#his pretty eyes and lashes and gentle smile and his glasses and his gloves and and and

[darabeatha]

/ WHEN WHEN WHEN WHEN W-

[squiddy-god]

his ugly orange hair

This is a vent fix I wrote so please keep that in mind lol

CW : young! Konig (just joined the military) roommate reader, civilian reader, trans man reader, ftm reader, bad breakup, hurt comfort, panic attack,

1.4k

They had left. You had tried, Lord knows you tried. Again and again tears rolled down your face, cheeks red and eyes darkening with the slow flood of stains that painted you like glass after rain. Your chest heaved with the great weight of your lungs and the world, again… again… again again again Again Again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN OVER AND OVER. until you choked on your breath and tongue, tears stinging until you gaged and sputtered. Left a hopeless sobbing puking mess on your bed. The bed was cold, soft quilted sheets like a prison. 

Several days were spent in a spiral of thoughts and flurries of emotions. You hadn't told your mom yet, didn't think you could bear to, but the long dragging scrape of your eyelids forced you to blink back tears. It had been a day and in cliche of a cliches you rifled the cabinets of your two bedroom apartment. Yours- you laughed, you had shared it with your roommate for 2 years now. A tall young man about 19 like you. Unlike your study abroad program that had accepted you on a small but feasible scholarship, he was a military man partnered with a pmc. Really it was his apartment. Over the years you grew close as friends when he was home for the time between deployments. You didn't even think in your delirium and haze that today was the day he'd get home. 

The sound of rustling cardboard and the gentle noises of bathroom products sliding against the shelfs of the small closet filled your ears. Half empty jar of manic panic sat temptingly in the back, behind body butters and discarded Colognes. Not what you where looking for. Finally you found it. Reaching in you grabbed a reflective box, iron brand permanent box dye. Better then splat red, you thought to yourself as you cut the box with your kitchen scissors. 

Looking down at your hands you felt the bile rise up in your chest, the burning in your eyes as you blinked back tears. Your hair had gotten longer, shaggy and slightly unkempt in the recent weeks leading up to the cat and mouse game that was scheduling a haircut. It brushed uncomfortably against your neck and that gnawing feeling from your childhood returned. It was like your face morphed in the mirror, hideously soft, lashes too long, and you wanted to look away. Lose ,bright shirt, the sleeves and neck cut off and the thing ruined by stains of black and red and blue. The dye shirt, a staple and testament to your love of this particular activity. 9pm bad decisions. Your chest is devoid of its usual bindings and it eats at you a little until you find yourself rifling to find a hair tie. 

Snip snip snip, clips of uneven hair fall until you are happy with the slightly uneven results and scraggly look it gives. It makes you smile.

First wash, then dry before you once again clumsily drag out a mixing bowl and brush fully determined to make this a masterpiece. But as you slipped on your blue gloves, once a pretty flower design now covered in blue and black from the last incident, you couldn't help but give into that child.the urge to dip your hands into the goopy mix. In goes the bleach, followed by a sloppy measure of vol. 20 developer. 

And the goop called your name- brush discarded as a mixing tool alone you slathered the goopy mix into the strands of your short hair, realizing in panic as you didn't mix enough. Struggling with your nemesis the gloves you cursed under bated breath before managing to get one off so you could once again arduously unscrew the caps and re-mix in another sloppy bit of measuring. 

The counter of the small bathroom was a mess. Neither you nor Konig were particularly neat- a mouth watch in the corner and on the other side a clear blue cup with two toothbrushes inside it. Behind the rim of the white sink were two razors, one missing its guard from frequent use and the other beginning to rust because you forgot to dry it. Sprawling in the mess was a small vial of your testosterone, and also the gell. Closest to the door was a box of tampons and- only now- vol. 20 developer. Ibuprofen next to Tylenol and a children's cough syrup that was God knows how old. Vix vapor rub and a tooth paste. Messy. The hair in the center of your head gradually turned a light blond as your sides and back didn't take the same. Disgruntled you at least hoped for a cool effect. Your scalped itched and nose burned at that familiar comforting smell that was hair bleach. Bowl and brush discarded into Water and sink, you braved the cold frigid touch of the shower head to rinse your bleach soaked hair. 

Should you be going into this right after bleaching and drying? No. But hesitation seems foreign to you as you take out a second brush and bowl, mixing the copper orange until your concoction looks about right. 

You look like a highlighter and it brings out all of your joy. You stare and wait as time ticks by with your head slathered in that ghastly orange. “Heilige Scheiße, sehr orangefarbener kleiner Herr” his voice heavy with his accent and light laughter. He towered in the doorway, arms raised as his large fingertips hug on the top of the frame. He leaned down slightly to watch you and your bright orange hair. Your position didn't go unnoticed by him, sitting on the floor by the tub and showering with a bowl of orange remnants on the toilet. It also didn't go unnoticed by the glassy look in your eyes or the almost imperceptible darkness forming around your waterline from the tears. Your chopped up hair and of course the slightly patchy orange. “I'll help wash your hair, ja Süße?” You smiled and he stalked off the few paces to his room in order to strip his tactical gear away. When he returned he wore a black compression shirt and plaid red lounge pants- the ones you got him last Christmas- and his mask, a nasty habit he picked up from his time serving. He almost never takes it off, when he has it off the gnawing feeling returns. That paranoia and anxious scratching that just won't quit. He doesn't go out much either, preferring to stay home where his face can be on display without anxiety overcoming him in that snippy aggression that seized him. You knew being at home in the little apartment would take a few day before the mask slipped off again, yet to your surprise as he kneeled down he pulled it off. His naturally ginger hair had once again lost much of the length it usually held, although somewhat more lax and not buzzed, you missed the usual small man bun that would hold back his deep auburn hair. His face was aged beyond its years by suffering and work, sharp angles and elegant defined slopes covered with the light scruff of his facial hair that he probably had not had a chance to shave in a few weeks. His cleft lip pulled slightly on the shape of his lips but blended in for the most part with the silver scars littering his face. Next to his mouth and along his jaw, under his eye on his cheek bone, threw his right eyebrow and most concentrated in the area of his mother and lower jaw the pale scars decorated his skin now don't peppered all across him. You smiled seeing his face, interesting and handsome. The latter a thought you beat down with a stick. “Want to tell me why you've been crying huh?” He asked as if he already knew. You nodded and squeaked out a strained yes before leaning over the tub to rinse the dye. His large palm cradled the back of your head as the cold water rushed past your eyes in a stream of orange. Thick fingers pressing ever so gently into your tender scalp scrubbing the remains of orange goop and leaving only one the patchy hair behind. He rubbed the dampening towel  against your hair as you explained to him you ex and how you where now on the hunt for a partner. He chuckled, that deep rumbling sound that was a endless source of delight. “kleiner Schlingel- you don't have to look far” he said confidently, yet his piercing green eyes normally devoid of much feeling searched yours for a sliver of Reassurance. 

You delivered, leaning against his massive shoulder as your ugly orange hair soaks his shirt. But he didn't mind. He loved your ugly orange hair. 

1.4k words

[wrencatte]

#16. Duke & Jason. "Squeeze my hand." (1 out of 20) Duke, Jason, & Joker Venom

Pressurized yellow gas billows out, filling the room before either of them have a second to comprehend Tim’s words. Duke sucks in an instinctive breath and holds it, slapping the side of his mask with hands that shouldn’t shake – they shouldn’t. He’s a vigilante. A hero. He’s faced worse things before already even though it’s only been a few months. His hands can’t be shaking as he fumbles for the latch on his helmet, going for the release of his rebreather. It doesn’t take him several tries to find it.

His heart doesn’t stop when he feels a crack along his cheekbone all the way to his ear, the points of his gloves catching on wire. Duke’s eyes water behind the lenses of his cowl, his lungs scream at him. There’s a giggle forming in the back of his throat, threatening to break out, but he holds it back. Grits his teeth and, and – his chest spasms and he drops to his knees, shoulders shaking. There’s no laughter. Not yet. Duke digs his fingers into the crack of his armor. No. No, please. Nononono. This can’t be happening.

I know it’s you. I’m ashamed of you, Duke.

Duke chokes on the laugh that grinds out of him, like scorching metal and nails on a chalkboard. He chokes on it and breathes in sharply, flooding his system with more Joker venom. He covers his face, one hand pressed over his mouth, the other covering his eyes over the cowl.

“Shit. Shit,” says a familiar voice.

There’s hands tugging on his, pulling them away. He giggles helplessly and can’t fight it – his mom is screaming in his face, unrecognizable in her screaming and laughing and I hate you. I’ll kill you. and the way she slammed her head against the glass over and over and over and over again. He sobs and laughs and falls into the body in front of him, shaking.

“I got you,” someone murmurs above him. “I got you, Narrows.” Then something’s being pressed against his face, cool, clean air spilling down his lungs. He breathes greedily, tears on his cheeks, his chest aching. He keeps his eyes closed even though it hurts. “Yep, that’s it. Keep going, kiddo.”

Duke huffs out a laugh – only tinged with the venom as his enhanced system works the gas out of his system as quickly as it got in. “Not a kid,” he mutters.

“When you’re old enough to buy your own lottery ticket, I won’t call you kid,” Jason says – and he sounds…weird. His grip on Duke’s shoulder is tightening enough for him to feel it through the reinforced kevlar between the gaps of his armor. His voice is tight, controlled…strained.

And he likes to think he knows Jason pretty well by now.

So, he dreads looking.

But he does anyway.

Jason grins at him, casually and carefree, a little hint of fang peeking from his smile. Duke touches the mask over his own face, sees red in the corner of his vision. Jason twitches, smile faltering before turning into something mean to comfort despite how strained it is.

“Hood,” Duke rasps out, panic seizing hold. He lashes out without thinking, gripping Jason’s jacket in a vice grip. “No – you – .”

Jason pulls him away, grasping his hand in a gentle hold. “It’s fine,” he says even though the words tremble around muted laughter. It hasn’t sunk its claws in just yet. “See? I’m fine.”

“Jason – .”

“No,” he cuts Duke off. The corner of his lips twitch, his eyes crinkle in the corner – pain, not reassurance. Duke blinks and he sees an echo flashing forward – Jason hunched, shoulders shaking, one hand buried in his hair – and he shakes his head. Jason squeezes his hand. “I know what it’s like,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to make you go through that. It’s okay.”

Duke shakes his head again. “I can take it,” he argues and even to him it sounds weak. “I can’t watch you…”

“You won’t. I won’t, Duke. C’mon. This is me we’re talkin’ about. I got this.” A noise rips out of his throat – half-formed laughter that sounds like it hurts – and he bites his lip, canines immediately drawing blood. “Listen. My hand – okay? Squeeze my hand and I’ll squeeze back, that’s my proof that I’m still here. I’m not leavin’ you. We East Enders gotta stick together, right?”

Duke cracks a smile at that then tentatively squeezes Jason’s hand. Jason instantly squeezes back, a little rhythmic motion he recognizes from Stephanie. His eyes are clear, a muscle in his jaw keeps jumping as he grinds his teeth, his chest spasms as he tries to hold in laughter, but he squeezes back again when Duke tests it one more time.

“Signal, Hood. Report,” Batman crackles over the comm.

Jason presses fingers against his ear and Duke can’t help but follow the motion, seeing the not-so-subtle tremors. “All good here, B,” he says haltingly. “Got dosed with some venom, but we’re all – ,” he jerks, sucking in a sharp breath. Duke squeezes his hand and gets that rhythmic response. “We’re all good. Hope you got an antidote somewhere in that – that ridiculous belt of yours.”

“Hood,” Batman says firmly – and Duke may not know Batman as well as he knows everyone else, he can tell the difference between “unimpressed with your antics” and “the reason I sound so stern is because I’m ridiculously worried.” “Can you move? Reduce your exposure immediately.”

“R-Right. Expo – Exposure. That’s – ha – a thing.” Jason’s shoulders curl in, hand falling away from his ear to go to his hair, fingers pulling on the strands. A giggle slips through his clenched teeth and he closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

Duke can only watch, heart in his throat, as Jason fights to compose himself, to keep himself here. He squeezes Jason’s hand and – for a long, long second…Jason doesn’t squeeze back.

But then he lets out a shuddering breath and finally, finally squeezes back.

“Jason?” he asks quietly, his stomach hollowing out and dread filling its place. His mom’s wide, wild eyes, blood trickling down her forehead, glass cracked between them. I’ll kill you. I HATE YOU! I’ll KILL YOU!

Jason takes a moment to breathe slowly – but not steadily – before he sits up, mouth smeared with blood from biting back the laughter. He smiles and it almost looks normal. “Let’s get outta here.”

Duke settles himself, slowly and carefully, then stands, never letting go. Jason stays kneeling on the ground, face pale, pain pinched around his eyes and mouth, that sort of stiff tremble that comes from holding in laughter and trying not to show it.

He squeezes one more time – and gets a response – before he’s helping Jason stand, arm wrapped around his back. Jason throws his arm over Duke’s shoulders, hand held out for Duke to grab again. This time Jason squeezes first, and Duke smiles as he replies.

[ashbub]

hidden cards

hazbin hotel au: overlord!husk × angeldust @celestialalpacaron

contents: fluff [2.1k] pt.2

❝ High, all the time, to keep you off my mind.❞ - 1930's version

IN WHICH: two idiots start to fall in love.

Inside the casino, the air was mingled with the sweet scent of cocktails and the faint hum of slot machines. The main hall was adorned with opulent chandeliers and the whispers of bluffs and big wins echoed amidst the clinking of chips and the shuffling of cards.

The soft murmurs of the casino trickled in the background as Angel Dust smoothly ran his fingertips across the railing of the balcony, his gloved fingers curling around the golden accents of the railing with a quiet strained laugh.

Surrounding him, the surface of the balcony was adorned with an array of golden flowers, their petals gleaming like precious metal in the fading light of the crimson sky. Each petal softly glowing as Angel plucked one of the roses quietly, his thin fingers adorned with the sleek black material of his gloves that rolled the stem of the following between his thumb before allowing it to fall from his grip.

Angel Dust couldn't help but wonder what the fuck was wrong with him.

Well, plenty, really. But what had been wrong with him in that particular moment was what had been fucking with him.

One of the casino's clients had hit on him. A regular. Decent looking, easy on the eyes, even sorta funny. The demon had struck up a conversation with him early in the evening, smiling with a confident grin and a fat wallet that was spilling with crinkled-up bills.

The conversation was smooth, nice, even. Even asked him a couple of questions about himself throughout the night through the scattered games of cards and blinking slot machines. But when the guy had leaned over and gestured to kiss him, bringing one of his crooked fingertips underneath the edge of his chin softly, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Working under Valentino, Angel had gotten used to the sudden touches across his skin and advances made toward him under the harsh lights of the fluorescent filming studio. He had grown accustomed to the harsh linger of swirling smoke across the breadth of his clients or the surface of the palms wandering over the bareness of his thigh for a moment too long.

This should be easy for him. Piece of cake, even. And for a while, it was. Just a quick flutter of his lashes, a small giggle behind every sip of his glass, a pretty smile played across his lips often with a sweet praise at their win-

So why couldn't he kiss him? Why the fuck couldn't do it now?

He scrambled for his clutch purse with a scoff under his breath, gingerly plucking out his small powder disk to quickly touch up his makeup from earlier. His other hands smoothed out the golden fabric of his fitted dress that snuggled his thin frame, the material softly shimmering under the hue of the night sky.

"Angel?"

The voice was warm and smooth like melting honey, almost making him sigh as the words wandered by the entrance of the balcony ever so cautiously. The spider demon perked his head towards the doorway with a slight tilt, the soft orange light of the bustling casino contently spilling onto the emerging figure.

"Hey, Whiskers," He whispered back.

Husker's golden eyes had grown soft under his long wispy lashes, the crisp dark suit he wore freshly ironed as he lingered by the doorframe, holding two champagne glasses carefully within the grasp of his thin claws.

"You alright?" His tone was gentle yet raspy, the light tousles of his smoothed-out fur brushed back neatly, the hints of salt and pepper locks peeking out that Angel had been tempted so many times before to comb through with his fingers. "Were any of those fuckers out there bothering you?"

Angel Dust smiled lightly with the small reveal of his golden tooth at the feline, leaning his lanky frame across the railing with a small laugh. "Ah? The king of hearts is all worried about lil ole' me?" He placed his gloved fingertips playfully across the white fluff of his chest that had been adorned with pearls, the splash of gold neatly applied across his eyelids shimmering. "I'm flattered, Husky. Truly, but I'm just catchin' some fresh air."

Angel turned his back to lean his elbows on the surface iron railing, another one of his long hands tentatively cupping the edge of his chin warmly into his palm. "No need t' feel like ya gotta check in on me, big guy." His voice smoothly slipped out with a content chuckle, his dark lashes brushing past his pale cheeks.

There was a brief moment of silence between the both of them, the hum of the slot machines chimed with the occasional roar of excitement erupted from nearby tables where players celebrated their wins or groaned in disappointment at their losses.

Angel had half expected the hear the faint click of dress shoes to slip back towards the noise of the bustling casino, the ends of his teeth sinking into the edge of his glossy bottom lip. His hands slid down smoothly to the pearly white fur of his thin arms, examining the small gold band that wrapped around his finger quietly.

Except, he felt the slight rustle of fabric beside his elbow, and a small gesture of the glistening champagne glass towards him as the demon stood next to him.

Angel quietly blinked at the small offer of champagne, his thin fingers carefully began pinching the stem before glancing back toward the gambling overlord with a pursed lip, his expression softening under the soft hue of the lingering light that wandered from the casino.

"I wanted to." Husk replied, his golden eyes crinkling lightly with a quiet flicker as his smooth hand wandered over the length of his ear with a small sigh, "Too loud out there anyways with all drunk assholes slobbering all over themselves at the bar, it hurts my fucking ears after a while."

Angel Dust took a sip of his drink at the remark, a playful smile spread across the ends of his lips before pressing the tip of his finger on the bowtie the overlord wore and giving it a small singular tap. "You tellin' me," A laugh mingled happily at the edge of his words, dripping with a hushed grin, "If I gotta laugh at one more time over the same shitty pickup line I might ask Satan himself to tear my arms off and jam em' in my ears."

Husk had chuckled quietly in reply, the city skyline glittered in the distance, a sprawling tapestry of lights that painted the night. The soft strains of a jazz band filtered through the open doors as they stood side by side, the subtle shiver that ran through Angel's slender frame. His elegant dress nearly grazed the marble floor, perfect for the upscale occasion, and seemed ill-equipped to shield him from the faint chill of the night.

Without a word, Husk reached for the coat that had been lazily slung across his shoulders and unbuttoned, a soft jacket that had kept him warm most nights at the casino. Angel Dust felt the light fabric drape across his bare shoulders, the faint musk of cologne lingering on the ends as their eyes met for a moment.

"You shouldn't ever have to be cold, y'know," Husker said softly, his voice light with the deep swirls of honey that seemed to be dripping with a warmth that Angel wanted to sink into.

Angel smiled, the corners of the dark pink pricks of his eyes turning upward as he tentatively wrapped the coat around himself. The shared warmth and lingering scent of fresh champagne was sweet across the coat, he noted to himself. "Thank you," He whispered, his voice a breathy murmur that mingled with the night breeze. "Such a gentleman, huh?" He teased with a crooked smile, taking a small sip from the glass that still was cool between the grip of his fingers with a waggle of his pointer finger. "Careful there, ask a girl to dinner before you start giving her the wrong idea, Gatinno"

The gambling demon hummed with a smooth laugh of his own, finally resting the empty champagne glass on the surface of the balcony railing with a snort, "If letting your ass freeze out here is giving the wrong idea, can't imagine what might be the right one," His red wings fluttered a bit, tucking themselves carefully to his sides, thoughtfully placing a claw to the edge of his curled up lip, "Though, dinner ain't sounding half bad right 'bout now."

The ripples of his dress wrinkled with a golden shimmer as the former adult actor nuzzled into the scent of the coat, his fingertips tugging the small buttons of the coat with a light flicker of amusement crinkling in the corner of his eyes, "Ah~! Didn't drink enough tonight to fill that stomach of yours, Kitty cat?"

The corner of Husk's mouth curled at the comment, leaning slightly closer to tap the edge of Angel's champagne glass, so close that he could almost feel the smoothness of his breath lingering on his words, "I'll have you know, that drink you're holding was actually supposed to be for me, Legs."

"Oh, what an honor!" Angel's eyes briefly sparked with mischief, dramatically placing a hand to his chest to feign offense at the remark, "Do sure know how to make a gal feel special, hm?"

The streetlights below them had now flickered to life from the sight of the balcony as they both chuckled, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement like ghosts in the night. The distant hum of traffic gave way to the rhythmic beat of music, drifting up from hidden clubs and bars nestled among the labyrinthine streets below.

Husk brought his elbows to the edge of the metal railing as Angel felt his arm slightly brush against him, quietly feeling the warmth of his sudden touch. "This is my favorite spot in this whole joint, y'know?" He spoke with a faint glint, the white buttoned-up shirt softly rustling with the light winds that tugged at the ends of his combed-back hair.

Bringing a gloved hand to his puffed cheek, the spider demon took a curious glance over at the overlord, an eyebrow cocked playfully towards his direction at the statement. "Seriously? Full of surprises aren't ya, kitty? Thought it was the bar-"

Husk shrugged his shoulders with a lazy grin spread across the corners of his mouth, "Which is a close second," He confirmed before relaxing his grip of the sleek railing with a tight whistle. "But from here? You can see all of Pentagram City. Part of the reason I wanted to build my casino here was when I first got started. Ain't nothin' in all of Hell comparing to this view."

Husk met Angel's eyes for a moment, lightly nodding to himself before flickering back towards the scene below them. "Well, perhaps a few things."

Angel Dust dragged his fingertips across the surface of the balcony railing with a hum perched across his curled lips, "I can see why ya like it so much." He laughed with a hand brought to his chest, another waving a small hand into the air with a soft sigh, "Y'know, growing up, my sister used to wanna go out and see all the big cities. When my pops would be out and ma was at church, my sis would let me get all dolled up in her dresses and we would pretend to be like those big Vegas showgirls."

He didn't know quite why he had shared that with Husk. He rarely mentioned his family like that during his time alive, which gave him far too many headaches trying to recall memories that had seemed to now become a hazed recollection of a life he could no longer recognize as his own. Hell, maybe it was all the drinks he had drank throughout the evening. He couldn't honestly figure out what exactly caused it.

"Bet she would be losin' her mind seeing me in a dress like this." Angel continued with a small snort to lighten up the sudden shift, bringing the tips of his fingers down the soft fabric that embraced his slender figure. "Ain't ever got t' wear something nearly this nice when I was with her."

With a softening expression, Husk nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I bet she would be." Husk had straightened up slightly, his voice slightly melting into a rasp that mingled with his breath as his lips pursed. "You look stunning, Angel, really."

The spider demon could feel his own face heating up, taking a moment to run his fingers carefully through the curls of his hair before gaining some composure.

"Ain't too bad on the eyes yourself, Husky."

Before the conversation could carry any further, an imp had quickly entered cautiously by the entrance of the balcony. He wore a small waiter attire, a simple buttoned-up white shirt and a dark vest that was tugged neatly on the top. The waiter had rushed up to Husk, quickly whispering a few things before scrambling back with a metal tray balanced meekly on his arm.

"I gotta take care of a few things," Husk softly said with a sigh, his light golden eyes finally flickering carefully towards Angel. He gently reached for Angel's hand, lightly running the surface of his thumb across the smooth fabric of the glove before warmly placing a faint kiss on the back of his hand. "Scusa, caro." He whispered, his words still lingering on the back of his hand as Angel could feel a sudden warmth spread across his cheeks at the brief Italian words that the overlord had spoken.

Blinking and attempting to ignore the sudden heat sent across his face, Angel quickly scrambled for the thick coat that remained comfortably across his shoulders, flusteredly extending it back towards him with a bashful expression etched across his sweet features. "Your coat, Husky- Here, take it back before ya head inside." He insisted, finding his eyes more focused on the floor pattern rather than the demon that stood in front of him.

Husk had glanced at the coat before waving it off with a faint grin, "Keep it, I got plenty." He replied before looking at Angel for a moment longer, "It looks better on you anyway."

Angel Dust smiled quickly, holding the coat closer to his chest with a quiet breath. The finely stitched coat complimenting the golden fabric of his gown as his fingertips gathered the material closely.

"Thank you, Husk."

Husk nodded; a faint warmth spread across his face with a small smile in return.

"Of course, Anthony."

a/n: this au is everything and i love it so much :,))

and i suggest listening to "habits" cover by haley reinhart, it fit the jazzy feel of the casino i wanted for this fic & overall reminds me of angel <3 and stay tuned, i plan on actually making this three parts so lemme know if you wanna @ to be notified :D

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Pain in My Heart // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise or Daphne are trying to matchmake Reader with one of their brothers (you can pick which one) but Reader actually hits it off with another brother who's in love at first sight (again, your choice!!). - @libraryoffandomsuniverse

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this has taken!! I hope I have done your request justice. I had a lot of fun writing this, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve come up so I hope you like!! Thank you for requesting! Title: Pain in My Heart - Otis Redding

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Platonic), Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, awful flirting (I can't write it for the life in me), unrequited love (?), a pride and prejudice moment, love confessions, fluff, very very light angst.

Word count: 4.7k

There wasn’t a lot that Daphne and Eloise Bridgerton had in common. It was thought by their mother that due to their closeness in age, they would get along swimmingly. However, by the time that Eloise could speak for herself, it became increasingly clear that there were to be no two people different than that of Eloise and Daphne.

However, whilst the two did not share the same tastes in music or literature, they were united in the hope that they would see their elder brothers happily in love.

It is on a Wednesday in the middle of February when Daphne decides that it is time for her eldest brother, Anthony, to find a wife.

Her decision is made when Anthony stalks into the family drawing room. The only sign of his anger being the blazing of his eyes. Dramatically, he throws himself onto the closest couch, his legs stretching across the pale blue fabric as he laments the meddling of mothers.

Daphne barely represses the urge to roll her eyes. She could tell that Eloise was having a hard time not telling her brother how easy he had it in comparison to rights of women and marriage.

Thankfully, however, Anthony is saved from such a lecture by the announcement of a beloved friend. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Bridgerton family for as long as she had been alive. The same age as Daphne, the two had fallen into an easy friendship that grew more cherished the more time passed.

Upon her announcement, Anthony sits up with keen interest. An action not missed by both Daphne and Eloise – they share a look, one only understood by sisters with masses of brothers.

“Dear (Y/N),” Daphne greets, standing from her chair to greet her lifelong friend, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been very well though it has only been a couple of days since you saw me last.”

Daphne laughs; a light and airy sound. “I can still miss you in that time. Come, sit by me and we can catch up.”

The two women are soon joined by Eloise who places her book down on the table, spine up so she does not lose her page. From where they sit, neither Anthony nor Benedict can hear what the women seem to be whispering about though it seems to be of a serious issue with grave looks on their faces.

Benedict decides that he doesn’t like the look of frustration on her face; the furrow of her brows. If it wouldn’t raise questions of his sanity, he would press his thumb to the furrow, smoothing out her brow so not a trace of the worry remained.

“(Y/N),” Anthony calls, interrupting the conversation currently taking place between the three women, “Would you be attending Lord and Lady Hopton’s ball later on this week? Lord Hopton has done nothing but discuss the expense being put into the event.”

(Y/N) swallows her small sip of tea, placing the cup and saucer down on the table before answering the eldest Bridgerton. “I do plan on attending,” She smiles, fiddling with her gloved fingers.

