisses wet and loving.

Logan smiled at the memory, brows drawn together as he felt Finn’s teeth against his skin. “And I said,” Logan pushed Finn’s shirt up further, his other hand going to his thick red hair.

Finn laughed into his skin. “You said, I’m sweet, Harzy.” Finn drew back, then, eyes bright. “And I said, yeah, you are.”

“And you were standing right here,” Logan said, and tightened his thighs around Finn’s hips.

Finn dropped back to a whisper again. “And I swear to God, I almost kissed you.”

“I wanted you to.”

“I wanted you to want me to.”

“And then I went and left you in that room at the party.”

“You don’t get to fault yourself for those things,” Finn said. “Okay, baby, listen to me.”

Logan let Finn pull him into a sitting position, let him pull him into his lap. Finn lifted Logan’s shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the room, and then picked up his fleur-de-lis pendant and kissed it, then kissed where it rested on Logan’s chest.

“Fucking girls touching this thing all night,” Finn grumbled, and Logan watched him kiss it a few more times with a smile before looking up.

“I love you. I love you and it’s okay now. It’ll take time, but it is okay,” Finn smiled when Logan kissed the words in his mouth. “I love you so fucking much, it’s insane.”

Logan kissed Finn’s lower lip gently and let it bounce back into place. “I’m never going to leave you like that.”

“I forgive you,” Finn whispered. “Can you forgive me?”

Logan paused. “What do I have to forgive you for?”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Takes two to tango.”

Logan shifted. “Finn…”

“We went through it. Let me love you instead of us punishing ourselves for being, you know. Scared.”

Logan tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Finn’s neck. “You’re so smart,” Logan said. He watched as Finn played with the necklace again, letting it rest against his palm. “I wish people who think they know you knew that.”

Finn let the pendant go and finally kissed him. Logan felt the silver fall against his chest. He tightened his grip around Finn’s neck as Finn eased him back into the pillows, mouth all heat and insistence.

“This could be our first kiss that we’ve forgiven ourselves for,” Finn said.

Logan kissed Finn again. “Yes.”

“You get quiet when you know I’m right.”

“You get loud.”

Finn laughed into their next kiss, and Logan did, too, and Logan liked that the best.

“Love you,” Finn said softly. His eyes were happy, and if Logan was still worried about him from earlier, it was gone with that look. He could feel Finn’s cock through their sweatpants, could feel his heart when he pressed his lips to his neck.

Logan stroked his hands down Finn’s broad back. He grabbed the hem of Finn’s shirt and pushed it up until Finn himself had to sit up, tugging it over his head. He was pale, and a little burnt at his neck and biceps from parading the Cup around New York in the summer. Logan had to sit up and kiss the pink skin.

“I got burnt,” Finn said.

“No kidding,” Logan huffed out a laugh, but he kept his kisses tender. “Is this what love is? I find it cute that you got sunburned?”

“Yep,” Finn smiled. “It’s also wanting to get fucked by your sunburned lover.”

“Well, yeah,” Logan tilted his head up, arms around Finn’s hips. “I thought that was obvious.”

Finn laughed and rocked back onto the bed so he could get his pants off, but Logan beat him to it, lunging forward and bracketing him in with his arms.

“Oh, hi,” Finn said. “You wanna do it for me?”

“Yes,” Logan said, and bent to press his lips to Finn’s chest. He kissed down the center, then over to one hip, and then the other. He rubbed Finn through his sweatpants, heart quickening at the glimpses of the trail of red hair he got, leading down to his hard cock. He rubbed the heel of his palm along Finn, the material of his sweatpants dragging taut. Finn let out a breath, head falling back on the mattress for a moment before he reached to tangle a hand in Logan’s hair.

“I used to think about you all the time when I got off,” Logan said, and pulled Finn’s sweatpants down just enough to mouth right above his cock. “Even when you were just across the room in your bed.”

Finn smiled, then pulled a lip between his teeth. “I’m pretty sure we heard each other more than a few times.” 

Logan remembered it well. The soft shifting of sheets in the dark, Finn’s short pants of breath, and himself plumping up in response. Hearing Finn like that had been as much frustrating as it had been a relief. Logan remembered pressing his cheek into his pillow, trying to keep himself silent when he could tell the exact moment Finn was about to come, and the moment when he did. It was like being able to tell when Finn was going to pass to him, or score. There was the sharp intake of breath, his hand froze, and then he would make a single, soft noise, and pick up his pace again. One night, when the moon had been bright and Logan had been facing the right direction, he’d been able to watch Finn’s chest heave with it, pale in the milky light.

He didn’t have to be quiet now, and he could look all he wanted.

Logan pulled Finn’s sweatpants down and wrapped a hand around his cock. He looked up at him as he wrapped his lips around the head and then closed his eyes. A moment later, he felt Finn suck in a breath, felt his thumb brush over the delicate skin under his eye.

“You’re gorgeous, you know?” Finn said softly. “Oh—”

Logan sunk down further, hollowing his cheeks and relishing on the heat that spilled on his tongue. He got his knees under him more, cock throbbing with each brush of his own thigh, so he could raise to suck just the head into his mouth, then lower, just for a moment, until his lips brushed Finn’s balls. He pulled back and off for air and smiled a little, cheeks flushed. Finn had his head tilted back, his mouth open, panting with the brush of Logan’s throat.

“You’re so good,” Logan said, and sucked Finn down again. Finn moaned, hips pushing into Logan’s mouth. Logan sputtered a little but hooked his arms under Finn’s hips when he went to pull back and kept him there, bobbing his head faster.

“Logan,” Finn’s voice was tight, his name ending with a loud punch of breath. “Lo, baby, oh god.”

Logan pulled off with a gasp and leaned down to lick at Finn’s balls, taking one into his mouth, then the other. His cock was making a mess inside his own sweatpants as he took Finn down again. He was a warm, solid weight on his tongue, and Logan wanted him inside. Logan sucked hard once more, then looked up at Finn.

“Fuck me,” Logan said. “Harzy.”

  Finn’s arms looked a little shaky as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and when Logan laughed, Finn slapped his chest before pushing him onto his back.

“I love you,” Finn said, and hovered above him. He was on his forearms so that his hands could stroke through Logan’s hair, and his kisses were open-mouthed and sloppy. “Oh, I love you.”

Finn was dripping on Logan’s thighs, darkening the material of is sweatpants.

Logan reached blindly in the direction of the bedside table. “Lube.”

“Let me get it, I’ll get it,” Finn was breathless, pink from his cheeks to his neck.

Logan let Finn roll away, and brought his ankles up to kick off his sweatpants. On the way back down, Finn was back and he caught Logan’s ankles, grinning as he pulled them to rest on his shoulders.

“This is new,” he said.

Logan laughed. “Kinda hot, too.”

Finn tilted his head to kiss along one of Logan’s calves. He bit lightly at the muscle on the inside of his knee.

“Didn’t know I had a thing for jocks, but…” Finn ran his palm over the swell of Logan’s ass appreciatively. “Between Leo and you…okay, then.”

“Hm,” Logan hummed, pressing his calves down on Finn’s shoulders to lift his ass up towards him. His cock was a dark, neglected red against his stomach. “You look so good, c’mon.”

“Keep telling me I’m good and I might just come.”

“Non, don’t.”

Finn pushed his hips forward so that the wet tip of his dick dragged messily against Logan’s entrance. “Non?”

Logan’s eyes slipped closed and his grin felt a little drunk. “Harz.”

Finn smiled, kissed the inside of Logan’s ankle, then wrapped his arms around Logan’s legs to keep them there while he clicked open the lube. “Okay, here we go.”

Logan settled back into the pillows. “I used to pretend it was you when I did this to myself.”

Finn’s fingers worked slowly and Logan bit his lip.

“When?” Finn’s voice came softly.

“Shower,” Logan said. “Sometimes—sometimes at night. With you right there. My stupider decisions.”

“I knew it,” Finn said, and twisted his fingers just so, making them both smile when Logan let out a low moan.

“Accidentally said your name once.”

Finn’s gaze snapped to his, his fingers stilling. Logan could remember it almost perfectly. The blood-chilling dread that had followed after he’d let the word slip into their small room. Finn.

“Did you,” Logan curled his fingers over Finn’s thighs, voice dropping. “Did you hear me?”

Finn’s nod was slow, and his voice even softer. “Yeah.”

And then Finn was leaning forward, Logan’s legs falling against his sides so that they could press together.

“Say my name now,” Finn whispered.

Logan’s breath hitched as he felt the head of Finn’s cock at his entrance. “Finn.”

“Say it again,” Finn’s mouth dragged up his neck, and Logan still didn’t know what it was about that. It made him crazy.

Logan clutched at him. “Finn.”

Finn pressed inside him slowly, and Logan didn’t need him to ask again.

“Finn,” Logan’s voice rose, and then broke over his name as Finn drew back and then into him again, and again. 

“This is what I pictured when I heard you,” Finn murmured, shoving their hips together in slow, long rocks. “God, Logan.”

Logan wound his legs and arms around him. His palms slipped on Finn’s slick back. Finn smelled like sweat and himself. Logan had fallen asleep to that scent on bus rides when he couldn’t touch him, he scored goals to that scent when Finn, soaked with sweat and adrenaline, would crash him into the boards. Logan heard himself make some sort of broken sound, because Finn was going to be all over him after this, inside of him.

