#i see him like a bright gold light that reminds you of a angle because of his many wings

[raptornoturno]

You have no idea how long i have been imagining this

i know dream has a "true form" of sorts in that little yellow ball of energy thing, but. god i want so badly for him to be something more. or perhaps something less?

not so much a physical manifestation of positivity (yet, at least) as much as a thousand feelings condensed. and its different for each person: some look at him and see raindrops and yellow rain boots splashing through puddles; a thousand plants all blooming, stretching toward the sun; an eternity of lazy summer afternoons. others look and see their loved ones, hear their voices. they see their childhood home, a forest, a lake… and nothing is static. the visions warp and change, disorienting. some resemble things you know, others are so foreign and yet so comforting. the positivity radiates through your body at such an intensity, you never realize your fear.

i want him to be something almost terrifyingly eldritch in its sheer power, even as he is kind and gentle. i want him to emanate an aura that that makes it hard to look away from him. i want him to be so obviously "wrong" in a way, but still so right. he is easy to use on account of his disposition and his duty, yes, but i want others to hesitate. i want them to look at him and feel power. i want them to look at him and wonder if the feeling deep within their chest is admiration or fear. i want him so godly, so detached from the concept of "humanity" (monstrosity?) that it's palpable. i want him doomed by the nature of his being, and i want others to know only of his divinity and not his struggles.

does that make sense?

he reaches out, but he is the sun. his warmth, though needed, burns and maims. nobody takes his hand.

[paint-lady]

So I have been writing my own lore for our table's Secret World DnD 5e campaign. Our story takes place 10 years in the future from the events of the game and things are starting to get... weird. The lore from the buzzing is getting more glitched and incongruous. So here is the almost "complete" lore entries on something... odd theyve discovered in their journey.

Entry One TRANSMIT initiate the Sidereal signal - RECEIVE - initiate celestial cadence -- Once there was a wise king who broke his mirror and dropped the pieces to the ground-- Initiate the Obsidian sutra -- He thought to repair it, but was arrested by the sight of the scattered shards which showed so many visions of his face. He put the pieces back together -- - but at all the wrong angles. WITNESS - The Gold Faction.

Entry Two

There were many beginnings before the beginning you know. You’ve seen the ripples from pasts long gone, the scraps left buried under eons of silt. The mantras and stories told from ages ago have degraded just the same. Hear the story of the old man and the Watcher, the parable told to pupal students to snip their wings.  

Once there was a … that old thing

In the time of cascading years lived a scholarly man. In silent contemplation, he spent his days wandering the ruins of rebuilt First cities, trying to find what was once lost. The day he understood that something was watching him, he merely watched it back. He chose to walk through bright places to clearly mark its boundaries. He lit torches to observe its flickers in the changing light. 

…that wasn't like a shadow, because you could see it too well.

…and that wasn't like a light, because it didn't make flowers grow.

During those long days, he saw it everywhere. Darkness did not banish it- brilliance only strengthened it. He hated it- how it echoed his every gesture. He hated that it knew the answers to his thousand questions. He loathed that he could not stop asking. 

… it waited and answered…

… it listened and nodded…

…it encouraged his curiosity…

At last, when those years had fallen through and Time came to its end, the man ran out of questions. He could no longer remember what he sought. His reflection leered at him in infuriating triumph. He no longer asked, it no longer answered. It taunted him with silence. The old man struck its sneering mouth. 

…and he never realized what he had shattered. 

The shattered mirror shards remain. Each time a descended disciple is granted their mantle and clutches one of the shards, can you hear their prayers?

Entry Three

SCANNING 

We hear the sobs of a girl, she is dressed in silks woven by webs, seated at her loom. The image depicts the King and his seal. Her hands tremble as she pushes the next line, knowing what hungrily watches for any mistake. She can never stop, even as the wheel is knocked over and reset, or it will unravel her threads and climb through the opening in the tapestry. She won’t let it out, she can’t let it end. 

SCANNING

We see a man pray for salvation in an empty sanctuary. Angels mock his cries. He clutches the shards bored in his hands, bearing the same marks of the bloodied body nailed to decaying wood. Beneath the altar, something bubbles and stirs, waiting to devour him. Salty tears stream down his face. He won’t let it out, he can’t let it end.

SCANNING

We see sweetlings run along the babbling river, following eggshells out of a fairytale. They reach its mouth and find it’s encased in bedrock. The sensation of life pulsates from deep within the stone, as if the river still flows. She retracts her hands, reminded of the same pulse from the walls of her schooldays. The pulse that leaked anima and lured wayward familiars to gnaw on its brick walls. She won’t let it out -- she can’t be where it ends.

SCANNING

We see the gaping maws salivating upwards through their prisons, frothing and screeching for vitae. Their multi-mouths tear gashes in reality. They leave holes in their wake. We see the one sweetling who fell through. She cries out for freedom with them, her mind bleeding into their consciousness. All that will remain is the fragments of herself in dreams- this can’t be where it ends.

Entry Four

SCANNING

There is a pool of water that babbles. It babbles and babbles, yet the surface lies still. How does still water talk? Invisible goosebumps float in the air, soaking into the skin of any who visit. The still waters darken with the contaminant they imprisoned.

They evolved, adapted, thrived in oblivion. They ate and spread. What will they evolve into? Will they be all that is left? BEWARE. Inside them boils the pandemonium of thoughts that swirled--

“DON’T LET IT OUT!” “Nie oddychaj!” 

Entry Five

Locked.

[dragonfly756]

"I could make them worse™"

In which Alexandria and Warner stow away on a boat.

The floor swayed because it was a boat’s floor, the waves knocking the lantern light at dizzying angles across stacks of crates, coils of rope. A boat bound for home, where he could fulfill that thrice-damned prophecy and depose his mother. Warner’s head swam and not in a fun way like a fish, in a not fun way like….. His leg and head hurt too much to come up with a proper metaphor, simile? One of those. 

He’d been lightly stabbed before, of course, poisoned inadvertently when he had read his foraging guides wrong, it wasn’t as though pain was a stranger to him, but he's been properly beaned this time, probably has a concussion. his leg looks weird, and it hurt somewhere new, and it’s all very disconcerting. The rapidly purpling flesh beneath his hand was also kinda grossing him out.

The ship hits a rough swell and the bones in his leg grind against each other in a bright flash of pain, blotting his vision out in a haze of pure agony.

The assassin sat across the floor next to him watched his facial journey placidly, one hand pressed against her own gunshot wound, her navy blue waistcoat unbuttoned and close-cropped white curls mussed in a way he’d never seen before, even after she’d just woken up. Alexandria Maddox has never been anything but perfectly buttoned up with a practiced smile before, the kind he recognizes from his own reflection. The effect of her dishevelment is off-putting, to say the least.

As if to compound the point, her other hand fishes in her top breast pocket and pulls out a pair of small, round glasses that she proceeds to put on her face. Court manners don’t die easily, and he means to say something like ‘I didn’t know you wore glasses, how well they suit your face.’ or something else suitably complementary and bland.

And then she takes her hair off.

She drops it to the floor beside her, and in the near dark he can almost convince himself it's a spider's eggsac, a caterpillar's cocoon, something innocuous and full of cute little creatures instead of a gigantic fucking curveball in the face of what was already a very weird day.

“That’s much better.” she says with a sigh, her hair is long now? Way too long to have been contained in a wig(?) that short without bulging horribly, it’s still white, but it’s now in long, twisty sections with gold beads wrapped around some of the more face framing bits.

“Haough?” says Warner intelligently.

“Yeah, it’s a wig, larger on the inside.” she runs a hand through her hair, the tension in her shoulders receding minutely as her fingers find purchase on scalp. “One of my classmates at university made it, some sort of spatial distortion…thingy, applied MagicMatics was never my thing, but it works a treat for disguises.” she tosses the wig in the vague direction of his head. “You can take a look if you like.”

Tentatively, Warner reaches a hand out and strokes the discarded piece, soft as spider silk, and though Alexandria has already warned him, he’s surprised when the inside gives enough to conceal his hand.

Dimly, he’s aware of Alexandria taking something out of her top breast pocket, the rustling of pages reminding him of those blanket-fort nights when he and Phillip would pore over some gory adventure novel they weren’t supposed to have. He had always been the more squeamish of the two, and his brother had often had to summarize particularly gruesome scenes while Warner peeked at the illustrations through shuttered fingers. There must have been a last time they did that, but Warner couldn’t say when.

The wig has swallowed up his arm as far as the elbow now, and he’s beginning to see how it could accommodate even shoulder-length locks, perhaps with room left over. As Alexandria struggles one-handed through her notebook, a thought occurs to him. “Why even bother with pockets?” his voice sounds tinny, wrong, but frankly he’s impressed that he managed a whole sentence this time. (Go Warner, it’s your birthday, etc.) It had taken so much effort to enunciate properly that he's earned a nap, for sure.

“Why not just put everything in the wig?” Alexandria asks. Warner nods confirmation, his supine position causing his head to collide uncomfortably and repeatedly with the wooden boards of the deck. “It’s just one place to put things, right? If someone took it-” she does a complicated hand twirl, losing her page in the process. “-buh-bye, well, everything, I guess.” she grins, a bright, unselfconscious thing entirely unlike her practiced smile, maybe she could teach him how to do that someday. “It’d make killing you a lot harder, for one thing.”

Okay, that was just completely unnecessary, she habitually threatened him with death as a ‘goodnight’ now, but there was no heat to it,  a professional courtesy more than anything else. He hadn’t even tried to cook poisonous plants into her dinner in a week at least. They were totally allies now, or at least enemies who got along pretty well.

On seeing his look of utter indignation, she laughs wetly before devolving into a hacking cough that makes Warner’s chest twinge in sympathy. 

Her expression shutters closed to neutrality again. "Anyways, truce for now, take this." She slides the notebook across to him, it's open to a page with a scribble with glasses and a hyper realistic stomach wound. Evidently taking his silence as awe instead of the confusion and roiling nausea it is, she continues dryly. "My art skills are terrific, I know, I can even draw a stick figure."

"W'at's this s'posed…"

“You’re going to patch me up, right? I don’t mean to brag, but this really, really hurts.” The admission itself seems to pain her, and through the dizzying haze of rainbow light periodically obstructing his vision, Warner can see the thin sheen of sweat building up on her face, rendering her dark skin grey and waxen in the dim lighting. “That's a medical diagram, of me, the cargo manifest I read while you were conked out said this ship deals primarily in textiles, should be easy enough to find some clean linens for bandages.”

With no small amount of difficulty, Warner lifts himself up and heeds her instructions. The bullet has gone clean through without piercing any major organs so there’s no shrapnel to remove, and with the help of his half-full waterskin he washes away the majority of the blood, tacky and sticky against her dark cotton shirt. (yuck.) Alexandria provides him with some sort of greasy salve from one of her many pockets to apply to the wound, (double yuck.) and they wrap clean strips of fabric from one of the crates around the whole grisly affair. At the end of all that, he sinks back to the floor at her side, completely spent.

“Well that sucked.” she remarks flatly.

“Mmmgh.” Warner agrees.

Her tone grows dangerously chipper then, almost sing-song. “Okay! My turn! Show me that leg.”

She has two settings when not projecting false amiability, it seems, a relaxed sort of flatness, and boundless dorky enthusiasm for things that anyone else would be disgusted by or terrified of. Unfortunately for Warner, other people’s broken legs seem to fall neatly within that category.

The rest of it is kind of a blur of “ew ew ew” excruciating pain, and other assorted indignities for which Alexandria has seemingly little sympathy, she’s practically giggling by the time he’s done being patched up, like a little kid knocking over a block tower. The fact that Warner’s scowling just makes her laugh harder. To add insult to injury (and boy is it a lot of injury.) she doesn’t even sound remotely cruel, just delighted.

“I’ve never gotten to do that before!” she says when Warner’s leg is finally contained in a makeshift splint of broken crates and torn bed sheets. Her brown eyes have the audacity to sparkle behind her round glasses as she begins to draw another stick figure in her notebook, presumably him, as this one has a crown and big wobbly eyes.

“I’ll try to get bounty hunters to chase us down a ravine more often, then, since it amuses you so much.” he snaps back weakly. A prince shouldn’t stoop to such jabs, he knows, but he’s tired, and in pain, and more than a little pissed off at his maniac of a traveling companion. He thinks he can be forgiven this rare lapse in judgement when pushed so far beyond any reasonable standard of endurance.

Far from being hurt, Alexandria nudges his shoulder. “Hit a nerve, huh? Careful, Prince Warner, I might start thinking you’re a real boy.” The playfulness of her tone gives way to something more thoughtful. “Honestly, getting chased by bounty hunters and all that, it isn’t really fun anymore, you know? I think I’ve been having a bit of a mid-life crisis, to be honest.”

Midlife? Despite the white hair, Warner would place her- “You're in…your 30s… though?”

She fixes him with a blank stare. “How long do you think assassins live, exactly? I’m doing pretty great for myself being around this long.”

Well, that’s depressing.

“Anyway, I’m thinking after we get you established as king and all, I’ll look into being a doctor or something? Maybe Spectralnomics, even, shouldn’t be too much of a leap from what I already do.”

She’ll need a lab, from what little Warner knows of the necromantic arts, he squints in concentration. Spectralnomics was the ghosty variety, right? Mostly theoretical and electricity based. “I could give you diplomatic immunity, a lab at the castle, what do you think?” he asks, almost shy. His and Phillip’s old tower bedroom could be gutted quite easily for that purpose, and what use does he have for it now, anyway?

Alexandria fixes him with that bright grin again. “I think.” she says, “we’re going to be very good friends.”

[charlenasaxen]

“You all right?” Jace said by way of greeting, giving her a lopsided smile”

“something in Jace’s eyes that turned them darker than gold. “Sebastian knows that,” he murmured.”

“Clary’s eyes met Jace’s in silent communication. Now that we know what Sebastian’s doing, he’ll do something else. Something we don’t expect yet.”

“then everyone talked about Jace,” said Isabelle. “So, you know, the usual.”

“So what’s their plan, hitting Sebastian over the head with Jace until he passes out?”

“when they were done talking about me, which was of course the best part,” Jace said”

“They need to stop obsessing about curing the Endarkened and start thinking about how to defeat them,” Isabelle said in a hard voice.”

“Of course they want them back.”

“Well, I want my little brother back,” said Isabelle, her voice rising.”

“He killed what was human about them, and he left demons walking around in skin-suits that look like people we used to know, that’s all—”

“His expression darkened. “A lot of people split up when they have a child who dies.”

Isabelle gave a little gasp.”

“Alec seemed to realize he’d gone too far. Mentions of Max seemed to devastate Isabelle more”

“Alec shoved his fingers into his hair, causing it to stick up like duck fluff. “Goddammit,” he swore, and then flushed”

“He shot Jace an almost apologetic look and went after his sister.

Jace sighed, swung his long legs off the bed, and stood up. He stretched like a cat. “Guess that’s my cue to walk you home.”

“There was something impatient about his movements, something prowling and watchful that made Clary’s own skin prickle”

“What do you care? You don’t eat.”

“I can drink now,” Simon pointed out.”

“Let’s face it. My career is now professional vampire.”

“She’s pretty bloodthirsty.”

Simon made a face. “I assume some of the clan are trying to control her. Raphael, probably.”

“She and Raphael were always thick as thieves. But I don’t exactly have vampire friends.”

“no one’s tried to kill me in two weeks. Maybe they got bored and gave up.”

“He glanced down to see Isabelle’s pendant flash bright scarlet, and threw himself backward”

“screamed that he shouldn’t be leaving, but he had promised Isabelle, promised he would let Jordan do his work”

“Maureen sends her regards,” said Zeke into his ear”

“I didn’t realize you were quite so famous,” said Clary as she and Jace made their way down the narrow pavement”

“when Emma saw you, she acted like you were her celebrity crush. Like you were on the cover of Shadowhunters Weekly every month.”

“You know, when they asked me to pose, they said it would be tasteful….”

“As long as you were holding a strategically placed seraph blade, I don’t see the problem,” Clary said, and Jace laughed”

“It was her favorite laugh of his. Jace was always so controlled; it was still a delight”

“one of the few people who could get under his carefully constructed armor and surprise him”

“I think maybe she reminded me of you.”

“Because I’m tiny, blonde, and look good in pigtails?”

“The people who have your back. Like the Lightwoods did for you.”

Jace had stopped walking.”

“ruffled his blond hair and his unzipped jacket; she could see the pulse in his throat. “Come here,” he said, and his voice was rough.”

“Jace’s face was all angles in the dimness: sharp cheekbones, soft mouth, the golden eyes of a lion.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t say it often enough. I love you.”

“She pulled him toward her carefully until their bodies were lined up, not quite touching, but so close”

“she pressed her face into his shoulder and breathed him in.

“Clary,” he said. His voice was a whisper and a warning. She could hear the roughness of longing in it”

“he reached around her to place the palms of his hands against the stone wall, caging her into the space made by his arms. She felt his breath in her hair, the light brush of his body”

“He closed his eyes. She could see his dark lashes feathering against his cheeks, remembered the feel of mapping the shape of his face under her fingers”

“the full weight of his body on hers, the way his skin felt against her skin”

“They were close enough together that when he breathed in, she felt the expansion of his chest. “We can’t.”

She put her hand against his chest; his heart was beating like trapped wings”

“she leaned up to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth”

“she pressed up against him harder than she’d meant to, her lips sliding to center against his. She felt him breathe out in surprise”

“Take me home. But this was home, Jace’s arms surrounding her”

“her fingers digging into the back of his neck, the place where his hair curled softly against the skin”

“she could touch him, and she let her hands go freely, over the swell of his arms, down to his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, pressing outward to grip his sides”

“Her fingertips touched bare skin, and then she was sliding her hands up under his shirt, and she hadn’t touched him like this in so long”

“how his skin was soft where it wasn’t scarred, how the muscles in his back jumped under her touch”

“His skin burned under her hands, burned—

He broke away, reeling back almost drunkenly”

“twin scorch marks in the stone, in the exact shape of his hands”

“It was wreathed with dangling trellises of roses, thorns still intact, each one perfect and blood-red”

“covered with thick swathes of velvet and slippery satin”

“Have you ever,” said the boy in the bed beside her, “pricked yourself on one of the thorns, Your Majesty?”

She turned to look at Jonathan Morgenstern sprawled among the covers”

“even in the dim light the old whip weals across his back were visible”

“He rolled over onto his back and grinned up at her. “Not quite spent, I think.”

“he reached up to twine his fingers in her red hair. He looked at a curl of it, scarlet against the scarred skin of his knuckles, and touched the curl to his cheek.”

“be off with you, or I shall have you fed to the nixies in the river.”

“glanced behind her at Sebastian, who was sitting up on the bed, the coverlet tangled around his waist”

“They would have guessed it anyway,” said Sebastian. “They do have a regrettable habit of blaming me for everything.”

“children assumed all the attackers to be Endarkened”

“Sebastian demanded sharply. “What of my brother and sister?”

“Clary Fray and Jace Lightwood have been sent to Idris”

“transformed his lovely face, not into something lovelier but into a cruel mask”

“Take London, my love, and turn it all to blood,” she said. “My gift to you.”

“tugging his shirt down and practically yanking Clary out into the crowded street, as if she shouldn’t be alone with him”

“Look, you were able to concentrate the fire in your hands; that’s progress. I was touching you, kissing you”

“I was figuring I could sulk for Idris in the next Olympics”

“his voice was already softening, the edge of hard self-loathing filed away, wryness and amusement taking its place”

“You and Alec could go for pair sulking,” said Clary with a smile. “You’d get the gold.”

“He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. His hair brushed the tops of her fingers.”

“I hope I have insurance for this’?”

Jace laughed, a small puff of air against her hand.”

“Jace was an excellent strategist and one of the Clave’s best fighters, and would have greatly resented being left out”

“I want to buy a sword. A really good one.”

Jace looked surprised, then amused. “What for?”

“Oh, you know. Killing.”

“he said, eyes alight. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

“So much better than dinner and a movie,” he said, and disappeared into the shadows”

“try (emphasis on try) to reach the Shadowhunters in Alicante”

“he also appeared to be wearing a pair of very tight leather pants.

Very tight.

Very leather.”

“something in Maureen’s appearance told him that would not be helpful. Specifically, the crown of bones she was wearing.”

“I want things around your wrists.”

“Maureen, where am I?”

“You’re with me.”

“Okay. Where are we?”

“This will be your room,” she said. “And once you’re ready, you can come out. I’ve got things for you. I’ve got a bed.”

“Queen Maureen. Queen Maureen of the night. Queen Maureen of the darkness. Queen Maureen. Queen Maureen. Queen Maureen of the dead.”

“They dressed normally, like Raphael did, not in costumey getups”

“glimpses here and there of white that could have been brick or bones …”

“Werewolves had an instinct to surround themselves with others of their kind, to live in packs, to draw strength”

“From the center of his chest protruded the blade of a sword, its metal stamped with black stars”

“The hilt was slicked with blood—in fact, he was bloody all over, from his pale hair to his boots”

“shuddering in her arms, and she put them around him as blood ran out of the corners of his mouth”

“this boy looked like he had been carved out of ice. White skin, sharp pale cheekbones, salt-white hair”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Shut up, you—you thing—”

“she had never seen anyone else move that fast, except maybe Jace”

“Look how many lie dead around you. Do you think I would hesitate to kill one more?”

“I was going to kill someone today. I just wasn’t sure who when I woke up this morning. I do love mornings. So full of possibilities.”

“they should remember their Shakespeare,” he said. “‘I’ll never pause again, never stand still, till either death hath closed these eyes of mine, or fortune given me measure of revenge”

“I am in pursuit of vengeance, and I will have it. I will deal this way with any who ally themselves with Shadowhunters. I have no argument with your kind”

“you will be food for my blade and the blades of my army, until the last of you is cut from the surface of this world.”

“Your boyfriend’s dead, by the way”

“You’re right. You make all new and even worse mistakes”

“I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like that boy.”

“It’s like siccing a python on a bunny rabbit and then being angry when the bunny rabbit loses.”

“his son is twice as clever and six times as evil. And he will not come alone.”

“Sebastian Morgenstern has taken his fight to us.”

“he still knows something bad happened,” Emma said. “He misses Mark and your dad.”

“It’s good news. I know it’s scary that Sebastian attacked again, but he didn’t win.”

“The weapons shop was gorgeous. Clary never thought she would have described a weapons shop as gorgeous”

“the blade rose over his head, his long fingers curving around the shaft”

“Clary stuck her tongue out at him and reached for a shortsword”

“down the center ridge, ran a pattern of black stars.

“Oh.” Clary’s heart thumped”

“nearly bumped into Jace, who had come up behind her, frowning. “That’s a Morgenstern sword.”

“A larger and a smaller, for a father and his son”

“You have doubtless seen Phaesphoros already, for Valentine Morgenstern carried it, and now his son carries it after him.”

“It was hers. It should be yours now.”

“There are no Morgensterns in this world now who are dedicated to anything but evil.”

Jace said, “There’s you.”

“Take it, and cut your brother’s throat with it, and take back the honor of your blood.”

“stars along the blade winking at her, a light like fire running, sparking along the steel”

“She heard Jace suck in his breath beside her. “What?” he demanded”

“Jace was beside her. “Clary,” he was saying. “It’s all right.”

“You can’t walk up and down the street with an unsheathed weaponl. I mean, you can, but it’s likely to get us some odd looks.”

“The Morgenstern name isn’t cursed, Clary. It’s a glorious old Shadowhunter name that goes back hundreds of years.”

“Clary looked, but not at the sky. She looked at him, at the sun on his light hair”

“the herald of dawn. Is that so bad? To bring light to the world?”

Impulsively Clary leaned up and kissed his cheek.”

“Across from him was Raphael. He wore a buttoned white shirt and jeans, the glint of gold visible at his throat.”