A pleased smile breaks out across Anthony’s face as he nods. Turning away from her, Anthony walks back to the pale blue couch that only mere moments ago he had thrown himself across in vexation at his dear mother. Now, he sits down gently, making sure every ounce of his nobility is on show.

Benedict cannot help but roll his eyes at the antics of his elder brother. As if on a covert mission for the crown, Benedict’s gaze slides back to her – runs over her figure, taking in the way her dress sits on her form and the way her smile lights up her whole face. He’s a fool in love, he realises, but he would rather be a fool in love with her than a fool in love with anyone else.

It’s as if he finally understands what the poets write about; how the artists never paint more than their muse. As Benedict peers down at the sketchbook in his hands, he comes to realise that he has been drawing her for months. He has found his muse and it’s close to breaking him when he sees the plotting glance shared between Daphne and Eloise.

(Y/N) sits at the table, utterly unaware of the plan being concocted between his sisters. He has the urge to scream, to yell but he keeps quiet. Benedict becomes the very definition of decorum; smiling politely at her when their eyes meet from across the room. The very moment sends his heart skipping a beat before picking up a rhythm he isn’t certain is compatible with life. He has to stop himself from reaching up to grab his chest to ensure his heart doesn’t beat right out of it.

All too soon the moment is over, and she returns to laughing with his younger sisters, but even she knows that something has changed between them. (Y/N) wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight; the very notion belonging only to fairytales, but she, herself, could not deny the thrill that overtook her body when she met the blue eyes of Benedict Bridgerton.

-----------

Lord and Lady Hopton owned one of the last remaining Tudor residences in London. Many had fallen during the reformation, but in some strange stroke of luck, the Hopton’s home had remained largely undamaged. From there, it passed down the male line as all properties and titles were wont to do in such a society.

The current Lord and Lady prided themselves on the tracking of their lineage, dedicating themselves to the conservation of their home. It was rare for them to throw a ball such as this one, but with the favourable weather, Lady Hopton was able to convince her husband it would be well enough for the courtyard to be used to entertain their nearest and dearest.

There was no set theme; an idea many were grateful for. As much as (Y/N) loved the dress up, the competitive nature between eligible ladies wasn’t something she was in the mood for.

The atmosphere is much more relaxed as (Y/N) takes a turn about the room, smiling politely at the women she has grown up with in London society. They would be civil towards each other, but there was no real friendships forged. (Y/N) was quite content with the Bridgerton brood.

Though they had arrived together, (Y/N) found herself wandering from the comforting presence of the family. She could feel Anthony’s eyes on her, and she thinks of Daphne’s suggestion from the other day; the eldest Bridgerton girl had all but suggested that (Y/N) marry Anthony.

Whilst the suggestion was flattering, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the moment she shared with Benedict. She thinks of the moment often; remembers the way his stare felt, as if he was staring into her very soul and he liked what he found. She thinks of the way her body responded; the shiver sent through her and how she realised that she liked the way he looked at her. As if she hung the moon and stars in the sky for him, and him alone.

(Y/N) loses herself in the crowd. She wanders and wanders, watching new love form and old love strengthen as she catches sight of couples beginning their night. (Y/N) continues her ruminating until she bumps into something hard. Another body.

(Y/N) cringes when she finds herself face to face with the chest of Benedict Bridgerton. “Benedict!” She gasps, “I’m sorry.”

He steadies her with a gentle hand to her elbow. “You have nothing to apologise for. You looked to be deep in thought, I’m only sorry for interrupting you.”

(Y/N) feels her skin begin to flush. I was thinking of you, she wants to cry at the man, but she only just manages to refrain herself.

Benedict laughs before he can stop himself. “If you’re reacting like that, I have to know what you were thinking of.”

“Nothing for nosies,” She responds, a coy smile crossing her painted lips.

Benedict gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” (Y/N) laughs, patting Benedict’s arm in mock pity.

“I don’t know,” Benedict expresses, his eyes running over her face and outfit. “I think I’m going to need someone to nurse me back to health.”

(Y/N) feels her skin once again begin to heat at the insinuation in his words. She had encountered banter before with the Bridgerton brothers, but she had never encountered such overt flirting. Benedict’s eyes glittered with mirth; his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes – this was him. This was Benedict in his element; he was an artist, a gentleman, and a man that could render her speechless with a simple line of speech.

She finds it hard to respond for a moment; finds it hard to string two thoughts together in his intoxicating presence. She flounders for a second, watching Benedict continue to smile widely as if he had nothing better to do than waste time with her.

Eventually, she collects herself enough. She peers up at the man from under her lashes, fluttering them to the best of her ability as she whispers, “Such requests may make the recovery period a lot longer and a lot harder.”

Leaving the man speechless, (Y/N) pats his arm once more before taking her leave. Feeling hot and bothered by her encounter with Benedict, (Y/N) ambles over to drinks table. Daphne and Eloise stand there nursing their own drinks; they smile widely at their friend as she approaches the table.

“Have you given thought to what I suggested the other day?” Daphne asks; watching her best friend over the rim of her lemonade glass.

“Courting Anthony?” (Y/N) clarifies, reaching for her glass of the tepid drink. She frowns absentmindedly; it was one of the main issues with balls, they never could keep the drinks cold enough to be refreshing throughout the night. They almost always turned sour.

“The very suggestion,” (Y/N)’s dearest friend states with a smile.

“It wouldn’t work,” (Y/N) protests, urging her friends to see the truth. “We aren’t suited for each other.”

“Anthony disagrees,” Daphne chimes, looking and feeling all to superior in the conversation. “He confided to me only yesterday that he wants to court you.”

The ground is close to swallowing her whole; the walls becoming far too close for her liking. Her mouth is dry when she tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. “That wouldn’t be fair to him,” She croaks, feeling all too close to tears.

“Why not?” Daphne demands, making her vexation known by placing her hands on her hips.

“Daphne,” Eloise interrupts, glancing warily between the two women. “(Y/N) isn’t in love with Anthony. She’s in love with someone else.”

The fight leaves her beloved friend in an instant; she brings a hand to her mouth to cover the shock of Eloise’s words. “I didn’t know,” She whispers, “I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” (Y/N) appeases, “I’m rather new to this.”

“Do we know who it is?” Daphne asks, unable to keep the excitement off her face as she thinks of the handful of men worthy enough to love her dear friend.

(Y/N) sighs, deciding whether to come clean and tell her longest friend that she has found herself hopelessly in love with her brother. She hadn’t even expected it. “It’s Benedict,” She eventually confesses, feeling pressured by the investigative gaze of Daphne Bridgerton.

“Benedict?” Daphne asks, confused, “As in my other brother?”

“The very same,” (Y/N) comments lightly… too lightly as if ready to be on the defence for her feelings for Benedict.

Daphne blinks once, twice before her face breaks with the most beautiful smile. “Oh (Y/N)!” She cries, “This is wonderful!”

“He might not love me back,” (Y/N) whispers, doing her best to keep a light spin on the situation but the idea that Benedict may not return her feelings hurts far more than it should.

“And Anthony still wants to court you,” Eloise reminds her, her voice close to pity.

“Speaking of the devil,” Daphne murmurs with a smile on her face, “Anthony is heading this way.”

“He is?” (Y/N) asks, pivoting on the spot to the find the eldest Bridgerton making his way through the crowd. He smiles at his sisters, briefly checking their glasses to ensure they were sticking strictly to the lemonade offered. When he is suited with what he finds, he turns to (Y/N) and holds out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” He asks her with a confident smile.

She nods her consent, taking his offered hand and allowing herself to be led to the floor. Anthony leads her expertly across the floor; lessons as a child and years in the London society forging him to be an impressive dancer. He makes her laugh as they continue dance, and whilst (Y/N) has a good time with the eldest Bridgerton, she cannot see herself falling for the man like she can see her entire future with Benedict.

------------

The ball had wound down naturally; families and lovers beginning to make their way home through the early morning London streets. (Y/N) travels with the Bridgertons, having arrived with them in the first place. Daphne focuses on the streets of London, doing her best not to fall asleep before getting home to her bed.

“How are you getting home?” Daphne asks, not removing her gaze from the darkened streets of the capital city.

“I’m not sure, I don’t want to have to wait for another carriage,” (Y/N) complains, holding a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn that had slipped out. The tiredness was clinging to her bones now; she wanted nothing more to crawl into her own bed, sink into the pillows and fall into a dreamworld where Benedict climbs into the other side of the bed.

“Stay with us,” Eloise invites, meeting Anthony’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” (Y/N) asks smally; the last thing she wanted was to be burden on her friends.

“You never could be,” Anthony smiles, “You’re always welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” She whispers, reaching for his hand in the dark and squeezing.

Silence falls for the rest of the ride; the weariness of each of them punctuating the air, creating a warmer atmosphere that leaves (Y/N) blinking away sleep. Eloise does her best to remain awake, but her head soon winds up on Anthony’s shoulder to which the man looks the surprised. He recovers quickly, adjusting his younger sister to make her more comfortable.

The Bridgerton siblings and (Y/N) all sigh in blessed relief when the carriage rolls to a stop outside Bridgerton House. The door opening lets in a cold blast of air, making her shiver as she reaches for the handle to help herself down.

“Here,” Benedict’s voice sounds in the dark light of night, “Let me help you.”

His hand reaches for hers; it clasps hers gently as he helps her down from the carriage. All too soon, his hand falls from hers and (Y/N) is left feeling bereft from the absence of his touch. “Thank you,” She whispers, taking a risk and glancing up at the blue eyes already fixed steadily on her.

“You’re welcome,” He murmurs. Benedict glances back to the carriage to find the rest of his family descending on them. “Goodnight,” He whispers, ducking his head in a bow and leaving her on the steps of Bridgerton House.

(Y/N) watches the man depart in somewhat of a daze. If she focused hard enough, she could still feel his hand in hers. She could feel every fingerprint, every crease, every line in his palm. She could feel it all; she wanted to feel more. She wanted everything with that man; would happily offer up her everything for a single glimpse at what it could be like to wake up in his arms and be happy.

Sighing heavily, she touches a hand to her forehead, pausing in the grand entryway of the Bridgerton family home. She felt so keenly for the man that she knew she would suffer the worst fate to man should he not return her feelings: heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” Anthony calls from the door, his arm around Eloise’s waist. “Would you meet me in my study? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” She allows, smiling at the sight before her. Anthony whispers something to his sister to which Eloise offers her goodnights and begins to climb the stairs to her room, Anthony following behind her with a worried look on his face that only a beloved brother could master.

Anthony’s study smelled of wood polish; the mahogany desk sitting by the windows being the main feature of the room. It’s dark wood providing the much of the fragrance in the room; it’s a comforting scent. (Y/N) smiles when she realises that it’s comforting as it reminds her of the Viscount; the scent of his spicy cologne intermingled with the wood, becoming one and the same.

“Thank you for waiting,” Anthony whispers, closing the door behind him, “I know how tired you are, but I really wanted to speak to you.”

“Whatever’s the matter?”

Suddenly, Anthony no longer holds the prowess of a Viscount but rather, looks like the eighteen year old boy handed a peerage all too soon. He runs a hand through his hair out of nerves, pacing back and forth behind his desk. Eventually, he comes to a slow stop, resting his hands on the back of his father’s ageing chair. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

“It’s been on my mind more and more these days,” She answers honestly. It’s all she has thought of since her eyes met Benedict’s across the room and she got a glimpse into what her mornings, afternoons, evenings with the man could be like.

“I think we could be good together,” Anthony argues, offering up a slice of his heart for the taking, “I think we work well together.”

“Anthony, may I be honest with you for a moment?”

“I’d hope for nothing more.”

She takes a deep breath; steeling her nerves before smiling at the Viscount. “With all due respect, I don’t think you do love me.”

Anthony moves to interrupt her; a flash of anger and upset in his eyes. He quietens when she holds up a single hand; begging him to let her continue. “Anthony, I think you were looking for someone to stop your mother from pestering you about marriage. I just happened to walk into the room at the right moment.”

Anthony frowns; he takes in (Y/N)’s words, letting them roll around his mind as he thinks back to the first day when he realised he could truly love the woman sitting in front of him. Violet Bridgerton had been on him from the moment he walked through the front door; producing yet another list of eligible women in London that he could find a potential match in. He had taken the list from his beloved mother and in the privacy of his study, he had ripped the list to tiny pieces making sure that none of the names were legible.

On some level, he has always loved her. (Y/N) had been in his life from the very day she was born; mother being friends, Violet able to offer (Y/N)’s advice as she was her firstborn. At this point, Violet was a seasoned expert on motherhood. Anthony had always known of the girl that was best friends with Daphne; he had watched her grow up. On some level, he has always had some feeling for her.

He knows know, though, that those feelings could never broach romance. There was too deep an affection between them.

“You’re right,” Anthony states, “It wouldn’t be a love match.”

“It wouldn’t,” She affirms, taking a seat in front of the large, wooden desk. Silhouettes of his parents and siblings decorate the space; it brings a fond smile to her face. Anthony presented a strong front, but in private, he was as much the adoring son and brother.

“But you think you have found your love match,” Anthony declares, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m not sure,” She laughs mirthlessly. “I have no clue as to whether he feels the same.”

“He’d be an idiot, not to,” Anthony compliments, “Do I know the lucky man?”

(Y/N) looks sheepish as she stares at the Viscount. She had already confessed to Daphne and Eloise – what harm could one more person do?

“It’s Benedict.”

“You love him,” Anthony whispers; not an accusation, not an ounce of anger in his voice. A simple fact stated for the room.

(Y/N) nods. “I do. I love him with all that I am and all that I know I could be.”

A sad, bittersweet smile crosses Anthony’s face; he won’t speak of how the words hurt him. He reaches for her hand and clasps it tightly between both of his.

“Go to him,” He whispers, “You have my blessing.”

(Y/N) stands. Her intention is to leave the room and find the Bridgerton who had so readily taken root within her heart, but first she crosses to where Anthony stands behind his desk. He watches her with curious eyes as the silk of her glove brushes his cheek; his eye flutter closed when he feels the featherlight press of her lips and the whisper of her gratitude.

Anthony keeps his eyes closed when she pulls away from him; he keeps them closed until he hears the tell-tale click of the door. It is only then that Anthony allows himself to open his eyes and peer into the heartbreak now cracking open his chest. Not for the love he though he felt, but for the utter want racing through his body. He wants a love like that; he was going to find a love like that.

They would be happy together; he thinks to himself as he breathes in the floral scent of her perfume. They would be happy together, perfectly suited to the point that Anthony craves such intimacy. One day; he promises, one day he would hold such a treasure within his hands.

-------------

Bridgerton House remained warm and inviting even after the family had long retired for bed. The sconces lining the walls still lit; their warm light easy on anyone’s eyes should they need to traverse the hallways for whatever reason.

The path to Benedict’s room isn’t one she has taken often. Thinking on it, (Y/N) realises that save for being shown the door on her first ever visit to the London home, she has not stepped foot close to the room since. Until tonight, that is.

Her skirts swish delicately underfoot as (Y/N) makes her way to his room. She doesn’t dare utter a single breath for the fear of being caught; all around her slumber her closest friends. If she were caught by a member of staff, her reputation balanced on being ruined.

Her hand trembles as she clenches it into a fist, raises it to the plain white door and knocks twice. She waits on the threshold, twisting her fingers into her skirts – a nervous habit she’s had since she was a child. She was thankful that she no longer bit her nails down to the bed.  

“Come in,” calls his quiet voice and her nerves only heighten. Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door that could reveal her future.

“(Y/N),” Benedict gasps, the deep v of his shirt falling open, revealing far more of his bare chest than (Y/N) had expected to see tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you,” She whispers, hovering between the doorway and his room. She does her best to not stare at the defined muscles on display but loses the battle. Her eyes run over the parts of his muscular torso and the strong forearms shown with the sleeves of white shirt rolled up. She didn’t think it was possible to be attracted to the forearms of a person, but here was Benedict proving her wrong.

“What if you get caught?” He whisper-asks, worry lacing his tone as he glances at something behind her. She turns on instinct only to find an empty hallway and three lit sconces.

“Anthony knows where I am,” She retorts, stepping further into Benedict’s room.

“Anthony?”

“He gave me his blessing.”

“To enter my room… unattended… late at night?”

“Essentially, yes,” She smiles, thinking back to her conversation with the Viscount.

“Why were you talking to Anthony?” Benedict asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t like the simmering jealousy he feels that the picture of (Y/N) alone with Anthony in his study. He clears his throat to chase away the hollow ache of envy; he doesn’t want to picture the conversation. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

“He asked me to court him.”

“Oh,” Benedict responds, feeling his heart begin to crack in his chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him I couldn’t. We wouldn’t suit each other and one other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“I don’t love him. I love someone else.”

“You do? Do I know them?”

(Y/N) laughs, stretching her arms out as she gestures to Benedict’s bedroom. “I’m stood in your room in the middle of the night, Benedict, with full knowledge that if I were to be caught by any of the staff, I would be ruined. What does that tell you?”

Benedict frowns, refusing to let himself fall into the hope growing in his chest. He feels like Icarus; too close to the sun, too close to thing he wants most in this world.

“Stop this pain in my heart,” She commands weakly. “Stop this pain and tell me if you feel the same. If you don’t, I understand but I’d ask you not to tell anyone of this midnight visit.”

His mouth runs dry, and he finds it hard to answer. He’s falling, falling, falling for the woman stood across from him and he cannot find the words to accurately describe the depth of his feelings for her. That day in the drawing room – he’s known her for years, always been aware of her, but that day, it was as if he was finally seeing her for the pure beauty that she inhabits. She could rival Aphrodite herself.

Upset shutters across (Y/N)’s face as she nods twice, trying her best to keep the burn of tears at bay. “It’s okay, Benedict,” She whispers, turning for the door, “Thank you for listening.”

At the last moment, Benedict reaches out and snatches her wrist. “Don’t go,” He pleads, “Don’t leave me. I don’t think I could live with myself if you left me.”

“I don’t understand,” She whispers; confusion lacing her voice. Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the man before her, “You didn’t say anything. You stayed silent; I took that as my cue to leave.”

Benedict shakes his head. “Don’t go,” He whispers, bringing a hand up to card through the loose strands of hair framing her face. He almost preens as she leans into his touch. “I feel the same, I love you just the same,” Benedict confesses; feeling the weight leave his chest.

“You do?” She asks; her voice small but hopeful.

“I do,” Benedict smiles, brushing her cheek with his finger, “I think I always have, but I didn’t realise until recently.”

(Y/N) sniffles as tears threaten to make an appearance. She laughs wetly, unable to stop the giggle from leaving her mouth as Benedict wipes away the tears. “I hope those are happy tears,” He murmurs wryly.

“They are,” She answers, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level. “They definitely are.”

“Good,” He answers.

Their faces are so close now it would only take a fraction of a movement to press their lips together; to seal the promise of their union. “Kiss me, Benedict,” She whispers; need lacing her voice as she stares into his famously blue eyes.

Benedict doesn’t need to be told twice; it isn’t often he gets to kiss a goddess.

********

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The Ends of Hallways (Proxies X F!Reader)

The Ends of Hallways

[Proxies X F!Reader]

[Warnings: slight language]

[AN: Y'all are just gonna have to thank Eris for always sending me the best requests. I don't have favorites,,, but Reader, I have favorites. Also no Kate sorry :( ]

Your face was practically squished against the glass of the car Hoodie had stolen as the four of you pull into the parking lot of woods that brim with the Operator’s energy. You’ve never seen these woods in person - only in dreams. You’ve never even really seen your master in person, once again, like these woods, he too has been confined to your dreams. But you hear him, and often. His voice falls down on your ears like gentle rains that fall from the heavens. He is everything and more. That is why it is so exciting for you to finally be here, so close to him, and to his presence.

“You excited?” You hear your group leader ask.

You nod and press harder up against the glass. “Are we going now?” You’re ready to bounce out of the car and everyone can see that.

He chuckles in response. “What do you think Hood? Time to go?”

The hazel eyed man behind him shoots the driver a look. “Masky, just look at her, she’s gonna break the window if we don’t.” There’s a slight playfulness in his tone that tells you the right hand really isn’t annoyed with you.

“Fair enough,” Masky smiles. He then reaches behind his seat, hand slapping at who used to be the runt’s knee. “Tobes? Tob-Tobes, get up.”

Toby’s eyes shoot open as he lurches forward. “I’m u-u-up, I-I’m u-up,” he yawns as his hands rub tiredly at his eyes. “Are w-w-we here a-alaready?” He asks, the exhaustion still clear in his tone.

Both of the men in the front seats nod. “C’mon, let’s get going,” Hoodie says as he pulls up the lock on his car door before sliding out.

You wait impatiently for Masky to unlock the car then zip out like a bat from hell. You’re immediately at the edge of one of the forest’s many trails and taking in the sights and sounds of your boss’s woods. They’re beautiful, really. The autumn colors bathe the woods in fiery oranges and passionate reds with threads of gold to interlock it all together. The sky is just the slightest shade of blue as clouds cover the sun. There weren’t any people here either - not under the little structures, not exploring, not anyone but you and your comrades.

“Wrong one,” Hoodie says as he closes the trunk to the car before tossing a backpack to Toby, who catches it like second nature.

You whip your head around to see that Masky, Hoodie and Toby are smiling at how excited you are before silently asking you to follow them. “Where are we going?” You ask, eyes wide as you jog up to them.

“Across the field. There’s this cool tunnel of trees we think you’ll appreciate,” Masky replies as he leads his group across the grass. It crunches slightly as the four of you move, like it hasn’t been watered in a long time.

“R-Really?” Toby hums as he puts his hands in his pockets. “You s-s-sure we’re n-not gonna be l-late?” The young proxy gives a slight look to his group leader, eyebrow raised as if he’s sure the Operator is okay with them possibly being tardy.

Masky shakes his head before tapping his temple with his free hand, “he told me it’s okay.”

“He did?” You ask as stars cloud your eyes. The Operator, as you’ve heard so far, is to be feared and respected. He’s like a father you can look at but never touch. He seems so out of your range, like he’s not even visible - not even if you squint your eyes. You wonder what makes you so… interesting… in his eyes. You really don’t think you’re worth all the fuss. Clearly he does.

Masky chuckles before ruffling your hair with his hand, “yeah. I think he finds your enthusiasm endearing.” Masky’s not entirely incorrect. When they first got Toby, the Operator was strangely favorable towards the young proxy as well - maybe because he was hand plucked, special, and therefore deemed worthy of his time. You were similar to Toby, albeit, you accidentally got involved with the Operator. He liked you, chose you, then kept you.

Hoodie whistles slightly as the four of you step into the trees, his gloved hand reaching up to tear off a branch from one of the low hanging trees then swing it aimlessly as his side. “Seems pretty obvious in my opinion,” he whacks Toby lightly with the stick making said proxy laugh. “Looks like Toby isn’t the only golden child anymore.”

“P-Probably not,” Toby hums, a slight melancholy coming into his tone. “Think I-I’ve been losing f-f-favor with h-hin for a w-while.” He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you.

You frown slightly and place your hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just means he has two golden child-s now.”

Toby beams.

You do too.

The group continues to move through the trees, mostly silent save for Masky and Hoodie pointing out little memories from time to time. Things such as some guy named ‘Alex’ chasing them through here, Masky’s waking up with no memory, Hoodie’s nature shots, and everything in between. You learn a lot about the hands of your group from when they were just scared film students to the things they’ve done as proxies here. It’s kind of nice as you’ve never really spoken to them this way before.

When you first came into this life and were placed in this group, the hazing process kicked in like wildfire. Almost every day was a mentally or physically, sometimes both, a draining task and a bonding agent. Authority was not to be questioned and they made that more than clear. Eventually, the hazing grew lighter and lighter until it just… didn’t exist. That was how it went - you were no longer considered naive and starry eyed. Still, authority was not to be questioned, and it’s why you and your comrades have never really talked on this specific level before.

It’s why it’s such a treat that you get to talk to them like this now.

Eventually, the four of you make it to an odd stretch of trees. They tunnel over each other, a lot like a thorny funnel, but they frame the sky so well.

“If the sun was setting,” Masky starts. “It would look like a cradle.”

You take a step back and observe the tunnel of trees, trying to imagine the setting sun. The mental image is pretty. “Will we ever be back here to see it?”

“Oh definitely,” Masky continues. “But uh, the business we’re here for today? Don’t know if that’s meant for anyone but me and maybe Hoodie.”

You look on instinct to Hoodie who nods. “Is that normal?”

“Sure is,” Hoodie says as he takes in the scent of the cooling autumn woods. He knows the group is almost to the limits of the Operator’s realm. “Tell me what you feel right now, Reader,” he says in passing as he flicks the stick somewhere off the given trail.

With a glance around at your surroundings, you attempt to get a feel for the area you’re in. It’s cold, much colder, but the atmosphere still feels a little thick. The further you go into the woods (and by extension the Operator’s bounds to which you don’t even know exist yet), you get that odd feeling in your legs that feels like they’ve fallen asleep. It’s like the physical sensation of static. You try to explain it in words, but they fail. Instead, you allow Hoodie into your thoughts.

“Nice,” he smiles. “Alright, try to ask for permission in.”

“I need to ask for permission?”

“E-Everytime,” Toby begins as he and the others pause. They’re right on the edge of the bubble and can feel it so much stronger than you can. “It’s t-to ensure n-normal humans c-can’t come in,” Toby begins to explain as you gaze around your surroundings, wondering how you’ll even begin to ask. “T-Though, their f-feelings sometimes k-kick into o-overdrive and they e-end up p-piercing through the v-veil on a-a-accident.” He chuckles softly and you know exactly what he’s referring to - you’ve heard tales of the people who get stuck wandering where they shouldn’t: always ends in someone strung up in the pines. “W-We’ve all learned t-to ask p-permission like b-breathing.”

You shoot your comrade a confused glance, wondering what that will mean for you. “I just ask?”

“Kind o-of,” Toby says. “Just l-let your f-f-feelings guide you. She’ll t-t-tell you whether you’re a-a-allowed in or not.”

You close your eyes and begin to hone in on whatever your heart is telling you. It’s a cold feeling, mostly like vines that slip up and down your limbs as they grow upwards and then inwards towards your heart. It’s an odd feeling. Once the static vines pierce through your heart, you physically see a fog roll into the forest around you. It consumes you and your comrades before you remember Toby mentioned ‘she.’ The fog thickens. “Wait, she?” You say as the static begins to leave your system. It feels like you’re tearing through roots as you walk forward.

“He didn’t mean it,” Masky quickly replies as he begins to pull you through the fog. “Good job on asking though. Strong response,” he says as gestures to the fog, his hand swimming through the billowy clouds. “Wives’ tale is the stronger the fog, the more genuine you were in response.”

You wade your fingers through the thick fog as you and the others walk forward, deeper and deeper into the darkness where there was none. “Must’ve had a really genuine response, huh?” You mumble to yourself. The fog doesn’t even feel like normal fog - it feels thick and heavy and leaves slight dew on your clothing as you walk. How interesting.

‘Head talk from here on out,’ Hoodie says as the four of you reach a stretch of woods that feels slightly dangerous.

‘Did you feel it too?’ Toby asks, his hand at his hatchet.

Hoodie nods slightly, his eyes narrowing as he slows his pace so he’s guarding the back. He gives you a slightly concerned look as the fog evens out. Everyone but you knows that they’re in perhaps one of the most dangerous parts of the veil. The Operator’s mere presence is usually enough to deter the things like the Rake from his grounds, but that often means they get trapped here - in the in-between - and lash out on the first thing they sense. The sooner the four of you get out of this dangerous spot, the better.