“I love you, Lo,” Finn said, arms around Logan’s back and shoulders, his knees against his hips. Finn fucked like he never needed to stop, like they were wound together so tightly they’d never separate.

“I love—” Logan’s back arched up against Finn on its own when Finn jammed his prostate. “Ah—”

His cock ached with every brush of Finn’s chest against his own, until Finn finally reached between them and wrapped a hand around him. Logan’s breathing hitched and his eyes felt suddenly wet.

“I love you.”

Finn forgave him. Finn forgave him.

Logan held on tighter, finding Finn’s mouth with his own, and said it again. “I love you.”

Logan came between them suddenly. Finn licked into his slack mouth, but Logan pressed him closer when he stilled, moving to pull out.

“Non, stay,” Logan panted, voice pitching up at the end of his word, then giving out as his orgasm shook through him. “Stay.”

Finn stayed, smiling. “You’re never one-and-done, are you?”

Logan’s smile felt delirious. “Good thing I have two of you—fuck, do that again.”

Logan’s fingers tangling into Finn’s sweaty hair, and they kissed as Finn rocked into Logan gently.

“Think about when we’re all together again,” Finn whispered.

“Stay,” Logan said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Stay.”

“Shh, baby,” Finn whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. His movements were gentle, and small enough so they were never apart. “I’m here.”

Logan’s cock dripped steadily between them as Finn brushed his prostate over and over, and Logan felt wound tight and boneless, all at once.

“Oh, Lo,” Finn groaned, and flexed his hips into Logan harder.

Logan kissed Finn’s neck, teeth scraping into his skin. Logan felt surrounded by him.

“I’m coming,” he found himself saying, because it felt like he still was. Finn’s cock was rubbing up consistently against his walls, and his own cock was red in the tacky pool of come on his stomach. Logan could hear himself panting for breath. His muscles still felt tight, his toes curled against Finn’s calves. He groaned, head falling back against the pillows instead, pushing himself up against Finn’s cock, heavy inside of him.

“Logan,” Finn’s voice was shaky. “Lo, I’m gonna—” he said, and then wet heat filled Logan up. Finn fucked in one more time and stayed there, forehead pressed to Logan’s.

The heat that tore through him made him dig his nails into Finn’s back. Finn was making soft noises as his cock pulsed, and Logan could feel some drip down between his thighs.

Finn was stroking his hair back from his forehead, sweaty and hot, and kissing his jaw. Logan tucked himself against Finn. He was too big, too broad, really, but Finn covered him up with his body, kissing him and all but melting them together. Finn pressed in one last time with a low sound, and then fell against Logan’s chest. They breathed hard against each other in the aftershock, kissing slowly, languidly.

Finn pulled out when he was too sensitive, and Logan rolled them over, thigh thrown over Finn’s hips to kiss him some more. He kissed Finn’s cheeks, and his neck, and every part of skin he could reach without having to pull away. He left marks, smudges that said he had been there—even if no one else would know. He would know. He would be proud, and he would be happy.

Finn, unusually, melted back against the sheets and let Logan do as he wanted. He lay back when Logan told him to. When Logan went to the bathroom and cleaned them up. When Logan came back, pulling the covers over them and laying on his back, it was Finn’s head against his chest and Logan’s hand stroking through his hair.

“Today,” Finn began, and then hesitated. “Today freaked me out.”

“I know, I could tell,” Logan said. “You’re allowed to be freaked out. You’ve watched me and Leo both freak out and been there for us. Let us be there for you. What can I do?”

Finn’s fingers were fidgeting with Logan’s necklace. “I think I’ll be okay. I just didn’t know that would happen.” Finn raised his chin to look up at him. “We’ve come a long way from hard nights,” he smiled. “Not to say there won’t be more but…”

Logan cupped his cheek. “We can talk to each other. We can say that we love each other.”

Finn smiled, just a little. “Says the boy who hates talking.”

Logan smiled, too, leaning in to brush their lips together. “Yeah, but I love hearing you talk. And read. And moan my name—”

Finn tilted his chin up to kiss some more before pulling Logan more firmly against him.

“We get to see Nutter tomorrow.”

Logan hummed. “Think he just walks around naked because it’s so hot?”

Finn snorted. “Probably not. It’s a nice thought though.”

“Thinks he has a million bookshelves?” Logan smiled at the thought, of Leo curled up in his childhood room, of Leo showing them everything he had ever loved before he loved them.

“Oh, definitely.”

“Yeah. What did he say when you called him?”

“Told me to find you,” Finn raised his head. “Listen, I didn’t call Leo because I didn’t think you could help. I just…I need him just as much as I need you.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Logan hushed him. “I’m the same. And also I’m…I don’t know how to say it other than, I was part of the problem.” He kissed Finn softly. “I know.”

“Okay,” Finn said, and pressed back against Logan, nose against his neck. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Logan just held him tighter. “I won’t.”

~

They were both groggy from the plane. Logan had his headphones around his neck and his hat shoved into the elastic side pocket of his backpack.

“I can feel the humidity already,” Logan said. “Where’s Nut?”

Finn took out his phone. “He can’t exactly get through security. Arrivals, probably. I texted him that we landed. He didn’t—oh, he said he’s walking from parking now.”

Logan jumped once, keeping in pace with Finn. “I want him. How long do you think we’re going to be surrounded by family? Not that I don’t love them but fuck.”

“Stop it, you’re getting me going.”

Logan sent him a sleepy smile as they followed the signs to arrivals.

And there Leo was, standing in a t-shirt and shorts with a backwards hat on—not Lions colored, as if that would help him not get recognized if someone knew what they were looking for. His sunglasses were folded into his shirt and he was searching the crowd in his careful way.

“Oh, fuck me,” Logan heard Finn breathe.

Logan gave Finn a small shove. “C’mon, let’s see how close we can get before he sees us.”

Not very close. A second later, Leo was grinning at them. They walked forward quickly and stopped right in front of him. Logan’s heart was pounding.

“Hi,” Leo sounded breathless.

Their hugs weren’t what they would have been away from prying eyes, but Finn clutched Leo as hard as he could, whispering in his ear.

“We missed you so much. So fucking much.”

Logan watched them for a moment and then Leo was turning to him.

“Hi, Tremz.”

Logan wanted to kiss him, wanted to curl his fingers under his shirt to the small of his back where he was always warmest. Instead, he let Leo pull him in for a quick hug.

“Flight was okay?” Leo asked, and took their suitcases from them. When they looked at him, he laughed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Logan said softly, and he and Finn shared a look as they watched Leo lead the way outside. They loved him.

Logan froze after they stepped out of the airport. He held his hands up, as if testing for rain.

“Are—” he began, then looked up. “Are we under a heater?”

Leo laughed. “No. That’s NOLA for you.”

“Oh god,” Logan said faintly.

Finn, however, walked right into the sunshine and tilted his head up. “I will never be cold again.”

“You’ll get sunburned, though,” Logan grumbled.

“Aw, Harz,” Leo said, then more softly, “Love you. C’mon, boys, car’s this way.”

Leo lead the way towards the parking lot, and walked ahead a little when he got out his keys and his car lit up.

Logan felt his steps slow, and Finn’s beside him.

“Leo—Leo drives a Jeep,” Finn said softly to Logan.

“Leo drives a Jeep,” Logan repeated.

“I’m…”

“Yeah.”

The top was open to the air, windows down. Leo swung the suitcases into the trunk, and Logan watched his muscles move beneath his shirt.

“I want…” he grumbled and Finn laughed, squeezing the back of his neck.

The moment they were in the car, Leo in the driver’s seat with Finn beside him, Logan leaned forward from the back and wrapped his arms around Leo the best he could, burying his nose into the place where his curls fanned out around his ears. Logan hummed, pressing kiss after kiss there.

“Tremz, you’re killing me here,” Leo laughed, then turned his face, shaded by the car and some thick trees, and let Logan kiss him. The angle was awkward, and Logan knew he was using way too much tongue, but Leo melted back into his seat for it. Finn reached forward to put a hand on his neck.

“You are tan,” Finn said. “How do you do that?”

Logan had a sudden urge to see where the sun hadn’t reached.

“Okay, okay,” Leo laughed between kisses. “Let me get us out of here.”

Logan just dipped his head down a little farther and nipped at Leo’s neck, just over Finn’s fingers.

“Tremz,” Leo said, leaning into it.

“D’accord,” Logan said, and sat back. “That’ll be okay for now.”

“Well, don’t I get a snack before dinner, too?” Finn said, and then pulled Leo in and kissed him—albeit more gently than Logan had.

“Hi, Butter,” he smiled.

“My name is just slowly devolving into food products,” Leo smiled. “Hi.”

Leo unfolded his sunglasses and slid them on, pushing the button to start the car. “Ready?”

“So fucking ready,” Finn said, and put his sunglasses on, too.

Logan tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the overwhelming heat sink in. “Allez.”

Leo’s house was bright and large, all creams and whites. There were thick, white columns, and the entire front was framed by two turreted, oriel windows. There was a gate, and then oak trees, cypresses and small white flowers that cascaded over the porches and steps.