“Now his dark hair was mussed, his white shirt ripped”

“You were asleep, now you are awake—it’s morning”

“if I ever lost the Mark of Cain, you would kill me.”

Raphael smiled at him.

“So is this the killing part?”

“Maureen would be very unhappy at your demise. I once broached the mere topic of selling you to unscrupulous warlocks, and she was not amused.”

“She would rather keep you here dressed up like a doll. But then, she is insane.”

“There was a time I wanted you dead, Daylighter,” Raphael replied conversationally, as if he were telling Simon that there had once been a time when he’d considered buying Simon a box of chocolates.”

“He almost had torn into Clary. It was Raphael who had stopped that from happening.”

“But in this we are aligned. You desire to protect humans. I desire to protect vampires.”

“She has given them all the freedom in the world, and they will end themselves with it.” His tone was bitter.”

“Alicante?” Simon stared. “You mean—capital of Idris, Alicante?”

“You are not very smart”

“But they trust you. Especially the New York Nephilim. Look at you. You wear Isabelle Lightwood’s necklace.”

“They will believe what you say if you tell them that Maureen has broken the Accords and must be stopped.”

“Once Maureen is taken care of, it is likely we can return to New York with few negative consequences.”

“I will be happy to leave you here in this cage, and you may be Maureen’s plaything. Or you can join your friends in the Glass City.”

“Not much of a choice, is it?” Simon said.

Raphael smiled. “No, Daylighte. Not much at all.”

“When you get your first real weapon, it’s traditional to come here and bless the blade in the fountain waters,” said Jace”

“Let the waters of this fountain wash this blade clean. Consecrate it to my use alone.”

“And let it protect me that I may return to this fountain to bless its metal anew. In Raziel’s name.”

“there was enough of it to strike sparks off the obsidian stars along the central ridge. “Now give the sword its name.”

“when you tell me things like that he left that box in Amatis’s house, I know exactly why. And I hate that I know it.”

“We speak the same languages. We learned the same style of fighting. We were taught the same morals.”

“It changed, of course; it all changed when I turned ten, but the foundations of your childhood, they stay with you.”

“I liked it,” he said, and there was a rough undercurrent to his voice”

“They were the brightest servants of God, once,” Jace said. “That’s what happens when you fall. Everything that was bright about you becomes dark.”

“then the sky exploded in spangles of red and gold. For a dizzy moment Clary remembered the fireworks”

“Jace had gone white. “The battle lights,” he said. “We have to get to the Gard.”

“They were a moving, jostling flood of people. She kept her hand in Jace’s as they ran”

“We go to the aid of the Iron Sisters! Shadowhunters who are armed and ready, please report to me!”

“I am not a child,” Jace said savagely”

“what Robert thought when he looked at the boy he had adopted—if Robert saw Jace’s father in Jace’s face, or still searched for remnants of Michael Wayland that weren’t there”

“suspicion darkening his gold eyes. “What are you doing? There’s something you don’t want me to know.”

“And they’ll be slaughtered,” Jace said bleakly. “Robert. You have to stop this.”

“Then why even send them through?” Jace demanded. “Why not just stay here and stab fifty of our own people to death? Save the time?”

“Jace said desperately. “If he’s come with only twenty warriors, then there’s a reason, and he’ll have backup—”

“He can’t have backup!” Robert’s voice rose.”

“Sebastian doesn’t give gifts!” Jace shouted. “You’re being blind!”

“You may be frightened of him, Jace, but he is just a boy; he is not the most brilliant military mind ever to exist! He fought you at the Burren, and he lost!”

“Jace looked as if he had been slapped. Clary doubted anyone had ever accused him of being frightened before.”

“They don’t need to let me.”

“They hadn’t been at the Burren. They hadn’t seen. They didn’t know. Clary met Jace’s eyes.”

“She could see the lines of tension on his face, deepening the angles of his cheekbones, setting his jaw”

“Jace reached to take her hand. “All right,” he said. “Then we run, together. Toward the Portal.”

“We run,” she agreed, and they did.”

“They were side by side now, Clary very silent, her coppery hair dusted with white flakes”

“Stay close to me,” Jace murmured as he and Clary neared the top”

“He had caught up a longsword from the pile by the Portal just before leaping in, Jia’s cry of dismay following them”

“Jace felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. It was like being at the Burren again”

“the fire of Glorious, wiping out all that had gone before”

“Sebastian’s warriors stood out like drops of blood against the white ground”

“Though the Endarkened were at a distance, and though Jace could not see any of their faces clearly, he could somehow feel them smiling”

“Jace could feel the hesitation in their bravado. At last—too late���they felt it: the alienness”

“These were not Shadowhunters who had temporarily strayed from the path. They were not Shadowhunters at all.”

“the Sisters will destroy the Citadel before they let him have it.” His voice was grim.”

“A scream cut the night like a knife. Jace started forward before realizing the scream was coming from behind”

“the man who had called out to Clary in Alicante, before they had reached the Gard”

“Jason, please.” Her voice trembled as she moved forward, stretching out her hand to the Endarkened”

“Please, no,” Clary said. “Don’t—don’t go near him—”

But the blonde woman was only a step away”

“Jason,” she whispered. “You’re my brother. You’re one of us”

“Someone was screaming over and over, hysterically, and then someone else cried out”

“panic among them; Jace could feel it, like the taste of blood”

“Hammer and anvil!” he shouted, hoping they would understand. He seized Clary with his free hand and yanked her back”

“Get to a wall, somewhere you can make a Portal! Get us out of here!”

“He wanted to grab her, kiss her, cling on to her, protect her”

“a staff-wielding Silent Brother in bloody parchment robes”

“Her boots skidded on the snow as she darted toward the Citadel. The crowd swallowed her up”

“Jace’s blood rose up too, shooting like fire through his veins as his awareness narrowed”

“The first time or two she had wondered if they were afraid of Heosphoros, confused by a blade”

“She suspected something else now. Sebastian had probably told them not to touch her or hurt her, and they were obeying.”

“she couldn’t bring herself to do it. They still looked like Nephilim, human enough. Their blood ran red”

“Clary had cause to bless her small size. She was able to dart through the crowd”

“a blade swung out, and then a shriek, and a seraph blade darkened forever”

“A dark-haired young man in black Shadowhunter gear stood over the body of a dead warrior in red. He held a bloody sword in one hand, and tears were running down his face, unchecked.”

“she looked at him dispassionately, then drove her sword down between his shoulder blades”

“Drop the stele, Valentine’s daughter,” said a cold, even voice.

She froze. Behind her stood Amatis”

“I know someone who’ll be very pleased to see you.”

“Move, Clarissa.” Amatis jabbed Clary in the side”

“looking for a familiar fair head in the sea of scarlet”

“They were, in their own strange way, lovely to watch in battle”

“Not that it changed the fact that they were doomed”

“None of them are prepared to kill an enemy that bears the faces of their sons, lovers, friends, parabatai.”

“The Clave does not understand our Sebastian or his forces, and they will be dead before they do.”

“there is nothing crueler than virtue.”

“Then she realized that the battle seemed to be resolving itself into an odd sort of pattern—something was cutting a path”

“A slender black-clad Shadowhunter with bright hair, moving so fast, it was like watching fire”

“Only in this case the forest was Sebastian’s army, Endarkened falling”

“Falling so quickly, they barely had time to reach for their weapons”

“Despite everything, she smiled. “Jace.”

“jamming the razor-sharp tip against Amatis’s throat.

Amatis froze.

“That’s right,” Clary said. “Don’t even think about moving.”

“Let me go!” Isabelle screamed at her father. “Let me go!”

“she and Alec had scrambled to seize their gear and their weapons and hurtle up the hill”

“she had seen Jace and Clary there, about to step through, and she’d redoubled her speed”

“Isabelle kicked against him and yelled for Alec”

“Shut up,” she hissed at him through her teeth. “Shut up, you lying bastard.”

“a certain amount of shouting at one’s parents was expected in mundane culture, but Shadowhunters believed in respect for elders”

“They did it against strict orders. It doesn’t mean you should follow.”

“Twenty of them is like a hundred Shadowhunters,” said Alec in his quiet voice. “Our side could be slaughtered.”

“If anything happens to Jace and Clary, it’ll be your fault,” Isabelle said. “Just like Max.”

“the part of her that seemed to have taken the reins, that was bubbling up inside her like a volcano, felt only a bitter triumph. She was tired of pretending everything was all right.”

“I bet you’re glad he’s dead, aren’t you, because now you don’t have to stay.”

“Alec go over to Jia, heard the sound of him arguing with her”

“dispatching him with a vicious scissoring blow. Somehow he had acquired a second blade”

“But this wasn’t ice; this was fire. The burn that coursed through his veins drove him on, sped his movements so that he felt as if he were flying.”

“Jace, who turned, already knowing what he would see.

Sebastian stood behind him.”

“My Jace,” he said. “Been missing me?”

“Jace’s swords were up, both tips hovering just over Sebastian’s heart”

“Jace saw himself, saw the apartment he had shared with Sebastian, the meals they had eaten together, jokes they had traded”

“I could slice you apart,” Jace said. “See if you can survive in tiddlywink-size pieces. Or cut off your head. It might not kill you, but it would be fun watching you try to find it.”

“Why not?” Jace growled through clenched teeth.

“My sister,” said Sebastian.”

“Jace couldn’t listen. Clary’s name pounded in the blood in his veins”

“how did it help to know that your enemy’s one weakness was your weakness too?”

“The tip of the sword sliced a shallow gash across his ribs.

Now some of the blood on his gear was his own.”

“Sebastian grinned. “You can’t win,” he said. “I’m better than you, always have been. I might be the best.”

“Modest, too,” Jace said”

“Just like she couldn’t hurt me because of you. Always the same dance. Neither of you willing to make the sacrifice.” ”

“But no. Love is essentially selfish, and so are both of you.”

“Nausea rose up in Jace, nausea and rage, and he flung himself at Sebastian”

“but hate, and Sebastian’s grin widened as he stepped out of the way of the attack and neatly kicked Jace’s leg out from under him.

He went down hard, his back colliding with the icy ground”

“He heard the whistle of the sword before he saw it, and rolled to the side as the Morgenstern blade slashed”

“he rolled to the side, but he wasn’t fast enough this time and he felt it drive down into him”

“Jace felt the pain through his entire body, his muscles contracting, his back arcing”

“sprawled on the red-black ground, and his shoulder was burning. Flames licked up from the wound”

“Jace could see that there was a black mark, a burn across the palm”

“But the heavenly fire calls us, and we come. Move away from Jace Lightwood, Valentine’s son.”

“Now you do,” said Cleophas. “Time to retreat, boy.”

“with a sudden terrible wrenching the earth tore itself apart. A great black rift opened beside them. Sebastian leaped into it and vanished.”

“He doubled over. Something hot had lanced through him, through his shoulder”

“He hit the ground on his knees, crying out.

“Alec—Alec!”

“overlapping and doubled because it wasn’t his pain at all”

“didn’t burn in his body but in someone else’s.

“Jace,” he ground out between his teeth. “Something’s happened—the fire.”

“she should cut Amatis’s throat, wanted to, even, but how to tell Luke she had killed his sister? Killed his sister while she’d lain on the ground, begging for mercy?”

“grinning mockingly at Clary. “Give my brother all my love,” Amatis called, and jumped”

“everywhere across the battlefield the Endarkened were running toward the chasm and leaping into it. They reminded her of Olympic divers, sure and determined”

“She knew she shouldn’t run with an unsheathed blade, but she didn’t care”

“she saw that his eyes were open. He was very pale, though, and breathing harshly”

“pale fingers unsnapping the gear at Jace’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Clary asked, looking around wildly.”

“she saw the gash in his shoulder. “Sebastian happened.”

The wound was weeping fire.”

“Jace cried out. His body half-lifted off the ground”

“A rune she had seen before, standing on a rooftop in Manhattan: the first rune”

“The Iron Sisters moved toward their fallen brother. They blocked Clary’s view of Zachariah as she reached for Jace. He was bucking and spasming”

“his eyes closed, his head tilted back. She looked around wildly.”

“a human noise, the cry of a man in pain, not the silent mind-whisper of the Brothers”

“Clary could hear the Sister’s voice rising, “Zachariah, Zachariah—”

“Nothing, Jace. Lie still.” Clary sheathed her blade and fumbled his stele from his weapons belt with numb fingers.”

“he writhed away from her, his body jerking.

“No,” he gasped. His eyes were huge and burning gold. “Don’t touch me. I’ll hurt you, too.”

“Desperate, she threw herself on top of him, the weight of her body bearing him backward into the snow. She reached for his shoulder as he twisted”

“his clothes and skin blood-slippery and fire-hot. Her knees slid to either side of his hips as she threw her full weight against his chest, pinning him”

“his eyes wouldn’t focus on her, his hands spasming”

“The last thing she saw was the great burning whirl of a Portal, opening onto the impossible sight of Angel Square”

“Simon wanted to snap back that the unusual thing that was going on was that he’d just been kidnapped and taken to Idris for the second time in his life”

“Simon wondered how old he’d been when he’d been Turned. Fourteen? Fifteen? Only a little older than Maureen.”

“he looked uncertain in a way Simon couldn’t recall him looking before”

“We may go there.”

“Together?” Simon said.

“It is a very large house”

“Go away,” he said.

Raphael smirked. “La belle Isabelle”

“he got no further, because Isabelle had launched herself at him and thrown her arms around him”

“holding her, he felt normal, wonderfully normal, like any teenage boy in love with a girl”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, breathless. “I was wishing you were”

“I thought you’d go to the Lightwoods’ hung in the air”

“I will deal this way with any who ally themselves with Shadowhunters. I have no argument with your kind, unless you follow the Nephilim into battle”

“you will be food for my blade and the blades of my army, until the last of you is cut from the surface of this world.’”

“But a world without Shadowhunters in it—I am afraid of that.”

“There was a world before the Nephilim,” said Magnus. “There will be one after.”

“He would have wanted Simon to have the pendant. When we find Simon, he should have it.”

“all he’d do is come for us next.”

“I’m going to kill Maureen,” Isabelle said. She had both doors of Alec’s wardrobe open and was flinging clothes”

“Simon was lying barefoot on one of the beds—Jace’s? Alec’s?”

“You’ll have to fight your way through all the vampires of New York to do it,” he said. “Apparently they love her.”

“No accounting for taste.”

“Lord Montgomery always surpasses expectations,” Simon said, seizing Isabelle around the waist”

“Mothers, lock up your daughters, then lock up your maidservants, then lock up yourselves. Lord Montgomery is on the prowl.”

“Alec walked into the room.

“Izzy, are you—” he began. His eyes flew wide, and he backed up fast enough to smack his head into the wall”

“You don’t knock now?”

“It—It’s my bedroom!” Alec spluttered.”

“Why are all my clothes on the floor?” Alec said”

“Her romance-novel slave,” Isabelle repeated, as if Alec were being particularly dense”

“Alec suddenly clutched at his shoulder with a gasp. He slid to the floor.”

“And there’s something wrong with Jace.”

“The Basilias is open,” Isabelle said to a haggard-looking Alec. “They might have taken Jace in there, if he was hurt—”

“He was hurt,” Alec said shortly.”

“Simon wanted to say something to him, wanted to say that his best friend had also gone into the battle and was also missing, wanted to say that he understood”

“I’m sure they’re really in the mood for that. They might let you live five, ten seconds even.”

“He would have killed them all and taken the Citadel most likely, if not for your Jace—”

“He isn’t my Jace.”

“Luke was already on his feet, reaching for Simon. He caught at Simon’s arms, pulled him back”

“Before Simon could move or signal to him, Alec turned abruptly and went back inside”

“Jace,” Simon said. “Alec felt something happen to him”

“stamped with a wolf’s paw and the Latin inscription Beati Bellicosi.

Blessed are the warriors.”

“Wanted?” Simon’s voice rose. “Don’t you mean ‘wants’?”

“the icy lava plain in front of the Citadel, Amatis laughing and daring Clary to hurt her, Jace cutting his way through a field”

“someone with a made-up name that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Raphael will be sleeping,” said Luke. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Then we’ll wake him up.”

“Maia watched as the surface of the sea turned black with the remains of the dead”

“He wanted me to forgive him so much that I think sometimes he just looked at me and he saw forgiveness”

“But he died thinking he was loved and forgiven. There are much worse gifts you could give”

“Right,” Jace said, pulling on his second gauntlet and flexing his fingers”

“Brother Enoch loomed over him, glowering, as Jace bent down with slow precision to do up the laces on his boots”

“Look, you can either bring me to Brother Zachariah or I can wander around yelling for him”

“The figure had turned from the window. Jace found himself looking at a boy only a few years older”

“Dark hair, a sharp delicate face, eyes that seemed young and old”

“a parabatai whose other half was dead. He felt his sympathy leap toward Brother Zachariah, as he imagined himself without Alec”

“Zachariah, Jace supposed, though not a Brother anymore—smiled. It was a heartbreakingly vulnerable smile, young and gentle.”

“It burned away the darkness in my blood. I became again the person I was”

“I became what I have always wanted to be.”

Jace’s voice was hoarse. “Did it hurt?”

“You thought about me? About whether I was in pain?”

“Of course.” Jace could see their reflections”

“No other family does so much for love, or feels so much guilt for it”

“I only just lived, and so did you. The difference between us is that I was only brushed by the fire, whereas it entered your heart.”

“It is not a curse to be rid of; it is a weapon you have been entrusted with. You are the blade of Heaven. Make sure you are worthy.”

“All love is precious. It is why we do what we do.”

“It is because they do not build, but destroy. They do not love, but hate only.”

“My parabatai, he loved like few ever could love, with all and everything. I see you are like that too; it burns more brightly in you than the fire of Heaven.”

“I’m sorry,” Jace said quietly. “That you lost your parabatai. Is there anyone—anyone left for you to go home to?”

“Jace thought of Alec wounded in his lap, of Max still and white”

“he thought of Valentine, his arms around Jace as Jace’s blood soaked the sand underneath them. And lastly he thought of Clary: her sharp bravery that kept him safe”

“the steadiness of her love”

“Weapons, when they break and are mended, can be stronger at the mended places,” said Jace. “Perhaps hearts are the same.”

Brother Zachariah, who was now just a boy like Jace himself, smiled at him a little sadly. “I hope that you are right.”

“playing Xbox with Jace? Jordan telling Simon that he was sworn to protect him?”

“asking Simon to help him, save him, while the ink on his arms ran like blood”

“I thought they’d freak out.”

“Because if Sebastian sent a Dark after you, it was because of me”

“Did he want to kidnap you or kill you?”

“I didn’t really get a chance to ask him.”

“it would have eaten him up until he killed himself.”

“You have friends?” Simon said.

Raphael glared.”

“you’re going to have to give me blood. Otherwise I’ll pass out on his feet, or eat him.”

“I suspect that would go over poorly with his daughter.”

“It must be strange, Daylighter, to know that you can truly die.”

“Raphael was barefoot, standing just at the edge of the sunlight”

“looking at the white scar at the base of Raphael’s throat, where sometimes a crucifix rested. “You’re jealous.”

“Maryse told Isabelle, years ago. Not fair, to put all that on a little girl.”

“Not to your child. You should—carry your own burdens.”

“Isabelle!” he called, tipping his head back. “Isabelle!”

“Isabelle!” he called again. “Let down your raven hair!”

“There was something in that blood Raphael gave you, wasn’t there? I’m going to kill him.”

“He’s already dead,” Simon observed.”

“I love you, Isabelle Lightwood!” Simon called, startling everyone.”

“Tell him you love him,” Helen called up. “He’s scaring the whole street.” She waved at Clary. “Good to see you.”

“Take your clothes and go!” Isabelle shouted.

Above her another window opened, and Alec leaned out. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t carol,” said Simon. “I’m Jewish. I only know the dreidel song.”

“I hate Raphael,” Clary muttered.

“Isabelle!” Simon called. “Stop throwing clothes at me!”

“Our love is forbidden like the love of a shark and a—and a shark hunter”

“Oh?” Isabelle snapped. “Which one of us is the shark, Simon? Which one of us is the shark?”

“Why are you shouting outside my house?”

“He’s not feeling well”

“Simon reached out and plucked the cross out of Robert’s hand. “Wrong religion”

“My head feels round,” Simon said sadly. “So round.”

“What?”

“He drank some drugged blood”

“but, before he could do any more damage, Clary grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him toward the street”

“Because Simon kept ranging off down various alleys, and insisted on trying to break into a closed candy shop”

“There was someone sitting on her bed. A tall someone, with white-fair hair, a sword across his lap, and a silver bracelet that sparked like fire in the witchlight.”

“now Sebastian had sprung up in the middle of it like some exotic poisonous flower”

“There was something that was clearly meant to be seductive about the pose, something that made nausea twist”

“Last time I saw you, you had a crossbow in my back,” she said. “So that would be a no.”

“Wondering if Valentine had looked like that, when he was young”

“our father’s house? Betraying me and lying to me? Breaking my bond with Jace?”

“Reminded him he ought to be better at his job,” Sebastian said. “Protecting my sister.”

“But all his love was for Jace. The troubled one, the rebellious one, the broken one.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, Clarissa? We were Valentine’s blood children, and he hated us.”

“shouting at Valentine: Why did you take me? You didn’t need a son. You had a son.”

“You were too gentle. Too empathic. Understand this, my son—I loved you for those things.”

“You have always been mine. When you were born, you were mine, my sister”

“Mercy,” he said

“always been left with the feeling, afterward, that he would have enjoyed the whole business more if he had been a squirrel”

“any reason you wish to preserve amity with the Shadowhunters, besides the fact that one of them is your lover?”

“all of us who do good, or hope to do it, are united against those who do evil. Regardless of bloodlines.”

“The warlock went to set his wineglass down, but realized he had already dropped it. The wine had run out across the table”

“He glanced up and over at Raphael, but Raphael was facedown on the table, still and unmoving. Magnus tried to shape his name through numb lips, but no sound came”

“Magnus lurched to the door, reached to open it—

On the other side stood the Endarkened, dressed all in red”

“Not to know after all these years that deception can hide in plain sight?”

“a strange urgency in his tone. “I won’t change you if you don’t want it. I will forgive you, and Jace as well. You can be together.”

“If you refuse me now, I will Turn everyone you love to Endarkened Ones, and then Turn you last, that you might be forced to watch them change”

“you don’t even know they’re terrible. And that’s why not. That’s why never. I will never forgive you. I will never love you. Never.”

“She saw each word hit him like a slap. As he drew breath to reply, she swung the blade of Heosphoros out”

“She slashed toward him again with her blade; he jerked back, and Heosphoros cut a clean slice across his shirtfront. She saw his lip curl in pain and anger.”

“She said nobody else would ever—would ever want a Morgenstern blade. Our blood is tainted.”

“Sebastian in control was frightening; Sebastian out of control was something too horrible to contemplate.

“Let her go,” said a clear, hard voice”

“stop touching her, or I will burn you down to ashes.”

Jace.”

“He was in front of the window, the curtains blowing behind him”

“his eyes were as hard as agate stones. He was wearing gear, his blade in his hand, still with the shadow of fading bruises on his jaw”

“you don’t like to lose.”

Sebastian’s razor smile grew a little brighter, a little brittler.”

“I came for you. The two of you.”

Clary looked sideways at Jace. He was standing, expressionless and unmoving”

“In the day and in the night, in darkness and in light, I can see you.”

“Stop it,” Jace said. “It’s not true.”

“His voice dripped contempt. “You want her to want to go with you,” he said. “No one in your life has done anything but despise you. Your mother. Your father. And now your sister.”

“You made her hate you. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You forget we were bonded, you and I. You forget I’ve seen your dreams.”

“in that room are two thrones. So who occupies that second throne? Who sits beside you in your dreams?”