‘What do you sense?’ You ask, cutting mentally through the rough silence, your own hand moving to your blade.

Hoodie looks like he’s about to answer you before he holds his fist up and the other three of you duck down instantly, dipping below the fog. Just then, some deer begin walking past.

‘Deer?’ You say in a questioning tone.

‘Not just any deer,’ Hoodie begins as the deer slowly nibbles on the leaves and other things. ‘Take a good look at their bodies. They look normal to you?’

You narrow your eyes slightly and get used to peering through the fog as the deer pass. Eventually, you’re able to look at their coats. There’s something off about them, something wrong. Something you can’t quite place. The longer you watch them as they move in front of you, the stronger that off feeling gets. They have every physical part of the deer down but it’s just not right. It’s like their joints don’t fit well beneath their skin. And their eyes… Their eyes are completely hollow.

‘You see it?’ Masky asks as the last of the deer passes by. He glances over his shoulder briefly to see you nod. ‘We’re lucky they didn’t change this time,’ he mumbles, slowly inching forward while crouched against the earth.

‘What would’ve happened if they changed?’ You inquire, moving quietly alongside your comrades.

‘Nightmare fuel,’ Toby finally pipes in. ‘Nothing about them looks right. Big mouths full of sharp teeth, black eyes, too many limbs, like a messed up centipede,’ he finishes, a slight shudder coming into his mental tone.

You notice the other two of your group members nodding in agreement before finally deeming it safe enough to stand up and finally exit the in-between of the veil.

You’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful, rustic looking Germanic mansion surrounded by iron gates that hold honeycomb patterns that trail skywards only to end on sharp peaks that you’re almost certain your boss has spiked people on plenty of times. There’s also flowers of every kind in the front gardens that catch your eyes the moment you step through the grand gates. There’s fountains and topiaires, statues and benches that tell you the Operator drips with style and elegance.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Masky smiles.

You nod, “it’s gorgeous.” The air smells slightly expensive, but mostly sweet. How is it that a place like this can even possibly exist? Around the mansion are autumnal trees, mostly maple, some sycamore and other birch. Scattered on the front lawn are other proxies and some independents, mostly catching up and talking before leaving through the same gates you entered from. Some of them smile and wave as they pass you, others grunt and turn their nose up at you upon realizing you’re the youngest. This place sings with the Operator’s overwhelming presence.

Your comrades continue to watch your amused expression as they lead you to the front doors of the mansion. They’re large and stained glass, slightly gothic in woodwork and tower over you.

“Go ahead,” Hoodie chuckles as he nods for you to open the doors.

You glance back to him, then at the large doors before tentatively placing your hands on their surface. With a small breath, you push them open and find yourself greeted to the most exquisite foyer you’ve ever seen. Large chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sapphires and rubies drip from the fixtures and shine the light beautifully across the marble floors. Gold leaf adorns almost everything that juts out while the huge staircase in front of you beckons you forward.

“Doesn’t seem like he needs us yet,” Masky says as he checks his watch. “Got here earlier than expected, huh?” He lightly ribs Hoodie who rolls his eyes in response. “C’mon, let’s go to the sun room. Don’t wanna wait around in here.” He nods for the three of you to follow.

Toby clears his throat slightly as if to remind the two in charge that you’re still very much here and new.

“Oh, right,” Masky says. “Reader, this is super important, so listen up,” your group leader begins as he turns on his heels to eventually rest his hands on your shoulders.

You raise a brow at his sudden contact. Masky normally didn’t touch you unless what he had to say was important - which really, really didn’t happen often.

“This mansion likes to play off your thoughts, feelings, and logic,” he says, his hand gesturing to the staircase that’s slowly moving directions. You didn’t even hear it begin to shift. “The Operator usually keeps things in line for when he summons you, it’s almost a guaranteed path you’ll make it to him, but,” his eyes go serious. “If it’s just you and you’re moving around, you need to have a place in mind or it’ll accidentally spit you out somewhere totally random. We’ve had people get lost in here because the mansion is slightly playful and weirdly baneful depending on the individual walking around.”

“The Operator has a playful side?”

Masky stifles a laugh before shaking you lightly. “I legitimately mean it, you need to have a place in mind or you’re gonna get lost and the Operator isn’t gonna be happy. By extension, I won’t be happy because I need to come get you.”

“Mhm,” Hoodie nods in agreement. “And you can’t have the thought in passing either, it’s gotta be on your mind until it’s in sight.” After Hoodie’s words leave his mouth, Masky lets you go.

You take all the information in and wonder just what makes the place run. It’s like it has its own personality - it’s playful and baneful? You have to ask it permission to even enter its grounds and it deems whether you’re worthy or not? What kind of power does the Operator even have and why on earth would he even care about that kind of stuff? If he truly wanted his proxies to access him, he’d do it with no hesitation. The humans that would wander into his rooms would just end up tasting someone’s blade.

“Sun room?” Hoodie reminds Masky.

Your entire walk to the sun room you try to conjure a mental image in your head. They say it’s doubtful you’ll get lost so long as you’re with them, but you consider it good practice. When you finally make it to the sun room, you’re pleased to see it’s relatively empty save for a few groups interspersed in the large, window adorned room overlooking a silver lake. There’s a few independents walking around with carts holding different tea time finger-foods and waiting tea sets on every table. Maasky leads you over to one of the tables nearest to the view of the lake.

“So, what business exactly are we here for today?” You ask as you waste no time in pouring yourself some tea.

Masky shrugs, “no idea. He said he just wanted us to come.”

“T-Think he r-really only n-needs an audience w-with them though,” Toby adds before silently thanking you for pouring him some tea as well. “L-Leaves us some t-t-time to chat. Y’know, t-the thing H-Hood hates us d-doing,” he lightly jokes.

Hoodie scoffs and feigns being annoyed, “I only hate you two chatting when we’re in the middle of tearing out some guy’s entrails.”

“Y-Yeah, which is a-all the time,” Toby giggles.

You laugh as well.

The four of you are in a heated argument about something relatively stupid when static overtakes Masky and Hoodie’s hearing. They visibly pause, as if they’re trying to key into something you can’t understand when it suddenly stops.

“Have t-to go?” Toby inquires before taking a strawberry tart and popping it into his mouth.

Both Masky and Hoodie nod.

“Yeah. Keep an eye on Reader, please? We won’t be too long,” Masky replies with a small, tired smile.

Toby flashes the two a thumbs up before the both of you watch them leave, a clear destination on their minds.

It’s not long until Toby gets distracted by some other independents that stroll into the mansion. You recognize the two of them as relatively minor legends - well, maybe not the one with the smile. His name is Jeff.

“So, this is your fresh meat, huh?” Jeff chuckles as he lightly pushes Toby’s shoulder. “She looks a little scrawny. Are you feeding her right?”

Toby laughs and nods, “Masky w-w-would lose his m-mind if you s-s-said that.”

Jeff’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “I’m joking,” he holds his hand up as a sign of truce. “Hope you know you’re running with one of the only decent groups out there, Reader,” he says before picking up his tea cup. It looks slightly comical as he brings it to his lips.

You offer him a smile and nod, “yeah, I know.”

The man to Jeff’s left nods in agreement, “Masky’s really good at what he does. Got one of the best.”

Toby immediately fights the notion (playfully) and the three engage in conversation that’s lively and vibrant all the same. You listen to the three verbally duke it out before you find yourself bored. You can’t just leave though, but you want to move at the same time.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I excuse myself?”

“W-Where to?”

“Washroom,” you reply.

“Do y-you need m-me to a-accompany y-y-you?”

Both Eyeless Jack and Jeff scoff.

“She’s a big girl, let her go,” Jeff says as he nods his own approval for you to go. “You told her about the mindset thing?”

Toby nods.

“Yeah, then she’s good to go,” Eyeless Jack agrees.

You flash the men at your table a smile before getting up. You push in your chair and then make it to the entrance of the sunroom, leading into the halls. You don’t have a set destination in mind. The moment you step out of the sunroom, you feel the air change. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s different. On instinct, you turn your gaze over your shoulder to see the sunroom is gone. It’s just hall and lining the hall are doors upon doors.

Alright, you can work with that! A small smile comes to your face as you begin to walk forwards, allowing your curiosity to bloom. The first door you decide to open is one that’s honestly not that exciting. It was just a storage unit. Another was a study. Then it was someone’s room. Another room. And another. How many residence rooms are there?

You close yet another door and then feel a thought come into your head, taking a seat on your train of thought like a butterfly sunbathes on a flower. She - Toby had mentioned it. And you wondered. You let the thought stay. Before you know it, you’re walking through the halls guided by forces you don’t quite understand, and the further you get into the mansion, the stranger the atmosphere becomes. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not a normal feeling either. You watch as the light fixtures change from something relatively modern and regress into something more vintage. The dust begins to kick up. Irish lace begins to pepper the ceiling. You notice how the doors change style as well. How strange.

Eventually, you reach a dead end stretch of hall. At the very end of this hall is a singular door that looks weathered, as if it was sunbleached and painted over in oils. There’s an elegance to it you can’t quite place, and like a siren song, you find yourself being beckoned to it. Your proxy instincts kick in like second nature the closer you draw to it. You feel your breathing lighten, your steps as well, and you move towards it with a silence that is unmatched - as if you’re floating on air. You draw closer and closer to the door. It’s so magnetic, and you can’t quite explain why/ But closer still you must be to it.

Your hand tenderly grasps the doorknob - it feels like ice - and you twist it open. You wonder if you should be doing this. A part of you feels like you shouldn’t be doing this, but another part of you says this is what you were meant to see. You push the door open ever so slightly, just enough to be able to see inside, but the door is heavy, almost as if it doesn’t want you to. Like it’s trying to protect you from something further. You wonder if it just wishes to keep its secrets.

It’s gorgeous, it truly is. It puts the rest of the mansion to shame. It looks old - perhaps from 16th century Germany and fit for royalty. Plants of all kinds line the walls. They look like emeralds as light shines through their leaves. The sunlight kisses the flowers that sprout from the stalks. Beautiful woodwork surrounds the windows that are covered in fairytale-esque stained glass pieces. The scent is of something much, much sweeter and warmer than the rest of the mansion. Your eyes then draw to the center of the room, where an ornate table sits. There’s gold leaf decorating its legs followed by symbols you can’t really pin down. A tablecloth that looks like it was weaved from the stars above is the only thing that separates a delicate tea set from the precious mahogany table. The tea smells heavenly from where you stand.

Before you can press into the room, you pause upon seeing slender, pale hands take hold of the tea pot. Your eyes follow upwards to the owner of the hands only to see a woman so much more beautiful than the moon in twilight and the sun in the morning. Falling from her shoulders was golden hair that looked like a sea of amber as it cascaded down near the floor. Flowers were woven into it - mostly snowdrops, baby’s breath and queen Anne’s lace. She’s dressed in something from medieval Europe, and never once does her sleeve touch the table. She begins to pour herself some tea, a honey like hum coming from her being as she pours the sweet liquid. Her eyes flick upwards for but a moment when she hears a bird chirping outside. Her eyes are so dark, there exists no white sclera. They’re so dark, like black holes that hide in the depths of space, but you feel as if she holds the universe inside of them. She’s so beautiful, you’re not sure she’s real. A cat has jumped up onto the table, purring at her. When she smiles, your heart sings.

You want to say hello to her and spend time in her presence when you attempt to open the door some more. It creaks slightly. The hinges are ancient. Before you can say anything, the door is slammed shut, sending you flying backwards. You let out a sound of shock before seeing Toby reaching down to get you.

“What t-the hell a-a-are you thinking?” He hisses as he picks you up, grabbing your bicep and beginning to drag you away from the door that still holds your attention. “You r-really just w-wandered off l-like that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, attempting to get free of his grasp as he continues to pull you along. No matter how hard you smack at him, he doesn’t let go.

“M-Masky said it’s not s-safe for y-y-you to wander o-off. A-And without m-me? D-D-Did you have a-any cognitive t-t-thought when you w-went out on a l-limb like t-that?” He sounds so heated.

You find he’s bringing you back to the sunroom, undoubtedly going to tell Masky and Hoodie about your misbehavior. “Why are you being so weird?” You retort as you attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. “It’s just a room!” You cry out in an exasperated tone.

Toby only reprimands you louder. It’s a losing game.

You eventually find yourself back in the sunroom. Only, instead of Eyeless Jack and Jeff, you see the deeply concerned and slightly pissed off faces of Masky and Hoodie. They’re not happy to see you, and you’re not exactly thrilled to see you either.

“Take a s-s-seat,” Toby says in a harsh tone as he thrusts you back into your seat.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Masky asks, not even attempting to mask his voice because that’s the privilege of being a proxy. You’re able to reprimand your proxies without anyone giving a care.

“You can’t just go off like that,” Hoodie continues as he furrows his brows. “You could’ve gotten-”

“Hurt? This is the Operator’s mansion, what the fuck is gonna hurt me in here other than himself or you two?”

“That’s it,” Masky points out. “He can seriously hurt you if you snoop where you shouldn’t!” His hands grips at your wrist, tightening to a point of pain.

When you feel tears prick your eyes, Hoodie sighs and puts his hand on Masky’s shoulder, “stop it.”

Masky hesitantly lets you go.

“What did you see?” Hoodie asks with a deep sigh, his posture tensing. He’s really hoping you didn’t see the Operator’s trophy room.

You give your comrades a concerned look, not sure whether you should answer or not when Hoodie raises a slight brow. Damn it. You’re emotionally compromised. He’s seeing what he needs to without your permission.

“That’s… Odd…” He says.

Masky glances to Hoodie. “No.”

“Unfortunately, I think yeah,” Hoodie says with a growing frown. He glances to Toby for confirmation, and upon seeing Toby’s nod, says “yeah,” again.

Masky groans and puts his face into his hands, finding comfort in being buried into himself.

You hold your wrist in your hand and lean back in your chair. “Just… What is it you guys aren’t telling me?” You question, hoping they’d just bite the bullet and tell you.

The group shares a look, debating whether they should even say it or not. When no one says anything, you press them again.

“Come on,” you sigh. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It really could be,” Masky says as he finally releases his face from his hands. “No one knows what seeing it does.”

Your eyes widen before you bark a laugh. “What?”

“No, he’s serious,” Hoodie picks up. “Seeing that door is rare, like, rainbow pikachu rare. Proxies think it’s an omen or a bad luck thing. To see it means a group’s eventual demise.”

You briefly scoff at the thought of proxies being superstitious before you remember some of you can actually cast portals. It’s really not that out of pocket.

“N-No one has e-e-ever found o-out though,” Toby shrugs. “W-We just know t-that the g-groups that h-h-have n-normally e-end in death.” He looks a little uncomfortable as he says the words, like there’s a legitimate truth to what he’s saying even though he’d rather it be utter BS.

“To be fair, we thought it was a rumor prior to you sneaking off,” Hoodie says as he tries to calm down his group.

You take in this information with a small frown. How could something that beautiful be that evil or a harbinger of doom? The thought of it left you perplexed as your comrades continued to lecture you on not wandering off until Masky and Hoodie were called away.

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving Reader here with-”

Toby rolls his eyes, “you c-cant just s-say you want m-me to come with i-instead. N-Not need to insult m-my competence a-a-as a babysitter,” he mumbles before glancing down to his hatchets.

Masky sighs and nods for Toby to follow him out. Looks like it’s just you and Hoodie.

“So,” you awkwardly begin, not really sure what to do or what to say.

“So,” Hoodie hums back. “Anywhere you wanted to go?” When he sees the glint in your eyes, he shakes his head. “Like, a normal place. We’re gonna be here for a while while those two are out,” he chuckles, watching as you visibly deflate.

You allow the question to bang around in your head until you nod with a thought in mind. “The library. I’d like to go to the library.”

Hoodie smiles at that suggestion and finishes the rest of his tea before standing up. He stretches for a moment, then leads you to the hallway your original snooping began. You noticed as his thoughts immediately became clouded with the word and vision of ‘library’ as the two of you trekked the halls. As you walked, you barely recognized any of the doors you passed. They weren’t on your radar, which was odd in your opinion as you had opened a lot of door you probably shouldn’t have.

Eventually, you reach two large oak doors. Hoodie pushes them open and you’re greeted to the sight of a beautiful library. It’s impossibly huge - how could such a place exist in the mansion? You’re well aware it’s a huge place, but the fact that all of this is here… It’s bigger than a downtown city library you visited when passing through Chicago a few months ago. The Operator’s influence is beautiful, isn’t it?

“I’m gonna be in the sci-fi section,” Hoodie says as he nods over to the right wing of the library. “It’s on the second floor.” You notice the spiral staircase that leads to what appears to be a balcony - it must stretch backwards forever. “Check in with me in about 15 minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” It’s surprising how relaxed he’s being with you. You would have expected someone like Hoodie to be a lot angerier and more observational.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you nod and flash him a thumb’s up before bounding over to the left wing of the library. Nothing is properly labeled, but you get a strong bout of intuition where everything is. Right now, you’re on the hunt for history.

The aisle that holds the history books looks just as old as you would have expected it to. The books here aren’t any you’ve ever seen in stores either - they’re largely from the time period they’re to be representing. Some are more modern, but you get the feeling that they don’t exist anywhere else but under the Operator’s influence. You find a few books that talk about the early history of proxies, some on independents, but nothing to inform you on what you had found.

It’s honestly a little maddening. You check in with Hoodie when you have to - he asks you to list the spines of the books you’re currently looking at - and then you’re back to your fruitless search. You run up and down the halls of the history section looking for anything when you hear static begin to buzz in your heads. The feeling travels upwards like the vines you felt earlier from your heels to your chest. When they claw deep into your heart, you feel a pull. And once again, like a sailor beckoned to the rocks due to a siren’s song, you follow it.

It twists and turns you through the shelves, making you zip past the few proxies and independents that are currently visiting this wing of the library before you’re drawn to a rotunda. You look backwards and see in the distance the front doors of the library. When did this place get a middle wing? It was just straight shelves and a wall with large windows overlooking the rolling hills of the woods. You turn your attention upwards to the ceiling of the rotunda. There’s a large skylight that allows sunlight to cascade down. Around that are gems you don’t even know the name of that weave a mosaic of something positively divine. You allow your gaze to follow the shaft of warm sunlight down, and there, sitting at a table with a book in hand (it looks like a journal) is the Operator himself.

“S-Sir!” You manage to squeak out as you find yourself startled to be in his presence, Heat rises to your cheeks when he looks up from his book to turn his attention to you.

“How did you get here?” He asks, confusion etching his body as he curiously tilts his head.

Your breath hitches. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize, bowing your head almost immediately. “I don’t know how I got here. It just felt like a pull and suddenly I was here? I was in the left wing and looking over history books and I-” you continue to rattle off until the Operator holds up his hand, silently signaling you to stop. You do so as soon as he asks.

“I-. It’s no matter,” he waves off. “Come, sit down beside me.” An inky black tendril sprouts from his back as he pulls the chair in front of him out, allowing you to sit in his presence.

You will your stone-like legs forward and attempt to gracefully take a seat in front of him. It’s a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again.

“How have you been, Miss Reader?”

“I’m alright,” you reply, voice no higher than a whisper.

The Operator hums. “Good.”

Another pregnant pause.

“Child, where is your book?”

“I uh, didn’t grab one?” You answer softly. You can tell the Operator is looking at you with what he can convey to his fullest as confusion. “When I was pulled here I just.. Followed,” you attempt to explain. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“And what have you done today?” He asks, giving his passing attention to you like a father would.

You bite your lip before steering the conversation towards the room you saw. “I think I met someone.”

“You did, did you?”There’s a passing interest as if he’s saying ‘that’s nice, honey.’

You nod. “She was in a tea room-”

He pauses.

“I found her by accident-”

He makes sure he’s hearing you correctly.

“Her hair was golden-”

He looks up.

“She had plants-”

He’s sitting upright now.

“She had a cat-”

He leans forward.

“Her smile rivaled the stars-”

He’s focusing so intently on you now.

“Her voice was like honey-”

He entirely focused on you.

“She was beautiful.”

The Operator’s ichor pauses for just a moment as he takes in the description of the woman you described. It makes a part of him sing and another part of him sob. He hasn’t heard of her in so, so long.

When you look up, you see the Operator practically leaned halfway over the table and entirely focused on you. It makes you jump. “I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, thinking you saw something you shouldn’t have. “I wasn’t thinking and I uh, think the mansion led me to her?”

The Operator wordlessly nods. “Was she pouring tea?” He asked, voice so much gentler than anything you could ever expect him to conjure up.

You slowly nod. “She was.”

The Operator suddenly slumps down, making you jolt. You rise on instinct to help him when he waves you back down. “Do you realize who you’ve come into contact with?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I’m afraid not, Sir,” you say with slight remorse.

The Operator chuckles deeply - it rumbles his chest and in your head. “You found her.” He could smile, you were sure it would be from ear to ear if he had the correct facial features. “All these years later and you found her.” He emphasizes you like a bittersweet affirmation.

“Who is she?” You ask softly.

Your boss sits back up again. “Someone who loves me,” his tendril sprouts once again from his back and moves towards you. “Someone who loves you,” it taps your nose. “Someone who loves us.” The tendril makes a grand, sweeping gesture.

You take in the words and nod, still not knowing what they mean. Upon seeing your confusion, he decides to elaborate.

“A long, long time ago, in a realm you could not begin to fathom, there was light and there was dark,” he begins, his voice slipping into something akin to someone saying a bedtime story. “I was the light, and that cur we call Zalgo was the dark.”

You scrunch your nose at the sound of his name.

“The dark and the light were born from nothing, and she was beautiful.” His audible smile is actually endearing to hear. “Throughout the years, the light and the dark fought, constantly at each other's throats. It was woven in the threads of history, it had been our birthright. When we came to this place, this planet after being cast from our home - a palace amongst all palaces, a kingdom that rose far above any other, the nothingness came with us. She called herself Liebevolle Frau. She loved her children.” By this point in the story, the Operator has taken the liquids from the coffee cup he drinks from and animated them into the characters for this story.

You watch with stars in your eyes.

“But no guardian is without its favorites, and I happened to be hers.” Liebevolle Frau’s figure was shown sheltering the Operator’s much smaller one. “And this caused a rift that could not be mended through the light and dark. Eventually, the dark waged war on the light.”

It’s a war you’re still fighting to this day.

“In the 1500s, long after this mansion had been built and my power continued to grow, Zalgo had almost wiped us off the face of the earth to splatter out remains across all the five realms. Liebevolle Frau, thought caught off guard,” that would explain the tea, “sheltered me and protected this place and all who resided in it. At the time,” the Operator looks at you. “Independents and proxies had lived here much more commonly than they do now.”

You smile softly.

“Liebevolle Frau’s power had been pushed to its limit in holding back her first born son, and mind, as well as her heart, broke because of it. In her remaining moments of lucidity, she imbued herself, her soul,” the liquids take the form of something fluttering and soft, like a bird, “her everything, and became the place I hold jurisdiction over today.”

Your eyes widen as you think back to the odd feelings you’ve had coming here for today - and Toby’s slip-up.

“I have not been able to find her since the late 1500s,” The Operator explains as the liquids dance back into the coffee mug, the figure of Liebevolle Frau taking a hair longer than the rest. “She lives in everything.”

You’re honestly speechless over everything the Operator has said because it’s so… It’s strangely heartfelt. You’ve never even spoken face to face with your boss and when you do, it’s because some force is guiding you to do so. But if that force felt so alive, it must have meant she wanted you to know.

“Her physical form,” you finally manage to wisp out. “She wanted to be at peace, didn’t she?”

The Operator chuckles deeply. “I would assume so.”

Before you can respond to anything or even come up with another response, you hear both Masky AND Hoodie yelling for you in your head. The jarring difference between your boss’s gentle voice and Masky and Hoodie crying out for blood is enough to make you jump (once again).

Upon seeing your sudden switch in atmosphere, the Operator hushes the voices in your head and calls them to his side.

Toby is the first to show up though, and quickly trailing after him is Masky and Hoodie. They both look ready to reprimand you but upon seeing you sitting with the Operator, nothing but reverence crosses their minds and bodies.

“Good evening, Sir,” Masky says as he bows his head. “Are you well?”

“Thoughtful, aren't you, Timothy?” There’s no animosity or anger in the Operator’s tone, but it makes Masky blush all the same.

A pregnant pause passes.

“I was just speaking with your newest member, Miss Reader,” a pale hand gestures to you. “Come, join us. I could use the company.”

You watch as confused glances get shared between your three comrades before they take a seat beside you.

A pleasant silence passes through the air before a gentle humming that’s sweeter than honey overtakes it like a passing breeze.

[leviathanswingman]

cavity and sweet tooth; DiaLuci oneshot

“Lucifer, can you come here for a moment?”

Lucifer, sitting by the fireside with his head bowed ever so slightly, bangs softly brushing against his cheeks, lifted his head from the paperwork he had been working on for hours and hours with no end in sight.

He turned his head towards the source of commotion, barely able to suppress a sigh as he took note of Diavolo sitting on the ground of the house of lamentation’s music room, cross legged and soft-spined, evidently lost in conversation with none other than Lucifer’s antisocial little brother Leviathan.

Seeing them chatting as if they were life-long friends, Lucifer couldn’t help but suppress a sigh he could feel rising from the depths of his soul. With Diavolo’s devil-may-care personality, fraternizations of this sort rarely ever worked out in his favor.

After all, the demon prince had originally paid the house of lamentation a surprise visit to discuss several work-related issues that had come up on short notice . To no-one’s surprise however, that had quickly turned into Lucifer doing the actual work while Diavolo was fooling around, attempting to lure Levi into another semi-deep conversation.

“Yes?” Lucifer asked, admittedly curious to find out what exactly those two had been going on about. Leviathan was extremely reclusive by nature, so for someone to catch his attention, the topic of conversation must have been quite captivating.  

He pushed up the glasses that had been sliding down his nose inch by inch, readjusting them appropriately.

Diavolo mustered him and let out a sigh. “Come here, just for a second!” When there was barely any reaction coming, he shook his head impatiently and beckoned Lucifer over. “Do I have to implore you? I promise it won't take long. I want to try something out Leviathan here mentioned-”

“Right, right.” Through years and years spent as Diavolo’s friend and right hand man, Lucifer had learned that when confronted with another one of Diavolo’s outlandish requests, indulging him before inevitably shutting him down was the easiest way to go.

He sighed once, but put aside his paperwork regardless and got up from his chair. Of course he knew this foretold nothing good. Still, it was Diavolo who was asking. And although the man often failed to remain professional, determined to break down all of Lucifer’s carefully built up walls, Lucifer knew he could trust him. Even in moments like these when Diavolo was really hellbent on testing his patience.

He walked over to Diavolo and Leviathan, stopping inches away from them and crossed his arms. “So, what's all of this about?”

Diavolo looked up to him and threw him a displeased look. “Lucifer,” he started and before Lucifer could so much as answer, Diavolo had already closed his fingers around Lucifer's wrist, giving it one big tug.

Taken off guard by Diavolo's sudden boldness, Lucifer let himself be pulled down to the ground with nothing but a badly hidden stumble.

Levi, who had been lounging on a couch behind Diavolo let out a stifled laugh before Lucifer caught his eye and gave him a proper glare, shutting him up for good.

“Diavolo!”