“Well Jesus,” Finn said, standing up a little in his seat. “Not what I was expecting.”

Leo glanced up at him as he pulled through the round about. “No?”

“I mean…” Finn laughed. “I don’t know.”

“C’est très beau,” Logan said, pushing himself up using the back of Leo’s seat. “Fuck me, it’s hot.”

Leo turned the car off. “Let’s get out of the sun. I’m sure my mom—”

“There they are!”

They looked up to one of the great, wooden doors opening. Eloise and Wyatt stepped out, Wyatt more calmly than his wife. Eloise was waving to them with both arms.

“Yep,” Leo laughed. “C’mon.”

“Oh, Finn,” Eloise said when they climbed the porch steps and into the shade of the overhang. “You won’t last a second in this sun, honey, let’s get you inside.”

Finn smiled. “Yeah, sunscreen is big in my family.”

“Logan,” Eloise smiled and hugged him, too. “I’ve got some iced tea and lunch all ready.”

Logan stared up at the entrance hall, all high ceilings and clean tiles and dark wood. There were shawls hanging on hooks by the door, mingled with leaning hockey sticks. Logan recognized Leo’s favorite Nikes. He was suddenly very aware that Leo lived here. It was sort of like getting used to coming home to him everyday. But this was Leo’s, and it had been Leo’s for years and years. Logan wanted to walk through every room and look for little signs of him.

“We have the dining room, sure,” Wyatt smiled, gesturing to it. “But, I don’t know, we always liked the kitchen better it being just the three of us and all. Come on through, boys.”

“We’ll eat, and then you can take showers or a nap or whatever you want,” Eloise said.

Oh, yeah, Logan thought. Whatever we want.

“This looks amazing,” Logan said as they walked into the kitchen.

The table was half surrounded by chairs, and half by a curved window seat in one of the oriel windows. The table itself was laden with pressed, pork paninis, along with what looked like creamy side dishes, and vegetable salads.

“Thank you, Tremzy,” Eloise’s smile was wide. “You all sit down, me and Wyatt’ll get the silverware and the pie.”

It was cool inside and Logan let out a breath when he scooted into the window seat after Finn had, and then Leo. He watched them smiling at each other as Leo put two sandwiches on Finn’s plate and poured him some tea. It made Logan smile, too. He was about to reach for the sandwiches when Leo turned to him.

“You want two, too?” Leo said softly. His accent sounded stronger, maybe from being around family.

Logan nodded, feeling helpless and in love. “Yeah, sure.”

“You want tea?”

“Ouais.”

“You two okay? You’re all quiet.”

Logan looked at Finn, who laughed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better in my life,” Finn said.

“Well—good,” Leo said.

Logan glanced at where Leo’s parents were coming back over.

“We’ll tell you later.”

The food was delicious, but what Finn really loved was how, when they were done, Leo helped bring all of the plates over and then began silently sort of trying to wave them out of their seats and towards the main staircase.

“Alright, well, see you boys, then,” Wyatt laughed. “Leo, I don’t want you to have the boat out too late, so keep that in mind.”

Eloise smiled. “Oh, they have time. It’s a big house, don’t worry about anything.”

“Mama,” Leo said. “And dad, you just ruined the surprise!”

Wyatt whistled. “Oh, damn, sorry…”

“We’ll be over at the Bailey’s next door for drinks, okay? See you boys when you get back,” Eloise said.

Leo groaned and took one of both their hands, pulling them towards the stairs. “Okay, okay, we’re going now.”

Finn sent Eloise a last grin, which probably didn’t thwart her ideas at all, and let Leo pull him away.

They climbed the stairs too close together, their feet barely missing each other.

“This house is so cool,” Logan said. “I see why you miss it. It feels like home.”

“Yeah,” Finn said, eyeing the bookshelves that lined the hallway they were going down, caught in dusty light between windows. “I like it here.”

And they were finally alone.

Finn used Leo’s hand to pull him into his chest, and kissed him hard. Leo sighed into it, and Finn felt Logan at their sides a moment later.

“Leo,” Logan urged, and then Finn was watching them kiss. It was like breathing.

“Missed you two,” Leo panted when Logan finally let him go. “Jesus.”

They stood there between the sun streaks coming through the window, swaying a little together.

“Lo, do you want to take your shower?”

Logan raised his head from Leo’s chest and looked up at him. “What?”

Leo nodded his head in what Finn assumed was the direction of the nearest bathroom. “You take showers after you go on planes.”

Logan’s expression went soft.

“You can,” Leo said. “But then we’re going out.”

Logan’s eyebrows drew together. “Out?”

“Yeah,” Leo’s smile was slow and he began tugging them down the hall. “I wanna show you guys stuff. Take you out to dinner.”

“But I haven’t seen you in…” Logan asked. “And I need to go out into public right away?”

“Not that we won’t have time for that,” Leo stopped in front of a door. “But that can happen at dinner. You think I’m not dying, too?”

“At dinner,” Finn repeated, then looked at Logan. “He says we can have sex at dinner, Leo, how the hell can we have sex at dinner, where are you taking us?”

Leo grinned and sat up. “You’ll see. Lo?”

“I don’t want to shower, I want to have sex at dinner apparently,” Logan said, then pulled Leo closer. “I just want to be with you.”

Leo toured them all around, drove them through wide and narrow streets, watched as Logan purchased some sort of rum-filled, sugary drink that Logan forced Finn to take a sip of. There were beads hanging from trees, colorful and glinting in the sunlight.

The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, the heat receding a little, when they pulled up to the docks.

It made Leo golden as he pulled two coolers from the trunk, and then walked them down the boards. Logan couldn’t look away.

“Here she is,” Leo grinned, and gestured towards a small motorboat, glossy white with wake-boards hooked to the top, and leather seats. “Our restaurant for the night.”

“Oh,” Finn said. “I see.”

“Sex on a boat,” Logan nodded.

“Dinner on a boat,” Leo said.

Logan walked forward and wrapped his arms around him. “You on a boat.”

Leo smiled before climbing carefully aboard and setting the coolers down by the steering wheel. “C’mon.”

Finn gave Logan a little shove as he was climbing into the boat, but laughed when Logan flinched, holding tightly onto his shoulders.

“Mais, non!” Logan laughed as they jostled each other onto the slightly more solid ground. He shoved him back once they were on firm footing. “Harz.”

Finn laughed and fell back onto one of the leather seats, warmed by the sun. “Now I see, we’ll be in the surrounded by water. If some type of water police catches us, is that bad?”

“Water police?” Leo laughed. He sent Logan a soft smile when Logan began helping him untie the ropes and bring the buoys in.

Finn grinned. “Well, now you’re both going on sailor on me. Untying rope.”

Leo snorted and threw a loop of his rope over Finn’s head, pulling until it pulled Finn’s neck forward lightly.

“Sailor, huh?”

Finn smiled lazily up at him. “Yeah.”

Logan wished they were out on the water already, so he could kiss Leo like he wanted to, but instead he settled for helping him push the boat away from the docks while Leo started the engine. He’d flipped his sunglasses down over his eyes, and Logan followed.

“You’ve been on a boat before, Tremz,” Leo said when Logan came to stand beside him at the wheel. Leo was perched on the top of the chair, long legs stretching down to the ground. He looked relaxed and happy.

“Yeah, at home. My friend had one growing up. We’d go out on the lake in the summer. Fish sometimes, or swim.”

They were pulling away from the land, and every second made Logan happier. The wind picked up with the engine until they were flying. Finn shouted over the roar and Logan looked back, squinting in the sun as he tried to smile for the phone Finn was holding up. He probably looked stupid, but he didn’t care. Because now the docks were small, the shore was far away, and he could push against Leo’s side. The wind was cool, and Leo’s chest through his t-shirt was sun-warmed. Logan pressed his nose against him. He smelled like the sun, too. Leo kissed his forehead, one hand on the wheel, and one around Logan’s back. Logan hoped Finn was taking a picture of this, too. Logan had never really hoped for pictures before.

“Love you,” Leo said, voice close to his ear to be heard.

Logan tilted his head against Leo’s chest and reached out to trace the muscles in his forearm that flexed as he steered the boat.

“Love you, too,” Logan replied.

Leo smiled and drew the speed down until the motor was a steady bubble, and the heat warmed the goosebumps on Logan’s arms from the wind.

“This is nice,” Finn sighed and Logan looked back to see him sprawled over a flat, padded area at the back of the boat, eyes closed.

There was some type of board walk in the distance, but mostly they were shaded by a ring of gnarled looking trees that made a U-shaped little cove. Leo dropped anchor, and they had it all to themselves. The sun was lower but still hot, and Leo pulled out a canopy from somewhere among the equipment above, pinning to the sides of the boat so that it stretched like a tent above them. It offered shade. Seclusion.

“Pre-dinner swim, what do you think?” Leo asked before stripping off his shirt.

“What?” Finn sat up. “I didn’t wear—”

The words died in his mouth, though, when Leo, practically smirking, undid the buttons of his shorts next. Logan felt his pulse jump at the sound of Leo slowly pulling his zipper down.

“Oh,” Finn said, then laughed.

“Yeah?” Leo asked.