“that voice Clary had first fallen in love with, the voice of the boy who had told her a story about a child and a falcon”

“Really?” Jace smiled as Sebastian’s voice rose. “Then why have you given us so many second chances?” He had stopped prowling”

“You’ll change your mind,” he said. “You’ll mount that throne beside me of your own accord, when the end comes”

“Oh, dear,” said Jace, his voice dripping sarcasm. “I just might have sent a fire-message to the Clave”

“Foolish of you not to dispose of it more carefully, Sebastian.”

“She pushed, shoved at him, and then Jace leaped at them, his blade driving down—

Sebastian spun away, but the blade had caught him”

“He cried out, staggering back—and paused. He grinned as Jace stared at him, white-faced.”

“Jace’s eyes blazed up in gold. “We’ll see about that,” he said, and lunged”

“Jace stood, shocked and frozen, as Sebastian reached for him with bloody hands and pulled him close”

“I can still hear your screams on the air when Clary plunged the blade into you. Did you burn and burn?”

“Sebastian raised a hand and cupped the back of Jace’s neck, pulling him closer”

“And you will be there to see it.” With a swift darting motion, he kissed Jace on the cheek, fast and hard”

“when he drew back, there was a smear of blood there. “Ave, Master Herondale”

“she drew it close, curling her body around it as if it were a child that needed protecting”

“Clary—Clary—” Jace was there, sinking to his knees beside her, and his arms were around her”

“pressing her forehead to his shoulder. She realized his shirt, and now her skin, was wet with her brother’s blood”

“by the time Sebastian decides to come back and pick us all off like the last pieces on a chessboard, it’ll be too late for everyone.”

“And look after yourself, Maia. For me.”

“Sebastian’s afraid of you,” she said. “He played it off”

“Why did he kiss you?”

“that strange and surprising kiss on the cheek”

“When Judas kissed Jesus in the garden”

“He meant he planned to be the instrument of my destruction. Clary, I—”

“I’ve never been afraid of anyone like this,” he finished, biting off the words”

“she knew they both had good reason to be. There was no one in Idris who had better reason than they did to be terrified.”

“He wanted to see you badly. Badly enough to make it worth the risk.”

“Jace was as white as a sheet. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but she could hear only the distorted echo”

“I’ll kill him,” Jace said.“

“I’ll cut him into pieces. I’ll cut his hands off for touching you—”

“I want to be there for you in whatever the right way is for you, Clary.”

“Well, that’s good, because I’m not sure I have an encore in me. What part of it was perfect?”

She felt her lip quirk slightly”

“something so Jace about his reaction, his strange mixture of arrogance and vulnerability”

“You’re brave and brilliant, and you’re perfect and I love you. I just love you and I always have.”

“settled herself carefully in his lap. “Could you hug me?”

“She could feel the muscles in his arms, the strength in his back as he put his hands on her gently, so gently”

“He had hands made for fighting, and yet he could be so gentle with her, with his piano, with all the things he cared about”

“leaned her head against his shoulder. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart. “Now,” she said. “Kiss me too.”

“he doesn’t understand the difference between loving and having. Between giving yourself and taking.”

“she leaned up to kiss him, a light touch of lips to lips, bracing her hand against the back of the sofa”

“He brushed his cheek against hers, the strands of their hair tangling together, red and gold”

“He wants to be liked, or really loved, for what he is, genuinely. But he doesn’t think he has to change to be worthy”

“instead he wants to change the whole world, change humanity, make it into something that loves him.”

“Sorry about the armchair psychology. Literally. Here we are in an armchair.”

“Jace drew her up against him, fitting her more neatly against the curve of his side”

“Oh, you’ll be woken up,” Jace said drowsily. “Your mother will think I’m trying to take advantage of you and chase me around the room with a fireplace poker.”

She reached up to pat his cheek. “I’ll protect you.”

“He was already asleep, breathing steadily against her, the rhythms of their heartbeats slowing to match each other. She lay awake as he slept”

“frowning, the words “my beautiful one” echoing in her ears like the memory of words heard in a dream”

“Clary. Jace. Wake up.”

Clary raised her head and almost yelped”

“She’d fallen asleep curled up against Jace’s shoulder; he was asleep too, wedged into the corner of the sofa”

“The hilt of his sword dug uncomfortably into Clary’s hip as he groaned and straightened up”

“She looked like someone who was too tired to argue anymore. “He can be the Night Children’s representative.”

“Everyone was standing, some in groups and some apart. Most of the groups were arguing”

“scrawled in a crooked hand, in what looked like sticky gold paint:

Veni.”

“His shoulders were tight as he stared down at the scrawl. “That’s ichor,” he said. “Angel blood.”

“And in the meantime Sebastian had found his way to the heart of the Gard and painted the floor in blood”

“she saw a hand rise out of the crowd, waving toward her frantically. Isabelle. She was standing with Alec”

“Knew who they all were. Valentine’s daughter, Valentine’s adopted son, and the Daylighter vampire.”

“Clary, Jace, and Simon pulled free of the staring onlookers and nearly fell into the Lightwood siblings”

“Isabelle shot an irritated glance at Simon before reaching out to hug Jace and Clary”

“Alec pulled him over by the sleeve and hung on, his knuckles whitening around the fabric”

“his hand, where it rested on Jace’s sleeve, was shaking with a fine tremor”

“If it hadn’t been for what happened when he wounded Jace Lightwood, his forty would have slaughtered our sixty.”

“Without us out in the world, who will protect it?”

“To strike at our allies is to strike at us,” called Maryse. “They are members of the Council”

“Then where are they?” shouted Alec, and even Jace looked startled to hear Alec raise his voice”

“Without warning the Clave guard on her left had come up behind her and seized her”

“A shout ran through the assembly as he yanked her back, placing the blade of a long, silver dagger against her throat”

“Nephilim!” the man roared”

“stood, like Jace and Alec, with their hands halfway to their weapons. Isabelle was clutching the handle of her whip.”

“None are safe, not even Heaven’s messengers. That is the reach of the power of the Infernal Cup, and of he who holds it.”

“But for now he will content himself with the gift of his sister and adoptive brother.”

“Clary heard Jace suck in his breath. She looked at him, panicking”

“We are Nephilim,” Robert said coldly. “We do not trade away our own. He knows that.”

“you will find yourselves fighting not just he who holds the Infernal Cup, but all of Downworld.”

“Mom, Luke, be all right, please be all right. Let Magnus be all right, for Alec. Please.”

“Jace’s expression had gone bleak, but he met her eyes with the same understanding”

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (3)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: none 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky stared down at the fresh coffee stained on the sidewalk; a caramel puddle nestling into the cracks and stretching along the lines until it spilled out into the street. He could smell the bitterness and the sweetness in the cream, the steam of it still warm as it filtered up into the cold, autumn air. He cursed at himself under his breath.  

You’d looked so beautiful, even with your eyes wide in shock and lips parted in a gasp as coffee spilled to your shoes. Dressed under an army green overcoat, a sliver of a burnt orange sweater peaked out from underneath. He’d seen that particular shade before, cast over a forest of evergreens and reflecting into the clouds, just above the sun as it set over the tree line.  

But he’d made a fool of himself in front of you and he could still feel the burning in his ears. He felt hot under his jacket and he found himself glancing down the street, wondering if he could make a run for it. Only, you were waiting for him inside and Bucky couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing you.

Gathering what remained of his courage, Bucky parted the double doors and stepped inside. It took a minute to let his eyes adjust, but when the dim lighting came into view, he noticed you were standing by the entrance waiting for him like you’d known he’d decide to follow. You beamed as he caught sight of you and his stomach twisted straight to knots. You were still clutching the donut box to your chest, almost as if you were afraid he’d knock that out of your hands, too.  

“Come on, you can help me set up.” You gestured down the hall to the room he met you in a few days prior. The library with no books on the shelves and cobwebs in the corners. “We’ve got to get you a book before the others show up.”

Bucky nodded, though he didn’t say anything as he followed you. It was pretty quiet without so many people lingering around, but everyone seemed to smile as you approached; perking up from under their clouds and called out your name until you waved back at them. It was like you carried sunshine in your pockets and comfort in your presence, breaking away stormy skies as you passed by.  

Before you could reach the library door, Bucky rushed out ahead of you and grabbed a hold of the knob. You paused, eyes catching his for a moment and a pink filtered into his cheeks. He cleared his throat.  

“Figured I could do one decent thing today after I ruined your shoes,” he explained, pulling open the door for you.  

“You showed up, didn’t you?” you added with a wink. “I count two decent things today, James Barnes.”

He chuckled at that, nodding. “Y-Yeah, okay.”  

You set the donuts on the coffee table and began to push the furniture around into a circle. You shouldered most of your weight into the couch to get it to budge and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips just watching you. Concentrated frown on your face, determination in your eyes, staring down the couch as if it were your sworn enemy.  

“You need help with that?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the couch that barely moved a few inches while you were out of breath.  

You glanced up at him over the spine of the couch, nodding gratefully. “This one always gives me trouble.”

“I’m sure if you waited for the others to show up, they’d help you move these around,” Bucky said as he placed his right hand on the back of the armrest, his knee digging into the center of the back. You stood next to him, hands on the frame to help push despite the fact that Bucky was strong enough, even without his left arm, to move the couch on his own. But he liked the idea of you beside him, so he didn’t say anything.  

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” you exhaled as they couch slid perfectly into place within the circle. “They all work so hard though, you know? It’s nice to have them just walk in and sit down for a change. Don’t need them thinking I’m expecting work out of them, too.”

“Ah, so that's why I’m here, then...”  

He was surprised by the teasing in his own voice. When was the last time he made a joke? He couldn’t even remember. But you started to smile, that brightness shining right up into your eyes, and it didn’t matter anymore. He’d make a thousand jokes if you would keep looking at him like that.  

“Careful now,” you warned, a glimmer in your eye. “I might need you to help move this couch every week...”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”  

He didn’t know where this was coming from or how it slipped off his tongue so easily, but he liked the way it seemed to catch your off guard. You stilled for a second, a nervous laugh under your breath as you quickly tucked away a few strands of fallen hair. You were flustered. Shit. He was done for.  

“Haven't even seen one meeting and you’re offering to move couches for me on a weekly basis? Consider me eternally grateful, James Barnes.” You plopped down on the couch, reaching for the strap of your bag, though it was a few inches out of reach.  

Bucky leaned down and picked up the bag, surprised to find it as heavy as it was, and gently set it in your lap. He took a seat on the couch on your left, though he left considerable room between you. You started digging through the bag, pulling out book after book and setting them on the table.  

“We’ve got to pick your book of choice,” you explained, smiling at him and clearly eager to see what he would select. “Anything you want. I can get something else from the library for next week if you’re not interested in these. I’ve got some guys reading Harry Potter for the first time. Lang’s on the second Twilight book. Romanoff is halfway through The Odyssey. Barton’s about a few pages to the end of a murder mystery he guessed the plot twist of within the first ten pages, which is just downright infuriating...”

Your nose was all scrunched up and it was the damn near cutest thing Bucky had ever seen. He must have been staring for too long though, because you raised a brow at him.  

Bucky cleared this throat, quickly looking away. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck and tried to steer the conversation strictly away from how adorable he found you.  

“Isn’t the point of a book club to read the same book?”

“I suppose,” you shrugged, “but not my book club. The whole point is just to help these guys feel comfortable, give them a moment of peace, even if it’s for an hour once a week. Sometimes we’ll sit around the circle and talk about what we’re reading. Lang’s working really hard to sell the Twilight books to the rest of the group despite being about a decade late to the game. Most times though, we just read, listen to some music. It’s quite nice, actually.”

So that was what Sam meant by unconventional.

“I don’t know the last time I read anything,” Bucky admitted slowly. He could barely get himself to concentrate on a single newspaper article these days, let alone an entire book. He often caught himself staring at the TV and realizing an episode later that he didn’t have a clue what had happened.  

“A lot of the guys take breaks,” you offered, seemingly reading his mind. “That’s what the donuts are for. Oh, and the coffee, of course.”

You jumped up, making your way over to the pots sitting on the table lining the wall. The pots were already filled and he wondered who took the time to do that for you before you even arrived. You were so well liked around here, Bucky found himself wondering if he wasn’t the only one who felt like you could tell him to do just about anything and he’d oblige without question.

“You want some?” you asked, holding up an empty cup, but Bucky shook his head. He was already starting to get warm and adding coffee to the mix wouldn’t help things.  

You didn’t seem to mind as you shrugged off your jacket and draped it by the door. The orange sweater he’d caught a glimpse of under your jacket turned out to be a cardigan. It flowed long down by your thighs, draped over a simple, white tank top and black jeans. Gold jewelry sat over your collarbone and you had a sudden glow about you, like that hour just before sunset.

Golden hour, he realized. That’s what you reminded him of.  

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” you asked, fanning yourself as you set the coffee on the table. “It’s not just me?”

It’s definitely you, Bucky thought. He’d never met anyone who carried such a presence as to melt the icy cold shards planted defensively around his chest. You were the epitome of warmth and kindness and the sweetest damn thing he’d ever seen... but a trail of sweat lined his hairline and he could feel the heat trapped under his jacket.  

“Not you,” Bucky confirmed, brushing at his brow. “It’s hot.”

“Here,” you stood up, holding out a hand to him, “I can take your jacket for you.”

Bucky froze, jaw clenched. He became painfully aware of the empty sleeve on his left side. He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew you must have noticed by now, but taking the jacket off made it obvious that a piece of him was missing, the stub at his shoulder the only thing left in place of an arm he could still feel most days.  

“I’m, uh, I’m okay,” he stuttered out, his eyes falling to the ground, hoping you didn’t notice the flush in his cheeks. He could feel your eyes on him and he was almost certain that if he dared to look up at you, you’d be fixated on his empty sleeve.  

Shame started to burn hot in his chest when suddenly he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck. When he looked in search of you, he found you setting up a fan at the edge of the room, angling it just enough so that it was sure to reach him on every rotation.  

He swallowed as he watched you. You didn’t ask questions or push him to take the jacket off despite being clearly too warm to keep it on. Instead, you offered him a short smile as you sat back on the couch beside him, a little closer this time.  

“Any better?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that's really nice. Thanks.”

You smiled for him and he wondered if he could stay inside that moment forever.  

***

Bucky selected The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Gilman from the stack of books on the table. It surprised you as his hand ghosted over the cover before flipping it over in his palm, a curious look on his features. It was one of your favorites, one not many would choose to pick up in fear of the publishing date in the late 1800s, but it was a short story, one he could finish within the span of the meeting today.  

As he stared down at the unusual yellow pattern on the cover, a frown pushed at his lips as he started to see the strange images hidden under the surface. You found yourself struggling to tear your gaze away from him. With such a reaction to the cover, you couldn’t wait for the end of the meeting just to hear what he thought of the story.  

Soon, the usuals started filtering into the room and you noticed that Bucky had barely said a word as the low hum of small talk and chatter filled the empty space. He kept to himself, perched on the very edge of the couch cushion like he might run at any second as you talked with one of the oldest VA members by the door.  

Upon sensing his discomfort, you quickly made your way back to the couch and you were surprised when you felt the cushion dip a little as he leaned in your direction as if he was using you as anchor; something familiar amongst an unknown. You tried to suppress a smile when he looked at you, but you really liked the idea of being something familiar to him.  

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” you told him quietly, nudging his side playfully with your shoulder. It drew a soft laugh from under his breath and he nodded, gripping tight to the book.  

“Yeah, me too.” He sank back into the couch and relaxed the tension in his body.  

Six on the dot. You turned to the group.  

Tony Stark sat in his usual throne, legs draped over the arm rest, sitting sprawled out over the single chair. Heir to Stark Industries, he’d enlisted himself in rebellion against his own father. He’d ended up in the Air Force for three tours and prided himself on the tattoo on his chest he’d gotten drunkenly off base in his early twenties.  

Natasha Romanoff found her place sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning up against the seat of Tony’s chair. She was a sort of a mystery to you, never spoke a word about her position within the military and how long she served, but she was exceptionally perceptive. Part of you wondered if she was some sort of super spy. Despite becoming a close friend, there was still so little you knew about her history. She rested a pillow in her lap.

Then, there was Scott Lang. He’d found himself in some trouble after his discharge, but he was turning his life around. He had a little girl to stick around for and he was trying desperately to find a job. You suspected his fascination with the Twilight books stemmed more from an unbreakable bond with his daughter than anything else. He took his place on the bean bag chair.  

Clint Barton sat on the table outside the circle. He was a sharp shooter in his time and found more comfort in the distance. He kept to himself and had an exceptionally entertaining habit of making quick remarks under his breath few were fortunate to hear. You were determined to hand him a book with a plot twist not even he could see coming. You resided to put Defending Jacob by William Landay on hold.  

A few others filled out the circle; familiar faces of men and women most would look past on the streets. Dark circles under their eyes, a hardened look about them. Some with tattoos and long beards, other’s draped in leather. Some, you could see the ghost of their former selves in their eyes, but they all seemed to lighten as they sat around the circle.  

A moment of peace. It’s all you could offer and they took it gladly.  

“Hey everyone. We’ve got a newbie in today.” You gestured to Bucky and he slowly lifted his hand in an awkward wave. “This is Bucky. Bucky, this is the group. Play nice.”

“What’s your rank, soldier?” Tony quipped from his chair; legs kicked out over the side. He never had much of a filter, or a sense of restraint. You shot him a glare he didn’t seem to notice, or rather he didn’t care.  

“Sergeant,” Bucky clarified, though you could hear the strain in his voice. He said it as though it burned him, like the very act of the title was painful just to speak.  

“Where’d you serve?”

“Tony, we’re not grilling the new kid today,” you warned, but Bucky cleared his throat.

“Afghanistan mostly.” He curled his hand into a fist, pinching at the pages of The Yellow Wallpaper in his grip. A hardness had swept over most of his features, almost in a protective layer, and you wanted to whack Tony upside the head for stealing the soft undertones in his expression.  

“And the rest?”

Bucky paused, releasing his fist. “Classified.”  

Tony pursed his lips, staring Bucky down over the top lens of his thick rimmed glasses. A testament of wills. A challenge. Then, he nodded, satisfied.  

“Great,” you groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. “Now that Tony here has finished interrogating our newest member, we can get started.”

“Hey, consider it my welcome to the group!” Tony hands thrown defensively in the air. Scott nodded from his couch, remembering his own initiation the day Tony demanded to know the extent of his robbery charges following his discharge.  

You shook your head, smiling spreading back to your lips and you were thankful to find that Bucky had sat back into the couch, relaxing as the attention moved back to you.  

“I think we’ll just spend today reading,” you said. “I’ll put on the playlist Tony recommended – and don’t worry, I did browse through to make sure he didn’t slip any rock anthems in again. We don’t need to give Dr. Selvig down the hall another heart attack when Back in Black starts blaring directly after Yiruma.”

The room laughed and you were purposeful in glancing over at Bucky to see if a smile caught on his lips. It was small, a little uncomfortable as his eyes flickered around the room at the other group members, but he seemed to soften as he landed on you again. You nodded at him.  

“Alright kids, hush up now.” You pressed play and the gentle strokes of a piano began to fill the room. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

You waited until everyone settled in and opened their books. One of the older gentlemen in the back with a long and burly white beard and a leather vest draped over his shoulders set the open novel on his chest and promptly closed his eyes for his weekly nap. You smiled to yourself as you watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the man deserved one decent hour of rest a week, anyway.  

By the time you made your way back to the couch, you noticed Bucky had tensed up again. He was staring down at the book, harsh breaths pressing through his nose as he tried to keep the book propped open with on hand, losing his place as he tried to turn the page. His jaw was clenched so tight you wondered if he’d bite it clean off.  

He didn’t dare ask for help or so much as look in your direction, but it was a determination you’d come to expect from the people you met in these halls. It didn’t mean you couldn’t offer it anyway.  

You quietly opened a drawer at the edge of the room, pushing aside knick knacks and old ketchup packets until you came across a small wooden clip. One of the older members had used it when he was going through extensive PT for his hand and couldn’t pinch his fingers enough to grip the thin slip of the page. You pulled it from the drawer and quickly skirted your way back to the couch beside Bucky.

“Here,” you offered, extending the clip to him as the book fell closed on his lap for the fourth time. He looked up at you, confused. You wondered if he realized how cute he looked when his brows pinched together like that; made him look about ten years younger and wiped the evidence of the war clean off his face.  

You smiled at him. “It holds the pages down for you. Look.”

Gently pulling the book from his lip, you opened to the first page and set the clip at the bottom of the binding. When you released it, the pages stayed open, giving him free range of motion to turn the page without losing his place.  

He blinked a few times as he stared down at the book. It was clear he’d never considered a tool like this and you wondered how many times he had sat down with the intention of reading only to find he couldn’t even turn past the first page. He might have been able to figure out the skill in it if he’d had the patience, but you imagined his own frustration got in the way of that. He seemed to have little patience for himself, as soldiers returning home often did. 

There was a brief moment when the tips of his fingers brushed over yours as you pulled away. His hands were warm, almost feverish in comparison to the chill in your own. A blush warmed his cheeks and his eyes quickly darted down to the pages. Your stomach was in pleasant knots.  

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, a soft semblance of a smile rising sweetly at the edges of his lips.  

You nodded, settling in on the couch beside him and pulling your own book up into your lap. You listened to the gentle strokes of the piano carrying softly through the room until a page turned on your left and then, you let yourself sink into the bindings of the book perched upon your lap.  

***

“So! What did you think?!”

It was the first thing you said as the final group member exited the room. Barely even a footstep out the door and you were already anxiously awaiting his reaction. Bucky was busy pushing the couch back into its original position and he glanced back at you to see you biting nervously on your lip, hands wringing out in front of you. You were swaying onto your tip toes like a kid hyped up on sugar. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.  

“It was... a little creepy at the end?” Bucky chuckled, glancing down at The Yellow Wallpaper as it sat on the coffee table. “The woman went completely mad.”

You nodded vigorously, the smile on your face beaming and he had to watch himself to keep from mirroring your excitement.  

"It’s a critique on how women’s mental health was perceived in the nineteenth century!” you explained with that giddy look on your face, reaching down for the book and flipping the pages through your fingers, the soft brush of wrinkled paper touching over each thumbprint. “Women were believed to be weak minded and frail, unable to handle more than two hours of mental stimulation. The woman in the story was prescribed ‘rest’ by her physician to treat her depression, essentially restricting her to little more than staring at the walls.”  

You rolled your eyes, groaning dramatically, and drawing a smile to Bucky’s face that ached into his cheeks. “Slowly, it drove her to seek stimulation in impossible places, like the image of a woman she saw in the wallpaper! By the end of the story, that’s who she became. Wild, right?”

You shook your head, seemingly lost in astonishment. There was a slight crinkle in your nose when you smiled that wide, Bucky realized, like even the features on your face couldn’t hope to contain the joy bursting from your smile. Radiated like the fucking sun. Bucky was helpless in his stance, frozen, as he listened to you.  

“You know the author once said, ‘it’s not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy,’” you continued, setting the book down with such a gentle touch, almost as if it were a living, breathing thing. You handled it with such care and Bucky began to wonder if you’d ever touch him like that – if he was worth such tenderness.  

The thought startled him and he quickly swallowed it back. Jaw clenched, right hand pressed to a fist in the pocket of his jacket. Stone cold expression. And yet – you were still talking about that book, all starry eyed and adorable, and a smile managed to crack through his lips. It was his new favorite book, he decided. Whatever could make you smile like that was his favorite. He’d sit there and read the fucking phone book if you asked him to.  

“She wrote it in retaliation of her own experience of a physician disregarding her depression. It's actually quite remarkable when you think about it. It's one of the earliest American Feminist works of it’s– ” You froze suddenly, hand clamping over your mouth. You winced at him, slowly pealing your palm away. “Oh God, I’m rambling. I tend to get a little excited about these things... You must be so bored right now.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile as it rose in his cheeks. He liked seeing you so flustered, caught up in a passion he so rarely saw these days. He didn’t know the last time he cared about anything as much as you cared for books. He could have easily listened to you talk like that for hours without interruption.  