The demon prince let out a low chuckle as he watched Lucifer readjust his position. As soon as he was sitting semi-comfortably in front of him, Diavolo grabbed Lucifer’s forearms and lifted them

 “I hope I didn't startle you now, did I?” he said with a low rumble to his voice, his eyes focusing in on Lucifer's hands which were hidden by his lavish black gloves. “Would you take these off for a second?”

Lucifer's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He lifted his eyes to look at Diavolo, whose attention seemed to be strictly focused on Lucifer's hands.

“I suppose,” he answered, yet before he could do as much as lift a finger, Diavolo was already busying himself pushing up Lucifer’s sleeve, hooking his index finger in-between smooth fabric and even smoother skin, successfully freeing Lucifer's left hand.

“There we go!”

“Remind me as to why we're doing this again?”

Diavolo scooted a little bit closer, now facing Lucifer as he took hold of his right gloved hand. “No need to look that grim. As I said, I was just wondering about something Leviathan has brought up ever so passionately. You'll be free to finish your work in no time.”

A small scowl crept up on Lucifer's face as he turned his head towards his little brother. “Levi, if this is anything but appropriate I will make sure to turn you into-”

Before he could finish his sentence Leviathan had already taken hold of his belongings and bolted out of the room. To be quite honest, Lucifer couldn't remember the last time he had seen him run quite as fast.

Lucifer decided to put his focus back on Diavolo just as he felt one of his fingers glide along his skin before disappearing in the gap between glove and hand, successfully pulling off the second glove as well.

For a moment Diavolo ogled Lucifer’s hands, hands that were seen covered way more often than bare, before raising his hands as if to give a high five.

“Mirror my movements,” he said with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his admittedly pretty eyes.

Lucifer stared at his raised palms for a moment or two until Diavolo started to get tired of waiting and motioned towards Lucifer with a quick circular motion of hand.

“Hold them up like this,” he said, putting both his hands back up at chest height.

“Diavolo, I really don't see the point in any of this,” Lucifer protested, but followed suit anyway. He mirrored Diavolo's motions, throwing him a quizzical look from behind their hands while doing so.

Diavolo threw him a blinding smile as he connected their hands palm to palm, gently but confidently, making sure that they were lined up perfectly at the bottom.

The tips of Lucifer's fingers, softly pressed against Diavolo's digits, were tingling curiously under the gentle feeling of skin against skin.

It wasn't that Lucifer was touch-starved, no, he was simply not used to these slow, soft, almost tentative touches; especially coming from Diavolo.

“Well, won't you look at that!”

“What specifically am I supposed to look at now? This is ridiculous. I still have work to do so-” he started, but before he could stand up again and return to his stack of papers Diavolo pushed his hands against Lucifer's perceptibly harder.

“Don't be like that, just look!!”

Lucifer pushed back out of reflex.

His eyes dropped down to their hands and, surprised by the unexpected sight, Lucifer felt something click in the back of his brain.

 Graceful, slender hands stood in contrast to slightly bigger, stronger looking ones. For once, he did not push back in retaliation, but mustered their joined hands instead.

The sight made him feel almost nostalgic. Hands, once curled to uncertain fists, were now joined in mutual obedience and respect. It was a strange and perhaps vulnerable thing to take note of. He shook his head, face to face with his own mushy thoughts.

Still, instead of pulling away as his instincts were telling him to, Lucifer pushed back as Diavolo also considered their hands for a moment, letting out a rumbling laugh before dropping his fingers a bit to fully slide them between Lucifer’s.

“Even your hands are positively stunning, Lucifer. Pray tell, how do you manage any of it? Stunning from head to toe,” he practically mumbled, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, revealing the slightest hint of dimples on his cheeks.

Lucifer, unsure of what to do with his hands as he pretended to not have heard any of Diavolo’s flattering mumblings, furrowed his brows as he quickly blew a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“There you go buttering me up again like that. What even is the use of all of this?” Experimentally, he spread his fingers a little bit further apart and threw Diavolo a quick glance from under his lashes. Finally, he grew tired of keeping his fingers upright and dropped them unceremoniously, decidedly ignoring the fact that theoretically, if you were being really strict, he was holding hands with Diavolo right now. He forced himself not to think about it beyond measure.

“Permission to compliment?” Diavolo asked belatedly, a mixture of joy and mischief painting his features delightfully carefree.

“Absolutely not.”

They were adults, and additionally to that, two of the most respected demons all across the devildom. Them holding hands like frivolous adolescents would be ridiculous, preposterous even. If any of his brothers were to see him like this, they’d certainly laugh like the hyenas they were.

Certainly, Lucifer wasn't about to get embarrassed by him and Diavolo holding hands. Except for the fact that without any doubt, he was indeed feeling undeniably embarrassed.

He cleared his throat. “So, has inspiration finally struck hard enough for you to tell me what this is all about? If I recall correctly you mentioned this having been caused by another one of Levi's nonsensical ramblings?”

Diavolo’s eyes were still trained on their joined hands. He ran his thumb across the back of Lucifer’s hand and let his middle finger rub along Lucifer’s protruding knuckles. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, unaware of the redness that was unmistakably dusting his friend’s neck and ears. 

Lucifer, ever so aware of his body’s own reactions, suppressed them with sheer dedication and efficiency before his tired mind could come up with any more funny ideas.

He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to their previous topic of conversation, away from Diavolo’s beautiful -of course solely objectively speaking- fingers rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hands.

“So what sort of nonsense was Levi trying to convince you of?” he tried again. And in spite of himself, Lucifer caught himself suppressing a sigh accompanied by a shudder as Diavolo ran his thumb over smooth skin, turning it into a huff before the traitorous sound had even so much as a sliver of a chance of slipping past closed lips

 Although he was known all across the lands for his professionalism, that didn’t mean he was unresponsive to outward stimuli. And no matter how easily exasperated he was by Diavolo’s lack of work morale, Lucifer had grown somewhat fond of the future demon king. Not that he would ever be caught dead admitting to such a foolish thing out loud.

“Oh, nothing much. He just mentioned it being a ‘sacred trope’, i think that’s how he put it, therefore I couldn’t help but feel tempted to try it out myself! So what do you think, Lucifer?”

Lucifer averted his eyes and successfully crushed the overwhelming feeling of sheer mortification daring to overtake his body.

Of course, Diavolo had been swayed by Leviathan’s absurd ramblings, overtaken by a morbid sort of curiosity he often liked to display as a born-to-be isolated from most of society. There was nothing more to it than that.

Lucifer untangled his fingers from Diavolo’s, standing up abruptly.

“This is not only a waste of my time, but also yours. We should get back to work now. There’s no reason to bother with this any longer.” Without any hesitation, he turned back around to the abandoned stack of paperwork sitting lonely by the fireside. He took a third of the work off the pile, placed a pen on top of it and pushed it into Diavolo’s lap, who blinked at him sheepishly for a moment. Diavolo then threw him one last look, which was glaringly obvious a pout, and let out one big, dramatic sigh. “You are incorrigible Lucifer, has anyone ever told you that?”

Lucifer allowed himself one last look at Diavolo’s almost cartoonish sulking expression before he averted his gaze from the playful twinkle in Diavolo’s eyes down to the way the fabric of his pants was stretching under the promise of girthy thighs and delicate skin, willing himself to come back to his senses before it was too late and he had officially lost all common sense. “Get back to work, Diavolo. You know I’m a busy man and neither of us have all day.” 

He threw the demon prince one last stimulated look, calmed his heart, picked up his pen and started writing.

[bvccy]

Nothing to Despair | Preview 1 / Work In Progress

PAIRING: Soft!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Bucky and a girl he never met before are asked, because of their language skills, to go undercover as married on a two-week mission to Europe. He feels alienated in the modern world, and notices his partner feels similarly isolated. Maybe they can find a new home in each other, but she’s not easily persuaded.

RATING: it's pretty naughty but there's no bad words so Idk

WARNINGS: None, just softness and kissings and the hint of unrequited love

WORD COUNT: 2K

A/N: I'm currently working on something new, and as it might be a W H I L E until it's ready to post, I thought I'd share a snippet to tide you over. Now, the rest of it is only partly done, but I’ll just say I made myself cry while writing it. You’re all going to suffer, it’s gonna be GREAT. It starts soft and angsty but it will get very dark and smutty. On that note, do let me know if you’d like to be tagged once the full thing is published. It’s gonna be also on AO3 anyway.

Enjoy! :D

While he waited in his room for her to finish getting dressed, he was actually grateful to see Steve had texted him. Bucky read the message in passing then called without thinking.

"Hey, bud." came Steve's voice, happy but surprised and sounding just a bit tired. "Was afraid I wouldn't catch you in time."

"Hi, no, we were just about to go out."

"You ok? Sound a bit—"

"Everything's fine, Stevie, don't worry. So what's this club you mentioned?"

"Wanted to let you know about a little place SHIELD found out about. A few of your favorite people been making appearances, thought you'd be interested."

"Is that right… Where is it?"

"Not far from the hotel, I'll give you the address."

They sat through the first portion of presentations in a shared silence that was common but heavier than usual. She was as effortlessly nice to him as before any of their little fights, but distant, always distant underneath the smooth pleasantries.

They went for the lunch break with everyone else, and with every opportunity, Bucky kept his eyes on Hamelin. He was talking with the lady from Spain again and sitting more closely than usual. He'd seen him have lunch with a few of the other attendees as well, but she seemed to be his most frequent companion.

As they were about to part, Hamelin passed her a note so surreptitiously as to seem a handshake, but Bucky noticed. They left together, and as they passed the great big doors of the restaurant, Hamelin went in the usual direction of the auditorium, while the woman went a different way. From Steve's call that morning, Bucky had an idea of where that might be, and knew better than to miss the opportunity.

The girl was just finishing her meal, sitting in silence across from him. He thought about tailing the lady on his own, but the idea of leaving his partner in the same room as Hamelin, even with all the other conference goers, didn't sit well with Bucky. He paid for lunch, and as they walked out together he led them toward the lobby.

"A little side-trip." he smiled at her confusion. She wasn't surprised by that anymore, and went along as always.

"What is this?" she asked as they approached a decrepit looking building, not a ten minute walk from the hotel. It looked utterly uninhabited, but a lit stairway leading down betrayed its use.

"Just checking something out." he said as he led them onward, one arm secured on the small of her back.

They went through a rusty looking door at the bottom of the stairway, a squeak announcing them to a few shadowy figures ahead. People looked at them then turned away in disinterest, minding their own business. The faint sound of jazz floated through the corridor, and red lights lit the way forward.

They arrived inside what was a sort of dance-club, mellow and warm and smoky. A few patrons gathered around old wooden tables, some sitting at a dirty wet bar; a pianist and singer performed slowly on the small stage up front.

Bucky scanned the place, not seeing anything suspicious yet, if you didn't count the clandestine nature of the whole thing. Heavy red curtains decorated the walls, and beyond some he could just about see doorways. He held the girl closer to himself, just in case, and heard her wince in disgust as she spotted some of the couples grinding against each other in the dark.

"What are we doing here?" she whispered into his shoulder.

"Just stick close to me, honey." he smiled down at her, pulling her more possessively to him.

He led them to one of the empty tables in a red-cushioned alcove, stained with alcohol sprinklings and cigarette ash, from where he could easily watch the entrance.

"I'm gonna go get us some drinks. Will you be ok here a minute?" he asked as she sat down and took her jacket off.

"Yes, yes." she sighed.

"Ok…" Bucky smiled, and right before he left remembered to ask "By the way, what would you like?"

She thought for a second, and decided "Absinthe, please."

"Bit strong for you, isn't it?"

"I'll need a good disinfectant for this place." she smirked.

Bucky grinned, then went to the bar.

He was back soon enough with drinks for the both of them, and sat beside her to scan the place. He held her close to him, one arm flung around her shoulder, the other resting on his glass of gin. Nobody bothered or approached them, or even looked their way much; discretion seemed to be the rule of the place.

The girl sipped her drink, melting slowly into his side as it soothed her nerves, though she still regretted it every time she looked up and saw something she didn't like.

They were there for a quarter of an hour before sharp footsteps echoed from somewhere to the left, almost unnoticeable underneath the music. Bucky followed the sound to one of the far walls, and sure enough a figure passed through the curtains, almost as if materialising from the dark. It was the Spanish lady, looking rather nervous and out of place as she walked with another man who was older and broader, with a professional look to him. He led her out, and several minutes later came back to disappear the way he'd come, through the curtains.

The girl noticed it too, and looked up at Bucky suspiciously. Catching her gaze, he shrugged with a smile and instantly she knew they had work to do.

He led them across the room, toward the walls, walking along inconspicuously as they made for the entrance they'd seen. The heavy material parted for them to reveal a hallway, dark and very cold and even more poorly lit than the bar. Trash littered the corners and broken old furniture was piled up in places, waiting to be thrown away.

Wordlessly, the couple walked through hand-in-hand. They reached far enough away that the sound of music faded, where bits of graffiti, partially covered or scraped off, decorated the walls under the flickering lights. Some drunk was passed out on the floor, his legs sprawled across the way. Bucky and the girl stepped over him and went on, and met another pair a bit further, cuddled together on the ground as they fiddled with a package between them.

Finally, they reached a corner the led on to a more well lit path. Bucky and the girl looked at each other and quietly agreed to go on together. They didn't make it a few feet until he stopped her, Bucky just barely making out some voices through the walls. Three men, by the sound of it, speaking in Russian. They talked about payment, one week or two, verification, doubts, and counter-offers.

When Bucky heard their voices draw further, then closer again, he started moving the girl back and going the way they came. The men were coming out, and were bound to find them.

She didn't seem too frightened, following his lead obediently, and that gave him a bit of courage to try and find out more. Stepping past the dizzy drunks and vagrants, Bucky stopped them both in the middle of the hallway.

"They're going to see us." she whispered with worry.

"I know, but we gotta get into their office." he said, looking at the far end of the hall. The men should come through any second.

"But if they catch us…"

"They're not gonna catch us, doll." Bucky pulled her closer as he stuck his back to the wall, his metal arm covering the length of her spine securely, black glove holding the back of her neck.

They both looked with concern at the shadows lengthening around the corner, and in a heartbeat Bucky made his decision.

"Kiss me." he whispered, turning his burning gaze down toward her.

"What?"

"Come on, kiss me."

"I can't." she choked, looking up pleadingly into his eyes. "I can't, I can't…"

Just as the far off voices announced the near arrival of the men, Bucky took her face gently in his hand and pulled it up to him, turning it just slightly enough that his lips caressed the corner of her mouth. From the side, it looked good enough to pass for the real thing. His other hand went to her leg and hooked it up around him, fingers curled around her thigh and caressing its inside from underneath, raising her skirt enough to flash the red lace trimming of her slip, the edge of her stocking, and those naughty black garters.

She gripped his lapels to hold on, fearful but tight enough to seem passionate, and she pressed herself against him. She closed her eyes tightly, and even in the shadow of all the other feelings — more erotic, more sensual, frantic — Bucky most of all relished the gentle tickle of her lashes against his cheek.

He held on to her and she to him, shocked under his kiss — that wasn't a full kiss, as much as he could make it, and she was grateful to him for at least that. She grounded herself on the hard planes of his body, broad and heavy as a wall but radiating with a furnace-like heat against her chest and stomach and all the way down between her legs. His mouth caressed the side of hers in tender waves, warm and damp and surprisingly soft, while the tips of his fingers stroked the inside of her leg.

Her hands let go of his lapel for the second it took to grip onto his shoulders, pulling herself even closer and hiding in his body as the men passed them by. Bucky held her tighter and tilted his head just enough to look through the corner of his eye at the back of them, while his fingers caressed her skin with a mind of their own. The men were far enough away and soon were out of sight, going through the curtain and out into the jazz club. He closed his eyes and swallowed a moan, in disbelief at just how hot and soft her thigh could be, and as his fingers crawled upward toward an even deeper warmth, Bucky felt her tense and tremble, and he let her go.

Her leg slinked its way back to the ground while he lifted his lips from her, and as they slowly let each other go they were hit again by the coolth of the corridor. Bucky steadied her, and himself, with a hand on her shoulder, and searched her blushing and avoidant face.

"You good, doll?" he rasped, feeling as winded as she looked.

"Yeah…" she gasped into his chest. Above and unseen by her, he licked the remnants of her taste from his lips and swallowed greedily, while the girl brushed a dry hand across her mouth to wipe him away. "Let's hurry, before they come back."

It was an easy enough job for Bucky to break into their office, though he took his time to pick the lock as quietly as possible and mindful of any alarm triggers.

He gave her one of the two small flashlights he carried in his pocket, and they started looking through the messy old place, sifting through files and folders and open drawers. None of it felt right, those didn't seem like the sort of guys to leave stuff just lying around. And sure enough, inside a stocky wooden dresser, nailed into the bottom of it, was a compact safe. Bucky called the girl over, and she held a light for him while he looked it over.

It had a number of dials and buttons, and the metal didn't seem so thick that he couldn't break it open, but he didn't want to be too obvious about their intrusion. Bucky felt around the edges of the box, and considered picking it open before he noticed an even safer entry point.

He looked at the girl with a cocky smile, and she raised a brow at him.

"Another shoe?"

"Hairpin this time, darlin'."

She sighed and pulled one from her hair. Carefully, Bucky stretched and twisted it into an L shape, then pushed it through a small hole in the corner of the box while he kept pressure on the dial that opened it. He didn't have to twist it around much until the lock was opened from inside. With no risk of picks scratching or breaking the keyway, there would be no hint it was ever opened.

"You know, if we decided on a career as burglars, we could live like kings." she whispered with amusement.

"Don't temp me." Bucky grinned.

He sifted through the safe's contents, pulling out folders and stacks of cash in various currencies. The papers were in multiple languages, including the local one, but they didn't have time to go through it all. They decided to risk it and take the folders with them, which Bucky hid at his back, beneath the jacket. It wasn't until they were back out into the club that the girl remembered she'd left hers behind.

They went back to their seats but couldn't find it anymore, and the bartender said he hadn't noticed anything. It didn't have pockets nor any identifiable mark, so they weren't too worried about its loss. They gave up on it quickly and went back to the hotel.

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[hisunshiine]

—𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥  |pjm|

⟢ pairing: Tattoo Artist!Jimin x First Time Tatoo!reader

⟢ genre: strangers2lovers | smut, fluff | oneshot | tattoo shop au

⟢ rating: 18+, nsfw

⟢ summary: You decided to get a tattoo when the $13 dollar deal is happening and find out it’s because your tattoo artist is celebrating his birthday, which falls on the 13th. His needle penetrates you, then he penetrates you. Happy Birthday indeed. 

⟢ warnings: minimal blood and pain (she’s getting a tattoo)

⟢ kinks: pain kink (from the tattoo) teasing, semi-public sex, thigh kissing, oral f.receiving, fingering, cum eating, unprotected sex, breast play, is there a term for fucking the cum into someone?

⟢ word count: 2.2k

⟢ author’s note: the way they looked at the MOTS ON:E concert really fucked me. Happy Birthday to our cutie sexy lovely Jimin.

“I’m excited and scared at the same time.” You said, bouncing nervously on your toes. Your best friend eyed the display in front of her.

“I think this one is really pretty… Maybe I should get a piercing. I really like this one, YN.” She points out a shiny gemstone embedded in surgical grade silver, and you nod.

“I am so torn. I want to get a tattoo really badly, and today is the 13th, so they’re doing 13 dollar tattoos. But I also want to pierce my cartilage.”

“You ladies need some help?” 

You looked up at the figure that had approached you from the other side of the counter. His smirk as he eyed you up and down left you feeling warm.

“Yes, ” your best friend began without looking up, “she’s looking to get a 13 dollar tattoo, and I’m debating on this piercing.”

Once she finally was done ogling the jewelry, she made eye contact with the man and almost gasped. He was taller than the both of you, roughly 5 foot 8, and lean. His grey/platinum blond hair was loose around his face, showcasing the cut of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. Dressed in black and silver, you couldn’t deny how hot he was. He quirked an eyebrow up, turning back to you.

“Do you know what tattoo you want?”

“I do,” you answered shyly. “I want a simple one, just the outline of a heart, but, um.. Do you have any… female tattoo artists?”

He smirked again, and you felt embarrassed for asking.

“Bangtan Tattoo Shop doesn’t have any female artists or piercers currently… but I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

Your best friend inhaled again watching the exchange between you and the worker, nearly choking on the sexual aura he was exuding.

“Oh, are you the tattoo artist?”

“The one and only Park Jimin, at your service. We have a couple artists, but they’re all already working on someone and I just finished, so once you fill out the online consents, I’ll take you back.” He passes you a tablet that’s open to a consent form.

“Um, what about piercings?” Your best friend had finally found her voice again.

“I’ll send Hobi over, he’s the best we’ve got.” 

Jimin hands another tablet to your best friends and disappears behind the curtain behind him.

“Please tell me that you saw what I saw.”

“That fine ass man? I definitely did.”

“I can’t believe you’re gonna let him touch you there...” Your best friend hit submit on her tablet and set it back down on the glass display case. 

“It’s not like it’s that risque… it’s small anyways so it’ll be done in no time.”

The sound of the curtain opening ends your conversation.

“Ready, little lady?”

You nod and he motions you around the counter and through the black curtain. As you walk past him, you see a man with several piercings and multiple tattoos on his arms walking towards you.

“She’s right out there, boss. Had her fill out the waiver and everything.”

“Thanks Chim. Happy Birthday again!”

The man, despite all of his jewelry and tattoos, had a cheerful disposition, and radiated a fun energy. He looked tough and menacing, but when he smiled, all of that melted away. You felt confident he would do a good job on your friend.

“Andddd.. Right through here.” Jimin pointed you towards a doorway and you headed inside, eyeing the bed and tattoo equipment laid out. As he followed you inside and shut the door, you turned to ask him where you should sit.

“Alright, before I have you climb up on the table, where do you want this small tattoo?”

“I want it right here.” You pointed at a spot below your hip, right at the apex of where your bikini line meets your leg. You thought it was the perfect place for a dainty tattoo that would only be seen by the men who would be lucky enough to get your panties off of you.

“Ah, I see why you asked for a female artist.. Well, I will have you know that I have tattooed many a half naked woman. No worries. I’ll treat you right.” He winked, and it went straight to your core.

“Let me see the design you want, so I can get that drafted up and ready to draw onto you.”

You showed him a beautiful image of detailed line work that created a flower. 

“This will look so good on you, send this to the email posted above the door.” Jimin pointed at a plaque on the wall above the closed door that listed the wifi information and an email to the shop.

“I’m just gonna have you strip from the waist down, and wrap this towel around you as best as you can to cover all the bits you're worried about, just make sure to leave the area you want done exposed. I’ll print out the design and I’m gonna grab the correct size gloves, they put the wrong ones in here again.”

Jimin left the room with a box of gloves in hand, and you quickly stripped down, winding the towel around your waist and climbing onto the table. Laying back, you tug at the towel, creating enough slack to cover your mound while still keeping the right side exposed for the tattoo. Getting comfortable, you logged into the wifi network and sent the image to the email address as requested. Waiting for Jimin to return felt like it took forever, but you knew that it was just your nerves talking. This would be your first tattoo.

“Ready, baby girl?” Jimin popped back into the room and you jumped, nerves getting the best of you. He adjusted the table so that you were slightly leaned back and your legs dangled at the knee.

“Let me wash my hands and glove up, then we can get started.”

You took the opportunity to eye Jimin as his back was turned to you. The way the black leather pants hugged his ass, showcasing his lean legs that were toned. 

“It’s, uh, it’s your birthday today?” You asked, voice cracking just slightly.

“Yup! The big 2-5. That’s actually why we do the 13 dollar tattoos in October. I offer this rate to celebrate so I can spend the day doing something that I love.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. Happy Birthday!”

“Thank you. Alright, if you’re ready, I’m gonna use this wipe to remove any hair and then place this and you let me know if it’s where you want it or we can adjust.”

You could feel his gentle touch as he wiped the hair removal cloth along your skin before placing the trace of the flower there. Handing you a mirror, you eyeball the location and nod, letting him know that you approve of it.

You take deep breaths as you wait for him to start, trying to ease your nerves. Once the gun makes contact with your skin, you let out an indecent moan. You were expecting it to hurt, and while there definitely is some pain, there is also no mistaking the arousal that leaks from your core. The buzz of the gun is loud, but you’re sure that Jimin noticed the way you formed your mouth into an ‘O’ and closed your eyes. If you hadn’t been instructed to stay still, you might have arched into it, enjoying the way his other hand was braced along your hip, gripping you as he leaned over your lower half to follow the outline. 

Sitting on a rolling chair and positioned between your knees, Jimin was very aware of the way you were reacting to the tattoo. It excited him, finding someone who looked as good as you did who reacted the same way to being tattooed as he had his first time. He tried to ignore the slight hard-on he got from hearing you moan from him decorating your virgin skin.

About 15 minutes later, Jimin had finished the delicate lines of the flower, and wiped away the residual ink. You sat back with your eyes closed, breathing heavily as you calmed down from the rush of endorphins. Jimin looked up at you, admiring the way your lashes highlight your cheekbones.

“Well done, baby girl.”

His breath tickles your inner thigh as he inspects his work, and you look down at him, perfectly positioned to fulfill your wildest dreams.

“It actually didn’t hurt like I thought it would.”

“Seemed like you enjoyed yourself through it.”

“Oh, you noticed that did you?” you ask sheepishly, failing to close your thighs to soothe the ache forming. 

“I noticed quite a bit… This tattoo is gorgeous here by the way. The perfect surprise.” Jimin looks up at you, eye fucking you slowly. “I can see it now, the lucky bastard running his hands like this along your thighs,” Jimin had removed his gloves and placed his soft palms against your thighs. He slides them up, eyes daring you to stop him. You don’t.

“I can see him spreading your thighs apart, kissing up your leg...” He dips his head down and you shiver as his pouty lips make contact with your thigh, soft wet kisses dragging themselves higher and higher.

“Him removing all the clothing blocking you from sight...” Jimin grips the towel and you watch as it glides off of you, revealing your wet folds to him. “Baby girl, I’d really like something sweet for my birthday...”

You nod consenting to his statement, knowing he’s asking to taste you. He wastes no time, tongue tracing your folds as he sucks and licks you, tongue dancing across your clit as your hands bury themselves into his hair. His hands grip your hips, careful not to touch your tattoo. You can’t help the sounds you make, moans rolling from your lips as he pushes your legs farther open before guiding his fingers inside of you. His lips latch onto your clit, paying it special attention as he finger fucks you, but it’s not enough.

“Please, Jimin...”

He pulls away from you, chin glossy with your arousal, but continues to pump his fingers in you slowly.

“I want to feel you, all of you.”

You buck your hips suggestively, and he grins.

“Fuck, baby girl, I’d love to feel you grip me the way you’re gripping my fingers.”

With a lewd, slick sound, he pulls his fingers free, enjoying the way your wetness coats them. He spreads the two fingers that were inside of you and you can see the way the juices cling together, sticky between his digits. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

The sight along caused you to clench, a small mewl from your throat catching his attention.

“Such a dirty girl… That turned you on?”

Eyes hooded, you nod, biting your lip.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

His lips meet yours, and they’re as soft as they looked. You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you tense when you feel the flared tip of his cock sliding against your leaking cunt. He teases your opening before he pushes past, stretching your walls to fit his girth. The angle of the chair allows you to feel him well, the tip of his cock teasing at your g-spot. 

His hands travel up your torso, pushing up your shirt until his hands are cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your sensitive nipples through the lace bra you wore. He eases his face down until his tongue is lined up with your breast, the wet muscle laving the peak through the material. His hips move steadily, plunging him deeper and deeper with each thrust, and you can feel yourself building closer to climax. 