“Ouais, ouais,” Logan said. “Leo.”

Leo grinned and reached for Logan again, pulling his t-shirt over his head for him, then leaning down for a kiss, hands on Logan’s chest. 

“I’m just having fun imagining you planning this,” Logan heard Finn say. “‘I’m gonna get Finn and Logan on my boat, and then I’m gonna get them naked, in the water, and then I’m gonna feed them dinner.’”

“You’ve never been skinny dipping before, Fish?” Leo said, pulling away, eyes lingering on where Logan was kicking off his shorts, too.

“Nope,” Finn said, rolling onto his back to push his shorts off before standing and ridding himself of his shirt. “But I’m extremely open to it. Sunscreen. I need sunscreen.”

Leo walked forward and wrapped his arms around Finn, tucking his hands right into his briefs to cup his ass. “Sun’s never seen this, huh.”

“First time for everything,” Finn said after a moment, and kissed Leo soundly as he pushed his briefs down.

Logan, to his own surprised, didn’t feel exposed standing there naked on Leo’s boat. The sun was orange, low enough to turn the clouds pink, and it dappled through the trees, making the water look smooth and inviting. He put one foot on the side of the boat and looked over. He could see the bottom, sandy and rocky, but it was deep enough to jump.

“I’m dating a couple of Greek gods,” Finn sighed. “Fuck, Tremz, you look like one of those statues. My own Patroclus and Achilles.”

Leo laughed. “Who does that make you?”

Finn looked into the water, too, before stepping up onto the padded back he was dozing on before. “Apollo, come to crash the party.”

And he jumped, making the boat rock.

Leo pressed up behind Logan, all skin on warm skin. “Ça va?”

“This heat’s gonna kill me,” Logan grinned, looking back and up at him. “Allez.”

Finn surfaced, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Come on, it’s perfect here.”

Leo pressed up and over the side of the boat like a jump over the boards, before tucking himself neatly into a canon ball and giving Finn a face full of salty water.

“Come on, Lo!”

Finn and Leo looked up at him, and Logan could barely believe it all.

Logan didn’t jump into anything except fights. Throwing the gloves down was easy. There were time limits to the consequences, and they were never anything more than a few minutes. Everything else—who knew what would happen. Logan wasn’t a jumper. Finn was. Finn always had been. While Logan watched and waited and thought and didn’t, Finn loved and went and acted and did. And Leo…Leo jumped more than anyone gave him credit for. Logan hadn’t been eighteen when he got to the NHL, and he didn’t know how he would have turned out if he had been.

“It’s super nice,” Leo called up.

Finn splashed the water. “C’mon, baby.”

Logan smiled, looking down at them, and jumped. The water was beyond relieving. The salt stung his eyes a little, but it felt good, in the way salt water did. Logan knew it would dry on his skin later and feel even better. When he came up and shook the water from his eyes, Finn had dived down to touch the bottom and Leo was smiling at him.

“Nice?”

Logan pushed forward until he could wrap his arms and legs around Leo. He felt—clingy, he guessed. Since being apart. He could feel every part of Leo against him and Leo made a pleased sound.

“Very,” Logan said.

Leo let them float for a minute before they sank under the water again. Leo kissed him, surprising Logan with his eyes closed, and Logan had to come up for air and to laugh.

Finn floated beside him, the sky darkening a little and revealing the first of its stars. Logan looked up at the anchored boat, and thought about how they had all night.

“The Cup arrives tomorrow,” Finn said as they floated together.

Leo grinned. “Crazy. They’re throwing a parade for me. I think it’s gonna be insane.”

“You deserve all the parades,” Finn said.

Leo rolled his eyes but smiled. “I just wish…” he looked between them.

“You deserve that, too,” Logan said. “Whenever it comes.”

Leo’s smile was still happy, if not wistful. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Logan said. “And I mean here here, but also…here.”

“Better start believing it,” Finn tread closer and pulled Logan back against him. Logan laughed, but it was true. He did feel like he was starting—starting everything anew.

This could be the first kiss we forgive ourselves for, Finn had said.

And—Logan did. He forgave. He loved them.

They climbed up the ladder at the back of the boat a while later, limbs tired from racing and treading water, and Leo pulled towels out for them from under a seat. They were big and well-loved, and Logan got as much water out of his hair as he could before draping it over the front seats to dry and stepping back into his underwear.

“Just three naked dudes on a boat,” Finn said absentmindedly as he pulled his shorts back on. “It’s getting dark.”

“That’s why we have these,” Leo said and produced two lanterns and a few candles from another compartment that Logan hadn’t noticed. He hooked the lanterns to the ceiling and turned them on. They bathed everything in a soft, yellow light.

“Hungry?” he asked while lighting the candles.

“Yes,” Finn sighed. He grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him down onto one of the seats, gathering him against his chest. Logan sunk back into it.

“Hey, Lo, smile,” Finn said, and then he had his phone out, camera flipped to show them. Finn ducked so that their cheeks were pressed together and pressed a palm over Logan’s heart. With Finn’s chest pressed to his back, Logan could feel Finn’s. They both looked sun-tanned and, even to himself, deliriously happy.

“Tremz, can you pull that part out there? It’s like a little table from the back just beside you.”

Logan leaned forward and found the plastic divot that Leo was gesturing to. It slid out from beneath the cushion and into a temporary table, which Leo, underwear now on, set the coolers on top of. He looked at the two of them.

“I’m about to blow your mind.”

“You do that often,” Finn said, fingers drumming on Logan’s thigh.

Leo smiled. “No. Really.” He opened the cooler and brandished it towards them. “Crab.”

Inside the cooler was ice and crab legs.

“Crab,” Finn repeated.

“The mind blowing part comes when you eat it. It’s in season. Now, here we’ve got potatoes and some corn and hopefully some of it’ll be warm but…I wanted it on the boat, so…small sacrifices. Got some beer, too, if you want it,” Leo pulled it out from below the ice, setting things on the table as he talked. Logan was going to kiss him.

“And I’ve got strawberry shortcakes,” Leo said, and he was blushing a little. “For my strawberry and my…”

“Shortcake,” Finn laughed.

Leo laughed and leaned down to kiss Logan’s scowl. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I laugh every time I think about it I had to, you’re not short, really.”

“You sound so convincing.”

“You’re not, but you sure are a cake,” Leo kissed him again, squeezing his thighs, and Logan smiled this time.

“I guess I can live with that,” Logan said, and kissed him back.

“Cream’s on ice, too, so that’s good. And…yep.” Leo reached into the cooler and held up what looked like a hammer. “Y’all know how to eat crab?”

“Why…is that hot,” Finn said, and Logan nodded. Leo just smiled.

They made a mess on top of the table cloth Leo had set out, laughing as they cracked the shells and sucked out the meat.

“I’m so bad at this,” Finn said, picking his way through one of the last bits.

“Here,” Leo leaned over and broke into the shell with practiced fingers.

“How?”

Leo smiled and shrugged.

Logan watched the two of them, finishing off his own. He looked around them in the darkness. They were lit by the candlelight now, and the lanterns. The sky still had some light, but the sun was below the horizon and it would soon be gone. It was like it was only the three of them in the world. The stars were plentiful and vast from where they were sitting in the back, but the lantern hanging in the center of the little canopy Leo had set up made it look like their own little tent, private and out of sight.

“Where did you fall?” Finn asked.

“When did I fall?” Leo said. “For you? Um. Probably when you—”

“Non, non,” Finn laughed softly. “Where. Where did you hit your head?”

Leo tilted his head. “What? Oh! Oh, getting onto the boat.” He pointed to the side, and then towards the steering wheel. “Hit my head on the windshield corner.”

Finn hissed through his teeth. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty,” Leo said, but smiled as Logan reached out to touch the lighter hair.

“When did you fall, though?” Logan asked, and Leo smiled.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Leo kicked the cooler out from beneath the table and retrieved the strawberries and cream he had pointed to before, as well as three fluffy looking biscuits. “I guess just…doing stuff together.” Leo laughed as he prepared the desert, scooping strawberries onto the breads. “I sort of thought it was just adrenaline at first. Me wanting you, I mean. But then we were roommates, at home or away, and then we starting hanging out off the rink and…well, I loved you.” Leo pushed the plates towards them. “I loved you both.”

Logan tilted his head back, heart feeling tight again. 

“I know we went back to Harvard,” Finn said suddenly. “And I know what you said about feeling like you missed out a while back. I don’t know, I just want to make sure you know that we missed you the whole time.”

“How,” Leo began, looking between them. “How are you now?”

Logan wasn’t sure which one of them he was talking to, but he looked back at Finn who tightened his arms around him.

“We got some stuff out,” Finn said, then laughed a little. “And I guess I sort of…let some stuff in.”

“And I said sorry,” Logan said.

“And I forgave you,” Finn kissed his cheek. “But also you forgave you.”

Logan rolled his eyes but smiled as he took a bite. “Yeah, I know.”

Leo leaned back in his seat, smiling at the two of them. “Good.”

Finn sighed. “And then this one came, like, three times.”

Leo laughed out loud. “That is his way.”

Logan groaned. “I can’t help it.”