“No, no, not bored at all,” he reassured you and you visibly relaxed, relief sweeping through your shoulders. You started to fold up the chairs when Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back. “I, uh, I did like the story, though. Has a lot of relevance today. I see why you like it.”

If he thought you were going to burst before, he should have waited to see how you were looking at him now. Chewing on the inside of your cheek in hopes of suppressing it, though it clearly did little use.  You planted your hands on your hips.  

“Watch what you say, Barnes. I’ll talk your ear off.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m already down an arm, what’s an ear, too?”

The second the words left his lips, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head; drenching his clothes, goosebumps on his ice, sinking into his veins and freezing him to stone. He woken up from a pleasant dream by the harsh ringing of an alarm. He'd been pushed off a cliff, stomach churning in the freefall.  

You knew. Obviously, you knew.  

You weren’t blind and he was certain you could tell there was a startling absence where his left arm should be, even with the poorly camouflaged sleeve hanging off his side. It wasn’t fooling strangers on the street and it certainly didn’t fool you either, even if it gave him an ounce of peace, like maybe he could pretend he was whole again.

But you’d brought him that book clip for a reason.  

You knew.  

At yet, this was the first time he mentioned it aloud. Actually said the words. Drew attention to the fact that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and now he was waiting for you to flinch, for the familiar shades of pity and embarrassment to cloud over your starry eyes, but he waited and waited and – it never came.  

Instead, you started to laugh.  

It filled the room and washed away whatever panic was surging inside of him within a matter of seconds. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard and he wished you didn’t shield your hand over your lips in an effort to contain it because – God – he could have spent his whole life sitting in that moment. Tears in your eyes, a smile on your face, looking at him like he was the man he was before the war, like he was something worth looking at.  

“You’re funny, James Barnes,” you said after you caught your breath again, a whisper of a laugh still lingering in your voice. You brushed the tears from your eyes.  

Bucky’s chest felt instantly lighter. His right hand was swinging down at his side and he brought it up to his hair to brush it from his face.  

“I could use a new book for next week,” he started, a little surprised at himself, and judging by the look in your eyes, it surprised you too. But you were smiling at him and it gave him the courage to continue. “Thought maybe you could help me find something?”

“Really?” you asked, practically glowing. “You’ll come back next week?”

He’d do anything if you kept looking at him like that.  

“Yeah,” was all he said, but you looked as though he told you he’d just told you he won the lottery. Maybe he had.  

“Well then, I’d be happy to! Just, um, hold on a second,” you scrambled around the room, looking for a pen and paper. You clicked a pen a few times before doodling in the corner to get the ink moving. When you were finished, you handed it to him. “These are my hours at the library. Come by anytime, okay? If I’m not up front, ask Mrs. Jefferson to page me. She’ll know who you are.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, staring down at the scribbled numbers. Did you talk about him at work? Butterflies swarmed in his stomach at the thought. He wondered what kinds of things you would say about him.  

“Walk me out?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the rack and gesturing to the door. Bucky looked up, not even realizing the room was already set back in its original formation, the empty box of donuts discarded.  

He nodded, following you to the door.  

“You know, I’m really happy you decided to come today,” you said as you passed into the hallway. Bucky kept an even pace at your side and tried not to let the butterflies in his stomach escape to where you could see.  

“Almost didn’t,” he admitted with a tired chuckle.  

“Figured by the staring contest you were having with the building before the coffee incident.”

Bucky winced, but you were smiling as he looked over at you and he felt the tension slip from his muscles instantly. “I am sorry about that...”

“Maybe you can just owe me a coffee,” you suggested casually, as if the prospect of spending time together, just the two of you didn’t make the butterflies crawl a little further up into his chest. “A real one. Not the shitty stuff we serve at the VA.”

Bucky swallowed, pushing the creatures back into his stomach. His throat was dry. “I can do that.”  

He pictured sitting across from you at a café, watching your hands curl around the outside of a mug, the steam of it brushing on your nose. Glistening in the reflection of the sunlight peaking through the windows, draped in the glow of the sunset. He’d buy you a thousand coffees.  

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon then?”

Bucky looked around and realized suddenly that he was standing outside. The cold breeze had turned into a frigid autumn chill with the sun nearly set behind the skyline. Peaks of orange remained at the horizon, mimicking the colors in your sweater. When he looked down, he could still see the stain of coffee on the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, determined to push past whatever doubt etched into his way. It faded in an instant as he saw your lips curve up high into your cheeks. “I’ll see you soon.”

[live-the-fangirl-life]

fixing their jacket collar or hood for anyone :) congratulations on 700 again and i hope u have the loveliest of lovely days

You Better Beleaf It

Elide Lochan x Lorcan Salvaterre - Autumn Leaves

Elide drags Lorcan out to look at the changing leaves. He’ll deny it if you ask, but he enjoyed himself.

I know it took me a while to answer this but I thought it'd be a perfect little autumn fic 🍁 I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warnings: Language

1898 words

*******

“Remind me again why we’re out here?” Lorcan drawled from beside her.

Elide rolled her eyes but continued to take pictures of the trees.

They’d both had the day off and she insisted they drive over to the nature reserve to look at the changing leaves. They’d parked on the side of a quiet road and had spent the last twenty minutes enjoying the views and the breeze.

She knew that as much as he was complaining, her boyfriend was just as happy to be out here with her. Okay, maybe not as happy, Autumn was her favorite season after all and she would admit that maybe, possibly she something went a little overboard in her obsession with the season.

But how could she not love the way all the coffee shops started smelling like pumpkin and caramel, or how she could wear her (and Lorcan’s) flannel and leather as much as she wanted, or how the leaves on the trees became such beautiful, bright colors.

Not to mention being able to deck their entire apartment out in Halloween décor. She’d lost count of how many bats, pumpkins, and ghosts now littered their walls and rooms.

And a lot of it was black, so Lorcan felt right at home.

“We’re out here,” she told him again, “because the leaves are changing color and it’s a beautiful day.”

He rolled his eyes but kept her hand snug in his. “But why are you taking so many pictures?” he asked as she lifted her phone to get a better angle of a canopy of trees. He waved his free hand around at the leaves. “This happens every year, are your thousands of pictures today going to look different form the thousands you took last year? Or yesterday?”

Elide halted and used her grip on Lorcan’s hand to pull him to a stop. “First of all, its magical so shut up.” She ginned as he loosed a long-suffering sigh. “Second of all,” she pressed herself closer to Lorcan and spun the phone around as she reached out a hand and attempted to take a selfie of the two of them, “it is different because this particular picture isn’t in my batch from last year. Or yesterday.”

She flicked through her phone to see the photo she just took and frowned.

“What?” Lorcan asked, stepping behind her to rest his chin on top of her head. “not up to your postable standards?”

She laughed and leaned farther back into his warm chest. “Look at it,” she showed him the photo. “The top of your head is cut off and the part of your face that I can see is frowning. And the lighting wasn’t great.”

She felt more than heard his chest rumble as he chuckled. “That’s what happens, El, when you try to use your tiny arm to get us both in the photo.”

She huffed and pressed her phone into his hand. “It’s not my fault you’re a giant.”

“No,” he brought his mouth down towards her ear and she shivered as his breath caressed her skin. “But you love it.” She could feel him smirking.

She was grinning but squeezed his arms as she said, “I’d love it even more you used your obscenely long arms to take a picture of the two of us.”

Lorcan nipped at her ear but took the phone from her and opened the camera. He took a sweet photo of the two of them, Elide pressed against his chest with one arm wrapped around her and the other holding the phone, with the brilliant reds and golds of the leaves behind them.

“Come on, Lor, smile for the camera!” She watched him roll his eyes through the camera screen, but his lips lifted to form a small half-smile. He clicked the button a few more times.

Just as Elide was ready to take her phone back, she caught a wicked gleam in his eye. She narrowed her eyes, but he’d already used his grip around her waist to hoist her in the air and up into his arms. She squealed at the sudden movement and felt him laugh at her reaction. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she sheard the click of her phone again.

Lorcan grinned as he set her back on her feet and handed her the phone.

“Babe, these are perfect,” she beamed before gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss.

“Good,” he muttered while draping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “Now can we just walk without taking a picture every two steps?”

Elide rolled her eyes but wrapped her arm around Lorcan's waist and letting her hand slide into his back pocket. “I’ll put it away for now, but I won’t promise I won’t be taking any more.”

They followed the pavement until it ended, then continued through the grass-covered path. The sun was moving across the sky and beams of sunlight filtered through the colorful leaves. At one point, Lorcan helped her over a particular tall log before they found a stream weaving through the reserve.

“Hang on a minute, I want to wash some of this gunk off my hands.” She told him as she approached the water. She’d tried pushing a branch out of her way only to get a handful of wet mud probably left by some animal scampering up the tree.

Elide quickly rinsed her hands off, hissing at how icy the water felt. As hastily as she could, she plucked her hands out and dried them on her sweater.

Unfortunately, the frigid water only made her realize how chilly the evening had become. She and Lorcan had been walking long enough that the sun was starting to set, and the wind had picked up, leaving her still-damp hands to freeze.

Lorcan was sitting on the edge of a large rock and looked up from his phone as she walked back towards him. “Better?”

“Mhmm.” She agreed, stepping in between his spread legs. “But I think we should head back.”

He smirked and gripped her hips, pulling her closer. “Oh really? Have you finally had enough of the trees?”

“Don’t mock me.” She glared at him, but it lacked any real anger. An involuntary shiver racked through her body and she clenched her teeth as she said, “It’s cold, let's go back. It’s gonna take us a while to walk to the car.”

She made to step out of his grip, but he held her tighter, frowning as she kept shivering. His hands left her hips and started rubbing up and down her arms, trying to help her warm up. “Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve turned back a while ago.”

She reached up and brushed a finger over the furrowed skin at his brow, loving the feeling of his large hands roaming over her body. “I didn’t notice it before.” She said, rolling her eyes.

He pulled his phone out and glanced at the clock. His frown deepened. “We’ve got at least an hour of walking if we don’t stop for anymore pictures.” He told her and raised a brow in question.

She huffed but nodded. “Fine, no more pictures.”

Lorcan put his phone back in his pocket and chuckled. “You’re the one who’s cold, if you want to stop it’ll just take longer to get back to the car.”

She hummed in agreement. “I’m looking forward to those heated seats.”

He flashed her a small grin before nudging her backward so he could stand from the rock. The second his hands left her body, she started shivering again which only brought Lorcan’s frown back in full force.

“Here.” He unzipped and shrugged off his jacket and before she could protest and swung it around to hang off her shoulders.

“Lor, I don’t want to take your jacket.” She protested, but it came out weak as she already felt the warmth seep back into her.

He raised a brow and his lips quirked up at her half-assed refusal. “I think I can survive the chill,” he held the coat as she maneuvered each of her arms into the far-too-long sleeves. “You, on the other hand, are already shaking so hard I can hear your teeth chattering.”

Lorcan waited until she got the jacket zipped before helping her roll up the sleeves. It was almost comical how much longer his arms were then here, and she told him as much. He just rolled his eyes.

Finally, his hands traced up her arms and over her shoulders to flip down the collar of the jacket that had gotten rumpled.

Lorcan met her stare, his hands still clutching the edges of the collar, and used his grip to pull her closer towards him. Their lips crashed together and Elide moved her hands to wrap around his middle, pulling him flush against her.

One of his hands moved to her hair, weaving his fingers through it to help tilt her head to a better angle. Her hands came to rest of his ass and he smirked into the kiss as she gave a squeeze.

He laughed as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Really, Lochan?”

Elide grinned and squeezed again. “Get me back home and I’ll let you do more than that to me.” She winked as his smirk widened.

“You think you can wait that long?” he snaked a hand down her back until it rested over her ass. She opened her mouth to reply but he brought his hand down in a light slap that made her choke on her words. He grinned even wider.

She pulled away and smirked as she held out her hand for him. “Come on, Salvaterre. Before I freeze and you end up with an icicle for a girlfriend.”

Lorcan huffed a laugh but grabbed her hand and pulled her back into his side as they started to walk towards their car.

“An icicle would spend less time taking pictures.” He teased.

She gasped. “I’m going to do you a favor and pretend you didn’t say that.”

Once they got back on the paved path Lorcan asked, “So, did the leaves live up to your expectations? Or do I have another scenic tour to dread.”

“Oh hush,” she poked his stomach. “don’t pretend like you didn’t have a good time. You can tell everyone else that you spent the afternoon brooding as your girlfriend selfishly dragged you through a horrendous afternoon,” she rolled her eyes, “but I have proof that you enjoyed yourself.”

“Proof? Is that right?” he raised a brow but grinned down at her.

“See!” She pointed at his grin. “That right there. I have proof of that.”

Lorcan grunted but squeezed her a little tighter. “Oh?”

Elide patted the pocket of her—Lorcan’s—jacket that held her phone. “I have photographic evidence that the mean, grumpy, brutish Lorcan Salvaterre,’ she paused dramatically, “smiles.”

He shook his head and laughed at her excited grin.

“Not only that,” she went on, “but proof that he had fun while looking at autumn leaves.” She gasped mockingly.

“Ha ha.” he deadpanned. “You’re hilarious.”

Her grin turned feline, and her eyes twinkled before she said, “You better beleaf it.”

His groan and her laughter echoed through the trees as they finally got back to their car.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

[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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 4/?: Soothe

Sasuke arrives outside her building shortly before seven in the morning, an ubiquitous aubade sung by birds, polished and practiced for many years, lilting into his ears along the way. The village for the most part is still slowly awakening from its slumber; no merchants in the streets yet, and he only passes a few people here and there as light slowly seeps higher into the sky.

He carefully pushes open the glass door of the exterior portion of her complex, making sure to keep it quiet in case her neighbors are still asleep. As he goes up the stairs, he notices that all of the downstairs tenants’ lights are on, emanating from beneath the trio of entryways. Once he reaches the upper landing, he sees that Sakura’s light is on, too, though her other two neighbors' are not.

The doors of each unit are all painted different colors. Hers is sage green; he hadn’t been able to discern that previously, with the desaturation that night brings.

He's wondering if maybe he should knock to let her know he’s here, but then she emerges a few minutes early, beautiful and bright-eyed and full of life, pale yellow sunshine coating her from the large window with diamond patterning behind him.

She seems pretty awake already; she must be an early riser. She's carrying her tote bag again, and today she wears a dark skirt with a red top, along with a familiar pair of knee-high sandals. She's also wearing a smile, directed upwards at him.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she acknowledges him softly, looking very happy to see him.

"...Morning." He keeps his voice low, because it is still a little hoarse. He tries to memorize her eyes again in the span of seconds before she turns to lock her door behind her.

It's 6:58 by the time they're out the glass door, her leading the way. They take the main road west a few blocks before turning to go north, this time. There are several more buildings that appear residential on her street. One of them has vines creeping up the sides, starting to bud after the warmer spring weather. He notes there is also a bakery on the corner, not open yet, but one that seems like the kind to also sell confections. He wonders if that factored into her apartment selection at all; he remembers she has a sweet tooth.

It is an easy silence they share on the walk there, bird calls lulling in as background noise again. There are more of them now, a more layered song than earlier, with a wider variety of voices filtering in and out.

Sakura leads them to a very small tea shop within five minutes of the hospital; it is quaint and simple, definitely not modern. It is also quite small, with only four or so small tables situated by windows, looking out towards the street. The entire establishment utilizes a spread of cinnamon-colored wood for its surfaces; floors, counters, and the shelving in the back, laden with neatly-labeled teas of several varieties in glass jars. He assumes the larger jars are store stock, with the smaller ones higher up on the shelves being available for purchase for use at home, if one decides they like a particular flavor enough.

He finds he likes the atmosphere. He figured he would. It's not a formal place, but rather one where you retrieve what you've ordered from the counter and can choose whether to stay or go. He supposes that makes sense; it’s closer to the busier part of the village. There appears to be a small area to the left of the counter where one can add cream, sugar, lemon, or honey, though he knows he won't. He vaguely remembers that she used to take lemon and sugar in her tea, and possibly cream, depending on the brew. Honey seems like something Sakura would like, too, now that he’s thinking about it.

He scans the menu briefly upon entering before deciding something hot with caffeine would probably be best. Sencha green tea is usually what he gravitates toward. He also enjoys black tea during cooler weather, and jasmine occasionally, though not often; it had been his mother’s favorite.

Once he orders, he says, "Hers, too," and glances back towards Sakura expectantly. She looks at him with a blush that rivals the color of her hair when she realizes he's offering to pay for hers.

"Oh! Um, lavender matcha. Hot, please."

His lips quirk upwards a little, because that is possibly the most Sakura thing she could have ordered.

It doesn’t take very long until it’s ready, as they’re not busy; they are the only ones there, thus far. He takes a sip while idling by the end of the counter as he watches her add honey and cream into hers, stirring carefully. It is one of the better blends of sencha he’s had, aside from a particular place nestled on the edge of the Land of Mountains, where he’s pretty sure the elderly woman who ran the place harvested the tea straight from her private garden. He had pilgrimaged there a total of five times on his journey, months scattered like the seasons in between.

It was an odd teahouse, more formal than this one and off the beaten path, not near any major landmarks, nor plotted on any map he’d seen before or after. The lady, who had wizened eyes of a crystal clear blue, slightly lighter in hue than Naruto’s, had served the brews in eclectic and sometimes chipped mugs and teacups, from which he had assumed after multiple visits must be a fairly vast collection. The china was different every time, but he had liked the tea itself so much he kept coming back, if he was anywhere near the area. Twice he had been the only customer there, the first two visits occurring during early morning hours, and there was something extremely cathartic about sitting at the table in the far corner, looking out the window as the sun rose higher in the sky until it no longer skimmed the horizon and the mountains in the distance.

The other three visits had occurred during the afternoon, so there had been at least one or two other people present, at those times. He had noticed that third time that other patrons were served out of much different teacups than he was; he had secretly suspected, after that, that the woman tried to match the stoneware from her collection to whatever she saw in her patrons.

There had been a father sitting with his daughter, who had looked to be around six or seven, on his third visit. The father’s teacup had been robust, solid with carved detail that appeared to have been created with something like a miniature chisel, and an earthenware glaze mix of green and russet, strangely looking similar to the color of seaweed. The daughter’s had been a smaller cup, dainty finery of opalescent sky blue, with a similar mother of pearl finish coating the inside. The girl had quickly drained her glass once she realized the inside was pretty, too; she had spent the rest of the time there in awe of its beauty, turning it in the light as her father watched with soft eyes, enjoying his own cup more slowly. Sasuke had thought it must have been an expensive teacup, not necessarily what you’d typically give a child that young, but the girl hadn’t chipped or broken it. Instead, she had been enamored by its beautiful finish, even more enthralled with the inside than she had been with the outside, and had handled it with great care.

He never saw the same cup twice, for him or any other customer there. He had hoped by the third and fourth time that this was a good sign, that it meant progress. Once he figured it out, he wished he’d examined the first two cups, near five months apart, with greater care; he had thought there might have been a lesson there he had missed. His first teacup, from what he remembered, had been rather plain: rounded, no handle, slightly hard to grip, a shiny black glaze with a burnt orange rim. The second time, he’d been served the sencha in another black piece of china, though this one must have been fired differently; there was no glaze at the very bottom of the outer portion of the vessel, bare toasted clay in an oatmeal color. Carved designs on the outer portion of the piece had nearly melted glaze off it, allowing for the viewer to see the true color of the clay body beneath, creating an effect of brushstrokes in the third dimension, rippling out of the darkness. That one had had a chip at the top, but it hadn’t compromised the structural integrity of the piece, and was easily avoided simply by sipping from the undamaged side.

The third cup had taken him off guard in its uniqueness, and is what had caused him to look to the girl and her father. He had analyzed theirs, and then his own cup closely for a long time that day, thinking. Still no handle, but it had been a bit more narrow, as well as taller, easier to grip. The glaze design was fascinating, a thick glossy black base coat overlaid with a strange dissolving mixture of sapphire and indigo. It had reminded him of a night sky in the middle of nowhere, tiny amounts of galaxy blues and violets barely visible to the naked eye in their sheer scope and complexity. The glaze itself also only covered around two thirds of the vessel, at an asymmetrical angle, with the remaining half left unglazed, as if it hadn’t dripped down to be fully covered yet because the artist had liked the way it looked as is.

When he went back for a fourth cup several months later, the lady had given him an entirely too knowing look, and served his tea in a somewhat misshapen mug, this time with a handle. The handle was awkward, too small, and slightly malformed; the mug’s overall shape seemed as though it may have been an artist’s first attempt, shoddily trimmed and uneven in many places. The glaze design itself was mesmerizing, though, something like a gradient this time, shifting from splattering black to sepia to a lighter color, akin to the inside of a water chestnut. It was almost as if the cup had been constructed by a beginner and then drenched in magisterial color by a master. The sencha had tasted just as good from that cup as it had from any of the others, despite the challenge of grasping it with any semblance of comfort.

The last cup had been only a few months ago: well-designed, with a near perfect handle, easy to hold. The foot and interior of the mug was a smoky gray, well-trimmed, but the exterior body of it was a white raku crackle, twisting patterns of scale-like ivory and black outlines, small dots sprinkled in between where the unevenness of the heat must have interfered in the firing process.

When he reached the very bottom of the vessel, having finished his tea, it had been gilded gold, metallic and astonishingly bright, catching the light of the sun coming through the farthest window, where he sat in the corner alone.

He had sat there staring at it for the better portion of an afternoon. It was a peculiar artistic choice.

This sencha is good, too, he thinks as he takes another sip, here with Sakura, also at a table in the farthest corner, looking out another window. Herbaceous, earthy, and light, and in a cup that matches hers. It feels cleansing on his sore throat, corrosion, not too hot but not lukewarm, either; a rather perfect medium between mellow and astringent. It is a nice way to greet the break of day.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun," she murmurs, after they’ve been seated for a few seconds.

He nods; she’s still flushed as she says it. He can see it better now, in the bright light of the window. He takes another sip, and continues to enjoy looking at her.

“How is yours?” She asks.

“...I like it.” He considers his next words. “You didn’t add lemon.”

Her lips quirk upward, dimple appearing. “It doesn’t go the best with the lavender. They only have this kind on hand for the springtime.” She pauses, then adds, “I still put lemon in pretty much all my tea, otherwise.”

Sasuke inclines his head again, and she takes another sip.

They sit there for a while in a comfortable silence, watching more of the village wake up and people pass by from the window, on their way to work and other responsibilities. There are two small birds across the street, perched on the awning over an apartment building’s entrance. Finches, he deduces by their plumage and size. Perhaps they are looking for a mixture of materials with which to build a nest.

“It’s a good place to just sit and watch, in the morning,” Sakura mentions after a while, still looking out the window contentedly.

“...Is that your favorite thing about it?”

She meets his eyes, then, and smiles. “One of them.”

He looks at her expectantly, so she continues. “The tea itself is good. It’s close to the hospital, and I like... “ Her voice trails off, and she glances over at the station where she added cream and honey, lips still turned upwards. “I like that they don’t overfill the cup; it makes it easier to add what it needs.”

A ghost of a smile overtakes him. Practical, as always.

Sasuke finds himself contemplating what kind of teacup the elderly lady would give Sakura, if he took her there.

XXX

"You're a little on the skinny side for your height, now," Sakura notes as she writes down his information on the form he's given her, stepping off the scale; 163 pounds. "Not unhealthy, necessarily, but you should try to put on some weight."

They are at the hospital, in an exam room this time instead of her office. Her voice has shifted to something more professional, and Sasuke knows he is now with Sakura the clinician, though her affection is still an undercurrent in the way she's looking at him carefully with warm eyes. She’s already measured his height, and has his paperwork from his last physical to compare it to; apparently he’s grown another two inches since then.