“Shit, Jimin, you feel so good...”

He giggles, and it’s a beautiful sound, melodic and soothing, and you feel him speed up. A free hand rubs at your swollen nub, infinity symbols drawn against your pink clit. His teeth graze your neck and when you feel him bite you, you let go.

Legs trembling, it’s earth shattering the way Jimin takes you through the crests. He can feel each wave of the multiple orgasms he produced, and he takes advantage of the pulsing walls to join you in this euphoric state. 

He wasn’t planning to fill you, so he pulled out and allowed his cum to pool on your mound. Due to the angle, it began to leak down across your clit and towards your opening, which he watched with desire. He really wasn’t planning to fill you, but he couldn’t resist fucking his seed back into you, allowing your satin core to milk the rest of him into you.

You had fully intended to only get ink on your skin today. Expected a little pain with every puncture. The pleasure of your tattoo artist's cock penetrating your pussy walls was just an added bonus, one you’re pretty sure the birthday boy enjoyed as well.

-

ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 𝔹𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕙𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕁𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟, 𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕖, 𝕤𝕖𝕩𝕪, 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕪

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 3/?: Focalize

It is a tranquil spring evening by the time Sakura appears within view behind the hospital's glass entryway, a blur of carnation and sage and ivory. It is just a few minutes past seven; it seems she is waving goodbye to what he assumes is the receptionist further into the building, out of sight. Then she’s pushing one of the doors open with her shoulder and coming into focus, pastel colors subdued in dusk.

Sasuke notices she’s carrying a plain tote bag, and that there are also two large books and what looks like something reminiscent of a magazine in her hands, neatly stacked and held to her chest. She is wearing a sweater that is slightly oversized, a desaturated green.

Her face lights up when she sees him standing there, leaning against one of the blue columns situated a few steps away, closer to the road; her expression belays something like a mixture of ardor and avidity, and as she approaches, he also observes her cheeks match her hair.

His heart swells pleasantly in his chest; any shred of loneliness he felt in the past few hours dissolves.

“Sasuke-kun,” she chimes in affectionate greeting as she ambles over to him, all lenity and upturned lips.

“Sakura.” Her eyes flash lighter, more vibrant, as she gets closer; they are reflecting glow from a nearby streetlight that flipped on promptly at seven, an electrified yellow-green.

There is a short moment in time where they just gaze at each other, scant amount of steps between them, an oblivion of chartreuse and charcoal in spring twilight.

“How was your first day back?” She finally asks, smiling up at him.

He thinks it over for a second as he studies her, a gentle breeze of springtide. “...Fine. I saw Kakashi and the dobe.”

Her smile shifts into a knowing one. “I’m going to guess paperwork and Ichiraku’s.”

He pulls the health screening forms out of his pocket in answer, and her dimple makes an appearance.

“You can come by tomorrow just after eight in the morning, if that works for you; I’ll be here.” Different hours than today, then, he presumes.

He feels he should clarify that she’s not coming in early just for his sake. “...Shouldn’t I make an appointment?”

Sakura shakes her head. “Thursdays and Fridays I don’t have appointments or surgeries until a little later in the day. The majority of those mornings are set aside for medical research and correspondence with some of the clinics. As long as it’s before eleven, I can step away from things for a bit.”

Research. Interesting. She hadn't mentioned much about that in her letters; he hadn't realized it was something she did regularly. “What kind of research?”

She blinks in surprise, and he thinks she looks a little sheepish. “...It depends. Right now we’re doing some longitudinal studies on mice; behavioral assessment in accordance with certain stimuli, neurobiological response, brain scans, that sort of thing... I’ve also got some poisons I’m looking at for antidote development, but they’re pretty rare, so it’s not super pressing.”

His eyes flick to the books in her arms, a silent question. Her lips quirk upwards even more, then; he tries not to focus on them for too long, because she’s shifting the texts so he can read the titles. The thin magazine-like one is labeled Progress in Neuro-Psychopharmacology and Biological Psychiatry; it must be a research journal. The top book reads Neuroanatomy Through Clinical Cases, and the other reads Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release.

“...Some light reading,” he comments dryly, his version of a joke, and he revels in her soft exhale of breath, a shy version of a laugh. He has missed it.

“I suppose. I actually need to return these; they’re almost due. I meant to do it yesterday, but...” She’s blushing again. Vivid eyes meet his hesitantly before sweeping away. “...I forgot.”

Heat edges up his neck.

“I… wasn’t sure what you wanted to do this evening,” she continues, pursing her lips a little as her fingers clutch the books closer to her again. “I thought maybe we could swing by the library? I’d like to take a quick look to see if they have some new things in yet; it shouldn’t take very long.”

Sasuke muses that Sakura absolutely is the type to visit the library regularly. He used to go often, when he was younger. He wasn’t checking out books of that caliber, though; he wonders how long she’s had them. He also ponders momentarily if rogue ninja status is enough for the powers that be to revoke your library card from the system. Probably.

He hasn’t been able to read regularly for awhile, being away; books have been unnecessary weight, something extra to carry, and also a distraction from what he was trying to accomplish. Though he would accompany her wherever regardless, he realizes he would like to start reading again. It would be something to occupy his free time, when she is busy.

He nods his assent.

“Okay,” she breathes, looking a little relieved and meeting his eyes again, luminescent jade. "They close at eight today, so we should probably get going."

He nods again, glancing down at the books still in her arms. He considers for a second, then holds his hand out. Sakura blinks in confusion, long lashes skimming her cheekbones.

“...I’ll carry them,” he offers, neck heating up again as she stares. “...If you’d like.”

Her skin blooms with color, darker than earlier. “Oh. Thank you.” She hands them to him carefully, soft fingers brushing his. Her touch is delicate, incredibly distracting; her glowing cheeks, even moreso.

She adjusts her bag over her shoulder and then turns; he falls into step next to her as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

They walk just east of the hospital, which tells him the library is likely still in the same location, despite Konoha’s changing landscape. Some of the buildings they pass along the way are under construction. That seems to be a recurring theme in the village right now; much of what he saw earlier today passing through with Naruto was the same. Sasuke wonders if the library will have expanded, too. He doesn’t think he’s passed by it, yet.

There are a few people milling about, but not nearly as many as earlier. He supposes the majority of residents must be retired for the evening, inside their homes with family. There are a few restaurants they pass that smell fairly appetizing, but Sakura doesn’t say anything, so he concludes he was right in thinking that she has eaten already.

“So, how were things with Kakashi-sensei and Naruto?” Sakura asks conversationally, peering up at him from his right. “Anything other than paperwork?”

Sasuke contemplates before responding. “...Naruto and I went apartment hunting.”

Pink brows furrow a little bit as she grins. “Did you invite him?” She asks, though he suspects by her expression she already knows the answer.

He shakes his head. “Kakashi mentioned it as I was leaving and he invited himself.”

She laughs, then, glancing in the direction of the mountain of faces at their old sensei. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He probably appreciated a morning with Naruto out of his hair. He’s been helping there a lot, when he’s not on missions.” She pauses, then adds, “I imagine apartment hunting with Naruto would be pretty draining, though. He’s gotten a little better at cooling it with the nonstop chatter since Hinata, but not by a ton.” She stops again, thinking, before inquiring, “Did you end up finding a place?”

Sasuke nods. “It’s north of here.”

She smiles again, then purses her lips as if she’s considering whether to say something more or not. Finally she adds, green eyes darting to his and then looking away shyly, “...Not too far away, then.”

His gaze softens. “...Not too far.”

They amble by a few street vendors selling gardening supplies, closing up carts for the evening; they must be doing fairly well, as all that’s left over from the day's plantable wares are saplings here and there, and a few starters, small labels detailing their required care poking up from the dirt containers they’re sitting in. There are several taller displays interspersed between carts, stocked with watering cans, spades, gloves, and the like. Sasuke thinks it is quite trusting of the merchants to leave their goods out overnight, evidently without fear that they will be stolen or damaged; many of them are walking away holding only money boxes. It speaks to the relative security of Konoha, in comparison to most of the places he's been.

“Did you get everything you needed for your apartment today?” Sakura asks him after they meander a few more steps.

He blinks. “...Mostly."

“Was there something in particular you wanted to do, after the library? We could stop by a store, if they’re open, and get what you're missing.”

He shakes his head, then admits, “I… didn’t have anything planned.” He worries, then, that maybe he was supposed to plan something. They’re together now, or at least he hopes they are; he'd kissed her, and he would like to, again, if they're alone. Maybe this should have been more formal. He then thinks he should answer the second part of her inquiry: a box and a drying rack would probably be easy to find at a general store, but the majority of places in Konoha that are open past seven only sell food. “...I think the store I went to closed at seven,” he adds.

Sakura looks as if she’s deliberating again. “What are you missing, still?” He notices she doesn’t seem upset that he didn’t plan anything; maybe it’s okay.

It takes him a moment to respond, carefully. “...A small storage box, and a laundry rack.”

She brightens. “I actually have a spare drying rack that I'm not using, if you want it. The washing machine in my unit broke in February, and when my landlady replaced it, she got a washer/dryer combo.” She thinks, then adds, “...And I think I have an empty shoebox in my closet; would that be big enough?”

Something like serendipity unfolds in Sasuke’s chest and begins to vine between his ribs. He thinks unbidden of the blooming cherry blossom tree he can see from his window, just within reach, if he only goes beyond the glass.

He nods. “...Thank you.”

Multifaceted eyes peer up at him warmly. “No problem.” Her cheeks darken again. “We could… walk for a while, and then swing by there at the end. If you want.” Her fingers are gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter. “I wouldn’t mind walking by your building at some point before that, so I… so I know where it is.”

Sasuke nods again, heart skipping a little. He had hoped she would show him where her apartment is tonight, too; he would like to walk her home. He also hopes ‘walk for a while’ means he gets to spend more time with her between the library and going by his building, before they go to hers.

He thinks maybe he should voice that. It comes out as a question. “...We could walk around a bit after the library?”

She’s gazing up at him with red cheeks and smiling with a gentle light in her eyes. “...I’d like that,” she murmurs.

His ears feel warm again.

They turn a corner, and then they are at the library. There is a small expanded portion of the building on the south side now, and it is painted a slightly different mauve-leaning gray than it used to be, but otherwise it appears the same. When they near the entrance, Sakura pulls open the door for him, since his hand is occupied.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, before they head inside, bell on the door jingling.

The librarian working at the front desk nods at Sakura in recognition as they enter, a fairly young woman with chestnut hair. The librarian Sasuke remembers was quite a bit older, elderly now that he’s thinking about it. He briefly wonders if she passed away in his absence. The thought makes him morose; he hopes she just retired. She had always been kind to him.

“Finished with those already, Sakura?” The woman asks, friendly and motioning to the books in Sasuke’s arm as he makes his way to the desk to set them down, Sakura beside him. She must know her well.

“Yes; the journal was interesting, this time. Very relevant to the experiments we're running, and much more substantial than the last edition.” There is something somewhat critical in her voice regarding the referenced last edition, as if something in it wasn’t up to her academic standards. She’s well within reason to be captious; she has become an expert in her field in a rapid amount of time, and if she’s doing research regularly, he’s sure she has the data to back up her assessment. He wonders just what kind of experiments she’s running that have to do with neuro-psychopharmacology; whatever they are, he imagines they must be complex.

The woman is wearing a name tag that reads Ichika, Sasuke can see now that they’re closer. Sakura pulls out what must be her library card from her tote bag; it’s connected to a lanyard with several keys and what he presumes is an ID badge for the hospital.

“Thank you," the librarian says as Sakura hands her card over. As she does so, the woman glances at Sasuke with brown eyes, and then back to Sakura, as if waiting for an introduction. “And this is?”

“This is Sasuke,” she answers, smiling, then adds, “Uchiha.”

“Welcome,” the woman named Ichika greets him, without any malice. Sasuke wonders if she just doesn’t know who he is, or if she’s being friendly because of Sakura’s presence. Maybe it’s because she’s a civilian.

“...Thank you,” he offers sincerely after a moment.

“It was nice of you to carry those books. I know from experience they’re quite heavy. My name’s Ichika.” She gestures to her name tag. “I don’t suppose you like to read as much as Sakura does?” Ichika laughs as she hands Sakura’s card back and starts scanning the books as returned. “I think by now there are more books in the library that she’s read than ones she hasn’t.”

Sasuke glances at Sakura knowingly, and she looks downwards bashfully for a second.

“...I like to, but I don't think I’d understand half of what’s in these,” Sasuke answers honestly, turning his gaze back to the librarian. He sees Sakura flush out of the corner of his eye.

Ichika laughs. Sasuke thinks then that she really must not know of his prior rogue ninja status. “I usually have her write down the titles of the books she’d like us to add, because I don’t know that I can even spell some of the words.” She squints at the last book. “ Molecular Mechanisms of Neurotransmitter Release. I haven’t the faintest idea what a neurotransmitter is, or what it would be releasing.”

Sakura smiles. “Neurotransmitters are the body’s chemical messengers. A release is when the neurotransmitter causes a response in the receiving neuron; they can be disrupted in diseases and biological toxins. Tetanus is a good example; it goes up synaptic terminals of interneurons where it blocks the release of inhibitory neurotransmitters. The result of the block is that motorneurons become overactive, and then cause muscle contractions and spastic paralysis, like lockjaw.”

Ichika blinks blankly. “I don’t know where you keep that information in your head, Sakura, because it certainly wouldn’t fit in mine. Guess I’ll try not to step on any nails in the meantime.” She’s shaking her head, but her tone is amicable. “Well, they’re all checked in, with a few days to spare. I left out the new journals and that other book you asked about in the usual spot, back in the Medicine section.”

Sakura nods, and the librarian’s gaze turns back to him.

"Would you like a library card?”

Sasuke is glad he won’t have to ask. “...I used to have one. I’m not sure if it’s still on file.”

“I can check our records, if you want to browse in the meantime. If it’s not still on file, we can set you up with a new one; you can take books today either way, if you find some you’re interested in.”

Sasuke nods; that was easier than he thought it would be. “...Thank you.” Ichika turns to approach a row of filing cabinets a bit further back behind the main desk area, he assumes to check for his name in their database; he turns to Sakura.

She’s smiling at him as if she wants to ask him a question, but she doesn’t say anything. When she turns to journey further back into the library, he follows. They pass through two interior rooms, organized by genre and alphabet just the same as they had been years ago. The shelves are a little fuller than they used to be; with the population expanding, it makes sense that they now have a wider selection available.

They turn a corner to another interior room, and suddenly he sees a familiar face. His replacement is hunched over in a corner, nose buried in a book that appears from its cover to be about painting. When Sasuke inspects the rest of the room, he sees that the majority of the books in this section have titles related to art.

“Oh, hey, Sai,” Sakura greets casually, heading over to him. Dark eyes glance up at her from his book. Seeing him here must be a regular occurrence, given her lack of surprise.

"Hello, Ugly,” he responds, somehow both cheerful and monotone all at once. Sasuke frowns. He’d been around Sai a few times following the war, before he left for his travels. He never liked his nickname for Sakura.

Sai then looks to him, still standing at the threshold of the room, keeping his distance. He knows him, but not well.

“Welcome back, Traitor," he adds, tone friendly enough. Sasuke supposes that one’s fair. He inclines his head minutely, hand in his pocket.

Sai twists his gaze back to Sakura. "Have you recovered from your birthday extravaganza?"

Sakura blanches and stiffens a little in surprise as Sasuke eyes her with great interest; clearly this was not something she’d expected to be asked about. "Uh… Yeah. It doesn't take long; I eat during and can heal my headache the morning after."

Sai nods. “Yes, Beautiful said you didn’t get nearly as plastered as she wanted you to.” The way he says it is with way too positive of an inflection, as if he’s talking about it being great weather outside instead of crude wording for getting drunk.

Sakura rolls her eyes, then. “She would think that.” She pauses, then looks at Sai carefully. "Ino should be back tonight, right?"

"Yes. I am excited. I'm feeling quite amorous."

Sasuke twitches and his frown sinks deeper, but Sakura rolls her eyes as if she is used to this lack of filter, and gently pushes his book into his face, firmly but carefully so as not to damage it.

"Too much information. Just say you miss her."

Sai smiles as he moves the book away. "It is less information than Beautiful gives."

"That's because she's not normal," Sakura replies, sighing. Sai nods almost mechanically, as if he is cataloging this tidbit on human social interaction away in a filing cabinet for future reference.

There is a pause that is just a bit too long, before Sai offers, “I am researching for an upcoming painting.” Sasuke doesn’t know Sai well enough to understand, but Sakura does; apparently this is his way of telling her that he is busy with his book.

"I won’t keep you, then. Don't let her forget about our plans, though, and tell her I missed our spar this week."

Sai smiles. "She was preparing a new playlist prior to her mission." This also interests Sasuke, but not as much as Ino trying to get her ‘plastered’. He is for some reason having great difficulty imagining Sakura even a little drunk.

Sakura sighs deeply through her nose this time, and says flatly, with no enthusiasm, "Great.” After a beat, she adds, “Well anyways, tell her I say hi. See you. Good luck with your painting.”

Sai nods, and Sakura then turns to go a different direction, Sasuke following close behind. They pass through four more interior rooms before they finally make it to the Medicine section towards the back of the building, where one book and two more medical journals are sectioned neatly away in an empty portion of shelf. The book is just as thick as the one she’d just returned.

“I didn’t know you liked to read, still,” Sakura mentions as she carefully picks up the stack. She’s smiling at him again; that must be what she wanted to say earlier. Maybe she’d expected Sai would be there, that they would pass through the room he was sitting in, and that’s why she’d held off.

Sasuke nods. “...I haven’t read much in a while.”

Jade eyes are soft on his. “Well, if you want to look for a bit, I could look, too.”

He nods again.

XXX

Roughly twenty minutes later, Sasuke leaves the library with Sakura, comparing what they’ve checked out underneath the streetlight just outside; the light has faded enough that it is a bit difficult to read without it.

They still had his information on file after all, though the woman, Ichika, had him fill out a renewal slip and updated his contact information to his new address before giving him a new card. It is a strangely comforting and nostalgic feeling, to know that he was still present in the archives of Konoha in ways he had been unaware of.

He had picked out two books: one about the history of kenjutsu in Fire Country, and another historical text documenting the overthrow of the daimyo in the Land of Silence. He has never been there, given it is beyond the reach of Shinobi authority; he figured it would be interesting to read about. With it being a samurai-led country, it made sense to read at the same time as the book on kenjutsu.

“These sound like you,” Sakura says after scanning the titles of what he’s picked, glancing up at him kindly as she rotates so he can read the information of her own. Cradled in her arms are the Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, the other scholarly journal, Human Brain Mapping, the book from the Medicine section titled Translational Research in Traumatic Brain Injury, and what appears to be a fiction book, an addition to the others, titled Spoiled Suitopi.

“You read fiction, too,” he observes as he reads the title of the last one, and she takes this as her cue to shift them back together neatly into one stack, largest to smallest.

She laughs a little. “I try to. It’s a good mental reset after reading medical texts; everything starts to blur together after a while. This was actually a recommendation from Ino; she’s into the dramatic stuff, clearly. Sometimes they’re decent.”

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to ask. “...A birthday extravaganza?”

She smiles timidly, expression shifting to something a little embarrassed. “I wouldn’t call it that; she showed up at my apartment last weekend with ingredients for drinks, and then we watched terrible movies in my living room.”

Sasuke is learning all kinds of things about Sakura this evening. “No Sai?”

She shakes her head. “No, that’s a me and Ino thing; he doesn’t really pick up on the nuance of them being terrible, and we figure we don’t want to give him poor examples to follow… he’s got enough of those already, dating her.” She grins a little, then. “Also, he can’t really handle his liquor.”

Sasuke thinks Sakura must be able to hold hers fairly well; she had seemed pretty confident earlier, regarding the morning after. He knows her mentor Tsunade has quite a reputation. He himself has never drank much.

“He’s... interesting.”

Sakura shrugs nonchalantly. "He's better than he used to be, regarding the oversharing. Ino is worse, honestly.”

He considers her words, then decides to drop the subject, because he doesn’t want to think about that. Sakura had said in her letters that Ino and Sai were together; he can only imagine what she knows about them, likely most of it against her will and learned in the manner he's just witnessed.

He shifts his attention upwards; a few stars are starting to peek their way into the night sky. He follows their path north, to the barest hints of lavender sinking below the horizon. It has become even more silent outside, fewer people and slightly cooler temperatures. There is still a breeze. They spent longer in the library than he'd anticipated.

He’s not sure what time she usually goes to sleep; if she works at eight, it’s probably early. He wonders if he should ask.

“Thank you for going with me. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I thought,” she says, before the question comes to him. He shifts his eyes back towards her; he’s about to tell her not to apologize because he clearly spent time browsing, too, but she’s already speaking again. “You said your apartment is on the north side, right?”

He inclines his head in an affirmative.

“We could walk that direction, if you want; there are a few newer things on that side of town I could point out that are kind of interesting. If…” She pauses, as if considering her wording. “If you haven’t seen them already, I mean.” She gestures to his selection from the library, gripped in his hand. “We could drop off your books, too. Not as much to carry back, then, with the box and the laundry rack.”

“...I’d like that.”

She smiles up at him again, tender effervescence. He realizes as they start making their way north that they both have been talking in more hushed voices, as if the blanket of nighttime shifting atop the village has quieted them in addition to their surroundings.

There is something soothing about treading around at nightfall with her. The village is well-lit enough that it’s fairly easy wandering, and lights emanating from windows cast everything softer, more inviting phosphorescence sifting onto the pathway beneath their feet. Earlier today, trekking back and forth between businesses and his apartment, it had felt more unfamiliar, like there was a disconnect and he was just passing through, despite the knowledge that he was transporting things to a permanent living space. It feels decidedly less transient next to Sakura, a hint of sweetness in tart recollections. He watches their shadows for a fleeting moment, cast close together to the right of them, near touching, and occasionally faded by windowpane glow.

There is a casino she points out a few blocks down where Tsunade apparently used to lose money fairly regularly. She explains it was her mentor’s favorite because it was somewhat close to the residence typically taken up by the Hokage; she used to call it lucky, even though she never won. Sasuke finds out through this story that the Hokage residence is still sitting empty; Kakashi has apparently still not moved there, preferring instead to stay where he has been residing for years. Sakura mentions in a softer tone that she thinks it’s because of his apartment’s proximity to the graveyard where his old teammate, the Nohara girl, is buried.

There is a long stretch of silence in which Sasuke considers just how Kakashi has always seemed able to see straight through him. He’s fairly certain the girl had been a medic, too.

“...Naruto’s house isn’t far from the Hokage’s office, either,” Sasuke observes finally, changing the subject. He’s with her right now; he doesn’t want to ruminate too long. He thinks that's improvement.

Jade eyes sparkle up at him. “No, it’s not. I’m pretty sure that was on purpose; I don’t think they intend to move again. I’m sure he’ll give you the tour eventually - he’s pretty proud of their place; Hinata keeps it pretty nice - but it has some extra rooms.”

He tries not to think about the implications of that for too long. Naruto being in charge of a tiny human is not a very reassuring thought, even with his apparent strides in social awareness.

They pass a yakitori place she mentions is good, a few more blocks down. It seems pretty calm for such a restaurant, not as busy as Ichiraku’s usually is, though it’s later now and they’re likely getting ready to close. “I’ve been there with Naruto and Hinata a few times,” she tells him. “At least, when we can convince him to go eat something other than ramen.”

Sasuke hadn’t realized Sakura was that close with Naruto’s wife, though it makes sense instantaneously; she has known her for years. He thinks for a second before questioning, “Is she still as quiet?”

Sakura purses her lips in thought. “She talks more, now, for sure, but she’s still pretty shy around people she doesn’t know well.” She smiles, then. “I think Naruto has been really good for her, actually. Her for him, too; they balance each other out well.”

He supposes that’s true; perhaps Hinata is the reason for Naruto’s continued emotional growth. He ponders momentarily whether he and Sakura will balance each other out well.

She’s looking at him as if he should say something, so he does. “...He had vegetables in his ramen today.”

Sakura laughs. “Yes, she does force vegetables into his food every once in a while, now, so he's more used to them. I think she might have slipped Teuchi some money to start throwing them in his orders, to be honest."

Sasuke snorts, because of course that would be how that came about.

"It’s for the best," Sakura continues, lips quirking upwards still. He tears his eyes away from her mouth after a second. "He was eating pretty much all noodles and junk for so long. Hopefully it’ll start to cancel out with a few more years.”

As they walk farther, he starts to recognize things from earlier today; a bed of alabaster azaleas surrounding a residential building painted green, and a rather large street sign on a corner, right next to an ornate bench. They are getting fairly close to his apartment building. He holds off on saying something for a little longer, though, because he wants to spend more time with her. He hopes that's not too selfish; he has missed her. A lot.

“There’s an interesting place over there,” Sakura notes, pointing out a clearly aged building that he thinks he walked by on his return trip from the market earlier in the afternoon. “They’re only open two or three days a week, but it’s antiques now. I don’t usually buy anything other than books, but it’s fun to look through; they get rare ones in, from time to time. The owner is really nice.”

He nods. That would be a good way to spend an afternoon. He suspects she must have a collection of books at her apartment, then. He wonders how many.

She is mute for a moment, as if in thought, as they pass through another intersection. He wonders if he should be adding more to the conversation, but it doesn’t feel like an awkward silence; just an easy one.

He spies another familiar sign, this one advertising the market hours. “...My building is a few blocks this way,” he mentions quietly, loath as he is for this evening spent with her to come to an end. She looks up at him for a moment, then nods, and he subtly starts leading her in the general direction of his apartment complex.

His building comes into view a short time later. He points it out right before they pass beneath the cherry blossom tree, and Sakura nods in recognition. “Sai used to live somewhere over in this area, before he moved in with Ino. I’m not sure where, exactly. I know he liked how quiet it was, though.”

Sasuke nods as he pulls his key from his pocket, and they cross the street. He had been right about the light pollution; there is little enough of it that one can see the stars rather clearly, more so than one could from the library.

He wonders if he should perhaps invite her in. He thinks of the letters, still sitting on the small end table in the living room.

She saves him from making the decision. “I’ll wait here,” she tells him politely, leaning up against the old brick. He nods.

He goes up the stairway, down to the last door on the right. Once he unlocks his door, he places the two books on the kitchen table inside, and locks the door again behind him. It only takes him a minute before he is coming down the stairs again.

She smiles at him, then blinks when he holds out his hand. She colors, he thinks, when she realizes he’s offering to carry her books for her again; it’s harder to tell with the lack of light.

As she hands them to him carefully, she says, voice soft, “My place is a little south of the library; not by too much.” Her eyes flit to his, then dart away; there is a careful smile on her lips. “Maybe a little over ten minutes from here.”

They wander together in an easy silence, her leading the way more now. There are a few crickets chirping. It was fairly warm out today, so it makes sense that insects are starting to make their return. A gentle breeze continues to waft through from time to time.

He walks close enough to her that he can faintly smell raspberries, each time the wind blows just right. There are even fewer people out and about now, it being closer to nine in the evening; the road is fairly deserted. They go by the library again, lights turned off, and more closed businesses. It soon transitions into older construction that he assumes must be residential.

She was right; it doesn’t take long, around twelve minutes at a leisurely pace, before she points out a building further down the street. “That’s the one.”