“Oh, baby,” Finn laughed. “We don’t want you to help it.” Then, he looked back up at Leo. “But, really. We missed you, Peanut.”

“We don’t like being without you.”

“Me too,” Leo said softly. “I don’t know, I just…it’s funny being in the NHL, in Gryffindor, and then coming home to aunts and uncles and older cousins. Like, to them, I’m still just sort of nineteen. And I am nineteen, but…I don’t know I’ve been feeling like I used to feel. Being home. Being without you.” Leo looked out at the water. “Like I’m right back where I started, not out to anyone except my parents, just some kid with this really tedious dream and sort of—ready to be lonely forever.”

“Leo,” Logan said.

Leo looked at them and laughed a little, pushing his hair back. “That was my long way of saying that I missed you, too. And in saying that…” he bit his lip and stood. “I have something.”

“You have something?”

Leo waved his hand as he bent at the floor, popping up a storage pit. “Planned, I have something planned. That I’ve always wanted to do with…well, with a boyfriend. Boyfriends.”

Logan looked back at Finn. “Boyfriends.”

Then, Leo started pulling out blankets. And pillows. His smile was giddy as he lay them out beneath the canopy, the boat rocking gently, and the pillows piled high. Leo gestured to it with both hands when he was done.

“Sex on a boat.”

“That sounds like the name of a tropical drink,” Finn said.

Logan nodded. “I’m in.” He stood, the blankets soft beneath his bare feet as he walked over the bed to pull Leo to him. “You’re so…”

“Sweet?” Finn said, and Logan smiled.

“Oui.”

Finn took one step up and then fell into the center of the blankets, stretching out on his back. Leo took Logan by the hands, sitting down and pulling Logan down with him. Logan sank slowly, knees straddling Leo’s hips, laying his head against Leo’s chest.

Finn turned onto his side so he was closer to them and ran a hand through Logan’s hair. “Leo hog.”

“Va te faire,” Logan grumbled and raised an eyebrow when Finn made a face. “You don’t know what I said.”

“Tone of voice,” Finn laughed. “Move over a little, then, I missed him, too.”

Leo put an arm out for Finn to roll into, face tucking against his shoulder. “I’ll just sit here watching y’all fight over me.”

Logan leaned down to press kisses to Finn’s face at the same time Leo did, and Finn made a soft sound.

“Look at you,” Leo laughed and wrapped his arm more tightly around Finn. “Letting us snug you.”

Finn laughed a little, too, but it was different somehow in Logan’s ears. Something was bothering him. “I let you snug me.”

“Yeah, for a second, and then you snug us.”

“We snug each other.”

Logan snorted and met Leo’s eyes over Finn’s head.

“Well, fine, fine.” Leo stroked Finn’s hair, cheek resting at Finn’s temple. “This is nice, though.”

Finn just pushed closer and Logan reached out a stroke his fingers over his neck. They were quiet, full and sun-tired and sated, until Finn sat up on the blankets and turned to face them, cross-legged.

“Guys,” Finn began.

“Hm?” Leo responded.

Logan pushed himself up onto a forearm on Leo’s chest. Something was wrong.

“I was thinking…” Finn cleared his throat. “I was thinking.”

“Who, you?” Logan tried, seeing if Finn would smile. When he did, Logan’s chest eased a little.

“I was thinking about trying something.”

“Okay,” Leo said. “Sure, what is it?”

Finn let out a shaky breath. Then, he looked between them.

“You and Lo,” Finn began. “You two like it when I fuck you and…I don’t know, maybe—I’d…like it, too.”

Logan felt his entire body flush with a spike of heat. It was a like his heart tried to slow down and speed up all at once, like a full-force tug. Oh.

Finn looked down at his hands. The top of his nose and cheeks were a little red from the sun, his hair curly from the salt, and he wanted—

Logan let himself drop back down, forehead against Leo’s shoulder. He was turned on. He was dizzy with it.

“Finn,” Leo’s voice was faint, his fingers pressing into the skin of Logan’s bare back.

“We don’t have to tonight,” Finn said. “I’d seriously be happy, more like fucking elated, with any and all, I was just—”

“Would you want to, though?” Leo asked. “Tonight, I mean? Because I…I’d want to.”

“I might not like it,” Finn said. “But yeah. Yeah.”

They both looked at Logan and all Logan could do was stare at Finn.

“You…” Logan was already nodding. “Finn.”

“Lay down, lay down,” Leo sat up and took Finn’s hands, pulling him until Finn was on his back again.

Logan pushed up from Leo to settle on Finn’s other side, hand going to rest above the zip of Finn’s shorts. Finn glanced up at him while Leo got up and reached for the glove box.

“Since when?” Logan asked Finn, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Finn said, hips pushing up gently against Logan’s hand, which was rubbing him gently through his shorts. “It’s not like I never thought about it, but I never…thought thought about it until…well, the night we won the Cup.”

“The Cup?” Leo said, settling back down between Finn’s legs.

“Yeah,” Finn tilted his head to the side, eyes going a little foggy. “It was just—a really intense night. I mean all of it, winning, the parties…”

“The sex,” Logan finished for him, and he was dizzy all over again. It had been intense, making their way back to their apartment and falling into Finn’s bed. The night had stretched forever. It had been fierce, rolling into each other, keeping each other weighted down, close and safe from floating away with it all.

Finn smiled. “Yeah. You two. I…I like being that close to you. And I thought maybe you could be that close to me, too.”

Leo put his hand over Logan’s. It pressed Logan’s palm harder against where Finn was growing stiff in his clothes. Leo popped the button open and leaned down to kiss over the hard muscles of Finn’s stomach.

“Just tell us how it goes, okay?” Leo said. “We can switch it up if you want.”

“Literally,” Finn laughed, but it was breathless.

Logan could tell he was nervous, could feel his heart beneath his palm. He leaned over, the pendant of his necklace falling onto Finn’s skin, and kissed over where his palm had been.

Leo pulled Finn’s shorts off while Logan kept him busy with hard, lingering kisses. Leo looked up at them and felt as surreal as ever. Ever since the Cup, Leo had been waking up every morning and reciting the list of events to himself, almost making sure they still felt real.

Finn. Logan. Falling in love. Making best friends. Coming out to them. Winning a Cup. Falling more in love. Taking Logan and Finn home. Knowing they missed him. Experiencing a sort of trust that he’d never even known before.

Finn’s skin was soft beneath his hands. There was salt dried on it, and he bent to taste the clean scent of it. It mixed with Finn’s arousal, making him ache. Finn’s cock was half hard, twitching as Leo eased his palms around it, not quite touching. He hadn’t been sure if Finn would ever want to be fucked. He and Logan had talked about it a few times, wondering if they should ask again, but they had decided to let Finn bring it up, if he wanted. And now—

“Lay back,” Logan was laughing, palm on Finn’s chest.

“I want to see,” Finn said.

Leo snorted. “You’re not really going to be able to see anything yet.”

“But…”

“You’re such a baby,” Logan sighed, but stood, kicking his clothes off and then sliding behind Finn, cradling him between his thighs and arms. Finn was still slumped low, and Logan smiled at Leo, resting his chin on Finn’s shoulder as he wrapped a hand around his cock. “There.”

Leo watched them, getting out of his shorts and squeezing his hardening cock, and then Finn looked up at him.

Finn gave him a smile. “Okay, cool, ready.”

“Cool,” Leo laughed, but instead of reaching down, he pushed forward onto his hands and knees, hovering over Finn’s body. “That’s not what you do for us, though, is it?”

Finn blinked. “What?”

Leo bent to kiss Finn’s neck, pressing their hips together so that Logan could wrap his hand around both of them at once. Finn gasped and Leo fucked into Logan’s fist, their cocks rubbing together in his tight hold.

“You make sure we know how much you love us first, Harzy,” Leo said. “Right?”

Leo felt Logan bend to kiss the other side of Finn’s neck. “Right.”

Finn was breathing harder now. “Right…”

Leo leaned back to capture Finn in a kiss, muscles tensing as Logan jacked them quicker.

“You’re gonna come so much, sweetheart, I know it.”

Logan laughed gently. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Talked about it?” Finn asked, hands moving down to press into Leo’s ass. “When?”

“Sometimes,” Leo smiled and reached down to stroke over Finn’s thigh. He leaned back, out of Logan’s reach, his cock hard falling heavily against his thighs. “Don’t get him too good, Tremz.”

Logan retrieved his hand, stroking them down Finn’s sides instead. Finn’s cock was red and sticking straight out, wet at the tip.

“Fuck,” Finn breathed.

Leo uncapped the lube with one hand and bent to suck Finn’s cock into his mouth while he warmed it between his fingers.

“Leo…” Finn said, and then cut off when Leo gently pressed his first fingertip in.

“D’accord?” Leo heard Logan whisper, and Finn whispered a yes back. But Finn was tight, every muscle Leo could feel taught around him.

“Relax, mon rouge,” Logan whispered. “You’re okay, we’ve got you.”

Leo pulled off his cock and sat back, working his finger gently.

“I’m just not used to it,” Finn said, glancing down to try and see. “I think I need something to do.”

Logan snorted. “Of course you do.”

Leo looked up from his fingers. “I have a Rubik’s Cube around here somewhere.”