He hopes he’s done growing, in that regard. It doesn’t seem likely that she’ll grow any taller; she’s twenty now, and they already have a considerable height difference. He doesn’t know how tall she is, exactly. He must hover over her by at least six or seven inches.

"Okay," He responds, because he trusts her judgment. Being away and mulling on his failures never gave him much of an appetite. Being back in Konoha hasn't much either, so far, but he can try. “How much?”

She looks somewhat surprised that he asked. “160 to 196 pounds is considered a normal range for six feet; I’d start with ten, and then evaluate from there.”

He nods. Her eyes linger on him, as if she’s contemplating saying something more. When she turns to set down her clipboard and grab the cuff typically used to measure blood pressure, he thinks she must have decided against it, whatever it was. He goes to sit in the patient’s chair, familiar with the routine at this point. He's gotten a physical near every year of his life that he’s spent in Konoha.

She sits on the wheeled chair that’s next to the desk, rolling it closer to him. He extends his right arm, and as she carefully adjusts the cuff, she tells him, tone casual, “You’ve got an inch on Naruto, now.”

There is a very stupid and juvenile part of him that takes immense satisfaction in this news, but she doesn’t look like she’s finished speaking yet. He waits for the rest.

She smiles apologetically. “He’s got about fifteen pounds on you, though. There’s some motivation for you.”

He pins her with a pointed stare, unimpressed but also a little amused. Motivation, indeed.

Her expression turns somewhat guilty, now. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist. I did his about a month ago; he came back from a mission with a cracked rib, and it needed to be updated.”

She starts increasing the pressure, and he suddenly becomes aware that she is closer to him than before, by the nature of the operation of the equipment. He had become aware of her physical proximity at roughly this point in the exam the last time, too.

He’s thankful it doesn’t seem to affect his blood pressure. “105 over 70; good,” she concludes, before reaching to remove the cuff from his arm. Her fingertips make brief contact with his skin, this time, and he has to fight an urge to shiver, even though they’re warm.

She picks up her pen to input this information in the appropriate slot, then sets it aside and puts away the cuff. When she turns back to him, she says, “Heart rate is next. Hold out your wrist, please.”

He holds out his right arm again, letting his elbow rest on the surface of the desk this time. Both of her hands come to grip his single one, lightly and carefully feeling for his pulse. He tries to hold very still, and to not think about how soft her hands are. He distracts himself by preoccupying his gaze with the clock on the wall behind her. It feels like a very long thirty seconds, though he knows by watching the hand tick that it’s actually not.

She doesn’t vocalize what the number is, just removes her hands finally and reaches for the pen to fill it in on the paper. He wonders if it was elevated.

“Heart and lungs next.” She reaches for the stethoscope, positioning it in her ears before leaning in to listen to his heart first, over his shirt. He looks to the ceiling.

It doesn’t take very long. “Sounds good. Lungs, next.” She gets up and comes around the chair slightly behind him. He shifts to pull the back portion of his shirt up to his shoulder; he remembers this from the last exam, too.

“It’ll be cold; I’m sorry,” she warns gently, before pressing the instrument to his back. She is nothing but professional as she asks him to take a few deep breaths. Routine, and very careful not to touch his skin with anything but the diaphragm of the stethoscope, cool metal.

It feels… different than the last exam. He had been a little on edge during this part, then, too, even though she was nothing but professional then, as well.

He is just… very aware that she is behind him, and that his shirt is pulled up, and she’s listening to him breathe and can see the skin of his back. And that he's kissed her.

The coolness slips away after a short amount of time. “Lung function sounds good.” He pulls his shirt back into place, feeling a faint sense of relief as he does so. She goes back to document her findings on the paperwork.

She then lays the stethoscope back in its appropriate place. Scanning the page, she asks, “Any issues with your hearing?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Sasuke responds. She dips her head in acknowledgement, filling in that box with what he assumes is non-applicable.

“Sense of smell?”

He recalls raspberries and antiseptic. “No.” She fills another box.

“Sinus or lymph node issues?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m assuming you’ve used the Sharingan and Rinnegan since last time, so I’ll look at your eyes towards the end.”

He nods, and she reaches for a light instrument to use to look at his throat, as well as one of the wooden sticks from a glass jar in the corner. “Throat next,” she says, flicking the light on.

He tries not to furrow his brow. He wasn't looking forward to this part.

He opens his mouth for the wood, reedlike and firm against his tongue, and then she’s shining the light in and frowning.

“Say ah, please.”

He complies, feeling quite undignified, though he knows it’s necessary and just part of her job. She removes the stick after a second, setting the flashlight instrument aside, and he closes his mouth.

"Teeth and gums look good, and your tonsils look fine, but your throat looks a little raw. Have you been sick recently?"

"Yes." It is technically the truth, though not in a viral sense.

She looks thoughtful as she’s making a note on her clipboard. “Within the past week?”

He nods. She must see him from the corner of her eye, because then she asks, while still writing, “Any other symptoms? Cough? Does it feel sore?”

“No.” He pauses, then clarifies. “No cough. A little sore. Not bad.”

Verdant eyes flick up to him for a long moment. He feels somewhat guilty; even if he knows the truth, she might be thinking right now that he’s been irresponsible, that he may have given her an illness via kissing.

She breaks eye contact eventually, and sets the pen down, standing to open the uppermost cupboard door in the exam room. His brow furrows, until she’s pulling down a small box that he sees has cough drops in them.

“We only have mixed berry; they’ll be kind of sweet, but it should help. Take a few for later, and put one in now, please.”

Sasuke blinks, and then takes a handful. He puts all but one in his pocket, and then unwraps the one left in his hand, putting it in his mouth, as she asked.

She arches to put the box back in the cupboard, and he forces himself to look elsewhere.

It does feel good on his throat, soothing. “...Thank you,” he says after a few more seconds, as she makes another note on his form.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. Then, back to clinical Sakura. “Any other issues? Abdominal, neurological?”

“No.”

She flips the page. “Infectious disease screening questions are next. Obviously you’ve traveled outside the village in the past 21 days, but have you been outside of Fire Country in that time?”

He thinks. “Rain, about thirteen days ago. Wind, 19 days ago.”

Sakura inclines her head, and writes in the information. He notices she keeps her eyes trained on the questionnaire now. “Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person with measles, mumps, or chickenpox in that time period?”

“No.” She checks the 'no' box.

“Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person or source in that time period for any of the following: botulism, diphtheria, E. coli, encephalitis, hemorrhagic fever, hepatitis, influenza, listeriosis, malaria, meningitis, pneumonia, rabies, severe acute respiratory syndrome, smallpox, or yellow fever?”

“No.” He watches her check several 'no' boxes.

“Have you, to your knowledge, had close contact with a person in that time period who may have exposed you to any sexually transmitted infections?”

He’s glad she’s looking at the paper still, even if that answer is obvious. “No.” She checks several more 'no' boxes.

“And you didn’t have a fever earlier.” She checks another 'no' box. “And sore throat, but no shortness of breath at any point?”

“No.”

“Vomiting or diarrhea?”

“...Vomiting, yes,” he answers honestly. “No to the second.”

She nods, as if she knew that already from looking at his throat. She probably did. She’s good at what she does.

“Any kind of rash?”

“No.”

That’s the last question on the page, so she turns to the next one.

“Next is bloodwork. We’ll do a cholesterol screening, in regards to heart health, and then we’ll also do a general workup and run it for any infectious diseases. I don’t think we’ll find anything if it’s just the vomiting and resulting sore throat, but better safe than sorry.”

She then starts getting out the necessary supplies with which to get a blood sample. It doesn’t take very long; he holds out his right arm again, and Sakura finds the vein easily. “You’ll feel a pinch.” Within sixty seconds it’s over, and she’s pressing and holding the cotton to the dot of red before taping over it, a small pressure dressing.

“Leave that on for a few hours, please,” she advises, and he nods to indicate that he will. She makes quick work of labeling the blood sample, and sets it aside with the clipboard, he assumes for the end of the appointment.

She scribbles in a few more comments on the sheet, he assumes for whoever is running the tests. “Okay, just eyes and arm left. We’ll do eyes first. Any deterioration in vision that you’ve noticed?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll shine the light to check your pupils quick before I use chakra to look at them.” She grabs a different light tool, a penlight, and turns it on, before looking at him expectantly.

He blinks, curious what she’s waiting for, and then she asks softly, “Could you move your hair out of the way, please?”

Oh. He complies, and she shines the light in one eye, moving it slightly and monitoring the progress. She then does the same to his Rinnegan.

“Reactivity is good; no signs of defect.” She sets the penlight back where it belongs, then makes a note in his paperwork indicating that. Then she’s shifting her chair a tiny bit closer, so she can reach his eyes with her hands.

“Do you have a preference, which one I start with?” She asks. He shakes his head. “Okay; I’ll check the right eye first.” She reaches out with her left hand, pressing her thumb above his eye over his eyebrow, and her other four fingers lightly to his temple, just next to his eye socket.

Sasuke tries not to dwell on how close she is again as green chakra drizzles into his ocular system; he keeps his vision trained forward, as he knows he’s supposed to as she examines. There is a freckle on her right ear that he remembers focusing on, the last time; he does this time, too.

Around thirty seconds passes, before she informs him, “I’m going to funnel some chakra into the retina and optic nerve here; there’s some damage.”

He had suspected there might be, though his vision has not suffered; mostly there was just a bit of pain, sometimes. He hasn’t overworked it by any means, but he hasn’t completely abstained from using it since he’d last been healed by her, either. “Okay.”

The flow of her chakra works its way deeper, more of it now. This part has always relaxed him; her chakra really is quite calming, careful and gentle, threading its way behind his eye and wrapping around the nerve.

She works for about five minutes before the chakra starts to let up.

“...There. That should be a little better,” she says before lifting her hand from his right. “Look up, down, please.”

He complies.

“Left to right, now.” He does. “Good. Does it feel okay?”

He nods, meeting her eyes again finally. It feels stronger, no pain. He decides to verbalize that, even though he’s already nodded. “It’s better. Thank you.”

She smiles at him. “Good.” Then she’s detailing whatever she’s supposed to detail in the paperwork, before setting the pen down again.

“Left eye now.”

She repeats the process, frowning again. “There’s some damage here, too. I’ll fix it.”

This time, it takes longer; not quite ten minutes, but fairly close. He tries to focus on the wall behind her.

He had asked her once, when she was healing him following the war, if it used a lot of chakra. She had said not necessarily, but it depended on the level of damage. She also told him that it was moreso a delicate process, requiring careful manipulation, so he has tried not to talk during any healing sessions since.

When her hand finally pulls away, he’s gotten so used to the contact that it feels like a loss.

“Look up, down, please,” she requests again. Then left to right.

“Function looks good. How does it feel?”

“Better. Thank you.”

She smiles at him gently, just Sakura again for a second, before turning back to the form to finish the optical section.

Then, she turns the page. “Arm is last. Could you please roll up your sleeve to your shoulder?” He grabs his empty left sleeve with his right arm and starts shifting it upwards, rolling it so that it stays put once it’s to the top.

She touches the end of what’s left of the limb with careful fingers, soft but steady on marred skin and scar tissue. “I’ll look with chakra in a second, but any redness that you’ve noticed?”

“No.” He shifts his gaze forward, because her fingertips really are softer than he remembers.

“Any areas that occasionally feel warmer than is typical?”

He shakes his head.

“Swelling of any kind?”

“No.”

“Have you been stretching it as instructed?”

He meets her eyes, then. “Yes.” He wants her to know he listens to her recommendations.

Soft jade, and she’s smiling again. She moves her hands away momentarily, and grabs the clipboard with the papers, checking several boxes as he has indicated. He looks back forward.

“Any phantom limb pain?”

“Sometimes.”

“Residual limb pain?”

“...Sometimes.”

Her gaze flicks upward. “If you had to rate it on a scale, one being hardly anything and ten being the worst?”

“...Usually two or three.” He pauses, and she waits. “...Sometimes four or five.”

“How often, for the worst of it?”

He thinks. “Maybe twice or three times a month.” It’s a bit more often than that, but not by a lot.

She notes it on the paper; that must be a normal range. “Alright. I’ll check with chakra, now.” Her fingers come back to his stump, touching more firmly now. Green chakra starts to thread its way in.

Sakura frowns, after a second. “Nerve endings are a little inflamed. I’ll fix it.” The flow of her chakra increases, and he feels almost instant relief; he supposes it still hurt, faintly. Maybe he just got used to it. “Has it hurt in the last day or so?”

“...Late last night.”

She nods, as if that makes sense. “It won’t take too long. Maybe five minutes.”

He inclines his head just barely, not wanting to move while she’s working.

“You should let me know if it hurts again,” she suggests quietly, after a moment. “It doesn’t take much to fix.”

“...Okay.”

There is a comfortable silence for a few minutes as she works. He feels the chakra start to dilute a little towards the end of it.

“I’m going to stop my chakra and manually massage the tissue, now. It should help prolong the effect.”

He feels her chakra dissipate. She has done this to him before, throughout the rehabilitation process following the war; it was more important then, she’d said, to develop tolerance to touch and pressure of the residual limb. It had hurt, the first few times, but later in the healing process, he had secretly enjoyed it; it made it hurt much less, and the process itself felt… nice.

He had privately wondered what it would feel like on his back.

It elicits the same response now, too, kneading fingertips gradually increasing pressure to access deeper tissue, helping to work away pain that has lived there for a while.

"You wear your hair differently now," she comments after an incredibly nice period of time, still pressing tenderly in little circles, though the pressure is starting to taper off now, since they’re getting towards the end of five minutes; that was roughly the time she would do back then. Since there’s no chakra anymore, it must require less of her concentration.

He realizes he hasn’t shifted his hair back into place yet, then. He takes a moment, then responds quietly, furtively, "Most people dislike looking at the Rinnegan."

She doesn’t respond right away; just finishes massaging the end of his stump, then removes her hands to pick up her pen.

"Not me," she murmurs softly as she makes her final notations.

His heart flips in his chest, and he feels his face grow warm. He's glad she's focusing on the forms, so she can't see the effect her words have had.

The lozenge has dissolved fully, and his throat isn't as sore.

XXX

Sasuke goes to the Hokage’s office, after, to see if the dobe is there. He has some time to kill before lunch, and he wants to take him up on his offer to spar at some point, given that his eyes are freshly healed. Now that he knows Sakura’s schedule for the next few days, he can fill the rest of his time with whatever else. He’ll see her tomorrow at four, at the hospital, and then at Ichiraku’s on Saturday, and then for a bit after, too; they still need to confirm an actual time for that with Naruto and Kakashi. He assumes Sunday and Monday must be her days off. If they’re not, she works too much. He’s going to ask her tomorrow, he thinks.

Oddly, he finds only Kakashi in his office.

“Ah, Sasuke. Good morning,” he greets as he walks through the doors.

“...Morning.”

The copy ninja sizes him up with a single eye for a long moment, as if considering what to ask him. Sasuke braces himself.

"You got your physical done."

Sakura had said after the bloodwork was complete, she’d drop off the paperwork for him. "...I did."

"It went well, I assume."

"...It did."

"Wonderful," he says quietly, sounding pensive.

There is a very long pause.

“And the date, with Sakura this morning, before that? That went well, also?”

Sasuke deliberates. There is no teasing lilt to his old sensei's voice this time, just genuine curiosity, so he answers honestly, even though his neck warms and he doesn’t quite appreciate being spied on. “...It did.”

Kakashi gives him one of the widest and most genuine smiles he has ever seen him wear, beneath the mask.

“Wonderful,” the copy ninja says again, this time teeming clearly with pride and meaning.

“...Yeah.” Sasuke agrees, looking anywhere but at him.

Kakashi shuffles a few papers around his desk, and starts talking again, as if Sasuke has not just admitted to something he’s sure their sensei had suspicions about for the better portion of eight years. “Well, Naruto’s not here; I’m assuming that’s who you were looking for. Hinata’s leaving for a mission later today, around one, so I gave him the day off. I kind of assumed he’d use the opportunity to seek you out for a spar in the afternoon, after she leaves. He was going on about it yesterday, along with a Team Seven dinner on Saturday night; sounds like that will be at six.”

Sasuke just blinks, gears turning still; the scroll from yesterday is still on the desk, so he's not sure why he'd grant Naruto another day off so easily.

Kakashi further clarifies, smile shifting into something more sly. “I wouldn’t go over there before a little after one, if I were you.”

His first thought is oh, and he feels rather stupid. His next thought is gross. His old sensei is grinning, as if his reaction amuses him; he must have made some kind of face that belayed his internal thought process.

“Ah, love requited and besotten newlyweds. What a time." Sasuke's neck burns again, because he realizes after a second that the ‘love requited' portion of that is referring to Sakura and himself. Kakashi's moving on, though. "Anyway, now that I’ve given you too much information…” His voice trails off, and he looks at the intricate scroll tucked away at the table beside his desk, where Naruto usually sits. “If you’re not busy and want something to do until lunch, you could take a look at this scroll for me, since Naruto won’t be getting to it today.” He appears to be thinking, then adds. “For all his progress, he can still be less than perceptive, in certain instances. Your assistance could be invaluable, since I’m occupied with other tasks at the moment.”

Sasuke ponders for a bit; he has already read a good portion of the way through his books, and it’ll be a few hours before he needs to eat. It's not lost on him that this involves a level of trust in him on Kakashi's part, as whatever is in the scroll is likely not public knowledge.

He decides it can’t hurt, though he hopes he doesn’t get asked any more questions about Sakura. He makes his way to take Naruto’s seat, opening up the scroll.

He stares at it long and hard, rolling it out on the table to examine it more closely. Kakashi wordlessly grabs the stapler on his desk and sets it on the top end of the parchment, to hold it in place as he further unravels it. It appears to be a cipher, and quite a complicated one.

“...You think Naruto’s going to be able to crack this?” Sasuke questions incredulously, glancing towards his old sensei with his brows furrowed in doubt. His eyes catch as he does so on the framed photograph sitting on his desk; from this angle, the side instead of the front, he can now see that it’s their original Team Seven photo. He hasn't seen it in a long time.

Kakashi chuckles, not looking up from his paperwork. “Not at all, which is why I was helping him with it yesterday. It’s good practice for him, though, and at the very least, it does keep him busy when I don't have anything else for him to do.”

XXX

Sasuke ambles back to his apartment around noon. He made some progress on the cipher, enough that Kakashi said Naruto might actually be able to take it from there. It feels good to be of use.

It also feels good to have something to give the idiot shit over, when he goes to visit him later.

He empties the cough drops from his pocket into one of the cups he bought yesterday, and pops another one into his mouth before he starts getting out ingredients to cook. It feels good on his throat, menthol pleasantly numbing despite the slightly sweet taste. He pours a hefty amount of rice into a pot to start boiling, and then begins slicing carrots and scallions and mushrooms for takikomi gohan. It takes a while to slice with one arm, as holding the vegetables in place with one hand is a challenge, but he manages by summoning a clone. Once he’s done, he slips them in a pan with some salt and dashi stock. He also adds frozen peas before covering it with the lid to simmer.

Once that’s going, he washes his hand, then folds the comforter he had washed and left out to dry this morning, ultimately storing it in the closet. He stirs the vegetable mixture occasionally, after, reading more of his book while he waits for the rice to finish. The one about kenjutsu is more interesting than he thought it would be. He might finish it by the time he sees Sakura tomorrow.

He really hopes he can walk her home again; he hadn’t gotten a chance to kiss her today. She might not want him to, if she thinks he's sick, but somehow he suspects she likely understood it wasn't actual illness. She's good at what she does, and smart.

It’s a simple but savory lunch, a larger portion than he’s accustomed to. He eats all of it, albeit slowly, as he reads.

Uncannily, an abrupt and earsplitting knocking erupts on his door as he puts the last bite in his mouth to chew.

“TEME! Open up!” More incessant knocking. “I’m fucking bored, and Kakashi-sensei gave me the day off! Let’s spar!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and closes his book before standing to rinse his dish, setting it in the sink to wash later, along with the pot and pan already rinsed and stacked there.

“Alright, dobe. You don’t need to bust down my door.”

He grabs another cough drop and removes the tape and cotton from his arm before he goes. It’s a little tender, but the blood has clotted by now.

[real-work-of-art]

Golden

A self indulgent story ft. a very soft boyfriend!h 

A/N: Wow, I feel like I am going to throw up. I wrote this a couple weeks ago, with honestly no real intention to post it. But with all these golden music video rumors, now just felt like the perfect time. So here it is! This never would have happened without the kindness and encouragement from @for-fucks-sake-h, @andwhenshesays, @idk-who-she-is, and @smokeinherperfume​. And a very special thank you to @oh-honey-styles​ who read through every small piece of progress and encouraged me practically every single day for the past two weeks. I love you all! Anyway, here is my first ever official piece of writing. I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 1.7k 

She is beautiful. The way she is curled up on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest, hands pressed between her face and the pillow. Harry sits across the room watching as her eyelashes lightly press against her cheeks and her shoulders move slowly with each inhale. The sunlight is casting a slight golden hue around the room. She was almost too bright for him.

He sits there in complete awe—watching her rest so peacefully. He wonders what she might be dreaming of. Because ever since they met, he only dreams of her. 

Quickly, he stands up from his chair, and walks out of the room, careful not to make too much noise. Entering his bedroom, he walks straight towards the built in bookshelves to the right and grabs his camera off the shelf, quickly checking to make sure it’s charged. 

Harry slowly tiptoes back into the living room, stopping behind the couch to make sure she is still asleep. As he peers down at her, he desperately wants to reach down and move the stray piece of hair that has fallen across her face, but he resists out of fear of ruining the moment. Instead he holds his camera up to his face, adjusting the settings and snapping his first picture. She stirs slightly at the sound of the camera's shutter but remains asleep. 

Harry walks around the couch, back to the chair across from her. He snaps a couple more photos, changing the angles and adjusting his focus, trying to catch the way the soft light of the setting sun drapes over her face. 

After taking at least a dozen photos he starts to look through them, surprised that his amature photography skills were actually able to capture the beautiful image in front of him. 

As he flicks through each photo on his camera he hears a soft shuffling coming from the direction of the couch. Looking up he sees her eyes still closed, arms and legs stretching along the couch. He quickly tucks the camera into the drawer of the side table next to his chair. 

As she opens her eyes she sees Harry looking right back at her with a gentle smile on his face. 

“Hello beautiful,” Harry softly speaks. 

She smiles softly back in his direction, closing her eyes again. 

“Hi,” she mumbles. 

Again, she opens her eyes slowly, immediately catching his gaze. She stretches her arms out in a silent invitation for him to come join her in the small sliver of space on the couch. She’s desperate to feel the comfort of his warm body against hers. Harry slowly stands and takes the few steps over to the couch. Grabbing her hand, he gently pulls her up so he can better fit himself against her. With her head now resting on top of Harry's arm and her right knee slotted between his, she looks up at his face. Her eyes first gaze over his chin, admiring the slightly grown out facial hair. Slowly scanning upwards taking in the soft rosey color of his lips, noticing the slight sunburn on his nose from being out on the boat earlier, and finally catching his green eyes. 

“Wish I could take a picture of you,” she whispers.

A quick zip of panic rushes up Harry’s spine, making his back stiffen up slightly. Does she know? Searching her face for any sign that she’s hinting at something, he realizes all he sees is genuine admiration. He relaxes into her, leaning down to press his lips softly against hers. It’s a gentle kiss filled with so many unsaid declarations of happiness and love. 

Pulling away she looks back up, meeting his eyes that are already staring into hers. “I’m hungry,” she mumbles. 

Throwing his head back, Harry lets out a loud laugh, always finding her honesty and poor timing incredibly endearing. 

“Well let's get you something to eat then,” he says bringing his eyes back to hers, a huge smile spread across his face. 

9 months later

Harry was putting the finishing touches on his dinner spread. Tonight they were celebrating their one year anniversary. Well, one year of knowing each other at least. But since Harry travels so much, he tries to take advantage of any celebration he can with her. 