As they get closer, he notes that hers is also an older building, built out of cream brick; there is something nice about that realization, that she also apparently chose something older with a bit of history over something brand new. There are few enough street lights that one can see the stars overhead well at night here, too.

“There’s a patio or balcony attached to each unit,” Sakura remarks once they’re closer, pointing at one on the northernmost part of the second story that is brimming with potted plants, much more than any of her neighbors’. “That one’s mine.”

As they round the corner of the building, he assumes to reach the front entrance, she tells him it was one of the reasons she selected this apartment, aside from its proximity to the hospital and her family's residence. "My parents' house has balconies for both bedrooms. It was strange to imagine not having one. This one’s attached to the bedroom, too; it’s nice to sit out there, if the weather’s not too extreme."

It’s a smaller complex, only two stories high. He thinks there must be six units, given its size and the trio of balconies they passed beneath, three small patios in their shadows on the ground level. It is somewhat close to the hospital, as she’d said, but far enough away that it's not necessarily an area that would bustle with activity, even during the day’s busiest hours; it is very still right now, peaceful. They pass through a glass door that is not locked, leading into a common area with six doors, three on the main level, and then three on the second level, with a metal stairway leading upwards. A huge, two-story high bay window sprawls by the main door, overlaid in a diamond pattern, which must allow light to stream in the majority of the day.

Each of the doors to individual units has at least one or two plants framing it, but he knows which one is hers right away. An array of thriving potted plants surround the upper northernmost side door, spilling out to surround the entire right side of the banister that frames the edges of the building. Hers is also the unit furthest on the upper right, like his; another nice realization. A few of her plants are flowering, but for the most part they are varying shades of green, with accents of paler colors. Desaturated and calming, just as he’d guessed she would like, rather than intensities of marigold and cobalt and fuchsia. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting, but as they get closer, he thinks that the few blooms are pistachio and lavender and blush in color, like her hair.

Or her cheeks. Jade eyes are on him again as he finishes walking up the stairway behind her.

He follows her to her door and leans a little against the railing behind him while she grabs her keys from her bag; he doesn’t think she’d mind if he came in for a few minutes, but she didn’t explicitly invite him, and he wants to be polite.

Once she’s unlocked it, she turns back to him to take her books. Her hand brushes his, and it’s incredibly distracting, again. “I’ll be right back.” She smiles at him before disappearing inside her apartment.

She leaves the door slightly ajar behind her, and he tries not to look. He busies himself with observing what appears by her neighbors’ doorways instead. No light emanates from beneath the doors of any of them; he wonders, this being older construction, if more of the tenants here are older, and are perhaps in bed already. The upper units probably aren’t occupied by extremely elderly people, given the stairs, but the ground level units’ decorations appear more classic and refined, less youthful. He notes the pots surrounding the other doors are very matchy, but Sakura’s are less so; hers are various shades of neutral terracotta colors, soft and inviting, some with unique shapes.

She’s back quickly, foldable drying rack and shoebox in tow, closing her door mostly behind her. She also must have set her tote bag aside; it's no longer situated on her shoulder.

He realizes all at once as she meets his eyes, handing him the items she’s gifting him, that he does not want this evening to end.

“Thank you,” he says, voice husky.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs, just as hushed.

Sasuke studies her eyes for a long moment, trying to commit the life in them to memory, though he already has, he thinks.

“...May I see you tomorrow after you work?” He finally asks quietly, trying to keep the hope out of his tone. He knows he’ll see her for his medical clearance in the morning, but he would still like to spend time with her outside of that, if she doesn't have plans already.

She looks crestfallen, smile slipping a little before coming back. “I would love to see you, but I have dinner with my parents every other Thursday, since I get off at four. They stopped by for a visit on my actual birthday, but they wanted to do cake and a gift tomorrow night after our usual supper time.” She pauses, searches his expression for a moment. “Maybe the day after tomorrow, if you’re not busy? I get off around four on Fridays, too.”

He nods, committing this part of her schedule to memory. “...I’ll meet you at the hospital, then.”

Her smile gets wider. “Okay. I can show you around the other newer parts of the village, if you’d like. The southwest side has really expanded.”

He nods his head in agreement, thinking. He would like to ask for more time with her, before he starts taking mission assignments again, but he also doesn’t want to monopolize all of it; she has years worth of life here, roots other than him that need tending. He hopes she’s saying yes because she actually wants to, and not simply for his sake.

He takes a deep breath, forcing down nervous vulnerability at his next question. “...And Saturday?”

She blinks, then blushes darker, smile growing wider still. She casts her glance downwards to her feet out of shyness, shifting a bit. “Saturdays I work seven to three; I’m going to stop by the market after for some gardening supplies with Ino, but other than that, I didn’t have anything set in stone.” But then jade eyes flick back up at him, and they are slightly apologetic.

His heart sinks for a second, rejection stinging a little behind his eyes. She doesn’t want to see me that often. He’s been absent for too long. She's probably tired of him already, though she hasn’t said anything. He has enjoyed tonight, but he's aware he doesn't make the best company.

“Naruto sent a clone by this afternoon that was going on about an original Team Seven reunion dinner, though. He mentioned Saturday night as a possibility,” she reveals, and his world comes back into focus, heart reversing upwards back into his chest cavity.

Sasuke huffs amusedly, then, relieved. “...Of course he did.”

She sighs wistfully, shaking her head. “Ichiraku’s, I’m sure. I’m pretty sure I’ve tried everything on the menu in triplicate, at this point.”

He eyes her carefully, trying to dry swallow his fear of rejection like a pill. Corrosion, he thinks. “...After dinner?”

Shimmering seafoam again. Happy, transparently pleased, and he’s glad he asked, shoved away the nerves; he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if it’s going to make her eyes look like that. “Of course. We could… hang out here, if you want. Or was there something you had in mind?”

His gaze softens. “Here is fine,” he answers. It is more than fine, actually. He’d go anywhere, if it meant he could soak in her presence longer, but he’s more than a little curious about what her apartment looks like on the inside. His own is pretty sterile, even now mostly put together after the afternoon, devoid of most anything other than necessities. He has an inkling that Sakura is the type to truly make wherever she's living feel like a home, though, given the pleasant spread of life he’s seen spilling out here on her doorstep.

“Okay,” she confirms, dimple reappearing. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There is something in her eyes after a second, gears turning, a question she must want to ask him.

"Would you…" She's talking even more softly, now, hushed as if she's going to scare him away. Her eyes meet his apprehensively as she shifts her weight from one side to the other. "Would you want to maybe... have tea tomorrow morning? I'm… not sure if you have plans or not, but I have a little time, before I work. There's a good place near the hospital, and then after we could get your exam done at eight like we planned."

The vines between his ribs twist pleasurably. She does want to see him, after all. She's not too busy. She's looking at him nervously, as if he would say no, as if he hasn’t spent the last twenty-four hours longing for her company again.

"...I'll look forward to it," he answers quietly, because he will; he likes tea, occasionally. He thinks he will like it better with her.

Her entire countenance brightens somehow, even as she flushes darker. "Oh. Good." She sounds relieved.

"...I can meet you here," he finds himself saying, and her eyes are sparkling at him, now, at what's implied - longer with her, another walk together. "What time?"

She purses her lips now, apparently still nervous. "Would… seven be too early?" Her voice trails off a little, as if in hesitance, as she finishes the question.

He chooses his next words carefully, meaningfully, so there is no uncertainty. "Not at all."

She regards him then like he has done something wholly wonderful, cheeks a rich red in dim light and expression heart-wrenchingly elated.

There is an expectant pause as the oblivion happens again, dimmer now but just as powerful. He really wants to kiss her; he’s been thinking about it the entire evening. He wonders if she has, too, and if maybe she wants him to. There’s no one around, in this little entry area of her small complex, in front of her door and her plants in faded hues.

He decides to go with his gut.

It’s somehow even better, this time, anticipation and lips meeting and a barely audible exhale of breath through the nose on her part, almost like she’s suddenly at ease; he thinks, pleased, that she must have wanted him to. Her hands gently meet his chest, tentatively pressing against him. He would like to do something with his, but it's still occupied, holding what she's supplied him with. He settles for pressing his lips to hers with a little more confidence than yesterday. It’s tender and over much too quickly, much like the evening they have spent together; all soft light settling, lambent and beguiling.

She is crimson when they part for a breath, before shyly directing her gaze away and shifting back down; he realizes that she must have been standing on the tips of her toes to reach him.

Her hands linger on his chest, and then her gaze comes back up to his, almost determinedly.

“I’m… really happy you’re back.” Her face is still flushed, but she doesn’t look away. Her pupils are dilated, bottomless black dwarfing green.

Heat creeps up his neck. His pulse pounds just below her fingertips, as if she’s tugging at his heartstrings with them.

“...I am, too,” he whispers, before he leans down again.

He thinks that he could stay here forever, clutching all that she’s given him, enveloped in a sweet ambrosia of tart berry and newly unfurling plants and soft lips that he’s thought of all day, now against his again.

She gently drops her hands from his chest when they finally part. She’s smiling; she is so pretty.

“Good night, Sasuke-kun.” Her voice is near a whisper. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“...Good night, Sakura,” he murmurs in response.

XXX

The journey from her place to his really is quite quick; he doesn’t see anyone on his way back. Stars are visible almost the entire way, Leo and Ursa Major and Cassiopeia. The moon is a thin sliver amongst them, raised high in the sky.

Once he's inside, he carefully folds out the drying rack she’s given him in the small laundry closet and lays out damp clothes to allow the air to finish the job. He's glad he didn't need to make another trip to the store. A trip with her was better, and she somehow had just what he needed. He thinks perhaps she always has, and his vision has simply been too blurry, obscured by smudged glass, to see it.

Sasuke retrieves the stack of her letters and places them in the box gingerly so as not to further bend them. He stares at the picture for a long time before also stowing it away, sliding the container onto the shelf in the closet for safekeeping.

He doesn’t feel tired yet, and it's not too cold, so he goes to visit the memorial stone, after, as he’d planned. He feels it is the right thing to do, after having been gone so long.

He confronts many things as he sits there, the bevy of crickets and soft swishing of grass the only sounds on this quiet spring evening, a long list of engravings barely legible in the shadows.

Melancholy is one of them, seeping in slowly, as he’d known it would. Grief and acrimony and betrayal, too. A little bit of anger, still. He also experiences sillage, the aroma of his mother’s flower garden and the scent of his aunt and uncle’s baked goods and the smell of an empty house, all blending together in his olfactory senses like it was yesterday, a bitter incense of nostalgia that is hard on the inhale.

This time, though, semisweet berry and antiseptic are also among them, memory fresh in his nostrils, and he experiences a little bit of comfort, too.

Sasuke doesn’t sleep well, after, but when the nightmare comes, gruesome, and he’s awake for the remainder of the night, he has some books to help steady him until seven comes.

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Persistence ⊰

Pairing: Johnny Utah x Reader

Request: Could u do one where the reader is a nurse who runs into Utah a bunch of times and he flirts and she just isn’t impressed but he keeps going and then she finally sees it - @jadore30​

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Language, mention of alcohol

A/N: Thanks for requesting this! Love Johnny Utah and I’m glad that I finally wrote a little something with him. I’m sorry for the terrible title, I couldn’t think of a good one lol. But anyways, I hope you like it!

Johnny Utah was an overconfident, cocky bastard.

The other nurses would fawn over him whenever the FBI agent dropped by the hospital after a case goes awry. You, however, couldn’t understand the appeal of him. Sure, Utah had an irritatingly handsome face and a body seemingly sculpted by the gods themselves. However, they still weren’t enough to make up for his arrogance.

Not to you, at least.

It was close to midnight when you were paged to the emergency room after taking a short break. You had rounded the corner, noticing how empty and quiet it was before heading towards bed number twelve where your new patient was waiting. Pushing aside the privacy curtain, you cursed under your breath when you saw Johnny sitting on the hospital bed, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Seriously, Utah?” You spoke, exasperated. “This is the third time this month alone.”

“What can I say? I wanted to see you tonight, darling,” Johnny winked as you examined his injuries, which all seemed very easy to treat. Well, that’s what you had thought until you saw him holding an ice pack on top of his swollen wrist, most likely from a sprain.

Shaking your head, you might as well do your job now so that he could soon go on his merry way. With a deep sigh, you took a pair of gloves from the supply cart nearby and put them over your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Johnny watching as you gathered the things you needed to clean the gash on his arm.

“What went wrong this time?” You asked him, gently cleaning the tender skin around his wound with a cotton pad dipped in solution. The cut was deeper than you had initially thought, and he definitely needed stitches for it.

“Drug raid,” he answered, and you caught sight of his tongue darting out, licking his chapped lips. “One guy got away and put up one hell of a fight. I didn’t see his knife at first, so that took me by surprise.”

“You didn’t wait for back-up?”

“There was no time, and I thought I could handle him by myself.”

Johnny flicked his dark hair to the side, his chestnut-brown orbs then staring at your concentrated gaze. You noticed the heat rising up in your cheeks when you briefly locked eyes, and you felt something—unexplainable. Swiftly, you looked away, your focus returning to the task at hand.

“And your wrist?”

“Tripped and landed on it. Doesn’t really hurt though, I’ve been through a lot worse.”

You nodded before you threw out the dirty cotton pad. You then switched to a new clean pair of gloves before threading a needle. “So, do you call the main desk first and check to see if I’m working before getting yourself injured while on the job?”

“Is it bad wanting to get treated by the best nurse in California?” Johnny let out a low chuckle before wincing at the stinging sensation of the needle’s sharp end piercing through his skin. “But if I say yes, will you finally agree to go on a date with me?”

“Not happening,” you declined, but you couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on your face. “Not in a million years.”

“Come on, please?” He pleaded, batting his lashes at you as if it would help his case. “Just one date, that’s all I want.”

You were used to this by now, the constant flirting and his silly attempts in asking you out. Ever since you met him four months ago, Johnny had been quite relentless, doing everything he could to convince you to give him a chance. But you simply weren’t impressed by him, and you would much rather keep your relationship with Johnny strictly professional.

“No, thank you, Utah,” you responded as you finished up your meticulous stitching, wrapping the inflicted area with a bandage afterwards. “I think we’re all done here. I’ll have you brought over to imaging and get your wrist checked out.”

Johnny gave you a short nod while you peeled off your used gloves and tossed them in the bin. For a minute or two, you watched in silence as he inspected your handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, his attention reverted back to you, flashing a cheeky grin at the same time.

“I don’t do it on purpose, by the way,” he noted, pushing himself off the edge of the bed before standing close to you. You could feel Johnny’s warm breath against your skin as you glanced up, locking gazes once again. “I don’t get hurt just so that I could see you. I guess it’s one of the perks that come with the job.”

“Sure it is,” you added incredulously. “Well, I’ve got rounds to do in a bit. You can wait here, and I’ll let the technician know that you need an x-ray.”

“Are you coming back?” Johnny wondered out loud.

“I’ll have Barbara bring you there,” came your response. “She’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

“But is she as beautiful as you, angel?” He tilted his head to the side, amused by his own inquiry. “If she’s not, then I’m not going.”

You laughed, taking a step back from him. “Okay, it’s your choice, but I have to get back to work.”

Turning around to leave, Johnny’s uninjured hand suddenly reached out to grasp yours, causing you to look behind. A quick second passed, and you swore that there was a shift in the atmosphere. You couldn’t think of a proper word for it other than electrifying, and truth be told, it had left you confused. His unwavering gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and you recognized the feeling as a sign that you were attracted to someone.

But this was Johnny you were dealing with. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, you had thought that he was the worst. You didn’t really know him, and he didn’t really know you. To him, you were probably just another pretty face that he wanted to sleep with and couldn’t take no for an answer.

“Desperation is not cute, Utah,” you stated as he pulled you towards him, your feet allowing it.

“I’m not desperate, I’m persistent. There’s a difference,” Johnny explained. His eyes drifting down to your mouth, quietly imagining how it would feel on his. “You know, I’m not going to give up on you that easily. Go ahead, play hard to get. But I can see it on your face—you like me, too.”

“Did you also manage to hit your head during the scuffle?” You raised a brow at Johnny, who shot you a faint smile. He then lifted your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly before gently lowering it down.

“I’ll see you around, darling,” he said sweetly, and you felt your heart skip a beat. With a small wave, you then made your exit, walking to the nurses’ station down the hall.

As you prepped for the last three hours of your shift, you couldn’t help but reflect on what had happened between you and Johnny. It was odd because for one moment, you had forgotten about all of the reasons why you weren’t interested in him. Instead, you could only think of how gentle his calloused hands were as he held you, and the strange spark you felt when your eyes met.

“Thinking about Agent Utah?” Barbara’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, and you tried to act naturally in front of the older woman. “Don’t even lie, hun. I knew that Utah would eventually get to you.”

“God, no,” you denied with a shake of your head. “How’s his hand?”

“Not too damaged, fortunately. But we did have a lovely conversation about you on our way up to imaging.”

You abruptly stood from your seat, almost stumbling backwards as Barbara giggled at your flustered reaction. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve always been a stubborn little thing, especially when it comes to Johnny. How many more hospital visits will the poor man have to make until you finally realize it?”

Narrowing your eyes, you stopped yourself from launching into one of your usual tirades about Utah, not having the energy to do so right now. Sinking back down on your chair, you exhaled heavily and did your best to forget about him for the rest of the night.

Go ahead, play hard to get. But I can see it on your face—you like me, too.

Johnny’s words echoed in your mind. You didn’t know how he got to that conclusion, and he couldn’t be further from the truth.

A crush on Utah? The mere thought of it was absurd.

.

.

.

But was it?

---

A week later, you found yourself sitting at a local dive bar after a particularly exhausting shift at the hospital. The place was as busy as it could be on a late Friday evening, and with a stiff drink in your hand, you tried to ignore the ruckus happening around you. Emptying your first glass of the night, you were about to call the bartender over when a man took a seat right next to you.

“What’s a nice lady like you doing in a dump like this?” The stranger asked, his breath reeking of cheap liquor.

“How original,” you said dryly, not even turning to look at him properly. You just wanted to be left alone in peace. Was it too much to ask?

The man simply brushed off your comment as he ordered two bottles of beer, not giving you the chance to ask the bartender for a refill. Huffing, you rolled your eyes at him as he tried making awkward conversation with you. You couldn’t have appeared any less interested at that moment, yet he was oblivious to the fact.

“Babe! I’m sorry I’m late.”

You whipped your head to the side and saw Johnny approaching you with a wide grin.

“Babe?” The stranger hissed, his face turning red once Johnny was standing near you, an arm draping behind your shoulder and pulling you close. “You didn’t mention that you were with someone.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Utah answered for you. “You shouldn’t be bothering women like that. Didn’t you see her face? You were boring her to death!”

“Johnny,” you chided him. “Enough.”

“Yeah, listen to the lady, Johnny,” the other man sneered. “You don’t look like you treat her right. I think she’s with the wrong person.”

“Dude, just please leave us alone,” you spoke, hoping that the situation would die down.

“Whatever,” he muttered as he got up and began walking away. “She ain’t worth it anyway.”

Johnny was ready to throw a punch when you quickly gripped the back of his shirt and held him back. “Stop, it’s okay.”

“Asshole,” he mumbled bitterly before his attention went back to you. “You alright?”

Nodding, you smiled a little at Johnny as you patted on the empty seat beside you. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for that. I was ready to walk out of the door until you showed up.”

“I’ve always had great timing,” he chortled, sitting down on the bar stool as the bartender came by to take his order. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, and—what would you like, babe?”

Babe. The word fell from his lips so effortlessly, and you froze for a second. You thought you would have scolded Johnny for calling you that by now. But as the two of you continued to gaze at each other, it never came.

“I’ll have a margarita this time,” you requested without glancing away from Utah. “Are you stalking me now?”

“What? No, I’m not,” he chuckled as the corners of your mouth curved slightly. “Honestly, I’m not. I was in the area and decided to get a drink.”

“Okay,” you responded, believing him. “How are your stitches?”

“Still intact. My wrist is also doing fine now that the swelling’s gone.”

“That’s great,” you pointed out. “I thought I was going to have to treat you if a bar fight were to erupt back there.”

Utah shrugged slightly. “I would have gone through with it if you hadn’t stopped me. No one should speak to you that way.”

“Thank you, I really appreciated your help, Utah. Perhaps I’ve been too tough on you.”

Johnny blushed as your drinks were set in front of you. Raising your glasses, you clinked them both together before you each took a sip from it. You had never imagined having drinks with Johnny, but now that you actually were, you thought that it was quite fun. You felt at ease, the stress and tension from today’s shift melting away.

You talked the entire night, sharing laughter here and there. You weren’t sure if it was solely the alcohol to blame, but you found yourself letting your walls down for Johnny, no longer feeling guarded around him.

And it was blissful.

The conversation flowed so smoothly between you two that you didn’t realize how much time had flown by. The more you learned about Johnny, the more you started to believe that he was a genuinely good guy. And if tonight was any indication, he truly cared about you. As you chatted, you wondered in the back of your head if Johnny had been right all along.

Maybe you did like him.

“So,” he said as he slid some money across the counter to pay your tab along with his. “About dinner?”

You giggled before hopping down from your seat. “You are a very persistent one, Agent Utah.”

“After tonight, you owe me one,” he remarked, moving near you to offer you his arm, which you gladly accepted.

Together, you exited out of the establishment, a soft and chilly breeze blowing through your hair. The streets were silent as you strolled down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. A part of you didn’t want the night to end yet since you were enjoying your time with Johnny.

“Surfing? The FBI paid you to learn how to surf?” you questioned him, approaching the steps leading up to your apartment building.

“Yeah, they did since I was undercover,” Johnny revealed as he halted, his hand still holding yours. “And before you ask, it turns out I’m pretty good at it. I should give you lessons one day.”

“One day,” you repeated as you felt him squeeze your hand. Nearly a full minute went by before you cleared your throat. “Well, um, I should really get going. I don’t want to keep you for too long.”

Johnny released a light chuckle, the butterflies immediately fluttering inside your stomach at the sound of it. Feeling bold, you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek before you let go of his hand. He gave you another one of his charming smiles, causing your heart race.

“Until next time, sweetheart,” he grinned as he watched you head up the stairs, only to stop when you reached the last step.

“Hey, Utah,” you called out. “I’m free tomorrow night if you still want to have dinner.”

“I’d have to check my calendar,” Johnny quipped, and you pretended to look annoyed. “I’m just teasing you. Of course, I would love to have dinner. I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“Sounds great,” you agreed, waving goodbye to him one last time before walking up to your door, a smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny Utah was an overconfident, cocky bastard, but not anymore. Not after tonight.

Not when you were finally his.

[acotartogfan]

19. “Why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?” for elriel?? I hope your staying safe in these hard times :)

Thank you anon! I hope you’re staying safe too. 

I have to admit, I had a bit of fun with this one.

Goodbye, My Love 

Prompt: “Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?”

[Revised 12/30/2020]

“This...weed─” Elain tugged on the stubborn little pest furiously, “won’t come─” She gave it a final tug. “Out!” All of a sudden, the weed decided to detach itself from the ground, sending her sprawling backwards with the force of tug. Elain sighed and wiped the sweat from her brow while the sun’s rays overhead beat down on her relentlessly. Gardening wasn’t easy, but at least it gave her peace of mind. Especially with the news she received only two days earlier. She sighed again. The question that had been bothering her all morning now tugged at her conscious. How would Azriel react?

Only a few minutes later, Azriel stomped out of the house comically that Elain almost giggled a little. The front door flew wide open with the force of which he yanked it open. Elain grimaced. 

This was not going to be pretty.

 Elain looked up to the sky and quickly sent a silent message to her neighbors as an apology for the unpleasant noise that was about to come forth., and rose up to meet him. She huffed a sigh just as Azriel’s words came tumbling out. “Why is there a pregnancy test in the trash?”

Elain merrily ignored him. Without even looking, she could feel the fury emanating off of him in waves.

His response was instantaneous.

“Elain.”

She turned around as dread knotted her stomach tight. Azriel was livid. In his hand, he gripped the pregnancy test stick, holding it up for her to see.

“Azriel, it’s not as clean as you think─”

“Do I look dumb to you?” He sneered.

A pang of hurt lodged itself in her chest, squeezing.  Azriel had never talked to her this way, nor had she ever seen him so angry. She wouldn’t let it show, though.

Elain would play this game with him, and she would play it well. Keeping a poker face, she turned away from him and carelessly blew a few strands of hair away from her face, all the while calmly pulling off her dirt-caked gardening gloves. She stood up and faced him, hands on her hips.

“What do you want.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“I want to know─” Azriel waved the pregnancy test around wildly “─why the hell you didn’t tell me you were pregnant.”

Sure enough, the pregnancy test revealed two vertical lines─she tested positive.

Elain flatly glared up at him. “I was going to tell you.”

Azriel’s face contorted into a mask of rage. “When?” Good. She wanted to piss him off. This would be fun.

Serves him right for being such a dick about it.

She rolled her eyes. “When the time felt right.”

Sweat was beginning to form on her nose. The heat was getting to her.

Azriel scoffed and rolled his eyes in tandem. “Really.”

“Really.” She coated her words in sugar and served them to him on a poisoned silver platter. While her voice was honey-sweet, her expression said of something entirely different.

“Stop. Mocking me.” Each word was heavily punctuated.

“Me?” She gasped, a hand flying to her chest while she looked around in disbelief. Her voice jumped an octave. “I would never!”

Poison dripped off her words like honey.

“Elain.” He gritted out.

“Azriel.” There was the sticky sweetness again. She batted her lashes at him.

His anger was seemingly fading into exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me? News like this is big.”

“It isn’t that big of a deal,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not that big of a deal!? We’re having a baby, Elain!”

“Say that a little bit louder?” she asked, looking around the neighborhood for emphasis. She cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at him. That would make him mad. Just what she wanted.

Anger rolled off Azriel in silent, furious waves.

Elain absentmindedly picked at the dirt under her nails. After a beat, she said, “You think I don’t know that? Like I said, I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you.”

“There is no such thing as perfect timing.” Azriel’s voice had a sharp edge to it.

“Well, it’s not like I was going to tell you now,” she scoffed.

He laughed a thin, hollow, laugh. Elain hated it. “Then when? Six months from now, perhaps?” 

It was her turn to laugh. The mocking laugh she let out sounded weird to her ears. Shock flashed across Azriel’s features. 

“No. Tomorrow.” 

Azriel blinked, startled.

The winged male went silent, but his fists were clenched tightly at his sides, trembling with wrath. If he was surprised, it didn’t register on his face.

“Let’s continue this inside,” While she still had the power, it would be good to use it now. People were starting to stare.

She managed a tight smile at a lone passerby staring at them.

A single drop of sweat dripped down her temple. The sweltering heat engulfed them. 

She raised her eyebrows at him. His barely contained temper made the vein in his forehead pulse wildly. “Azriel. Inside.”

Azriel narrowed her eyes at her, and strode purposefully for the house, his fury evident in every step he took. The plants wilted in his wake. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like.

Elide sighed for the third time that day and looked mournfully at her plants. “He’s being dramatic, isn’t he?” she whispered to her camellias. She huffed and wandered back to the house. A gentle breeze blew behind her.

Elain found Azriel sitting at the dining table, hands folded methodically, and stiffer than a board. He looked up from his tightly folded hands. The whites of his knuckles glared unkindly at her. “You were going to tell me tomorrow?”

“Well…” She let the silence consume the word.

“Well?” He bit out.

Elain suddenly found the bare tabletop to be of utmost interest.