Finn laughed out loud, his head falling back into Logan’s chest right as Leo pushed in a little farther and—

“Oh,” Finn jolted, smile going slack. “Oh, fuck.”

Logan smoothed his hands down Finn’s chest. “Yeah?"

Finn’s hand reached down to grip Logan’s wrist as Leo brushed inside of him again, a strangled breath punching out of him.

Leo bent once again to suck him gently. He himself was aching and trying to starve off thoughts of pressing inside of Finn, just to calm down. Finn was panting, mouth open. He had planted his feet on the blankets and pushed back when Leo added a second finger. His cock drooled a sticky strand down his chest.

“Merde,” Logan said faintly. He reached out with his finger tip to trace along a vein in Finn’s cock and Finn jolted. “Do you like it, Harzy?”

Finn’s laugh tumbled out of him. “I guess. Leo—”

Leo had added a second finger. Finn laughed again, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Oh, fuck.”

“I didn’t know you would laugh through this,” Logan said.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

“So you’re laughing?”

Finn tilted his head back to look up at Logan. “I’m between my boys who are all naked and pretty and warm. I’m happy. Fuck, Leo…”

Leo smiled. “Aw, Harzy. Can I add another? Is it okay?”

Finn nodded. “Okay, okay. What’s that, three?”

“Three, sweetheart,” Leo smiled, leaning down to kiss his hip, then the base of his cock.

“Sweetheart,” Finn breathed nonsensically, smile still on his face even though his eyes had slipped shut. “Yeah, yeah, there…”

Leo looked up at Logan and they smiled at each other. Logan’s cheeks were flushed, hair curlier than Leo had ever seen it from the salt water. His eyes were hooded and he was holding Finn against him, hips rocking forward gently.

“Still okay?” Leo said. “I think you’re ready, what do you think?”

Logan ducked down to kiss Finn’s cheek. “Want Leo, mon rouge?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah. I want Leo.”

Leo tilted his head as he gave Finn one last push, crooking his fingers up to make him groan.

“Okay, Harz,” Leo said and leaned forward to kiss him, licking into his mouth. He pulled back just enough to see Finn, eyes closed and waiting for another kiss. “This makes us feel so good,” Leo mumbled, and kissed him again. “We love you like this.”

Finn made a soft noise, eyes opening. “Good.”

Leo nipped his lip gently and pulled back, reaching for the lube again.

He pushed into Finn careful, so slowly, stopping at the first press.

“Fuck,” Finn’s palms pressed into the blankets, fingers curling for something to hold onto. He pushed back against Logan. “Fuck, fuck.”

Leo went to pull back.

“No, no, no, no,” Finn said. “Go, go, go.”

Leo took a shaky breath and pushed forward again. He watched himself sink into Finn and then had to stop, half way into the tight heat and breathing hard. His cock pulsed with the feeling, with the visual and the knowledge that this was Finn. 

“Okay, Harzy?” Logan said.

Leo could hear the waves lapping at the boat as Finn nodded. Finn reached forward for Leo’s hip, guiding him the rest of the way.

Leo rocked forward and the boat seemed to rock with them. Finn’s heels slipped against the blankets and he let out a low whine that Leo had never heard before. Finn wasn’t loud.

“Shit,” Leo closed his eyes and then looked at Logan, who was practically holding Finn up. He pressed in harder, making sure he pulled all the way out before sinking in again. Finn wasn’t like Logan, who pushed back as good as he got. Finn went a little boneless, head thrown back against Logan’s shoulder and his eyes closed. Leo clutched his thighs for leverage and fucked him.

“Yes, yes…” Finn kept saying, words slurred together.

Logan whimpered and his head tilted back in a way Leo knew all too well. He was coming, hidden behind Finn, probably from the pressure of Finn’s back rubbing against him—probably from Finn’s harsh breathing.

Finn’s eyes flashed open when he felt Logan’s heat streak his back, and his cock jumped.

“Leo,” Finn said. “Logan—”

“I know, sweetheart,” Leo fucked in faster. “Lo?”

Logan just bent to mouth along Finn’s neck. Leo could see his hips fucking forward as he rode out his high, clutching Finn against him. When he stilled, he turned Finn’s head to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“Lay back now, Harzy,” he said, and slid carefully from behind him.

Leo smiled into the kiss that Logan knelt to give him, palms smoothing over his shoulders. Logan looked soft and sated in the lantern light, all gentle curves and broad muscles.

“J’adore,” Logan murmured.

“Tremz…”

“Guys,” Finn panted.

Leo leaned forward and kissed him where he was against the pillows, red hair wild and splayed out. Logan stretched out beside them, hand looping around Finn’s cock.

“How does it feel?” Logan said. “Knutty’s so good.”

Leo groaned, the words spreading heat right through him. He had been feeling strange lately, being home after so much change had been getting to him. But seeing them, stretched out in front of him, and feeling Finn around him—Finn, who had always taken care of him… Leo knew he had changed. And not even being home, something he loved so much and was so comfortable with, could change him back.

“Does it always feel like this?” Finn murmured, then looked from Logan to Leo. “Do I feel like this?”

He pushed into Finn again, grinding close. “Yeah, Harzy. This is how you make us feel.”

Leo pushed in twice more, and then Finn was coming, seizing up around Leo and dripping over Logan’s fingers in hot waves.

“Fuck,” Logan’s voice broke. “You always come so…”

Finn just made a soft sound, the tendons of his neck going tight as he let out a breath. “Keep—”

Logan’s hand sped up around him, Leo pushing into him at a steady pace. Finn let Logan run a hand through his hair, coaxing him through it. Then Logan looked back at Leo, reaching a hand down to feel where Leo was pushing into Finn one last time until he stilled when Finn’s breathing seemed to calm. Together, Logan and Leo smoothed their hands over Finn’s hips as Leo pulled out carefully, shiny from the lube and his own precome. Leo ached with the loss, but Finn was twitching away now, sated and oversensitive.

“So?” Leo said.

“Huh,” Finn sighed, eyes shut. He cupped a hand over his cock, opened his eyes, and smiled sleepily. “I see now.”

“Is this a new thing?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Finn said, then bit his lip. “But I think I like doing it to you guys more.”

Leo tilted his head against Logan, enjoying the way Finn was looking at them. Like they were his. Like he was theirs.

They pressed Leo back into the blankets and got him off slowly, and Leo felt like it was forever before his sweat was cooling on his skin, and he came to with his hands in their hair, their mouths kissing along his chest and shoulders.

The night was cooler now, too, and Finn brought the blankets up over them. He was propped on one elbow and Leo watched him stroke light fingers down Logan’s arm, then reach to brush Leo’s hair back.

“I love you guys, you know?” Finn said. “I didn’t really think I’d ever want that…but I don’t think it was actually that, I think it was more…”

“Trust?” Leo finished when he trailed off.

“Yeah,” Finn said softly.

Logan nodded. “Knutty, you’re…”

“You make us trust,” Finn said, and Logan nodded again. “Trust ourselves, trust each other. Trust the world.”

Leo opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t know what. The boat rocked beneath them from some unseen wave. It brushed them closer, all soft, sunned skin.

Logan saved Leo the trouble. He seemed to just know and cuddled himself closer beneath the blankets. They would leave for Canada soon, for a last, wild ride with the Cup. Then, they would spend the remainder of the summer in Gryffindor. But it didn’t feel like a remainder. None of it did. It felt like the rest of Leo’s life.

Leo looked at them, and looked at the stars. He didn’t need the far away things anymore to feel like he was home.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins​ on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns. 

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner​

[spvce-cowboy]

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill. 

**

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

**

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you  

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal. 

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.  

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.  

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

**

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

**

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”  

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

**

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[mymoonagedaydream]

Home (Part 1)

Summary: Two years ago, you’d left behind your hometown and the love of your life to pursue your dream career, but returning for Christmas really made you start to second-guess that decision.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: A Christmassy one for ya’ll! This story is inspired by the requests above from @shawnie--jo, thank you for those and for the inspo! I couldn’t fit everything into a oneshot, so this may end up being three or four parts.

---

You stuffed your bag into the overhead locker and collapsed into your seat, completely exhausted.

Some chaos was to be expected when travelling so close to Christmas, but still, you really could've done without the three hour check-in queues and the chorus of screaming babies.

Leaning back in your chair and pulling on your headphones, you squeezed your eyes shut and just tried to think about all the things that would make this journey worth it, all the things you’d missed about Christmas with your parents.

The excitement on their faces as they greet you at the airport, your mother’s incredible home-cooking, your father’s insistence on playing charades three or more times a day. It was your first time visiting home since moving away two years ago, and you wanted the whole cosy, corny nine yards.

There was just one teensy little caveat to your relaxing family holiday- two years away from home meant two years since you'd seen Bucky.

You were childhood sweethearts, head over heels in love with each other for as long as you could remember and best friends for even longer. When you were offered a job across the country, you wanted so much for him to move with you, but he’d already promised his father that he’d take over the family car-repair business. 

It was the most difficult decision of your life, but eventually the two of you agreed there was no choice but to separate. 

Being away from him tore you apart for the first few months, but now you'd finally gotten back on your feet, and you were ready to come face to face with your past again.

Or so you thought.