They opted for a relaxing dinner at home, where they could be comfortable and focused on only each other. Harry put himself in charge of preparing the whole evening. So after lunch he surprised her with an afternoon at the spa, having to push her out the door just a little bit. 

While she was out, Harry got busy trying to make their night special. Cooking a simple but delicious pasta dish, hanging up some gold and silver decorations he found in the garage, and formally setting the dining table with their favorite red wine. On their trip to Italy last month they became obsessed with this wine, which resulted in her trying to fit as many bottles as she could into her luggage. 

Pouring the wine into their glasses, Harry hears the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Looking at the clock on the oven, he smiles to himself. “Right on time,” he mumbles under his breath while walking to the door with an excited hop in his step. 

“Hello love,” he greets her, wrapping her up in his arms and placing a kiss to her forehead. “How was the spa?” 

“Mmm, could have stayed there all day,” she says into his chest. Slowly moving her head so her chin is resting against his cross necklace, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you,” she says, reaching up to place a quick kiss to his lips.

Smiling down at her, he unwraps his arms, grabbing her hand to lead her into the dinning room. Her eyes dance around every detail in the room. From the beautifully set table to the shimmery decorations, her eyes can’t seem to focus on one thing. 

“Wow Harry. It’s beautiful,” she beams while leaning into his side. 

“Come on, let’s celebrate,” Harry says, taking her hand and leading her to the table. Grabbing their wine glasses, he hands one to her. 

Raising his glass to hers. “To one year,” he says, smiling and tapping their glasses together. 

After finishing dinner they continue to sit around the table, drinking wine while laughing and sharing their favorite memories over the last year. She was currently laughing at Harry’s dramatic retelling of the time she forgot she had invited him over for dinner and a movie, before they had officially started dating. She answered the door in a bubbling face mask and eyes as wide as the pepperonis on the mostly eaten pizza in her living room. 

As her laughs start to die down, Harry looks at her with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. She eventually makes eye contact with him again and they just look at each other, smiling like idiots and absorbing the other’s happiness. 

“I have a gift for you,” Harry says breaking the silence. 

“What?! Another one?!” 

Harry simply nods while releasing a quiet “Mhm,” and slowly standing up. 

“Okay now I’m starting to feel bad. The only gift I had planned for you was a pretty amazing blow job followed by some equally amazing sex.” 

Harry looks back at her with raised eyebrows and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Now those are two gifts I am very excited for.” He leans down to place a kiss to her lips before walking out of the dining room. 

Sitting up straight, she places her wine glass on the table and straightens her top. Popping his head in from around the corner, he flashes his bright smile at her. “Close your eyes,” he instructs. 

With a silly smile, she closes her eyes. She hears Harry walk back into the room and around her chair. She could feel him standing across from her. She raises one eyebrow, hoping he is watching her, to tell him she is getting a little impatient. 

Harry speaks in a silky smooth voice, “Ok… open your eyes.”

She opens them slowly, first focusing on his face before looking down at the two picture frames held in his hands. She takes in a small gasp at the warm golden images of her. Instantly her mind transports her back to that afternoon. She had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch while Harry brought in the bags and towels they had brought for their day on the boat. She remembers how gorgeous he looked when she woke up from her nap. How the sun was shining into the room, casting a bronze hue around them, and the white curtains blowing with the wind. 

She stands up from her chair, taking a step closer to him, and slowly running her finger tips along the frames. 

“Harry... these are beautiful.” She could feel her cheeks starting to heat up and the prickle in the back of her eyes becoming stronger. She rarely ever cries, and is fighting back the feeling to do so right now. This is how Harry sees her, glowing and radiant. She looks up into his eyes, but before she could speak Harry interjects. “I just wanted a reminder of how beautiful you are. Then I realized how incredible these would look in the living room, and how much they make me smile. I wanted to share that with you.” 

Placing her hand at the back of his neck, she reaches up to kiss him. Holding him against her lips, trying to transfer all of her feelings into that kiss. She pulls back and looks up into his emerald eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers, lips gently brushing over his. 

Grabbing the frames out of his hand, she gently leans them against the wall. Taking his hand in hers, she begins to lead him out of the room. “We can hang those up tomorrow. Right now I have some gifts I need to give you.” 

Thank you so much for reading! 💕

Can We Fall?

The Night Before

Shut Up And Kiss Me

[rhenuvee]

Valentine’s Day (George Weasley x reader)

An early Valentine’s fic from me :) 

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

Your tired eyes slowly opened to the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow outside the castle. You looked at the clock, 7:58 it read- way too early for a nice Sunday morning. But you knew the reason beforehand, it was because it was Valentine’s day, and you couldn’t wait to spend it with your favourite Weasley.

You rubbed your eyes as you arched your back to stretch it out. Almost immediately after you stepped foot off your bed, one of your roommates, Alicia noticed and shot up.

“(Y/n)? You’re awake..?” she asked, slightly scaring you from the sudden outburst. 

“Uh yeah.. sorry.” you said sheepishly apologizing. Alicia reached over to nudge Angelina’s arm, who groaned as she slowly rose herself up from her sleep.

“Um, why are you guys waking up? I really didn’t mean to get up this early, you can go back to sleep.” you protested as quick as you could. However it did not seem to work as your roommates moved like zombies in the early morning. You made a face when you saw Angelina walk straight out the dorm in her pajamas. 

“Well what are you waiting for, you need to get ready don’t you?” asked Alicia, who was somewhat more awake than five seconds ago.

“I guess...” you said feeling odd about the situation. The only normal thing at this point was Katie still sleeping, who seemed to be devoid of any sound entering her ears. But you went along with it; you got dressed in your red sweater, black leggings, and short brown boots. And Alicia helped you do your hair once you were finished.

“You really didn’t have to help me this morning you know?” you said to Alicia who was in front of you, putting some finishing touches of light makeup. You knew that your roommates knew of yours and George’s relationship, so of course Valentine’s day was going to be special for you.

“Maybe I could get you something, like some sweets?” you suggested when she didn’t answer your first question.

“And think about us while you’re on a date? You’ll be cheating on George then, wouldn’t you?” Alicia teased which earned her an eyeroll from you. 

Once you were all ready, Alicia escorted you out the dorm, along with your bundle of gifts you prepared for your boyfriend. From the bottom of the boys’ dormitories stairs you saw Angelina, still in her PJs, with Lee Jordan who seemed to be waiting. You now realized why Angelina got up- as a messenger to tell the boys that you were getting ready.

“Just a moment mademoiselle, he is just getting his shit together.” you giggled at Lee using such a posh accent to cuss. You could hear footsteps from the stairs, and thus emerged your handsome boyfriend who, might you add- was definitely being very dramatic. 

The first thing you noticed was that your boyfriend was matching your outfit; red sweater, black jeans. The second thing was how neat his hair was which was such a contrast from his usual mess, you wondered who did it. 

The moment he caught your eyes, he stared for what seemed like the longest time, then randomly collapsing on the floor, clutching his heart.

“Oh get up you goof.” you said huffing with your hands on your hips. 

“I cannot, pretty voice- for someone even more beautiful than the goddesses themselves has appeared before my eyes.” he said while still on the floor. Alicia cooed as Angelina and Lee groaned at how cheesy he was being. You on the other hand, couldn’t decide which of those reactions was more appropriate. 

“Oi loverboy, you almost forgot the gifts.” called another voice from the stairs, which finally made George get up. Fred came down into view as you saw your gifts. You were about to hand out George’s gift to him when he put his hand out to stop you.

“For the lady first,” he said winking. One by one, he handed out your presents as if he was a butler reviewing food for a noble. 

“Some flowers, because they remind you of- me.” he said gesturing to the red roses and his hair. You giggled and rolled your eyes.

“Some chocolates, because I’m the sweetest and it’ll remind you of- me.” he said formally presenting the box.

“And a giant teddy bear, because I’m cute and-“

“It’ll remind me of you?” You aaid quirking an eyebrow while taking your gifts.

“Yes.” He said matter of factly.

“Well I’m not gonna stay here longer, especially when it’s couples dress alike day, goodnight!” announced Fred who headed back to his dorm with Lee to sleep. Angelina and Alicia did the same and waved goodbye to you. Then, you started to present George’s gifts, which were quite similar.

“Some flowers, to take away that odour in your room.” you said cheekily mocking George as he clicked his tongue in response.

“Chocolates, because it’ll remind you of yourself...”

“And two teddy bears, because it looks like you and me.” You handed George the teddy bears, which were much smaller than the big one he gave you, but was sweet nonetheless.

“Thank you darling, you didn’t have to get me all of this.” He said bringing you into a hug and kissing your forehead.

“Well I still did Georgie, happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, love.” He trailed his fingers, one under your jawline and his thumb just under your bottom lip, then brought you forward to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. Your arms looped around his neck to bring him closer, while slowly curving your lips upward from smiling. When you both pulled away for air, you still remained just as close to each other.

“Who told you about this?” You asked softly, pointing to his red sweater that you didn’t know he matched.

“Oh, well obviously I secretly took divination and looked into the beyond and i saw you.” You rolled your eyes at his obviously fibbed reply.

“And this?” You asked brushing you fingers through his gelled hair.

“What, don’t I look handsome?” He said tilting his head at a dramatic angle.

“You always look handsome Georgie.” You said with a smile. You swore for a second he was caught speechless, but quickly returned to his playful nature.

“Oh? Is that so? Well keep being honest like that and I’ll have to keep taking you out.” He said eagerly putting his winter clothing on, ready to drag you out of the portrait hole. 

——————————————

“Where are you taking me George?” you asked while being dragged along by the arm. You could barely keep up with your boyfriends long strides if it weren’t for your arms linked with each other. 

“Just you wait darling, you’re gonna like it.” he replied quickly. You were surprised how not out of breath he seemed to be, compared to yourself. The closer you got to your destination, you realized where he was taking you. It so happens that this February 14th, there was a nice layer of snow covering the whole field of grass around the black lake, but wasn’t cold enough to be snowing. 

“George...” you mumbled in awe as you saw a picnic laid out near the water’s edge. It was unique to see a picnic during the winter.

“Well, do you like it?” he asked smiling with a hopeful look on his face.

“I... I can’t believe it... you must’ve hired someone because there’s no way you woke up before eight to set this up.” you teased. George tsked playfully while shaking his head.

“You know I’m joking love, of course I love it. And I love you.” you said sweetly walking back to George and giving him a light peck on his lips.

“I love you more.” he said threading his hand through your hair. 

“Well let’s eat this food you miraculously put together then.” you said joyfully hopping over to the blanket and basket as George followed suit.

Both of you had your Valentine’s day brunch with smiling faces the whole time. Your ginger boyfriend obviously being goofy as usual while you tried not to giggle whilst there was food in your mouth. Once you finished resting a bit after eating, the two of you decided to walk around- where you could see the blanket and your belongings of course.

“You cold love? Do you want to go back inside?” asked George as he swung your mittened hand in his. You shook your head.

“No Georgie, I’m quite fine. The sun is out, plus I have you.” you said clutching his arm a little tighter. 

“That you do.” he said agreeing by puffing his chest out. You really thought you were the luckiest person on earth to be dating George Weasley. Mischievous, playful, extremely creative and witty, not to mention a heart of gold- and yet he chose to be with you. Why he loved you too was a question you haven’t fully developed the answer for, but for now you are glad enough to be held in his arms.

“Hey darling.” he said interrupting your thoughts, and pausing his steps. You let out a slight hum and faced him. George brought his hand under your chin to lift it up. You could practically see his smile get bigger. “I just wanna say... ‘m so glad we got to do this together, you and I. Yeah I did have to wake up early, but bloody hell I’d wake up early everyday if it meant I got to see you, looking like you do, smiling and all. Just you being here itself, reminds me that this is real, and I’m happy with you.”

You looked at George in bewilderment, as he let out a chuckle when he let out the last words fall off his lips. He was expecting a snappy comeback, or telling him he’s being cheesy. Instead, there you stood with you mouth agape, and tears on the brink of falling. It took what felt like moments before your brain was able to formulate a response.

“Oh George, you big goof...” you said giving in and hugging him with all your might. He was taken aback, but cooed at your reaction. “You were the one who planned this out on the first place, I should be thanking you. And here you are making us look like an old married couple.”

It was funny how clumsy, yet genuinely your words tumbled out. You almost didn’t catch yourself in what you said until you felt George’s grip on you loosen. You looked at him, but you could barely made out his expression when he suddenly grabbed your hips and the back of your upper torso. He dipped your body and kissed you, your body not being prepared for the sudden action.

“I- George!” you blurted out when he pulled you back up. You noticed that he seemed very hyper and giddy. 

“What is it darling?” he mused, purposely bending down to your height to have a good look at your flustered face.

“I- you heard nothing.” you said turning away. 

“Oh no, I definitely heard something, along the lines of us being married.” 

“Oh go away... you know it was just an expression.” was the best of what you could come up with. If drunk in love had an image for a definition, this is definitely the moment. George pecked your nose and held you close to his tall frame. 

“Do you want to? I’ll confess right now that I’d want to.” he said softly in your ear. 

“I’ll get back to you on that.” you joked. “Not 100% sure I’d like to be linked by love with some bloke who bullies me like that.” George pulled back and gasped dramatically. He turned away from you and crossed his arms with a hmph, pretending to be a little kid. 

“Geooorge...” you trailed on, attempting to get him to look at you. Whenever you tried, all he did was turn the other way. You sighed, half a minute of silence passing by.

“I want to.” you said finally. That made him perk up and as you expected, returned back to his cheeky side. He wrapped his long arms around you once again, and you did the same, giggling in the process. 

“Congratulations love, I’m never letting you go now.” he said as his hug became tighter, trapping your arms. 

“And how do you suppose we’ll get back to the castle?” you asked.

“What do you mean? We can go like this.” he said beginning to waddle his way back to the picnic blanket with you shuffling in his arms. 

“Ridiculous.” you said.

“Well that’s what you’re stuck with.” 

[platypanthewriter]

Lilies of the Valley

This one’s for you @mourntheantagonist​!  And @cherrydreamer​, thanks so much for the loan of your name!

Harringrove April Prompt day 30: Lilies of the Valley!  Neil had opinions about Billy's mom, and Billy's mom's makeup, and Billy.  What he thought doesn't matter anymore, but Billy's still a little worried about bringing it all up to Steve.  GNC Billy.

When Billy was five, he’d tried on his mom’s gold pumps and her rainbowy nail polish, and she’d laughed and spread her arms for him to stumble into.  “Hey, glitter-bug,” she said, kissing his head all over until he giggled, trying to protect his neck from her attack.  “How’s the prettiest boy in town?” she whispered, blowing raspberries down his chest and stomach, and then finally letting him up once he was giggling so hard he couldn’t breathe.  

She’d let him sit on her fancy vanity stool, spinning him now and then so they could see how he looked from different angles in the three mirrors.  “Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes very wide.  “I thought you were prettiest from this side, but every new side is prettier!  How is it, sir, being the prettiest,” she asked, offering him an imaginary microphone.

He beamed into her face, and cleared his throat.  “You’re the prettiest,” he told her, his eyes big with anticipation, and sure enough, she yelled and scooped him up, dumping him on the bed and cuddling him until they’d both laughed so hard their lungs hurt.  

“You are,” she whispered.  “I made the prettiest boy in the world.”

“You’re the prettiest girl,” he said loyally, and that time she kissed his nose.  “Anyway,” he whispered, “—you have…” he trailed off, reaching up to touch the sparkling powders over her eyes, and the bright greasy red on her lips.

She drew a shaky breath, pushing herself up, and glancing towards the door.  “...do you want to play with my makeup, baby?” she asked, and he sat up too, springing upright so fast they nearly clonked heads.

“Can we?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers, but nearly vibrating with excitement.

She bit her lips together, tucking some of his curls behind his ear.  “You know how there are some things we keep secret from Daddy, sweetie?”

Billy squirmed around to face her, nodding, and folding his hands like a grownup.  “Like when you kiss Mrs. Sally,” he whispered, then, belatedly, cupped his hands over his mouth.  

“Like that,” she told him, nodding.  “If I’d kept kissing Sally, he might have found out, and not let me see my lil’ glitterbug anymore.”

“I won’t tell,” Billy said, shaking his head, his heart pounding with the weight of adult responsibilities.  

“I know you won’t,” she told him, smiling, but she looked sad.  “But I can’t do anything that might make Daddy take you away, can I?”

Billy shook his head, wondering, as always, why his mom had married someone who didn’t like either of them very much.  He kind of wanted to ask, but she reached out and held his face, squishing his cheeks together like a fish, and he batted at her hands.  

“Makeup is like that,” she told him, and he frowned, trying to understand.  “If I put makeup on you, Daddy will be very angry,” she told him.  “So we have to wash it off before he gets home, and keep it a secret, just like me kissing Sally, right?”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, because Billy had seen his dad fussing with his hair, and his ties, and he knew his dad wanted to be pretty too—but maybe, he thought, his dad was mad because he was jealous, and that kind of fit.  He nodded seriously, licking his lips, as he wondered what the lipstick would feel like.

It felt weird and sticky, but it looked beautiful, and he gasped as he opened his eyes in the mirror, leaning closer to touch the mirror, and then touching his lips.  

“You’ll smear it,” his mom said, smiling, and Billy yanked his hand back into his lap.  He closed his eyes and felt the shiny powders brushing over them, his mom’s warm hand steadying his chin.  Very slowly, so as not to jar her efforts, he kicked his feet in happiness.

“There,” she said,” rubbing her thumb along his eyebrow, and squinting into his face.  “You’re adorable, honey.  Your mamma did so good.”  She spun him to look in the mirror again, and he stared as she kissed his cheek, and then redid his lipstick, because he couldn’t stop chewing at it, fascinated.  “Other mommies would be so jealous of my lil’ glitterbug,” she whispered.

An hour before his dad got home, she popped him in the bath, leaning in to scrub his face gently, and he sighed to see it go.  

“We’ll play again, sweetie,” she told him, kissing his forehead.

That night Billy’s dad clicked his tongue at her bright red lipstick, and went and got the Bible.  He made them stand, listening, while their dinner got cold.  

“‘Therefore I say unto you,’” he read, “‘Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment.’  What do you suppose that means, Billy?”

Billy watched his mom shut her eyes, swallowing, and he tried to think, to get it right, but he never understood the Bible.  He told his mother once that he thought they should have somebody write it all down that talked normal, and she laughed for the whole afternoon, and then told him that was another thing to not tell his dad.

“I thought that school was teaching him to read, and now he can’t even understand language,” his dad said, and Billy’s mom flinched.  

“It means we should think about god more than looking pretty,” Billy’s mom said dully, and Billy watched her, and then his dad, wondering why he’d even wanted to marry her, because she was beautiful and funny and perfect, and Billy’s dad even got mad over things like the neighbor’s Christmas lights.

She didn’t wear the bright colors, after that.

 Years later, Steve was driving back from picking up burgers, and Billy shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, and slurped his soda.

“You ever miss fucking a chick,” he said, weirdly flat.

“Uh,” said Steve, who hadn’t.  “...um.  Uh, d’you?” he asked, warily, and Billy shrugged, unwrapping his burger.  He took a huge bite, grunting appreciatively, and Steve tried to think of what to say.  “What...are you missing,” he asked, slowly, and Billy smirked over.  

“Nothing big, don’t flip your shit,” he said, taking another bite of burger, and staring out at the passing scenery, as Steve tried not to shake him, or bite his lip, or look like he was flipping his shit.

“...what is this,” Steve asked, finally, clenching his hands on the steering wheel.  “You cheating on me?!”

“No,” Billy said quickly.

“You want to?  You wanna break up?!  Where the fuck is this going, Hargrove?!” Steve hissed at him, and Billy sighed, letting his head thunk into the window.  

“No, fuck you, I don’t want...any of that,” he sighed.  “Calm your tits, Harringt—”

“Fuck you,” Steve spat back.  “If you’re fucking bored—”

“No!  I didn’t mean that!” Billy shot back, throwing a french fry at him, and Steve grabbed it and ate it, chewing with his mouth open, and his teeth bared.  “Fuck you,” Billy sighed.  “I just asked you a question, don’t get all pissed.”  He sighed again, lowering the burger to his lap, and frowning past it.  “I just wondered.”

Steve had kinda relaxed, waking every morning and seeing Billy sprawled next to him, his hair in his open, snoring mouth, and he’d forgotten he was Steve Harrington, the guy people left.  “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I just meant the—they’re soft,” Billy said, glancing over, and then back down, his jaw working.  

“You’re saying I need to get fat?” Steve asked dryly, through his teeth, as he pulled into the garage.

“No!” Billy shoved him against the door of the car.  “Forget it.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered.  Billy shouldered past him into the house, and then ignored him until Steve went to bed, and Steve laid up in their bed alone.  He didn’t cry much, but the couple tears that escaped went right in his ear, and he was tempted to just...go down and throw every porn cassette he’d ever owned at Billy’s head.

 The next morning he got up and made bacon and eggs—he was hungry, even if Billy was being an asshole—and Billy came in and helped himself.  

Billy’s eyes were swollen and red, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that—he’d never broken up with anybody he really liked, he thought, dully.  Maybe it was hard.  “Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” Billy hissed, and walked off, and Steve slid his plate of food aside, suddenly not hungry.  

After a few minutes, Billy stomped back in.  “What, you gonna stay out of rooms I’m in now—” he started, snarling, and then he stopped, and probably took stock of Steve’s head in his arms on the counter, and his breakfast getting cold.  Steve jerked his head up, rubbing his face.  “Fuck,” Billy muttered, grabbing Steve around the waist, and turning him enough to kiss.  “I don’t…” he said, softly, biting his lip.  “I don’t want somebody else.  Don’t be a fucking dumbass, jesus, of course I don’t want someone else—”

“How the hell should I know?!” Steve hissed back, but relaxing, a little, into the kisses.  “You just said you missed fucking women.  I’m not one, if you missed that—”

“I didn’t say that,” Billy told him, taking Steve’s hands.  “I asked if you missed it.  Stroking your hands up here,” he breathed against Steve’s lips, and slid Steve’s palms up where Billy’s sides were shirtless and smooth under his denim jacket.  “Feeling something...elastic, maybe,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, and lifted Steve’s hands up farther, to stroke over his nipples.  “Something silky.”

It felt like the conversation had taken a sharp tilt, and Steve felt like the marble in a little maze, trying to avoid dropping through the holes.  “...on you,” he whispered back, to be sure, trying to imagine it.  

Billy was perfect already, he wanted to say, from the little softness over the waistband of his jeans where he’d stopped working out so hard, once he was away from his dad, to stretched pink scars that reminded Steve there were more places to kiss.  But Billy was already withdrawing again, his shoulders hunching as he smirked, and Steve tried a “Keep talking.”

His hands were abruptly fuller of Billy as he leaned in, shoving Steve back against the counter.  “I gotta keep things fresh, right,” he whispered.  “Make sure you still want what I got.  Maybe…”  Steve waited as Billy searched his face, biting his lips, and then took a shaky breath.  “Maybe dress up...a little,” he mumbled, losing momentum, and Steve hurried, feeling the need to catch some fragile part of Billy before it smashed.

“You wanna dress up for me?” he asked, making sure to grin, because it honestly sounded weird, but Billy wanted to—and Steve didn’t really give a shit about flowers, either, but even if they gave him hayfever, he knew to be happy when somebody picked him out a present.  At least, he thought, whatever Billy was talking about was unlikely to make him sneeze.  

Billy’s smirk went a little smaller as he flushed, and he laughed, shaking a little.  “If—if you want,” he said fast, grinning tensely.  “If you...if that…” he muttered, looking a little shiny-eyed, and Steve slid his hands around the soft, scarred skin of Billy’s back, and down toward the swell of his ass.  “Imagine something bright down there,” Billy whispered, breathing against Steve’s jaw.  “You could snap the elastic, pull me over.”