Azriel shot out of his seat, slamming his hands face-down on the tabletop. Elain flinched violently. “Well?!” He roared. The glass cupboards rattled behind them. 

She shot out of her seat too. Backing down wasn’t an option. He made his move, now she would make hers.

“I lied.”

Azriel scoffed unimpressed, and folded his powerful arms, his wings slightly flaring to help keep himself balanced.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Azriel  said nothing, just waited like a prey waiting to strike.

“People. Lie.” She coated the words with venom and hurled them at his feet.

He raised an eyebrow. “I know they do,”

“Then?”

He waited a second before answering. “I thought we promised not to lie to each other.”

Elain’s heart skipped a beat.

The unspoken words hung in the air. Especially with what happened last time. Lucien─they were both drunk, and it was a grave mistake on her part. She thought she had hid it well from him, until he found a tie that wasn’t his in their laundry. Lucien’s.

“This isn’t like what happened last time! You use that against every time─” she jabbed her finger onto the tabletop, twice to emphasize her point “─we fight. It isn’t fair!” Elain’s voice was reaching a feverish pitch. “Stop using that against me! It was a mistake!”

Azriel smiled a cruel smile. Anger bubbled in her. “You know what you said when you cheated?” He spat out the last word with revulsion. Disgust flared in his eyes. “You said it was no big deal.”

As her resolve began to crumble, tears began to well in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “Do not.” Elain pointed accusingly at him. “I made a mistake, and I apologized. Profusely. And you are the worst kind of person to use that to discredit me in every argument we have. Was my apology not enough? When I cried and begged at your feet, was that also not enough? Or did it just give your ego a boost?” Now she was the one trembling with fury. Suddenly, their dirty, poorly-lit kitchen seemed too small for the volume of their voices.

Azriel looked her dead in the face, and scoffed. A stray tear streaked down her face of its own volition. Elain furiously wiped it away. Something of triumph glittered in Azriel’s eyes. “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” he sneered.

Her heart twisted with fury and hurt. She hated this. Hated him. Hated how he could make her feel like she could conquer the world, then take that power away with a mere snap of his fingers, powerless and reeling. “Stop it!!” She screamed hysterically. Picking up a clean plate beside her, Elain weighed it for a fraction of a second before hurling it at the Illyrian’s head. As expected, he ducked it smoothly as the plate shattered loudly against the wall behind him. She hated him even more for missing it. “You truly are the scum of the earth!” She sobbed. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered brokenly. “Get out of my house.” 

“So you can run back to Lucien? I don’t think so.”

“I told you already. I have no feelings for him.” Elain gritted out.

“Oh do you? A few months ago, Lucien confessed to me that he loved you.” Azriel toyed with his Siphoned rings. “Did he tell you that? That he loved you?”

Elain stood, trembling with fury. 

“Get out of my house.”

“No, actually, I think I’d prefer to stay.” Azriel smirked. 

Elain clenched her fists to keep herself from hitting him. 

“Did you love him?” He deadpanned.

“I did. I still do.” 

“Then why are you here with me?”

“I don’t know,” Elain admitted honestly. 

They were at an impasse. 

“So tell me. When you were with me, did you ever cheat?” Elain folded her arms. 

Azriel arched an eyebrow and smiled an ugly, hideous smile.  “Of course not. I’m not a whore.” It would have been better, if he had yelled. Anything would have been better than this. 

New tears streamed down Elain’s face. “You don’t mean that.”

‘Oh, sweetheart. I do.”

That was it. This was Elain’s breaking point. “I. Hate. You.” She screamed, grabbing another plate and smashing it to the ground beside her. The sound of shattering porcelain only provided fuel for her anger. She sniffled pitifully.

“Hate is a strong word,” Arrogance glittered in Azriel’s eyes. 

An unwilling tear ran down her face. She smacked it away. 

“Okay. Fine-” Azriel cocked an eyebrow, daring her to say more. 

Elain cut him off. “If you hate me, I’m getting rid of it.” She was being childish, but she didn’t care. She wanted him to hurt, wanted to see him hurt. He could suffer for all he was worth. 

Azriel recoiled instantaneously, as if physically burned. All expressions of malice drained from his face. “Elain─wait. You wouldn’t do that─” 

It was Elain’s turn to smile. 

“Elain, please. That was a mistake─”

She tapped her chin and pretended to think. Her foot tapped against the ground. “Funny. That phrase sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

Azriel’s calm composure shattered.“Elain─this isn’t funny.” She smirked. 

“Let’s see. Where have we heard this before?” She folded her arms, smiling visciously. 

He looked up at her, searching her eyes. “Elain, please. Please, don’t-”  In a split-second decision, he crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of her. 

Now that, was unexpected. 

She pretended not to hear him, continuing on with her charade.

She began to pace. “Oh!” Elain stopped to look at him patronizingly. “ Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we? You know what else wasn’t funny? When you mocked me when I was crying at your feet, begging for forgiveness.” Through the haze of her anger, she glanced at Azriel. Hurt was written all over his face. . Good. She wanted him to hurt. She wanted him to bleed. Bleed, just like she had.

“Hmm. You know what else also wasn’t funny? When you mocked Lucien and I.” Suddenly emboldened, Elain acted out the way Azriel had crudely mocked their coupling months earlier.

Azriel blanched. Still, he obediently stayed kneeling in front of her.

 A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away haphazardly. “Elain, I didn’t mean it─”

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” She laughed cruelly, as if enjoying a private joke. “You, you’re-” She paused to laugh again. 

Across the table, Azriel visibly wilted. 

She pointed at him, then at herself.  “You, begging me?” She gasped in mock astonishment, clutching at her throat. “I have to admit, the sight of you begging on your knees for forgiveness, crying, is quite entertaining. I could get used to this,” she laughed.

“Please, Elain─”  

She smirked unkindly. “Please, what?”

“Stop.” Azriel’s face crumpled. . She almost wanted to tell him sorry, that everything would be okay. Almost.

Elain clicked her tongue patronizingly. “Manners,” she chastised.

“Please, stop.”

She cupped her ear and leaned forward, a silent gesture for Azriel to repeat himself.

“Please, Elain. Stop.” He bowed his head. A final act of submission. 

What a sight to see. 

One of, if not the greatest Illyrian warriors kneeling in front of her, begging. She reveled in the glory, tasting the sweet nectar that was revenge. 

“And abandon the opportunity of a lifetime? Please.” Elain scoffed.

Azriel looked back up at her. His  expression was tortured. Her masochistic streak grinned in delight.

Silence reigned while Elain basked in the glory in her newfound power.

After a minute or two, Azriel boldly broke the silence . “We haven’t come to a decision yet.”

“Hmmm?” Elain hummed seemingly distracted, pretending not to pay attention. 

“...the baby.”

“Oh, I already decided for the both of us.” She shot him a sickly sweet smile. His head shot up. “I’m getting rid of it.” Azriel’s shoulders visibly slumped, his eyes coming to rest on the legs of the chair opposite him. She placed her finger under his chin, tippinging up his face to look at her.  Opening her eyes comically wide, she whispered  “Poof,” the way she would with a toddler, snapping her fingers for effect.

“Say it again,” Azriel gritted out. Restrained anger flashed in his eyes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Do you. Want it.”

Elain raised her eyebrows in silent questioning.

“The baby.” he gritted out with clenched teeth, still kneeling. He looked up at her with fury blazing in his eyes.

“Not if it’s with you.” She waved him with a dismissive hand and watched as Azriel visibly flinched. Deep rooted, pain flashed across his features. She smiled in satisfaction as she watched her words hit their mark. 

“Not with me?” He choked out. He scrambled to get up, but she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down with such force he almost toppled.

To answer his question, Elain gestured to the house around them, and the shards of porcelain on the floor. “Look at this, us, we are toxic. Let alone we can’t raise a baby in this kind of environment.” Arms folded, Elain patiently waited for his response.

“Elain, I-I can change. We can figure something out, I-I’m sure of it.” Azriel hastily slipped out of his kneeling position and back into his chair, perhaps to facilitate some sort of civility, or to send her a message that they were equals. They were, in fact, not. They both knew that.  “Az, I loved you,” Azriel looked like he had been slapped in the face, “I was willing to go to the ends of the world for you. But somewhere, something irreparable changed, and everything fell to pieces. What we had, however special it was, is gone now and there’s no way to fix it. As seen in exhibit A.” She gestured wildly to the shattered glass on the floor and laughed a broken, hollow laugh. 

“Please, this baby deserves good, loving, parents and a safe home and we could provide both─”

She cut him off. “No. You’re wrong. We can provide neither. So I think we’re done here.”

“Goodbye, Azriel.” Her last words to him. 

The winged Illyrian sat in stunned silence, unmoving. 

She took this as an opportunity to leave.

Heels clacking, she watched in her peripheral vision as Azriel scrambled out of his chair, nearly falling out in his race to reach her. Hand outstretched, he called to her in a last-ditch effort.“Elain-” 

 Upon hearing that, she ignored him. He was nothing to her. With that, Elain strode out of the house, head held high. She never once looked back.

------------

Taglist: @everybodyplaysalong @nessian4life @sjm-things @bookstantrash

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid 110

110

  It’d been a long time since Keith woke up screaming. He didn’t know he was screaming until the bedroom light flicked on and Shiro came rushing in. Lance was already holding him, tears running down Keith’s face, mingling with the sweat that covered him. Shaking in his boyfriend’s hold, his screams died out, broken sobs falling in their place. Kissing his hair, Lance held him tightly, Shiro letting out a long breath in relief, not that he could hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. God. Fucking nightmares. He hadn’t had one this bad in so long. Lance always seemed to chase them away... well, nearly always... most of the time. Thank fuck it wasn’t real. Thank fuck Lance was okay.

  “Kiddo? Old or new?”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Shiro hugged him from the other side, waiting the long moment and a half for Keith to finally catch his breath. Fuck. It’d been messed up. Shiro knew sometimes he couldn’t talk about new nightmares

“Old and new”

“Want me to stay?”

“Yeah... fuck... fuck...”

Lance nuzzled into his hair

“You’re okay, we’ve got you, babe...”

“Sorry... fuck...”

“It’s alright. Lance, wanna get him settled while I turn the light out?”

“On it... come here, babe...”

“Where’s Kosmo?”

He’d been on the end of the bed when they’d fallen asleep... Shiro volunteering

“I’ll get him”

   Lance laid on his back with cuddling into his chest, Shiro curled up behind him and Kosmo at their feet. It was a narrow fit, and he still couldn’t calm his heart rate down. Lance was stroking his hair, behind him Shiro’s breath tickled his shoulder. He didn’t want to go back to sleep... and he didn’t want to be up. There was greyness in the room, the sun must be rising soon...

“Babe, you don’t have to talk, but do you want to tell us what it was about?”

Stupid Lance wanting to talk. He felt foolish for how vivid the nightmare was...

“You don’t have to. New can be pretty bad...”

At this rate Shiro and Lance were likely to bicker about whether he should talk or not. He talked to Lance... it’d take a while and something he made no sense at all

“Dad...”

Shiro made an “Ah” noise. Nightmares about his dad had stuck with him since he was kid

“Oh, babe... hey, it was just a horrible horrible dream. You’re okay. You’re okay”

Lance comforted him gently, Keith feeling a sob welling up as he nosed into his boyfriend’s chest

“You were in... in the fire... and I couldn’t get you... and the baby kept crying... but I couldn’t find you... and then...”

“Okay... hey, I’m okay... I’m okay... this little one is still okay...”

“It was so fucking real”

“You were screaming, I guess that makes sense... I’m here. We’re okay”

“It’s so fucking stupid”

  He was angry at himself for making a scene. Today was ultrasound day... he’d planned to take the morning easy... It’d been all he’d thought about the day before

“Babe, it’s not stupid. That’s like saying my nightmares are stupid... you can’t help what happens when your sleeping”

“But I couldn’t find you...”

He could almost hear the cries of the baby as his family burned alive

“You found me now... I’ve got you, Keith. I’ve got you... you’re safe and we’re okay, we’re all okay... just let it out”

  Keith didn’t mean to fall back to sleep, but he woke easily when Lance moved beneath him. Shiro still holding him as he slept, very groggily he mumbled

“Babe?”

“Bathroom...”

“Okay...”

Kosmo jumped off the bed, his nails clattering on the floor as he padded after Lance. Fuck... he wished he couldn’t remember his stupid nightmare. He didn’t know the house. He didn’t know how he’d even wound up in the house... He didn’t know if Lance was the only one burning, other than the baby... he just hadn’t been in time to be there... He wanted to see their friends. Not simply talk to them over the phone, Pidge had called to abuse them for Keith “not sharing Lance”. They hadn’t talked about Lance going home, but he also hadn’t really thought about them hanging out in Platt. Curtis had stayed with Lance the previous day, the pair of them in the kitchen when Keith and Shiro finally got home, Keith trying not to be worried as Lance “wasn’t made of glass”.

   Coming back from the bathroom, Lance sighed softly as he crawled under the covers, his boyfriend way too cold, like a block of ice, Keith shuddering

“Sorry, babe... it’s a cold one. It’s been snowing all night”

Mumbling, he wriggled back against Shiro

“Fuck the snow”

“It’s not that bad. Now stop running away, I’m freezing”

“That’s why I’m running away”

“So rude... fine, be that way”

Rolling away from him, Lance was now too far away, Keith wrapping his arm around him, despite him being a walking ice block.

    *

Shiro left to pick up Miriam alone as Keith didn’t want Lance in a car in such slippery weather. He didn’t want Shiro out their either, or Mami, yet today was the day. Lance was not happy. His vampire bundled up in an obscene bundles of layers, tracking through the snow with anger in every step. Soft and gentle Lance was gone, his boyfriend acting as if the snow had insulted his ancestors.

  Making into the bookstore, Lance huffed as he rubbed his upper arms. Snowflakes on his lashes and his lips blue, striding angrily over to the elevator

“Babe?”

“Fuck the snow”

Keith didn’t think Lance minded the snow that much. Breakfast hadn’t gone as planned, Keith dragging himself around as Lance hid away in his room, only to waddled out for blood, then again to start drinking water before the ultrasound. Shiro hovered, being lame, teasing him about dual wielding two cups of coffee, when Keith needed both of them to calm his nerves and another cup before Shiro took his coffee privileges away. Keith felt like both Lance and Shiro were being careful to make him feel like he didn’t interrupt the night with his screaming.

  Huffing and sighing, Lance brushed his hands away as Keith brushed the snow from his shoulders in the elevator

“Babe?”

Lance took pity on him, sighing again as he shuffled a little so he could lean against Keith, taking his hand and his. Having no mittens, Lance had stolen a set of his work gloves... then pulled socks over his hand

“Vampires don’t do well in the snow. This vampire doesn’t do well in the snow. Fucking stinking snow”

“I thought you didn’t mind the snow”

“I don’t... I just don’t like that it makes cold. It’s nicer when it’s outside the window and not attempting to freeze me solid”

“Vampires don’t usually seem to have much trouble in the snow. Not from what I’ve seen”

“Those lucky wankers... I like to think I’m a tropical vampire... made for the sun and the surf”

Keith snorted at his boyfriend. He pictured Lance falling off repeatedly despite his vampire senses

“Babe. You’re not coordinated enough to surf”

“Excuse you, I can surf. I can swim too... plus I don’t wear my glasses when I’m surfing”

“So you cheat”

Lance huffed, not impressed

“Shut up... fuck... my phones vibrating but I don’t know what layer it’s in”

“You’re the one who put so many layers on”

“And I would be wearing a sleeping bag over them all if I’d found one. I need to get some heat packs... winter has no mercy”

  Coran was there to meet them at the elevator as the door opened, the man chuckling at Lance

“I thought you might be bundled up. How many layers did you get on this time?”

“7... and no where enough”

“Never you mind, we’ll get you warmed up in a jiffy. Left my office heating up just for you. Now, how’s my baby doing?”

“How am I supposed to know, that’s why we’re here”

A cold Lance was a snarky Lance, Coran chuckling again

“Right you are. Come on through and we’ll get you out some of those layers. Shiro is bringing Miriam?”

“Yeah, because someone decided I’m not allowed in a car on a snowy day”

“Let him fuss. It’s a big day for the both of you. I’ll get you comfortable and take your bloods, they can process as we wait”

“Hurray”

  There was no cheer in Lance’s voice. Keith nervous as all hell over the ultrasound, but more worried about the health of the baby thanks to Lance being so cold. He hadn’t thought about how Lance’s low core temperature might affect their child. He’d been mentally practicing how to ask what he wanted to about Lance and fresh blood, his courage all used up between the question and the scan. Towed along to Coran’s office, the room was like a furnace, heat slapping him in the face as Coran opened the door

“Warmth!”

Lance let him go, happy to walk over to the examination bed. This wasn’t warm. This was like the upper level of hell, or however it worked down there. Whatever the coolest part of the depths of hell was like heat wise, this was it. Struggling with his top jacket, Lance whined as he couldn’t get the zipper undone. Keith forced to enter into the furnace.

  As Lance stripped, Keith helped until he found himself all sweaty and settled for holding Lance’s still cold hand. Coran turning down the heat when noticed how damp Keith’s hairline was getting, making Lance pout. As he’d helped his boyfriend out of his layers, he didn’t question Lance wearing two sets of pants, to match his three shirts, jumper, second jumper, and jacket, instead he teased him in an attempt to settle his nerves

“Are you sure you put enough on?”

Lance pouted at him. Those big blue eyes nearly had him caving and he wasn’t sure what over

“It was cold outside... I like to be kept at room temperature, not below”

“Now, now, boys. This isn’t the time for fighting. Lance, go ahead and lay down. You know Keith wasn’t experienced you during winter”

This was an actual “thing” then? Lance being snarky when he cold? No one warned him about that. Lance included

“No. He had to experience me being an arsehole though. He’s been very considerate and I’ve been the anti-Christ... I’ve become spoilt rotten with his love”

Laughing at them, Coran moved to prepare the tubes for blood sample collection

“You have found a good man. Excellent worth ethic. Have you developed any symptoms since your last stay?”

  Lance settled himself down on the table, smiling up at Keith as he placed a hand on his belly, other hand holding Keith’s loosely. Keith had working hard to remember to touch Lance there, he swore his boyfriend let out a happy chirp when he’d rubbed his belly in bed. Mami helped Lance relax. Keith catching his boyfriend taking photos of his stomach. He didn’t want to be one of those social media parents who posted everything for all the world to see... He couldn’t do it. Not when his mind liked to remind him there were plenty of sickos out there, but he did want to “document” the growth of their baby

“Nope. We’ve got a few questions though”

“Go ahead. I’ll answer the very best I can”

  Lance opened and closed his mouth, Keith trying not to blurt out anything stupid as his boyfriend was clearly thinking hard enough it looked as if it hurt

“It’s rare to see you so lost for words, my boy. Maybe we’ll get through my questions first?”

Lance nodded, Coran humming happily

“Excellent. Now. Have you been eating?”

Lance sighed, Keith deciding maybe he should answer for Lance

“He has. Shiro and I have been hounding him, and so has Mami”

“Excellent. And how long has it been staying down?”

That one he couldn’t answer

“Half and hour to maybe an hour at a maximum. 5 meals a day is going to make me fat”

“You burn through everything so fast that a high calorie intake is best. Blood consumption?”

“About the same”

“Hunger?”

Lance frowned. He kind of looked like he needed to use the toilet, like he was constipated... The cold really must have slowed him down

“Mmm... I’m not sure... I still do one bag a day”

  Coran hummed again as brought over a kidney bowl, the cannula, needles, and collection tubes. Now was Keith’s time. The best time to ask

“Would fresh blood be better than a bag a day?”

Lance settled his expression into something neutral that screamed he didn’t think this was the best time

“Ah, the ol’ “bag VS fresh battle””

“Keith wants to feed me and I don’t want to hurt him...”

“A little wouldn’t hurt, though I suspect your daily intake will grow to match the needs of your body as your pregnancy progresses”

“How much is a little?”

“A third of a bag of fresh in the morning. A good feed would keep you topped up all day. Plenty of fresh energy and quintessence”

  Lance winced as Coran slid the cannula in

“I refuse to hurt Keith”

“You may not have a choice if your body begins to reject other blood in favour of the same time as the father”

Lance went pale, Keith’s colour also washing out his face.  That was a thing?

“You didn’t mention that before!”

“We have no real guide for this thing. I can see you’ve both discussed and found yourselves unsure. Small feeds will not harm Keith, though you may suffer from an inflated ego each time until you learn to control your egos exposure. Am I right I assuming you are worried how the blood will interact with Lance’s organs and your child?”

  Keith nodded at Coran, finding himself staring at the blood filling the collection tube. How much of that blood was Lance’s? Did his body convert strangers blood or did it simply move about inside of him? He didn’t realise he was being quite for so long that he’d worried Lance

“Babe? Sorry, Coran. We... honestly are trying to work this out. We want to do what is best for the baby but we’re both working things out still. We don’t want to risk losing it...”

Coran smoothly swapped the tubes out, nodding as he did

“That’s understandable. Preparent jitters. I once treated a werewolf with a particularly nasty fear of blood. When she went into labour, Allura had to hold her head up or she’d faint at the sight of each newborn. Jitters are normal. Now, have you two been sexually intimate since you left?”

  They made a baby, Keith shouldn’t feel so embarrassed over that question

“No. We weren’t sure if it was safe and we’re working back towards that”

“No petting? No touching? My dear boys, I can’t imagine how you’ve kept your hands off each other with how physical you both are towards each other”

Lance shrugged

“It’s fine. We had a talk after I lost my shit and I get I was placing a lot of pressure on Keith without thinking things through... we haven’t had sex... is that even safe?”

“Resting did your body good. Indulge in moderation, provided the ultrasound results are clear. Many people at this stage still don’t know their pregnant. It reminds me of this clan of werewolves I stayed with... Great times, very limber and excellent stamina. Taught this young fae a thing or three...”

Coran was off onto another story, Lance pulling him back on track

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Oh, um, absolutely nothing. I was thinking how the clan leaders daughter had no shame in revelling in pleasure or her body. She refused to take a single mate, then she ran off with a human. She was really something else... Ah, well, she didn’t know she was pregnant to her lover at the time. It wasn’t until she was just about due that she popped over night. Brought him back to the clan and he was turned in time to see her intimate with a female wolf, before birthing the first of their children. The three of them had quite their hands full. I believe it was 8 or 9 children between them... Now, her brother. He was a whole other experience. One night with him and his mates...”

  “Coran!”

Lance used the exact same tone he used on his Mami. Keith didn’t want to think about what Coran and the werewolves had been up to. The Coran before him was nothing like the wild and adventurous Coran that seemed to have existed back in the days of fairytales. Surely more than half of what he said had to be that... a fae wouldn’t last in a wolf pack come spring. He’d be torn apart... Keith felt lip raise in disgust, that wasn’t really disgust but more like “what the hell, I didn’t need to know that”. What Coran did was his business but the idea... nope. He could do without

“Yes, you’re right. I am letting myself be swept away by my youth. You and Keith are much tamer than all of that. A little heavy touching and sex won’t hurt, as long as you’re not throwing each other against walls and beating on each other as you... Keith, are you alright? You’ve gone quite red”

Lance defended him, Keith grateful

“That’s because you’re getting sidetracked with stories. Keith and I... we’d prefer to keep what we do between us... and I like it better that way”

“Of course, you are both private in that regard... never mind this old fae reliving his youth. I do hope Shiro and Miriam arrive shortly, I’m most excited to see your child again”

“And I have to pee... oh, fuck, that’s right. Babe, can you get my phone? I want to record this and I need to see who rang”

Keith leaned down and kissed Lance on the forehead

“Sure thing”

   Lance was squirming by the time Shiro and Miriam arrived half an hour later. Pidge had called, Lance messaging her that he’d call her back once he was free. Miriam as rugged up as Lance had been, though she had an excuse being older and all. Coming to Lance’s side, she took his left hand as she brushed his fringe back lovingly

“I’m here, Mijo... I didn’t miss the excitement did I?”

“No, Mami... but we need to get started, I seriously need to pee”

“This cold weather is horrible for that. Never like this in Cuba. 37 years and you’d think I’d be used to it”

Mami chuckled, Keith finding Shiro standing near the door. He didn’t want to kick his brother out

“Shiro, you’re staying, right?”

Shiro shrugged, playing it cool. Keith knew he was excited and worried as the rest of them

“If you want me to”

Lance looked so much happier now Miriam was here, leaning up, he smiled at Shiro

“Dude, you’re part of the family... but close the door. I think we have enough people in here without letting stragglers in”

   Lance flinched as Coran smeared gel across his belly. His boyfriend gripping his hand nearly to the point of being painful. The pain helping Keith focus and not show all his worry over the results

“Let’s get started... you all ready?”

Lance groaned at Coran

“I’m past ready. If you get peed on, I’d like to blame the insane amount of water you had me chug”

Coran laughed as he swapped the bottle of gel for the ultrasound wand

“In that case let’s take a look”

  It was surreal the first time around, the second time Keith still found he couldn’t quite believe that blackness was supposed to their baby, Mami getting sniffly, not that he didn’t have tears in his own eyes... He felt really stupid for not being able to process that surrounded by what looked like grey fish was their baby. Their’s. They’d made an actual baby and it was still there... Not like when his goldfish died...

  Miriam kissed Lance’s cheek, both of them brimming with pride

“Oh, Mijo... they didn’t have these fancy things when I started birthing you lot... to think you were that tiny inside of me”

Coran sniffled. Who knew a good ultrasound could be such an emotional thing

“Everything looks good... I’m seeing one... and I’d definitely say you’re roughly six weeks meaning you’ll be due in June... provided this advances like a normal human pregnancy... Now, let me take some photos and get some measurements on this little one”

“When will we be able to hear the heartbeat?”

An image was good and all, but it didn’t tell them it was really... that everything was alright... Keith’s shock had hit him for six again

“The internet said 7-8 weeks”

Lance blushed, Keith realising his boyfriend must have googled the hell out of being pregnant

“We’ll have your next scan at 8 weeks, provided things progress smoothly. It’ll be a nice thing to return home to after your weekend away”

  That was right. Lance stubbornly refused to cancel Keith’s birthday weekend

“Will Lance be up for that? It’s a lot of walking”

A hell of a lot of walking especially when Lance didn’t hike to begin with

“He should be fine. The main reason for rest was that bleed, but this little one is stubborn. Are you still having your vitamin shakes?”

Lance nodded. The shakes didn’t seem to stay down that long, less than human food

“Yeah. Twice a day...”

His boyfriend didn’t love the flavour. Maybe he should mix a little blood in there... It was probably the taste that had them coming back up

“Excellent. Those, with the injections, will help. You’ll need to keep your body temperature up. Heat pads and heat bags, and avoid prolonged periods in the cold”

“And going home?”

  They hadn’t had that discussion...

“As smoothly as things are at the moment, I would still prefer you remained in Platt, at least during the night. You may visit, but I have noticed you’re particularly clingy to Keith right now. I think staying with him will help continue to keep your hormonal and emotional levels stabilised. You react strongly to touch and scent”

“Should I be taking off work?”

Lance shook his head quickly

“Babe, I’ll be okay. I know you want to be with me, but you’ll lose track of everything if your focus is on me alone...”

“I don’t want you alone if it isn’t good for you”

Coran chuckled at the pair of them

“Lance doesn’t like to be smothered, even by you. He’s very stubborn like that. I’ll check the schedule with Kolivan, he’s been forced to swallow his pride over the stalling in the search for Sendak. I’m sure if he was made aware...”

“No!”