---

Your parents pulled you into a tight bear-hug as soon as you walked through arrivals, taking your bags, talking your ear off and quickly ushering you to the car.

Amongst all the excited babbling, you just about managed to discern that they’d planned a welcome home party for you that night with half the neighbourhood, an announcement which triggered a mix of dread and excitement to begin churning in your stomach.

You were looking forward to seeing your oldest friend again, you just hoped to god that things wouldn’t be weird or awkward between the two of you.

After a short drive, the car pulled up outside your childhood home. Just seeing it from the outside made you feel all warm and cosy but, as soon as you glanced through the door, those feelings were amplified off the charts. 

The place looked incredible. Your mother had obviously put so much effort into making it look cosy and festive, you even felt yourself tearing up a little when you stepped inside. It was so elaborate, you had half a mind to interrogate her about a possible Christmas with the Kranks scenario going down prior to your arrival, but you decided it was probably best to just keep your mouth shut.

After you’d looked around properly and unpacked, it was only a matter of hours before the first guests started arriving.

You downed two beers to loosen yourself up a little. Each time the bell went, your eyes snapped towards the door, the sound making your heart leap out of your chest. It felt like you were waiting to find out whether that hard mass in the bottom of your stocking was a big-ass diamond or a lump of coal. 

When Bucky finally appeared in the doorway, your jaw almost hit the shag carpet. The last two years had been unreasonably good to him, he looked like James Dean but somehow even more buff. 

The boy you'd left behind had become a man in your absence and sweet Jesus it was really making you feel some kind of way. 

His eyes were frantically scanning the room but he hadn't spotted you yet, so you took the opportunity to sneak up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

‘Hey, stranger.’

He swivelled round, his eyes lighting up when they met yours. Before he said a word, you were pulled into a tight hug, audibly gasping when you were lifted clean off the ground.

‘Where the hell you been, Lilypad?’

You burst out laughing, remembering falling into a pond on your seventh birthday and him never, ever letting you live down. A wave of happy memories flooded your mind, making you smile widely as he set you down.

‘Still the same old Yucky.’

‘Hey, we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore.’

‘I'll stop calling you Yucky when you stop calling me Lilypad.’

The corners of his mouth curled into a mischievous smirk. ‘Never.’

And just like that, it felt as though you'd never left.

You were excited to be with your old friend again, you were happy that there seemed to be no awkwardness between the two of you, and you were really doing your very best to suppress all the other intense feelings that had surfaced as soon as he’d walked through the door.

‘Come on, I'll get you a drink.’ You grabbed his arm and dragged him through to the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge while he leant against the counter next to you. ‘Are you still working for your dad?’

‘Yep. He's hoping to retire in the next few years, so I'll finally be taking over.’

‘That's so great, you're pretty much set for life with that place.’

He nodded faintly, burying his hands in his pockets and flicking his gaze down to the floor. ‘So how, uh- how long are you back for?’

‘I'm flying back early on the 31st.’

‘You’re not even staying for New Year?’ The hint of disappointment in his voice made you immediately stop what you were doing and look over to him, his face going a little red as he shifted around awkwardly. ‘Ah, I bet you got loads of invites to big, crazy city parties.’

‘If you call staring at a computer screen until 3am and slowly spiralling into madness a party.’

You passed him a beer, his eyes staying fixed on the bottle as he mumbled. ‘All the work will be worth it one day though, right?’

‘I hope so.’

Your eyes locked, a heavy silence falling between you. This was exactly the kind of uncomfortable atmosphere you were dreading.

Panicking a little, you vaguely gestured towards the living room. ‘I should probably, y’know, mingle.’

‘Sure. I'll find you later though Lilypad, we gotta catch up some more.’

You gave him a warm smile and nodded, turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

The next couple of hours seemed to blur together. You made meaningless small-talk with people you barely knew, all the time just thinking about Bucky, about how quickly things had gone from fun and light-hearted to incredibly tense.

You just hoped you could get things back on a good track before you had to leave, losing him completely was the very last thing you wanted.  

Shuffling into the kitchen to grab yourself another drink, you noticed him duck out the back door. He must've hit his socialisation limit. The two of you used to reach that point around the same time at parties, so you'd slink out together and share a cheap cigarette.

Abandoning your freshly opened beer on the counter, you followed him out, finding him tucked away around the side of the house.

‘Right on time.’

His head snapped towards you, the cigarette almost falling from his mouth as he shot you a wide smile. ‘Am I that predictable?’

‘I just know you too well.’

You leant against the wall next to him, hugging your arms tight as you felt yourself start to shiver, cause you were the kind of idiot that went outside in December wearing short-sleeves. Bucky noticed straight away, letting out a gruff chuckle as he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and wrapped it round you.

‘That cushy city life has made you soft.’ He rubbed your arms a little, trying to warm you up, before eventually bringing his hands to rest on your shoulders and fixing his gaze to yours. ‘I'm really glad you're here, Lilypad. I've missed you.’

‘I've missed you too, Buck. I've missed a lot of things about this place.’

‘So why don’t you stay longer?’

‘Believe me, I was lucky to get this much time off.’

His eyes narrowed slightly, a concerned frown spreading over his face as he folded his arms across his chest. ‘Is everything alright? I haven't heard much about this job but so far it's pretty much been all negative.’

‘Oh, I do love it, honestly I-’

‘Why would you even try lying to me? You know I can always tell.’

You couldn’t help cracking a slight smile at his smug expression. He was right, the last time you’d managed to successfully lie to him was in first grade when you told him you didn’t know where his crayon sharpener had gone, knowing full well it was stashed in your pocket.

‘It's just a lot.’ You rubbed your forehead exasperatedly. ‘Apart from the few hours of sleep I get each night, I'm pretty much constantly working. You asked earlier if it was worth it and, to be honest, I really don’t know.’

He nodded faintly, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his foot, before opening his arms towards you.

‘C'mere.’

You didn't hesitate. Launching yourself towards him, you let him enclose you, squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around his neck.

‘You'll figure it out.’ He mumbled into your neck. ‘You always do.’

‘Thank you, Buck.’

After a minute or so, you both pulled away slightly, stopping when you came face to face. A lot of things about home had slipped your mind whilst you’d been away, but you’d never forgotten how gazing into Bucky’s piercing blue eyes made you feel. 

That feeling had never changed, and you were sure it never would.

You dropped your hands to rest on his shoulders, your eyebrows shooting up when you noticed how rock-hard they were. ‘Jesus, Buck. I’ve only been gone for two years, have you been at the gym that whole time?’

‘Nope, just been working hard at the garage.’ What absolute bullshit. ‘But feel free to keep the compliments coming.’

You smirked and feebly shoved him away, turning to head back inside but stopping suddenly before taking a step. ‘Oh, you better pick that cigarette butt up or my mom will go ape shit.’

‘Good call.’

You slipped through the back door, passing his jacket back when he followed you in. The two of you couldn’t have been out there for more than a few minutes, but it seemed as though the crowd inside had really started thinning out.

Bucky’s parents strolled over when they spotted him, informing him of their intent to leave pretty soon too, so he gave you a long hug goodbye and made you promise that you'd see each other again before the end of the holidays.

The two of you had parted on a good note, which was all you’d wanted going into the party, but now you found that you were pretty keen to squeeze as many more good notes out of these next few days as you could. 

It was probably best not to delve too deeply into the feelings behind that sentiment. So you didn’t. 

You helped your parents tidy up, your eyelids drooping as the exhaustion from a long day of travelling and socialising finally set in. Just as you were about to head upstairs, your mother piped up, using her expertly crafted trying to appear casual despite being really very invested in what I’m asking tone.

‘It must've been nice seeing Bucky again.’

‘Oh yeah, definitely.’

‘He must've changed quite a bit since you were here last.’

You chuckled to yourself. ‘Physically, yeah, but he's still the same goofy dumbass he's always been.’

‘It's always a treat when he pops round, he's such a nice boy.’ A suspicious eyebrow crept up your forehead. ‘And he's still single y'know, he hasn't-’

‘Alright. That's my cue to go to bed.’

Your dad strolled over and gave you a firm pat on the back. ‘Good idea, sweetheart. Get out while you still can.’

‘Thank you. It's nice having one sane parent.’

‘Although, I do have to say, he has been very good to us since-’

‘Dad!’ He raised his arms in surrender, using one hand to zip up his mouth. ‘Lord help me. Goodnight, crazies.’

You quickly escaped up the stairs. Stumbling into your room and pulling on your pyjamas, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in the pillows and letting out a long, exhausted sign.

As you drifted off to sleep, all the stress of the day melted away, leaving a single thought to echo around your mind.

You’d really overestimated how over Bucky you were.

---

Part 2

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---

[youarejesting]

Royal Pain (MYG x Reader)

[Masterlist]

Prompt: Whistle @castlebangtan​ Pairing: Ranger!Yoongi x reader Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance Words: 1.9k Summary: Feeling out of place in the Kingdom, you can only imagine a life outside the castle and your overbearing parents. With more than whispers on the winds your attention is captured by a bandit ranger. He goes by the name whistle, for his handcrafted arrows that let out a high pitched sound as the fly through the air.