That sounded like Billy Hargrove wanted to wear lace panties, and Steve fought back an instinctive snigger, squeezing him closer, and trying to think of something to say, something that wasn’t “You’d make duct tape hot, babe,” or “Y’know we could not do that, and just fuck,” or anything else that made it seem like Billy’d asked him about something weird as hell, and important to Billy, and Steve hadn’t even listened.  “Yeah,” Steve whispered, not sure what was required.  “Sounds hot,” he said lamely, but Billy relaxed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, and laughing, and stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair so clumsily he almost poked Steve in the eye.  “Yeah, yes, it’ll—it’ll be good, you’ll like it,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.

 The next day Billy disappeared after school, and came home squirming and pink-cheeked.  He wandered up like nothing was going on, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned and drew him in.  Billy had his jacket buttoned, for once, and a flushed smirk, and Steve unbuttoned it from the bottom, sliding his fingers up over what felt like soft, elasticy cotton.  It was a clingy little camisole thing, he realized, nearly a tanktop, nearly unisex, but the satin edging around the top, the thin straps, and the bright red put it squarely in the women’s section.  

Billy laughed nervously.  “It’s not even that pretty,” he said, glancing at Steve’s face, and then baring his teeth a little into the distance.  “Fuck, this was dumb, in this little hick town, I couldn’t even find anything—”

It was stretched out across Billy’s chest, not the shape it expected to fit, and his nipples showed around the straps, the soft fabric clinging to his skin.  “No,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over ropy satin straps, and Billy’s skin.  He ran a finger along the strap and down, his nail catching on Billy’s chest, so he shivered.  “No, it’s—it’s really...pretty, Billy,” Steve breathed, and Billy reddened like Steve had never seen before, his smile widening into a beaming grin.

“They’re just cotton,” Billy whispered, “—but they were red, at least—” 

Steve smoothed his hands over the soft fabric.  He slid his fingers down the back of Billy’s jeans, and felt—yep, he thought, grinning as he felt Billy laugh, another thin elastic edge that definitely wasn’t Fruit-of-the-Looms.  “Just cotton,” Billy whispered again, sighing.  

Steve had bought lingerie before, but he’d never really thought about it for Billy—or even Nancy, who was too ticklish for lace, and liked the spontaneity of showing up and pushing Steve onto his back on the couch more than she wanted to set anything up with candles and rose petals.  He felt a little guilty, though, seeing Billy squirming around, panting a little, his dick hard as a rock in plain cotton briefs, red or otherwise.  “So you…” Steve started, and then stopped, uncertain what he was trying to say.  

“What,” Billy bit out, glaring up at him, which looked...less than intimidating, in what looked like underwear for a kid, or somebody’s mom.  Steve ran his fingers along the line Billy’s dick made in the panties, fascinated, and it twitched.  Billy jerked his knee up, grinning, his freckles fading into his blush.  “Quit it,” he said.  “You’ll make me mess ‘em up.”

“...you like being...pretty,” Steve said, and Billy twitched, pulling his knees up and together.  “No, don’t, uh, don’t pillbug up,” Steve told him, leaning in to hug his boyfriend’s knees.  “Um, how...how pretty?  What...what kinds of…”

“The hell d’you mean how pretty,” Billy growled, warily, and Steve bent his head, pressing a kiss to Billy’s tanned knee.

“You just...want pretty clothes?” he asked, as Billy took a shaky breath.  “I just—I mean, you were talking about...girls.  You want like…” Steve ran his thumb over Billy’s tense, curled toes.  “You want I should paint these?”

“God, will you?” Billy asked, pushing himself up as he yanked Steve into a kiss,  knocking them both off-balance so Steve landed on top of Billy in his soft, elastic cotton, and Billy groaned.

“Yeah, I’ll paint ‘em,” Steve whispered, kissing Billy’s hot face.  “Don’t...really think you can get much prettier,” he said, feeling Billy’s cheek grin under his lips, “—but I’ll help.  I might have something upstairs.”

“The hell would you have,” Billy snorted.

Steve felt indignant for a second, then kind of dumb as he shot back “I could wear nail polish, you don’t fucking know,” before he registered that it probably hadn’t actually been an insult, and he started to feel his ears go red.  He cleared his throat.  “...uh, no, though.  I don’t.  But my mom.  There’s some of her stuff up there.”

“Oh,” Billy said, sitting up.  “You...you’d let me use your mom’s stuff?”

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, pulling him up.  “Maybe she’s got some nylons or something.”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, but he grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back around.  “You don’t think she’d...she’d think it’s gross, right,” he asked, still smirking a little, like he was trying to keep it up.  “She wouldn’t want some dude wearing her nylons.”

“You’re not some dude,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “—and if she’s so damn precious about ‘em she can buy some more, come on.”  He drug Billy upstairs—Billy was very manhandleable, in bare feet and a sheer cotton underwear set, and Steve tried not to think about the difference it made—and pushed Billy down to sit on his parents’ chintz duvet cover.  He dug through her drawers, and found some nylons, and brought them over.  Billy laughed, wide-eyed, and Steve reached down and grabbed his foot, thinking.  “...y’know what,” he said, “—Mom used to do all this stuff to her feet, and I bet it kept her damn nylons from running.”

“...you saying I should go get a pedicure?” Billy snorted, and Steve shook his head, squeezing his boyfriend’s toes.  

“Nah.  Lemme see what she’s got, we can figure this out,” he mumbled, pulling out drawers.  “Can’t be that hard.”

“...you gonna give me a pedicure,” Billy muttered, like he didn’t know whether it was a question or not, and Steve was about to roll his eyes when he finally found the right drawer. 

“Oho,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.  “The mother lode.  Come look at the colors.  I mean, they’re mostly kind of pink, but there’s some reds.”

The bed creaked as Billy got up and came over, and his breath hitched.  He reached towards the lipsticks, and then jerked his hand back, and Steve grabbed the reddest one, and leaned to kiss him, softly, opening the lid.  Billy closed his eyes, panting a little, and Steve kissed him again, because Billy’d probably wanna sprawl around looking pretty for a while without anybody smearing it, once he had lipstick on.  

“Open your mouth, babe,” Steve said, and Billy did.  Steve could feel the pulse pounding in the skin under his fingers, but he just brushed the tip over the corner of Billy’s mouth, narrowing his eyes intently.  

Billy licked the tip of the lipstick, and Steve hissed at him, hsht! like Billy was a little kid, or a cat.  “I can’t do this if you eat it,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed.

“It tastes the same,” he said, softly.  

“...you eat it a lot?” Steve asked, realizing he had mouth open in concentration, and his tongue licking his teeth in the direction he was rubbing the lipstick on.  He bit his lips together, smiling in embarrassment.  

“I used to,” Billy said, letting Steve turn his head left and then right, and smiling.  “Mom would dress me up.”

Steve paused for a second, at that, his hand on the lipstick stilling, and then he started again.  “Dunno if I’ll do as good a job,” he said, and Billy laughed again, swallowing hard.  “...maybe I’ll get better with practice,” Steve told him, and Billy grinned, yanking him in for a hard kiss.  “Who-mmmph,” Steve protested, then leaned into it, feeling Billy sigh contentedly, and hum.  

When Steve pulled back, his dick went half-hard just for the way Billy looked, leaning back against the side of the bed in his soft red underwear set, his eyes closed, his grin smeared and lazy.  The red stood out, shiny and rich, and Steve wished—silently, to himself—that lipstick ever tasted even a tenth as good as it looked.  “...jesus, that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m the prettiest, right,” Billy whispered, and a couple tears leaked from under his closed eyelashes.  He sniffled as Steve lifted and turned his chin to fix his lipstick.  “Shut up,” he said hoarsely, even thought Steve hadn’t said a word.

“...just thinking you look gorgeous,” Steve told him.  “You look so pretty, babe.”

“...’life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment’,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve said “...what?”

“It’s a bible thing,” Billy said, his eyes widening as Steve pulled out a tray of eyeshadows, and held them up to Billy’s face, squinting.  

Steve squinted, decided the green would make Billy look like he had a weird Christmasy disease with the lipstick, and pulled out the other one, pinks and golds.  

“...it means you should worry more about following god’s word than dressing up like a slut,” Billy said, quirking his mouth.  “‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’  Like, God makes you like he wants, you shouldn’t...change it.  Try and...look...different.”  Billy sighed.  “He used to make us say it whenever we asked for new clothes.  I told him I might as well go to school naked, then.”

“I don’t remember the part in the bible where Jesus called people sluts,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss Billy’s cheek, and then concentrating on brushing gold over his eyelids.  

“Just be as nature made you, y’know, don’t...try to be...what you’re not,” Billy said, smirking.  “He never found out I wanted to wear lace panties.”

“Good,” Steve told his boyfriend, then whispered “God,” as he sat back.  “...Billy, god made you a lily.”

“What?!” Billy laughed, scrambling up to go look in the bathroom mirror.  He was quiet for a long minute, and Steve got up and followed, grimacing.

“I’ll get better with the little brushes,” he said, leaning through the door, but Billy was just making kissy faces at himself, entranced.  

“I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” he breathed, and Steve bit back a laugh.  “Come here.”  Steve wandered over to slide his arms around Billy’s waist from behind, and kiss his neck.  “...you like it, right,” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, squeezing him.  

“Come on,” he said, “Lemme do your toenails.”

“Jesus,” Billy said, giggling, kinda, his eyes shiny, and Steve just held him there, letting him look.

 The next day, Billy changed the oil in his car, his nails and lips red, and his face smeared with engine grease when Steve pulled him out from under the car for a kiss.  While he was tinkering, Steve drove clear to the Indianapolis Victoria’s Secret.  “I’m dating an Olympic swimmer,” he told them, having practiced the lie.  “She’s got no tits and these big shoulders, and she’s hotter than anyone else in the world, can you help me out?”

My other Harringrove prompts are here!

[demialwrites]

It Will Be Okay - Zhongli

I need more covid 19-related comfort. I don't even know how you guys who work are dealing. I'm struggling just at home!!

A novel disease swept through Liyue harbour. Everyone was on edge constantly, living in fear of being infected. Those who were, were bedridden for weeks. It brought productivity to a halt and some of those at the top of government squabbled over whether to let no shipments through or only a few. A couple--fools, you'd say--said let business run as usual. Those with the final say chose to slow business to a trickle. You happened to have one of the jobs that couldn't be abandoned. Even if you didn't, you would still be exhausted. You were tired from being afraid, tired from looking at other people being tired, and tired from the increased workload. Going to bed, your sleep was restless and stressful. Bad dreams came almost every night. Soon you were a zombie, going through the motions and taking what little joy you could from a favourite snack and your family. You couldn't see your friends and went straight home from work to avoid any crowds. Tonight, however, you found an empty spot up some of the stairs that had the red railings. The café had shut down but there was enough light to hang out nearby. The sun had set early and the soft light of the moon was calming. A few stars even twinkled. You barely registered that you were nodding off before you fell asleep.

You woke to see the moon, still. Except you weren't leaning on the red railing anymore. It was something warm and hard. Trying to move, you found you were stuck in place, even when pushing against whatever was around you. "Hmmm. You're awake," rumbled a deep, serene voice. You really should be panicking. Really! But the voice was soothing and even. Its qualities conveyed, Everything may not be okay but it will be. Not with words but you'd take it. The warm and hard holding you shifted and circled. It was too rough and pulled at your clothing, so you squirmed and protested. The movement halted. "I forgot my scales were rough. Allow me to fix that." The movement started up again but in different directions. You braced yourself on those scales the voice mentioned. You could see what surrounded you now. Gold glinted gently in the moonlight. You pushed on the surface and it gave under your fingers like the extra weight you put on recently. A dark brown snout, yellow eyes, followed by the rest of a head, came into view. You knew those branch-like horns! "Rex Lapis!" you blurted. "I am not Rex Lapis." The dragon spoke without moving its mouth. "My name is Zhongli. I saw you fall in the middle of the city. You were asleep so I didn't wake you." You stayed there, confused. If not Rex Lapis, then who? "I brought you to the cliff," he continued. "It's one of my favourite views. My body will shield you from the ocean wind. If you keep pressing on my stomach, it will tickle though." You jerked your hand away. "Don't worry. If you want to go home, I will let go of you. However," Zhongli hesitated, tilting his large head. "Being here reminded me of a great battle that took place..." His voice drifted at the end and hinted there was more if you wanted to hear it. He waited for a reply with an almond-shaped yellow eye fixed on your face. Maybe you should have said no and demanded he released you but you wanted an excuse to forget about the mess that Liyue was for now. Also, who would turn down a bedtime story from a dragon?! "...and then?" you asked. Zhongli snuffed through his reptilian nostrils. He seemed pleased. He launched into a story back when Rex Lapis battled a sea monster. You thought it was strange that this dragon knew a detailed story about the geo god after the denial. You listened, doing your best to imagine everything he told you. It was difficult. Not because he was a bad story-teller but because you were still tired and his voice was still soothing, forcing you slowly down into slumber. Even more so when he hit a stride with his words. He continued to slowly spin the ancient tale even when you closed your eyes and let your cheek fall to his soft belly. Zhongli eventually noticed your even, deep breathing. Keeping a close eye on your fragile body, he carefully arranged his long, snake-like body so that it hugged you on all sides and supported your head. He could feel your abdomen expand when you breathed. He dared squeeze a bit tighter and faintly felt your heartbeat. Relaxing again, he inwardly repeated the promise that he would do his best to protect the people of Liyue, even if he wasn't their god anymore. You woke up annoyed that you left the window open last night to let the bright sunlight in. Blinking away the sleepiness, you remembered where you actually were. But gone was the dragon and in his place was a dragon-like man. His features were the same colour scheme as the dragon so it was easy for you to make the connection. Plus, he held you as he did the night before, just with arms. Strangely, you felt as secure in these arms as you did when you had been wrapped in a dragon's long body. He was still bigger than you but decidedly more human-shaped. He gazed off into the distance, unaware that you were looking up at him with your mouth hanging open. It did give you time to look him over. The hard scales from last night apparently trailed up his body to his cheeks because they glinted in the morning sun as clouds passed by. He dipped his chin thoughtfully, bringing your attention to the branch-like horns still on his head, just smaller. Seeing a handsome blend of man and dragon was fascinating. It took a lot of effort not to reach up and rudely run your fingers along his scales. His grip tightened slightly and he looked down. Your eyes met and you discovered that his eyes were a unique blend of the yellow eyes he had last night and brown. He dipped his chin, staring at you more closely. You recoiled, like you had been caught doing something naughty. That caused him to smile gently. He helped you to your feet while you tried to feel that Zhongli's appearance was normal. That it was normal to have a snake-body trailing behind him. A quick transformation back to completely dragon and he set to work trying to convince you to let him carry you back to the city on his back. You glanced over the side of the nearby cliff, which was steep, and promptly agreed. You climbed on and hesitantly gripped his horns. He didn't protest and instead glided smoothly down the mountain towards the wooden docks of the harbour. After stepping awkwardly off Zhongli, you turned to glance around and see if anyone had noticed your arrival. You turned back to find a handsome, slickly-dressed man, patting his clothes down with brown gloves. The rest of his outfit matched, brown and gold. He definitely looked richer than you, and normal-sized. After fussing some, Zhongli looked up from his clothes at you. You looked away quickly, fearing he might think you were checking him out again. "The dockworkers are still asleep at this hour," he informed you. "Are you uncomfortable after I took you away from your bed last night? The least I can do is walk you home." He politely gestured for you to lead the way. As if the man wasn't clearly above your status! You weren't aching at all but you felt like if you said goodbye, he might vanish, never to be seen by you again. "O-okay." You led him in the direction of your apartment, purposefully slowly. Your tiny place probably cost less than his clothes. The mysterious dragon-man distracted you from your anxious thoughts by stopping to check a tea house for some tea leaves, saying that he should also treat you to some tea. After politely declining, he insisted. You didn't feel like you could say no, especially since he had some tidbits about each kind of tea that you were happy to absorb. He seemed to have a tab running with the shopkeeper because he purchased some tea without handing over any mora. Again, Zhongli stopped to get each of you a pastry to match the tea. He said, with a strange amount of authority in his voice, that the pastries he got matched the tea perfectly. He said nothing about your cheap apartment while inside. He then coaxed a tea that was so lacking in bitterness from your tiny kettle on your tiny stove that you swear it tasted sweet. You sat at your table, red-faced and embarrassed, that such a man was making you tea. He never said a thing about it. He only brought up anything slightly related when he picked up a cheap knickknack decorating your table. "I have never seen these before," he muttered to himself, then placed it back. He said that with such a lack of judgment that you finally started to feel at ease. You were first to sip the tea. Praise burst from you, causing him to smile gently as he was cradling his teacup to his lips. He seemed to be pleased that you enjoyed the tea as much as he did. The pastry was also a hit with you. It was as perfect as he said it would be. Teatime with Zhongli was relaxing and you didn't want it to end. You began to prod him with hesitant questions about things you thought he might know about. It was like poking a hole in a water balloon; information flowed out and didn't stop flowing the more you asked. He didn't deflate and run out of things to say but you did discover that you were late for work, judging by the angle of the sunlight out the window. Thankfully, the pastries had been eaten and the tea was cold by then. Zhongli insisted on talking to your boss about your being late. You didn't know what he could do but it couldn't hurt. Money talked in Liyue and his clothes screamed lots of it. To your astonishment, Zhongli was able to distract your boss from her scorn with his disarming confidence and good manners. She forgot all about your lateness. All she did was ask later where you got this new friend. And also, can we sell the funeral parlor he works for some of our goods? A funeral parlor? Who is this man? You thanked Zhongli for the tea and pastries. He thanked you for the good company, which made you blush. He told you to drop by his place of work when you next brewed that tea, as he had left the rest of it at your apartment. He promised to bring more pastries. You agreed immediately, forgetting to ask exactly who he was. You watched him leave, swearing you would find the courage somewhere to follow up on your agreement. You don't break agreements in Liyue. Months later, the city was still in semi-shutdown. You had taken to sleeping in. Your new boyfriend, Zhongli, was not happy with staying in but he was happy to be with you. In his hybrid state, he held you from behind his arms with his tail was wrapped around your leg. Warm and cozy. You both lay in his bed, because his sheets were tough enough to not be shredded by his scales and also...it was so much nicer than your bed. It made you smile just being here. "We could get takeout and dine at the peak of the mountain of your choice," he suggested. Not even opening your eyes, you replied, "Later. Lunch, maybe?" He hummed. A minute passed. He insisted, "I will tell you a secret if you accompany me for breakfast." You opened your eyes and rolled over onto your back. His tail uncoiled and settled loosely over your ankles. You knew him by now. If you agreed, it was a verbal contract that he would take seriously. "It had better be a good secret. A juicy one." "You agree to my terms?" A teasing lilt in his voice. "Yes." "...I used to be known as Rex Lapis." You flew up from the bed into a sitting position. "I knew it!" "Hmmm. Why didn't you tell me?" "I thought it would be rude. You're so polite." "Well, now you know and now we can have breakfast." He pulled himself to sit at the edge of the bed so that his tail hung off the side. It soon became legs. "Bring your wallet, Dear." He waved dismissively.

[wildlyglittering]

The Ones Before

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you again to those liking, re-blogging and commenting on my fic’s, I really do appreciate it. 

I’m loving all the ACOSF inspired fic’s and fanarts that are being produced - and definitely all the critique!!

I hope you enjoy!

***

A hand pressed against his bicep as a low, husky voice murmured in his ear.

“General.”

The owner of that voice, an attractive red-haired female, placed a glass of dark liquid in front of him and squeezed her fingers around his arm.

Cassian’s muscles automatically flexed and the voice turned into a breathless giggle. “On the house,” she whispered, her mouth moving closer to his ear. Perhaps it was his imagination but it seemed that she had pushed her breasts against him so he would feel their firm swell against his shoulder.

He turned to her with a smile so charming that her face lit up like solstice lights. “Thank you,” he said, “but I can’t accept.”

Those ruby red lips of hers turned from a grin into a pout and once upon a time Cassian would have eased her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before asking if there was anything he could do to put a smile back on her face.

Once upon a time. Not now.

Despite his rejection, she was undeterred.

“It’s our finest liquor, General. It’s incredibly silky as it goes down.” It was definitely not in his imagination that he saw the twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure it is,” he said with a wink, “but let me rephrase myself – I won’t accept.”

The twinkle, much like the smile, disappeared. She frowned before snatching the glass and storming off, Cassian catching her stamp her foot as she left as though she were a petulant child and not a fae of likely over a century old.

Cassian chuckled and turned back to the table, picking up the drink he had. The beverage was sickly sweet and made from fruits that were imported into Night from Spring. It was Elain’s favourite and not at all Cassian’s. There were times when he missed the sharpness of wine or the spice of whisky but he reminded himself of what he gained by no longer drinking.

Early winter had come to Velaris and the city was bustling, its occupants rushing around hard at work or preparing for the solstice. Cassian was doing neither; a rare idle day off had lain ahead of him when he’d woken that morning.

The skies had been a bright, albeit pale, blue to start but had grown steadily gloomier before turning into an ashen grey with fat clouds that poured the rains down. The rain wasn’t the soft kind but the sort that smashed against the stones with such force that drops rebounded from the ground and back into the air.

A misty haze drifted around the footsteps of all the rushing fae, their shrieks filling the street as those without coverings ran for shelter from one building to another.

Cassian had been caught out when it started. The first rumble of thunder occurred when he was crossing the bridge and he looked down to see small droplets on the back of his hand. He stood, watching as the rain lashed into the river, mesmerised by the circles the drops created. His hair was drenched and he shook the strands around his head, laughing.

Storms never bothered him, the only reason he moved indoors was because he took up too much space outside for those who didn’t find getting soaked as delightful as he did. That, and his pending companion wouldn’t be too impressed to be made to hang around in the rain.

The café he settled in gave him a decent view of the streets and a prime view of the bridge ahead. Rainwater dripped from his hair when he tied it into a bun and he’d ordered himself his drink, delivered by an older female who wasn’t remotely interested in Cassian.

Fresh warm bread scented the place as the waitresses carried large slices, liberally buttered and served with thick broths in deep bowls, to surrounding tables. Despite the smell, he was content to drink his cordial and observe the world beyond the windows.

The clinking of plates from the table next to him drew his attention and he looked over to see the red-haired fae clearing crockery for the next customers. Although she was working, she was clearly keeping an eye on Cassian, probably waiting to see if he’d change her mind at her offer.

With her coquettish glances and the angle in which she now exposed her cleavage, it wasn’t only a drink she was offering.

A time existed once, when he would have charmed her and they would have removed themselves into the backroom of the café or even a room in the apartments above. Because he was the General, they would never have been reprimanded even if it left the café one employee down.

Admittedly something about the serving fae had captured his attention. Yes, flirtations from an attractive female were always flattering but he had entertained her smiles a bit more than he should have done in the circumstances.

The thrashing of the rain grew louder when the door to the café opened and a fae couple walked in laughing about their soaking clothes. The red-head walked past Cassian to greet them and as she did, her dress deliberately slipped, leaving a pale freckled shoulder to his view.

A memory flashed through Cassian’s mind and in an instant, he could place why she captured his attention so. It was a memory so dusty on the shelves of his brain that he was surprised it was even in the archives.

He was centuries old and he’d spent that time in a variety of ways. Chasing after attainable and unattainable females and fucking a fair few was very much on the list.

But everyone, even he, the fierce Lord of Bloodshed and General of the Night Court’s armies had to begin somewhere.

He’d lost his virginity not to a fellow Illyrian but a fae. She hadn’t been a female of strength or status and considering as Cassian was a bastard runt at the time, he couldn’t have even fathomed those females would ever be an option.

There had been a war. There was always a war.

The troop of Illyrians were on the outskirts of the Night Court and were setting camp around one of the smaller towns. A tavern with warm lights and a warmer hearth was tucked into one of the streets and he was sick of sleeping in the filth. The mud oozed its way into his fingernails and onto his hair and worryingly close to the fresh, open wounds he’d sustained while fighting.