It wasn’t a yell, but it wasn’t not a yell. More like a very heated and very solid “No way in hell”.  Lance sighing softly at him, a sigh that told him they’d be having a serious talk about this later. Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. Coran looking almost confusidly alarmed. Mami still watching the black blob on the screen. Keith’s gaze dropping to his feet. He didn’t want special treatment... that so ingrained in him that it made it hard to be honest

“We’re waiting. Until things settle down, we’re waiting...”

“Keith is right. It’s not like we’re not going to tell them, but for now we’re doing what’s right for us. We want to wait and grow a bit more confident over what’s happening”

  This is why he had Lance. Lance translated his stupid words into something other people got. The baby might be there now, but he just... He was a feeling a lot of things he couldn’t verbalise. Excited. Proud. Shaken. Drained. Slightly horny... Proud. Worried. A lot of things. Rubbing the back of Keith’s hand with his thumb, Lance drew his gaze back to him. His boyfriend smiling at him, expression filled with love and wonder. He felt kind of chicken shit for being more scared of a baby than a vampire

“It’s okay, Babe. You don’t need to look so sad. I’m okay, and this little one is still there. Soooo, Mami, what do you think?”

Lance effortless took the attention off him and he was grateful

“I think that old Colleen has nothing with her new great-great-grandson. Not when my baby boy is going to be a father. Oh, I can’t wait to rub this in her face”

“Mami... Seriously, who knew nursing homes could be so competitive. Next you’ll be taking bets”

  Mami laughed as she patted Lance’s hand. Shiro took the bait

“If we’re taking bets, I’m betting on a boy”

Lance laughed then cut himself off, moving his hand to his belly

“Oh, god. Don’t make me laugh... Coran, are you nearly done?”

“A few more clicks... Hmm... a betting pool isn’t a bad idea”

“Put me down for a girl. Call it mother’s intuition”

Shiro nodded, pulling out his phone

“We’ve got a boy from Coran. A girl from Miriam. Sorry, Miriam, I’ll side with Coran on that one... Two for a boy... Keith, what should I put you down for?”

  Keith didn’t know... either would be adorable if they took after Lance...

“Don’t tease him like this. We don’t mind as long as their healthy”

“You two are no fun. Shall we say $50 to winner? Or split the pot?”

“I’ll be happy to take your money... don’t go leaving town before you pay up”

Mami was ruthless, Shiro snorting with laughter. Lance squirming again

“Guys, seriously. Not cool”

Coran apologetic as he clicked the mouse connected to the ultrasound machine

“I’m sorry, Lance... give me... okay, there we go... all done”

Lance let out a long breath of relief, starting to sit up, despite his belly still covered in gel, the moment Coran pulled the wand off

“Thank God for that... sorry, Mami... I just really need to pee”  

Mami didn’t mind, she probably understood. From the movies Keith knew pregnant people seemed to need to pee a lot

“Off you go. Why don’t you take Keith with you?”

“Yes, why don’t you two have a few moments to process today’s scans while I clean up here. Off you boys go”

  It felt like they’d been evicted as they headed to the locker room, Lance striding in ahead of him, leaving Keith to drag his steps so his boyfriend could have some privacy peeing. When he finally made it into the shower/toilet area, Lance had locked himself away in a cubicle, Keith wondering if it was weird as he stood outside the door

“Babe?”

“I’m all good... this lube stuff is seriously sticky”

Keith snorted. Lance didn’t love sticky things but seemed perfectly fine with it during sex

“Want help?”

“Nah... hold on”

Opening the door, Lance was rubbing at his belly with a wad of toilet paper

“See, almost all gone. God... I really needed to pee. Next time I’m waiting before drinking that water... I felt like I was going to burst when Coran pressed on my stomach”

“I’m sorry”

“What are you apologising for? You’re not the one with a bladder that decided it needed to be pea sized today”

  Keith shrugged, stepping back out the way, Lance slipping past him, throwing the toilet paper in the bin before washing his hands

“I don’t know. I don’t like you being uncomfortable”

“Babe, I’m fine. Crisis adverted... How are you? You didn’t say much, but you’ve still got tears in your eyes”

“It was kind of amazing... I guess...”

His boyfriend huffed at him, crossing to close the distance between them before pulling him into a hug

“More than amazing. I’m okay and the baby is too”

“I’m sorry... it’s just... I’m still scared”

“That’s why you asked about the heartbeat. It doesn’t really feel like this ball of cells is going to be an actual person”

“I’m still scared it’s not going to be”

Lance nuzzled into his neck

“I know, but... it’s... we can still be happy, you know. I know we over think things, but Coran isn’t messing around”

“No... sounds like he did enough of that when he was younger”

  Lance laughed, raising his head to shoot a brilliant smile at him

“That he did... but good news, us messing around won’t hurt this little one. Before you say it, I know you want to wait, but honestly I feel so happy right now I want to cry that I’m about to jump up”

Keith was not prepared. Lance jumping up and looping his legs around his waist had him stumbling into the closest sink. Laughing happily, Lance clang to him, Keith not even grumpy about the lack of warning as his boyfriend dived in to kiss him. Several long kisses later, Lance pulled back enough to lap at the blood beading on Keith’s lips

“I love you, Keith Kogane”

“I love you, too, Lance Bratty-Arse McClain”

Lance’s happiness was infectious. Keith grinning up at Lance, his hands supporting his boyfriend by his arse

“Good. Because you and me, we made a baby, and it honestly feels like things are looking up... like a whole baby, babe... we did that... I was so worried trying to think of what to say if today hadn’t gone well... and I know I’m getting ahead of myself...”

“Babe, shut up, I get it. You’re happy”

“Very... and cold. This place is freezing...”

   Keith snorted. The shower area wasn’t that cold. Lance was being a baby

“That’s because you’re like an ice block”

“Am I at least a cute one?”

“Very... but I don’t know if I should be feeding your ego. 6 weeks is still really early”

“Mhmm... but for now, can we just be kind of really in awe...”

“Can I be shocked? I’m still really fucking shocked”

Lance laughed at him. God. He felt like it’d been too long since Lance was jumping into his arms happily

“I am too. I don’t know why I decided to leap up on you, but I feel really good that this little one is okay. Should I get down?”

“Nah, you’re fine... I feel like you haven’t been smiling much lately”

“I feel like I didn’t have as much to smile about... just wait until the embarrassment kicks in...”

“For jumping on me?”

“For letting myself be happy. Are you happy? Are you okay? I’ve been all about me and today hit you hard”

“I’ve been... better... but I feel better knowing the scan was good”

   “That’s good. You always stress so much. You’re going to get wrinkles way too young”

The way Lance pout at him made him want to kiss him all over again. Which was playing with fire... Once the relief had worn off, and he was back to feeling himself, he’d have to reassess how he felt over being intimate

“And you’re a brat. What happened to the 45 year old dressed in seven layers?”

“Coran heated the office. Rose my core temperature... but you’ll snuggle with at home, keep me warm, right?”

“Depends. You were fucking freezing when you came back to bed”

“Mmm, but you were nice and warm... Wanna go home and watch the scan again? The two of us? Pidge wants me to call again, but right now that’s what I want to do...”

That sounded nice

“Sure... provided you behave long enough to get home”

“I always behave. It’s the snow that’s out to get me, not the other way around”

“Right... I’m pretty sure snow is older than your old arse”

  Keith regretted the words as soon as he saw Lance’s face fell. His boyfriend climbing out of his arms to wrap his arms around his waist in a self hug

“Babe... I was joking”

“But that’s the thing... maybe I am too old? And what do we tell them when they notice I don’t age? I’m old... like way older than you... you could be happier with...”

Nope. Grabbing Lance, Keith pulled him back

“I shouldn’t have said it like that. I like you, and you’re not that old”

Lance raised his right hand to rub at his eyes, he wasn’t wearing his glasses today. His boyfriend really wanted to see the scan clearly

“I’m 45... most people have kids your age... and... I know you were joking. I do... but it’s something I’ve been thinking about. Fuck. Here I was lecturing you and now I’m... I’m sorry”

“It bothers you a lot, doesn’t it?”

He’d been careful with the grey hair jokes because he knew Lance still held a lot of sensitivity over them... Making a mental joke, he was going to have to avoid age jokes all together for now

“Yeah... I was trying not to think about it... but like, I don’t get older... and I hate it so much... I know you’re okay with it, but it’s something I’m not okay with... throw it in with my body changing and it’s... yeah... Sorry. Can we go home now?”

The change in Lance just about gave him whiplash

“You know I don’t care about that... You’re still you”

Lance hardly acted his age, unless he needed to. He was so full of love and life... Keith liked the man inside the body... though the body was pretty smoking hot

“I do... I mean. I know. It hit me again out of nowhere... I think... maybe I’m going to have some problems with it until I settle down. I’m like so relieved they’re okay that it’s not even funny”

“Me too. Do you want to get anything on the way home?”

“Nah... I just... I just want to watch the scan alone with you... I love Mami and I love Shiro and Coran, but I want to watch you watch it again...”

“Why? What did I do?”

“You were crying but you were smiling... I really love it when you smile”

  Keith’s heart went funny as he ducked his head. Only Lance could make him feel like this... and feel braver about that letter

“When we get home, there’s something I want... I need you to see with me”

“Is it bad?”

“I don’t know, but I think I’ve left it long enough”

“Alright, Mullet. Let’s go... I feel pretty rude leaving but I need some alone time with you right now”

Mami had come for the scan and sure, Keith liked her, but Lance and their baby came first. Besides, the scan was over... He wasn’t letting Lance go out in this weather on those slippery roads. His heart had enough trouble letting Shiro drive around

“Yeah. Funnily enough I do to”

[brandstifter-sys]

Emerald Eyes

Chapter 1: Coming Back as a Man

Word Count: 1246              (Ao3)

Characters: Janus, Patton, Roman, Virgil

Ship: Roceit, eventual Royaliceit

Rating: T

Warnings: food mention, alcohol mention, genderfluid Janus,

Janus likes to go to the local jazz club and scope out the guys, just to find some company, if not love. They meet Roman and then have their hopes that this charming man would give seek them out again dashed. They're done messing around

----

The night was a familiar friend, it was a cloak. Janus was far more akin to slipping through the shadows, evading the norms that held them down in the daylight. The night was also home to their favorite places. The local retro jazz clubs were a haven of good food, fine wine, and sweet music.

They entered their favorite club, swaying with the saxophone coming from the stage. They sashayed between the tables to the bar, letting their long black dress swish around their legs. All eyes landed on them when they passed. It was hard to ignore such a beauty snaking by.

Janus approached the bar and waved down the bartender. The man had a certain air about him that screamed “I’m a dad” and a friendly grin. He came up to Janus, drying a mug with a white towel.

“JJ, what brings a doll like you out here on an evening like this?”

“Oh Patton, you should know by now, a girl needs a little fun in her life,” Janus said with a laugh and flipped their hair over their shoulder. They leaned against the bar and fluttered their lashes over their radiant green eyes. That coy red smirk might melt a weaker person, but Patton wasn’t so easily swayed by a pretty face.

“What can I getcha, beautiful?” Patton laughed.

“Hmm, the charming singer on stage,” Janus cooed and nodded toward the stage. Patton followed with his eyes and smiled wryly. The singer on the stage wouldn’t be performing up there all night, but he would be performing on the floor afterward. He was handsome and charming, a real prince with bright eyes and a confident smile. His voice was as sweet as honey and he had a way with words that made people weak at the knees.

"Roman? Sorry to disappoint but he's not on the menu," Pat giggled, "How about a virgin appletini instead?"

"Tempting, but perhaps a martini instead, my groggy frog," they hummed and adjusted their long yellow gloves. Their eyes were locked on Roman, swaying with the music that accompanied him. Janus swore they caught his eye and they were going to reel him in.

"One martini coming up!" Patton cheered and made a show of mixing the drink. Janus half-watched him work and delicately took the stem of the glass he offered them.

"For the lovely lady—it's lady today, right?"

"Hmm, yes, you'll find that to be the case most days, Darling."

"As long as you tell me when it's not, Sugar. And if you want to reel in Prince Charming, I'd suggest table seven," Pat said and motioned to an empty table. Janus smirked at him and waved coyly before sauntering off.

"What a doll," Patton mused to himself and got back to work.

Janus settled in at the table and sipped their drink, watching the show come to a close. Roman looked good on stage, built with a bit more room in the middle, with a swagger that made him even larger than life. His eyes scanned the room, past the dancefloor to the rest of the club, but always falling back on table seven.

By the time he was finished and off the stage, Janus was nearly done with their drink and looking for a little fun. They were lucky, Roman approached their table with confidence.

"Pardon me, is this seat taken?" he asked and leaned against the chair opposite Janus. They smiled and shook their head.

"Only if you're interested in taking it."

"My name is Roman," he said and sat sideways, kicking his legs out, "What might I call a flower such as yourself?" Oh, Janus liked this one.

"My name is Janus, but treat me right and you can call me anytime you want."

"I can't imagine anyone who would dare treat someone as gorgeous and lethal as you wrong," Roman said with a laugh that made roses bloom under Jan's cheeks.

"I can't imagine you came over just to tell me I'm pretty."

"That would be too bold of me, but don't doubt that I would after I got to know the mind behind the masterpiece."

"You have a way with words, Roman, but I'm not here for prose."

"Then allow me to offer this next dance," he hummed and offered his hand. Janus smirked and took it gracefully. His nails were perfectly trimmed and polished, much like the rest of him. His grip was firm but gentle and he was more than willing to help Janus to their feet.

"With pleasure."

----

The next morning Janus woke up in their bed alone. The frustration from the night before was still potent, a sour taste that wouldn't leave their mouth. Roman was a ruthless charmer and a talented dancer. Janus thought they might have finally gotten lucky and found someone who would want to spend the night cuddling or more. But no. Roman moved on to the next pretty face later that evening.

This was not the first time Janus had been pushed aside for someone else. This wasn't going to be the last time either. It was so easy to find a piece of eye candy that would look better on some CEO's arm. It was just too easy to get over the mysterious allure for some semblance of normalcy. Even then, almost every promise was false.

Janus was done beating around the bush. They got up and dressed and went to make a pot of coffee. They had a long day ahead of them and an idea so crazy it just might work.

They sipped their drink and browsed the web in search of just the right person to get the job done. If people were going to pass on their fem-coded look, they needed a fashion expert to make sure they were irresistible with a more masculine look.

"Davinci of the Threads," Janus hummed to themself and read through the webpage. It was a trans-friendly place, which was a bonus. They liked the designs they saw and decided to book an appointment online for later that day. With any luck, they wouldn't have too much trouble explaining themself.

----

The old brick storefront was unassuming, but the second Janus walked inside they were greeted with some of the most intricately designed goth clothing. The purple walls were lined with coats and dresses and the counter in the back held a few small articles. But it was the man behind the counter who caught their eye.

He was gruff with dark eyeshadow and a ripped purple t-shirt. His eyes were locked on Janus warily and he fidgeted with the tape measurer draped over his shoulders.

"Hello, I'm looking for a Virgil Segreti," Janus said innocently and approached the counter, "I have an appointment."

"Janus?" the man asked with some interest.

"That would be me."

"I'm Virgil. What can I help you with? Looking to try a less sunny look, Lucy?" he asked and motioned to the black and yellow polka dot dress Janus wore.

"Something like that. I want to look like someone else. I want to dress as a man."

Virgil pouted and studied them for a moment.

"Wanna be more specific?"

"A three piece suit, preferably blue," Janus answered with all the false confidence of a noble about to meet the guillotine.

"Come to the back with me. I need your measurements," Virgil said, "And the hell if I let you leave my shop with a blue suit!"

(Next) (End)

[zaynmirrors]

Fixer Upper: (S.R.) 1

Pairings: Mom!Reader x AU!Steve Rogers

A/N: This is an AU where he’s a cop. Not my gif, if you guys wanna be tagged I can start a tag list. Also the daughters name, you can use whatever you want, I just needed something to call her lol.

Warnings: cursing, eventual smut, children, past trauma, cop Steve, lost child, panic, anxiety, alcohol. 

                                                    One 

I glanced back in the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of my tiny person in the passing street lights, even though it was only seven it was dark out. “Bub, do you want some of my fries?” 

“Yeah, mama” she answers quietly, clearly tired. Expertly I dug in the bag of take out to grab a couple of fries and reach back to hand them to her. She takes them from my hand gently.

Suddenly, flashing blue lights catch my attention and I curse under my breath. Turning on my blinker, I pull over to the side of the road, my heart thrumming in my chest watching as the door to the cop’s car open. 

“Mama, what's going on?” she asks. I shush her as a gentle tap sounded on the window. I rolled it down and offered a small smile to the officer, keeping my eyes on anywhere but above his lips. “Hello, sir.”

He returns the smile and asks, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” I shook my head, though I’m pretty sure it was about my tag light. “Your tag light is out” I had figured as much. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” I blush sheepishly with a soft sigh. “I meant to have my friend change it, but I forgot. I don’t know how to do it. Otherwise, I would do it myself.” He went to open his mouth to say something when a tiny voice spoke up from the back interrupting him, “Mama, are we in trouble?” 

He paused and glanced in the back at her, his face going soft, “No, sweetheart. I’m going to help your mom change her light.” He looks back at me, “Do you have the bulb with you, ma’am?” I nod, reaching over to open the glove box and pull out the small purple package to hand over to him. 

“Come on,” he instructed gently, taking a hold of the box through the window. “I’ll show you how to change it.” He steps back from my door, giving me room to step out of my vehicle. I followed closely, pulling my flannel tighter around my body as the cold rushed against my exposed skin. 

Knowing he would need a few tools, I unlatch the trunk and pull my phone out to shine the light around to find them. Once retrieved, I hand them over to him. Keeping on the flashlight, I direct it towards the dead bulb for him to see what he’s doing while also watching his shoulder.

Expertly, he swaps the two bulbs out within minutes and disposes of the old one into the package the new one had occupied. Once the tools were neatly placed back into the trunk, I closed it happy to see both lights fully lit.  

He stood next to me, slightly towering over me and built like a wall. I finally had the courage to look at his face, it was chiseled as if he was made out of stone and his hair was long but well kept, not a strand out of place “Alright, you have a nice night, ma’am” he says with a smile pulling me from my thoughts, pushing back his blonde hair.

“You too, officer” I trail off to read his name tag. “Rogers.” I hold out a hand for him to take and he grasps it with a semi firm hold, gently shaking my hand. We both separate heading to our cars. I sat down and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. I thought I would end up with a ticket, but instead I ended up with a gentleman that helped me more than he can imagine. A cute gentleman, at that. 

“Did he fix the light?” My daughter asks quietly. 

I nod, starting up the car once more, “Yeah, baby. He did.” I pull back onto the road and continue on in the direction we were headed. Noticing he doesn’t leave until I’ve made it a little farther down the road.

Within ten minutes, I’m pulling into the driveway of my best friend's home, and putting the car in park. Unbuckling, I hop out and help with her buckles. Gathering her in my arms, I walk to the door and knock a tune until someone opens. “Hey!” squeals Natasha pulling us both into a tight hug, which we return. 

“Hey, you will never believe what happened,” I say with a laugh as I follow her into the kitchen. Nat makes her way over to the counter where she pours us both a glass of wine. I place Theo down, letting her run over to her red headed friends and grabbing the wine glass Nat offers. I take a swig, feeling the silky liquid glide down my throat and my nerves immediately relax. 

“So, what happened?” She asks leaning against her counter looking at me expectantly. 

“I got pulled over for the tag light,” I explain, pausing to take another sip. Slowly feeling the warmth build with each sip. My nerves finally calmed after being pulled over. 

“The one that Clint was supposed to fix,” She says nodding, signaling she was following me in my recap of the events that had unfolded just moments before.

“Well, the cop fixed it,” I tell her and her eyes go wide. 

“You’re kidding!” She says shocked as she leans against her island counter. “That was really nice of him.” I nod in agreement and finish the rest of my drink. “Was he cute?” I gave her a glare as I poured my second glass, to which she held her hands up in defense, “What? All I’m insinuating is that you need to get laid.” 

I choke on my wine and look up at her, “Oh my god Nat, would you stop.” She just laughs, clearly proud of herself. Rolling my eyes I say, “You know how I feel about that.” I wasn’t ready to open up again, not after what we’ve been through.

“You can't keep being scared of letting someone in,” she states, finishing off her first glass and immediately pouring another glass of the red liquid. 

I shake my head, “it’s not that-“ she quickly cuts me off “Oh, it’s not? Then what is it?” She crosses her arms looking at me expectantly, but I bow my head knowing it’s exactly that. I stayed silent, just trying to enjoy my drink.

“Clint might know him,” She suggests, changing the subject back to officer Rogers after a long pause of silence. She hated when conversations fell silent.

“Clint’s a fireman,” I corrected her downing the second glass. Though I’m sure they have crossed paths at some point in time but really I didn’t want to have to continue this conversation.

“Okay and, they still have to work together,” she states, not up for any of my excuses, knowing damn well I was trying to avoid the topic and she wasn’t going to have that.

I shake my head dismissing the conversation topic, “Don’t worry about it, Nat. I’ll probably never see him again” She shakes her head at me now, filling my glass for a third time. She can’t argue with me on the fact I might never see him again, though. Dating isn’t exactly the first thing on my mind like it is her. She wants me to find someone and get my happy ending, but the only person I really need right now is my daughter. And as I told Natasha, I’m okay with that. 

After the kids grew tired and us both grew tipsy, She took her two to bed while I set up the couch. I watch Theo yawn and smile admiring how cute she looks when she’s tired. She crawls onto the couch curling in on herself. I lay down next to her, wrapping myself around her and making sure we were both covered with the blanket. “Mama?” She asks quietly

“Yeah baby?” I respond with a yawn, as I rub her back. What she said took me by surprise,  “You should make the policeman your prince.” I falter in rubbing her back, unsure of what to say or how to handle this situation. 

As I open my mouth to speak, I hear her soft breath, knowing fully well that she is asleep. She must have overheard our conversation earlier and that bothered me. That wasn’t something she needed to worry about or really know about. I don’t care about love, I have her to worry about.

I play with her hair, watching over her as she sleeps peacefully. I don’t want to bring a man into her life and things not work out and have her get confused. I sigh and look up at the ceiling, staring at it as if it’d give me some magical answer. 

I’m not sure when I fell asleep last night, but I felt refreshed. The smell of food had woken me up along with the sound of Clint announcing that breakfast was ready. I pull myself from the couch and make my way to the kitchen. It was clear Theo was already up, seeing as she wasn’t beside me. 

“Look who finally decided to wake up, it’s my second wife” Clint says as I trudge into the kitchen. He has called me his second wife for as long as I can remember. Nat always scolded him when he called me that. It started off as a way for him to pick on me, because I was always in need of his help but now it was a term of endearment, sort of.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and rolled my eyes at Clint. Nat hit his chest and he made an oof sound. “So I heard you had the hots for a cop? Are you cheating on me?” He mocks hurt as he dodges another slap from Nat, laughing as he successfully dodged.

I rolled my eyes “No dear, I would never” I cupped his cheek and gave it a gentle tap. He smiled causing me to shake my head. Moving away from him I leaned against the island looking over at Theo who was paying no mind as she ate her pancakes. 

“I probably know him, if you’d just give me his name” he urges clearly the work of Nat who was hell bent on me dating. I applaud her efforts, I really do.

“I’m hurt, you'd sell out like that,” I said, placing a hand over my chest, his jaw drops as he looks between Nat and I. I smile while taking a sip of coffee. He stammers to make a sentence, “Now sweetheart-” I shook my head silencing him. “I don’t wanna hear it, you’ve hurt me”

Nat laughs, these two have been my best friends for years and sure we had a strange dynamic, but it works. He sighs, “Still need me to change your tag light?” His son hands him a half full plate, which Clint starts eating off of. 

“No, the nice hot officer changed it for her last night” Nat batted her lashes and chuckles as I flipped her off out of sight from the kids. They were never going to let this dating thing go, not as long as I live.

“Oh he’s hot and a gentleman” Clint said with his mouth slightly full earning a glare from Nat. “And what’s wrong with hot and nice?” I rolled my eyes at them and their constant badgering to get back in the saddle.

“I never said he was hot” I said waving them off, “And besides, I don’t want to date right now” with a shrug I dismissed them both. They both just rolled their eyes tired of hearing the same things over and over again. Clint threw the child's plate into the sink, as he leaned on the counter, “what still needs fixing?”

I laughed, the whole damn house was in need of a complete remodel but was slowly coming together, between him and my brother helping us out. As much as I would love to hire contractors to get it all done at once, I don’t have the money. I thought for a moment, “do you want the whole list or what we can do in a day?”

He thought for a moment and said, “in a day” We’d already put months into fixing it, doing small things here and there and then doing the major projects when we could. We’d just finished remodeling Theos bathroom. 

“There’s a step on the front porch that is cracked, shower door is off the tracks, so is Theos closet door, and I got a few new light fixtures to put up” he nodded to each of my requests, it was a light load considering he practically lived there when we’d first moved in. To be completely honest though I didn’t like stealing Nat's husband, though they insisted it was no problem and I’m sure it wasn't but I still didn’t like it.

“Okay I’ll be over later, let me know when you get home” I nodded and walked over to the table where Theo was finished eating, waiting patiently. I took her plate, and told her to say goodbye to her friends, as I hugged Nat goodbye promising to see her again one night this week. 

-

As I was driving I realized I needed to pick up a few more things so I stopped at the hardware store. I grabbed a cart, holding onto Theo’s hand as we walked through the store trying to find the items. I let go of her hand to grab the light fixtures I told him I had picked up which I totally forgot I didn’t. I felt a sudden emptiness and I looked around “Theo?” I started to panic not seeing her anywhere near. 

The thoughts I had running through my mind made me sick, and as much as I’d like to be calm I wasn’t. “Theo!” I yelled not really caring about the stares as I walked fast looking down the aisles, “Theo?!” Where the hell did she go? What if she was kidnapped? 

And out from one of the aisles walked the cop from last night holding her hand, “I think I have something of yours” It was a joke trying to calm me down. I could’ve dropped to my knees, hell I could've thrown up.

Ignoring him I bent down to look at her, keeping my calm. I said, “don't run off like that, you scared me” She knew the rules, she was to keep right next to me or the cart. She pouts looking at the floor, “sorry mama” she sniffled, still holding onto his hand. I wasn’t yelling or really that upset, I’m just glad she was okay. I stood back up and looked at officer rogers, “thank you so much, officer”

“Please call me Steve, it’s no problem” he gave me a smile as he finally let her hand go and then noticed my full cart, “got a big day ahead, huh?” I laughed slightly to be polite while also grabbing onto Theos hand, “more like my friend does” he looked at me softly and slightly tilted his head. I was unsure what thoughts were running through his mind and didn’t know if I wanted to. 

“You know if you ever need another set of hands I'd be happy to help” he offered, as I was trying to deny him but he was already pulling out some kind of card and writing down his number, handing it to me. I wanted to say something but he was being so nice and genuine I felt like I couldn’t say no. So I smiled knowing I didn’t actually have to call him, “I’ll give you a call, Steve” 

“It was nice seeing you again” he paused and I filled in the blank for him. He smiled and then looked down at Theo “you too sweetheart” she gave him the biggest smile and hugged his leg as a goodbye. We parted ways and I looked down at he, I knew in my child’s head what she was doing or at least trying to do, she was trying to set me up. She was smart. I'll give her that. Theo and I headed to the check out and went home to work Clint to death, and maybe just maybe mention running into officer Rogers again. 

Part 2