You were a princess. Crown, servants, dresses, knights and all. Your daily itinerary included waking up early, getting dressed, tutoring, then you were to graciously listen to the civilians' problems and try to fix them. After all that, you would have the afternoon to yourself strolling around the gardens where you would take tea. When the evening came you would retire to the boudoir with your so called ‘friends’. It was just a title for the noble women you were obliged to entertain and solidify connections between their families and the royal family of Dawsbury. 

Watching the sunset, and enjoying the cool breeze, as the soft sky was eaten away by the darkness. Namjoon had his arms full of books as he crossed the courtyard, he seemed to be surprised to see you still seated at your tea table outside. Trailing behind the scholar was the newest guard Jungkook; he had been an aspiring squire for many years, finally passing the exam and being knighted.

“My lady, it must be getting cold, you should retire inside before you fall ill.” Namjoon advised gently, you looked up to see him eyeing the courtyard.

“There have been a few attacks from Whistle lately as well,” Jungkook muttered, receiving a jab to the side from the lanky scholar. “I mean you have nothing to worry about my lady, please allow us to escort you inside.”

You nodded, walking inside. The walls adorned with portraits of relatives long passed, you hated every picture in the castle. The Dawsbury family, — your family — for generations were all uniform, each with the same features, but why were you different? Why did your hair have to be strikingly different in color, your eyes too? You didn’t fit in and it made you try harder in your studies just to appease your family.

You were to marry Lee Heejun, the handsome Prince who had been staying with your family since before you can remember. He was treated more like a family member than you were. “My lady, shall we escort you to the dining hall this evening?” Namjoon smiled

“No, I think I would like to take my dinner alone, I am quite drained from today.” You quickly excused yourself. Not ready to face another night at the dinner table, where your mother and father tried to strong arm you into marriage.

“Of course, we will let the king and queen know.” Namjoon smiled, shutting the door behind you. Sighing, you were finally alone, heading towards the candles to illuminate the area. There was a loud whistle piercing through the air. It’s him! You raced out onto the balcony. Trying to spot the famous bandit behind the signature whistling arrows.

Guards scurried around firing at a shadow on the roof. Alarmed by the approaching figure you ducked inside but heard something land on the balcony. There was almost inaudible panting as the intruder let out a soft profanity.

He snuck inside and you paused holding your breath, he was dripping blood over the plush carpet. His feet not making a sound, “looks empty, no one will be here for the evening.” he whispered touching the small items on the vanity. He sat behind the desk and hissed as he pulled out the arrow stuck in his side a groan slipping past his parted lips quietly. Your eyes had adjusted to the night faster than his. Footsteps were coming down the hall stopping at the door, as the man brandished a small knife.

Knock knock.

“Princess I brought your food,” The maid spoke, you called, the figure behind the desk froze and you hoped he wouldn’t attack you or your maid.

“I am not hungry, please come back later,” You said cheery, “I am just resting, I am sorry to bother you”

“Of course my lady,” the maid scurried off. He knew you were there so there was no reason to hide any longer.

“Are you hurt, sir?” You lit a candle and carried it over kneeling beside him, “Please let me see your side,”

“I am fine.” He wrapped his wound and stood up, you frowned standing and looking at him, “Do you know who I am?”

“You are Whistle right, the famous bandit,” you said hopeful, you thought he was pretty cool. Your father wasn’t a nice man stealing land and taxing everyone immensely, and you thought Whistle was doing good things for the community.

Even if you thought he was a bad guy and wouldn’t trust him with your life, the mystery and the things he did made you admire his abilities.

“Could I have some water?” he asked and you poured some from the nearby jug and he took it, swivelling it in his hand and sniffing it, “drink some first.”

“I didn’t poison it.” You scoffed drinking some and he smiled sadly. Flashing his ring which had a secret compartment open with residual powder.

“I know but I did.” you felt your body go limp and he threw you over his shoulder, wasting no time before taking off in the shadows of the night.

When you woke you were in a carriage racing through the forest, “My lady you have awoken,” it was Whistle he was sitting across from you the carriage surrounded by men on horses.

“Where are you taking me?” you demanded, embarrassed and angered that you were sound asleep whilst being kidnapped. “You take me back right now or my father will hurt you!”

“Sir we are being followed?” A voice called from outside the carriage.

“Ha! See they are already coming to rescue me and you lowlives will be killed.” You hissed at him, arms folding over your chest with a triumphant expression.

“We ditch the carriage. My lady?” Whistle held out his hand but you didn’t accept it. With a sigh he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder.

“You put me down!” You screeched, “put me down, you sleaze!” 

“I could but you would be trampled,” He had climbed up the side of the carriage to the driver's seat. Once you were placed upright you slapped him in the face. He gritted his teeth holding back some choice words he continued, “After you, my lady.”

His voice was clipped and when you didn’t move he picked you up, dropping you on the horse. Whistle sat behind you as he and the carriage driver, both cutting the horses free and rode off. 

“After all this, I never want to see you again,” you were pushed back into the bandits chest and the group moved quickly through the forest.

“Trust me my lady,” His body was tense. He seemed rather pissed and you were starting to get concerned, “After I deliver you, I will be out of your sight.”

They rode all night. To the point the exhaustion had taken over your form, but they didn’t stop. Almost falling off the horse, the bandits arms wrapped more firmly around your waist pulling you pressed against him. “Find us somewhere to sleep.” They nodded and before long you were speeding into a small clearing.

Sliding off the horse you almost collapsed caught by Whistle who took your chin looking into your tired eyes. The pinto butted his head against your shoulder and you turned patting him. 

“Alright boy, I am taking the saddle off, have patience.” You were handed a small bucket with water from one of the men who smiled gesturing to the horse. Holding the bucket out the horse began drinking happily.

“Here is my bedroll, go to sleep,” He said, sounding exhausted.

“I cannot sleep on the ground!” He gave you an incredulous look making you wilt and sink onto the bed roll. Even if it was on the ground, the bedroll smelt like him. It was too dark to run away without getting yourself killed. 

This became a routine of riding all day and making camp every night, you tried many times to slow them down but Yoongi always called your bluff. You had said you needed to go to the bathroom and he told you he would slow but he would have to come with as there were dangerous animals in the woods.

After that you started to comply, not trying to annoy him any more, he was losing his patience. Not wanting to complain, something about these men made it feel like they didn’t want to hurt you. He wasn’t the most talkative guy but something about him was caring he knew what you needed before you spoke. His hands outstretched with some food and a water skin.

Filling up on breakfast may not have been the best idea as the furious horse riding made you feel ill, holding it down the feeling soon went away. The men would sometimes talk as they rode and you had noticed among the men was the scholar Namjoon and the newest knight Jungkook.

Why were they here? Were they a part of this? You looked at them confused and assumed they had been undercover this whole time. What you didn't expect was the castle in the distance, perhaps you were just passing through town. However you were escorted directly towards the towering castle.

The closer you got the more your head grew dizzy, a pain behind your temples. Doubling over in pain almost resulted in falling off the horse. If it wasn’t for Whistle you would be becoming well acquainted with the ground. 

“Hang in their princess,” His voice breathed in your ear, arriving in the innermost courtyard, you were assisted off the tall pinto and led into the castle. Upon entering you saw something that almost frightened you, on the wall was your portrait with the king and queen of Matlock. 

You looked the same, the same hair color, eye color. There was a familiarity of the whole place. “I have returned the princess.” Whistle said “Thank you so much Yoongi,” The king laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you for bringing our daughter home.

“I will take my rest now,” he bowed low to you and your parents. How could you forget them?

You were escorted to your room and more memories came back, your mother and father apologized and tried to hold back but you were quick to hug them and tell them you were remembering where you truly belonged.

It was the next morning you were heading through the corridors you knew every turn and path through the castle. Arriving at the dining hall.

“I wish Yoongi could stay with us,” your mother said, “He just got you back and was eager to catch up with you,”

“You two were betrothed, before you were kidnapped and well he thought it was his fault. So he has been trying to find you for a few years now wanting to bring you home,” your father sighed, “He seemed exhausted, I only hoped he would stay another night or two.”

“He was told by the princess that she never wanted to see him again,” Namjoon smirked down the table, “I guess he is taking it seriously.”

Without excusing yourself you ran from the dining hall through the kitchens and out to the stables where you saw him saddling his pinto.

“Yoongi!” you called, panting heavily from the frantic run through half the castle. “Where are you going?”

“I am following your orders, my princess,” he said softly facing the horse and you grabbed his hand and pulled it to your chest.

“I remember.” You breathed, wondering if he could hear how hard your heart was beating against your chest, “Not everything, but I remember somethings, and I think I need you to help me remember.”

“How am I supposed to help you my lady?”

“Never leave my side,” You muttered eyes misting with the idea of him leaving.

“And what if that doesn’t help you remember,” he took your chin in his hand and lifted your gaze to meet his, “What can I do to help you remember?”

You were about to answer when the pinto nudged Yoongi in the back, pushing him into you. A gasp left your parted lips and he leaned in kissing you softly, your hands buried into his hair. Mind flooding with memories of stolen kisses in the music room as he played your favourite tunes. Afternoons at the range sitting and watching Yoongi fire arrows into targets at obscene distances. The whistle piercing through the air.