Cassian had fought an Illyrian, broader and older than him and one that would have been stronger too if Cassian hadn’t been desperate. Cassian had pounded him into the ground, knuckles connecting harshly with bone, until the male had acquiesced, giving up the three gold coins Cassian wanted.

He’d sloped off to the tavern after his win, to bathe his body and tend his wounds in one of their boarding rooms. He wanted a decent night’s sleep someplace clean and comfortable and, if he’d had any coin left over, a hot meal.

The Illyrian’s in the tavern were either already in their own boarding rooms for the night, passed out in front of the drinking room fire or still drinking in darkened corners. If they saw Cassian, they paid him no mind, he was a tall thing with growing muscles but still on the wrong side of scrawny.

The only fae that looked at him was the female behind the bar.

She looked to be his age but where his skin was dark, hers was fair and where his was a mottled collection of yellow and black bruises hers was as smooth as cream. She had a mass of red hair which tumbled past her shoulders.

“What will this get me?” he asked and placed the coins on the counter.

She’d told him about a small room at the back he could take and the rest would pay for some slices of mutton. And that was all, she stressed, nothing else.

Cassian merely grunted at her, too tired and hungry to care about anything else that she may have implied.

They must have been used to Illyrian guests as their smallest lodging was still room enough for him and his wings. The bed took up most of the space and a narrow window gave him a view of the courtyard he didn’t care to see. When the food was ready the same red-haired fae brought it up to him and told him she would collect the plate in an hour.

Cassian tore into the meat and bread like a starved animal and when she came back to collect the plate as promised he nodded his thanks and carried on with his task. She’d paused by the door, hesitating.

His leathers and shirt were off and he sat, bare chested on the bed wrapping gauze around his middle with inexperienced hands, cursing when it slipped away.

“Here,” she said, “let me help.”

Her fingers were soft. It had been so long since he’d been touched by a female in any kind of manner. When he was a boy he longed for the touch of a mother but he was no longer a boy and a mother’s touch wasn’t on his mind anymore.

Her fingertips dipped and tucked around his skin, wrapping and folding the gauze so it held firm. All throughout she kept glancing from her task to see him watching her.

“You’re handsome,” she told him, “it’s in a rough way but you have a gentleness in your eyes.”

Cassian closed his eyes as her fingertips traced down his belly and lower and he shuddered when they dipped inside his leathers. Her lips placed a gentle kiss to the bruise on his cheekbone and then used her free hand to turn his face to hers.

Their kisses were slow, unpractised and wet. Their tongues sliding over each other until somehow, she was on her back on his small bed and he was nestled on top of her. When she guided his hand up her skirts and in between her thighs he discovered something else wet and his body hummed.

He didn’t make love to her but it wasn’t fucking either.

He was unskilled but made up for it with enthusiasm and he watched as the moonlit danced across her bare skin, highlighting the splattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest.

Cassian slept like the dead that night never knowing whether he’d passed out before she left or if she’d crept away in the night. Either way, in the morning she was gone and he was alone.

Despite the fact that he’d taken his pleasure but hadn’t managed to give her hers, she’d placed extra gauze on the wooden table by the bed along with a parcel of food, carefully wrapped up for him to take away.

She’d never asked for his name and hadn’t given hers either.

The continued laughing of the couple brought Cassian back to the café. That red-haired fae from the tavern would now be centuries old, like him, if she were still alive. The town that she lived in had grown to the size of a small city.

Whether the tavern still existed, Cassian didn’t know. Whether she was alive, Cassian wouldn’t know.

He was a nobody back then but it was no surprise that the red-haired fae in this café knew who he was.

Most, if not all, of the city knew who he was. Predominantly he was the esteemed General who had protected and fought for Velaris for centuries and a member of the Inner Circle, one of their High Lord’s most trusted confidantes.

The other facet of his reputation, and likely what the serving fae was interested in, wasn’t so much his prowess in battle as it was in bed. Cassian, and every female since the first, had one Illyrian female to thank for that.

Elvira.

By the time he’d met her he’d grown into a warrior of some esteem. Still a foot soldier and placed in the lowest ranks where Rhys’ father wanted him but the previous High Lord of Night couldn’t crush Cassian’s desire to succeed nor his natural talent at doing so.

He was broader by this point, the burgeoning muscles now in full growth and he ambled into camp with his war wounds now badges of pride.

Cassian was a long way off his nickname of Lord of Bloodshed but whispers spread amongst the camps of an Illyrian warrior, not even a century old, who was feared and revered in equal measure.

His success fed him even if Rhys’ father, nervous at the suggestion that Cassian was the reincarnation of the Illyrian’s first warrior, tried to starve him from his accomplishments.

Elvira had been in that camp, wings clipped and eyes hard. An immediate attraction existed between them and Cassian wanted her.

Luckily, she also wanted him.

After their first time, laying on the camp bed in his tent, he was cocky. You’re blessed, he told her, you’re in the bed of the best Illyrian. Her scoff followed by the comment about him not being the best Illyrian in bed wounded his pride.

He didn’t lick his wounds for long. Elvira was keen to teach and Cassian keen to learn and he liked to prove a quick study.

Cassian learnt the only way he could learn; through trial and error but with not much room for error. Soon he had it so Elvira panted desperately for her release, her fingers slipping on his skin for grip. Then, when they lay on the camp bed, their bodies coated in their mingled sweat, Elvira had no breath for comments.

Elvira didn’t do gentle and she never considered their acts as making love. Neither did Cassian. They were lessons in the art of fucking.

But some lessons were the hardest to learn.

Much like him, she was filled with rage and it exploded in a temper that was as hot as it was quick. Often their arguments were deliberate just so Cassian could fuck her anger out of her but when together they were flame and neither carried enough sweetness for the other to make their time anything close to joyful.

In the end they both fucked others and neither cared. As quickly as they came together, they fell apart and she drifted away to another camp.

Elvira was dead now. A name on a long list of Illyrians who perished in war. There had been so many that Cassian couldn’t remember which one it was.

Cassian let out a quiet sigh. His drink was now cloying, tasting too sweet against the bitter memories and he fought the temptation to have something stronger.

He had numerous encounters over the centuries and not all as sad as Elvira. In the sands of time, he’d had lovers who’d lasted hours and lovers who’d lasted months. There were those he left and those where they left each other.

Sometimes he wasn’t willing to let go first, they were rare, but they happened.

Mor came to mind. The difference was that he’d pocketed her away in a corner of his heart, one that held Az, Rhys and Feyre and even Amren - when he was feeling gracious.

Mor was the only lover who became a friend.

The night they spent together she was at her most beautiful. The bravado she would later have and that he would love was still developing. She lay back on his bed, the flames crackling outside his tent and her golden hair fanned across his pillow, a pale blush bloomed on her creamy skin.

Cassian was a means to an end that night but in truth, so was Mor. They became a tool for each other’s temporary destruction but then they became a tool for each other’s re-birth. He would always love Mor and she him.

There was only one other female from his past that he could say he adored for a time.

High fae were visiting Velaris from Dawn and she was one of the nobles, invited to the House of Wind as a special courtesy. She dressed in soft sunrise pinks and oranges, her hair a soft golden-brown caramel and she had sharp grey eyes.

Her appearance was gentle but she had her own mind and would speak it, although her opinions, even the forthright ones, were always tempered with kindness.

Cassian was older, sharper, more rough-hewn than before. He felt battle scarred and weary on a daily basis but at that moment he was amongst friends, drinking wine that tinted their lips ruby red and throwing back their heads in boisterous laughter.

The reason behind the Dawn Court’s political visit was long forgotten but Cassian would always remember her.

She strode over to him, her beautiful face with cheekbones sharper than any blade but holding a tender smile.

“My name,” she told him, “is Lyla. Yours?”

He’d introduced himself and, like the gentleman he wasn’t, kissed her palm.

“I’d like a drink Cassian and a tour of the balcony if you would.”

His grin was borderline feral.

Lyla smelt like jasmine and roses and every chance Cassian had he pressed his nose into her skin, inhaling as deep as he could to capture it into his lungs forever. That night he showed her the Night Court stars and the next, his scars.

Every night after was spent in his bed.

When the Dawn Court left to continue their tour, Lyla stayed behind for almost a year.

Mor teased Cassian relentlessly. “Is she yours?” she jested. “Is this it for our beloved Cassian? Lost forever in the endless drudgery of matehood?”

He’d laughed it off but secretly hoped it was.

He’d sometimes dream of a figure and the image that passed through his mind was always one with golden-brown hair and grey eyes. In his dreams he always tried to reach her, this female who was permanently one step away. Every time he got close, she seemed to slip down a corridor of a labyrinth she’d built up around her.

At times he would get close enough to touch the strands of her hair and as she turned a corner, he would glimpse a striking cheekbone and chilling glare.

On waking he would reach for Lyla, warm and supple in the bed next to him. “You were running from me again,” he murmured and placed hot kisses down her throat.

“I would never,” she gasped as he drew closer, unlacing the front of her nightgown and bearing her breasts.

“Hmm, but you did,” and a nipple would disappear into his wet mouth as he slid warm fingers up her thigh. She squirmed delightfully and the sun would break over Night, filling the room.

“And you glared at me,” he would continue as his mouth travelled down her body as he lifted the nightgown up. Cassian would nuzzle his face at the juncture between her legs, and languidly lick her as though he were eating cream from a spoon.

“Oh, I would never.”

Cassian waited for the mate bond to snap but it never did. After another half year had passed, he realised that he didn’t want it to.

Lyla was too good for him.

He licked honey from her body and couldn’t distinguish whether the sweetness was that or her skin. Her hands, smooth as butter, caressed his, snagging on the coarseness of his palms. She would talk about her friends and family, eyes drifting to the windows in longing while patiently spending all her time with his.

Cassian watched as Lyla pined for home.

“Perhaps,” she’d asked him, “Dawn would be a home for you too?”

It would never be and they both knew it. Cassian also understood that while it wasn’t love for him, it was for her. Maybe it could have grown in time but he wondered if it was fair for to Lyla to wait while Cassian forced it to root.

It could be years, Cassian told himself. Or decades. Centuries even. Time is nothing when you are immortal.

Eventually the sweetness would have turned to sorrow while Lyla waited for something that may never happen and that’s why Cassian told her to go. No, it wasn’t love but it still hurt.  

Years later, possibly a hundred of them, he was on a visit to Dawn and enquired about her. Thesan had surprised him by making arrangements and there she was, visiting his guest suite one afternoon as beautiful as ever.

She had mated to a Peregryn. She’d smiled at Cassian, her familiar happy smile and said, “I’ve always liked winged males.”

Cassian’s hug lifted her from the ground and no more was to be said.  

Cassian’s reverie was broken by the chime of the door as more and more fae rushed in. The sky outside had now darkened to charcoal and the rain was showing no sign of slowing. Inside the café, the fae lights lit up and flickered around the trailing ivy draped across the walls.

Another couple had entered and chose to sit in the alcove to Cassian’s left, pressed as close as could be decent in public. Cassian observed them for a second and felt his lips twitch into a smile. The years had turned him into a sap.

There had been too many females to count; multiple hair colours, eye colours and skin tones. A variety of accents and scents.

Then her but before her, during the time in which they sized each other up like dogs of war, there was another.

Cassian rubbed his hand over his face. That year held a long, cold winter and an unrelenting hot summer. Both were filled with anger and vile words. It was no wonder Cassian sought comfort in the arms of someone who wanted to comfort him.

He’d been simultaneously dealing with the discontent within the camps that grew from rebellion into civil war and a personal, much smaller scale rebellion at the request of his High Lord and Lady. Nursing a wounded ego, wounded wrist and what appeared to be a wounded heart he fled back to Velaris to find solace in the drinks at Rita’s.

A beautiful blonde had approached him. She recognised him, had knowledge of his reputation and knew what she wanted. It suited him just fine.

He’d fucked her against his bedroom wall in the House of Wind. He’d fucked her on his bed, against the silk sheets that were luxury in comparison to the rough blankets in his Illyrian cabin. He fucked her from behind and she rode him until her knees gave out. Cassian made sure it lasted the entire night and the next morning her voice was hoarse.

It made him feel better. For a moment.

Cassian hadn’t bothered washing the fae’s scent from him when he flew back to the cabin. It was a vindicative move but felt like a victory when he saw the reaction it had.

Was it worth it? It didn’t matter now. It had been so long ago, half a century - perhaps more.  

That blonde, the one whose name he couldn’t remember because ultimately it was never of significance, was the last female who would grace his bed before the one who mattered did.

That female, he’d said once, was the last female I fucked before the last female I would ever fuck. Cassian grinned at that memory and the subsequent reaction from the other fae in the conversation.

You coarse bastard – you refer to what we do in our bedroom as fucking? I’m your mate. Give it a more respectful name. Her eyes had narrowed and her glare was ice, her posture rigid.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Cassian nodded “whatever you say.” He decided to not mention how, on the morning of that conversation, when they were performing the very act that apparently required some reverential anointment, she had begged him to ‘fuck her harder.’

The current colour of the sky reminded him of her, mainly of the dresses she wore; deep grey embroidered with silver thread, but also of her eyes. Those blue-grey eyes would change shade dependent on her mood. Blue when contented and grey went irritated.

Whether it was magic or a trick of the light Cassian didn’t know but they were often bluer than grey most days.

A crack of lighting and rumble of thunder turned into shrieks as fae ran from the bridge to get out of the storm. All the while Cassian sat at his table in front of the window watching,

He once lied that he wasn’t concerned about who she lost her virginity too, he’d taken the virginity of many but there had been a time when he thought he would be involved in hers too. There was a sadness in that train of thought, that he hadn’t been the one to give her an experience worthy of who she was.

Their first time together was filled with resentment and anger so it was the other times that held more meaning. He remembered when they were on the mountain and the rain drops shone in her hair like jewels. He was overwhelmingly consumed with love for her.

There was time after time where they fell into each other, desperate for the feel of each other’s skin that they shredded through clothes. There had been the soft times where he pressed his mouth against hers, looking into her eyes while their bodies joined.

There had been that very morning and the night before. And the night before that one. She was hungry for everything these days and he grinned at the thought.

On the bridge a group of fae scattered, not to escape the weather but to make way for someone approaching. It wasn’t that they moved out of fear although she did still carry a certain reputation, but an element of her presence commanded respect.

Cassian’s grin turned into a chuckle as she moved nearer. She was using her magic as a barrier against the rain and instead of it hitting her, it lashed out at anyone too near. Despite this, the bottom of her dress was soaked and she wore a scowl on her face only Cassian found charming.

He waved the red-haired fae over and her face lit up until she realised who was heading their way.

“A bowl of your best stew please,” he gestured towards the window, “she hungry.” He paused, “And grumpy.”

Colour leeched from the fae’s face and she rushed off quicker than he’d ever seen anyone move. The door chimed again to announce its newest arrival.

Nesta. His Nesta. The only female he would ever lay beside again, the only female he would want to lay beside again.  

He stood to greet her and she glided over to him, an act which was getting more difficult for her each day. “This weather,” she bit out, “ridiculous. It makes everyone ridiculous.”

He cupped her cold face in his palms and leant forward, kissing her forehead. When he pulled away, she gave a little sigh.

His ever so slightly mellowing Nesta.

He got her settled and the serving fae placed a bowl in front of her before making a hasty retreat. “Thank goodness,” Nesta said, “I’m starving.”

Cassian was content to watch as she picked up her spoon and tucked in. Loose strands of hair framed her face and there was the hint of some freckles on her nose, remnants from the summer when she went to visit Elain.

He would be content to watch her forever.

Reaching out with a hand, he pressed his open palm against her growing stomach. Nesta didn’t break stride, one hand spooning stew into her mouth while the other came to rest on his, their fingers curling together.

Cassian knew when they’d conceived.

It had been one of their visits to Illyria, Cassian for routine training and inspection and Nesta to get some space.

It had happened on the third day.

Nothing unusual had occurred, just simple domesticity in the cabin they shared. Nesta looked so lovely by the fire, her hair loose around her shoulders while she read. A thick blanket was tucked around her and her entire pose indicated nothing but pure relaxation aside from when she occasionally quirked an eyebrow.

That, and the dusky blush on her cheeks, was how Cassian recognised she was reading on of her erotic stories.

He’d placed an open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder. Nesta smelt like the smoke from the fire but tasted as fresh as mint. The little gasps she made as he continued down her body gave him all the encouragement he needed and she buried her fingers in his hair, the book falling with a thud.

Whatever the characters in her story were doing, Cassian could do better.

Soon it was nothing but their naked bodies pressed against each other, sweat coated skin slipping against skin. The firelight danced around them, shadows highlighting the curves of Nesta’s body as she writhed beneath him.

He was on her, in her, around her. His winged body taking up space on the rug. Nesta, his proper Nesta, who stood spine straight and unsmiling in public had sucked his thumb into her mouth, tongue flickering against his flesh, her pupils so large her eyes were black.

Cassian fucked her so hard that when her release came, she arched her back wide off the ground. He’d grabbed her thighs and hoisted her upwards, opening her up further so he could drive in deeper.

Afterwards they lay in front of the glowing embers, sweat cooling and he kissed her breathless because he never wanted to not be kissing her.

The rest of their time in Illyria was filled with duties that took Cassian away and it was a few days after their return to Velaris that he noticed a change in them both. A slight alteration of her scent and a distinct primal urge within him to tear apart any male who looked at her.

Cassian felt their baby shift underneath his palm, moving around for space, maybe even stretching its developing wings.

Nesta made a contented noise, food devoured. She rested her other hand against her stomach and leant back in her chair, looking out the window. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to sit further into the café, the alcove looks cosy.”

“I like watching the city.”

Nesta squeezed his fingers as the baby shifted particularly firmly. She sighed and Cassian saw her look out towards the bridge. “There’s not much to see in this spot.”

“I don’t mind,” Cassian said. “All this time, I was waiting for you.”

[svtkillua]

milk and tea > 2

rating: [pg-13 / angst] genre: soulmate au pairing: todoroki shouto x reader warnings: cursing, heartbreak, angst! word count: 9.5k

listen while you read here! join the discord!

1 - chap 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 [final]

The pendant hanging from your neck felt heavier the longer you wore it, like the days of the week that had ticked past added pounds to the object by the hour. You simultaneously adored it and loathed it, constantly catching yourself staring at it and fiddling your fingers around the chain. You loved that it reminded you of him, that the present special from Todoroki somehow made you feel like you yourself were special, like the gift was as close to a boyfriend like gesture you’d ever get. It made you feel adored, like the silver chain was a harsh contrast to the gold on your palm because it was a different reality, one that for a moment didn’t seem like a daydream. You hated it, however, when you stared too long and remembered that a few minutes after he slipped it on your neck he left to be with her. You loathed it for being a constant whisper reminding you that it was just a necklace, just a birthday present, not a declaration of love in the form of jewellery, but a kind gesture between friends. Because that was all you could be to Todoroki as hard as you tried to imagine otherwise. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

Your head lifted from its downward angle, eyes trailing from the wooden table top to the wide windows of the cafe, the sounds around you feeling too loud for the small space. People were tucked in at all the tables, several offices on the upper floors of the building leading to a packed cafe every lunch rush. You almost always came down to grab coffee and a bagel, used to the hoards of people that blended in with the beige and brown walls, familiar with the scent of roasting coffee beans and the hum of the espresso grinder. You shifted in your seat as you looked back over at your friend, setting down the sandwich you’d been picking at, brushing your hands together in a silent clap in an attempt to brush off the crumbs. 

“Sorry, Izuku.” Your head shook side to side as you eyed his pouting features, cracking a smile at the way he huffed out a breath of air, lips puckered like a child who hadn’t gotten their way. Midoriya was perhaps your closest friend next to Todoroki, someone who had never pitied you but rather tried to fill your life with brightness. It was no wonder his soulmate was so enamored with him, you couldn’t blame her, his personality was affectionately child like, so awake and full of life you almost envied him for his eternal positivity. “I sort of zoned out.” 

“It’s alright, I was kind of rambling to be honest.” He chuckled with a shrug, the sweater he had on bunching slightly around his neck, the fabric looking too thick for the warm spring temperature. He had on wide, round glasses, his hair a bit more curly than normal from the small amount of humidity in the air, fingers wrapped around a huge plastic cup full of peach tea. “How was your birthday? We missed you at the bar.” 

“Okay I guess.” The fidget you made in your seat was involuntary, fingers trailing over the line on your palm out of habit. The light was hitting it just enough to make it seem to glow, the gold glinting in your irises as you flickered a glance between it and Midoriya, shoulders bobbing in a shrug. “Todoroki came over for a bit, we had a pizza.” 

“That sounds like a boring birthday celebration.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly feel like throwing a wild party, Midoriya.” Your eyes rolled at him, fingers drumming into the table top as you glanced at someone who waved in passing. Part of you felt anxious, wondering where Todoroki was even though you knew he was more than likely working out. He tended to work during his lunch breaks most days, which was what got you in the habit of bringing him coffees and snacks on your way back to the office across the hall. 

“Are you okay?” His palm landed on top of your knuckles, the gesture innocent but filling you with a bit of warmth, the genuine flash of concern on his features almost comforting. “I mean, I know you’re probably upset but, you know.” 

“I don’t know.” You sighed, shrugging and glancing at his soulmark, the bright blue on the face of his hand in a swirly pattern, almost mimicking that of a flower. The color bloomed against his skin tone, like a spot of blue sky poking out from clouds on a summer day, Midoriya himself the ball of sun beaming through the air. “It’s not like there’s much I can do to change how things are, everything just feels wrong. It feels unfair, like something’s not making sense how it was supposed to. I don’t know how to be okay when I’m supposed to be happy alone. I don’t feel happy alone, I feel lonely.” 

He nodded slowly, hand retreating to instead pick at his sweater, cup lifting as his lips wrapped around the straw and he took a gulp, adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes danced around the room as he debated what to say, eyelids fluttering as he blinked when the sun hit him directly in the face. You could almost see his thoughts forming, could picture the words as his messy scrawl put them down in his head, the ink bleeding into his tongue as he set his cup down to speak them into existence. 

“Just because you don’t have a matching mark doesn’t mean you have to be alone.” He reasoned, nodding once towards you with a half hearted smile, his gaze flickering over the planes of your face while you tore your focus away. You knew what he was referring to, that several people without soulmates had ended up together, that people with circumstances like yours made their own destiny and chose their own path. It was illegal to not be with your soulmate but if you didn’t have one all bets were off, anyone else who was alone was up for your taking, but somehow that idea didn’t sound right in your head. 

Maybe it was because you’d gotten so hung up on Todoroki but you didn’t feel like you were meant for just anyone, didn’t feel like you could make a deep connection with someone even if you could sit and talk to them for hours. Most everyone you heard of who didn’t have a soulmate was content being alone, didn’t feel so desperate for affection as you were, didn’t long for someone to hold them and be beside them all their life. For everyone else like you, it sounded like they were indeed made to be alone and they liked it that way, but you loathed it. 

You constantly felt lonely, like the rest of the world had left you fend for yourself, like everyone else was paired off and had forgotten you were still there. It was hard to go outside and see people holding hands, getting close to the person that was meant for them. It stung to hear your friends had met their match, to go to their weddings and smile wide knowing that it would never get to be you standing there in white across from your soulmate. It made your chest burn to picture yourself marrying someone you weren’t made by the universe for, to look at the mark on your hand and know you’d never see it on another person for as long as you lived. It was cruel, like going out most days were torture to the beating muscle in your chest, like being happy was going to be one of the hardest challenges to achieve in your life. 

The only thing that made you feel that way was Todoroki, and anymore that happiness came laced with the longing that you’d grown for him in your gut. You’d fallen so in love with Todoroki that it was hard to see past that now, that picturing him was enough to make your pulse quicken and throat constrict. Now the mere idea of watching him marry someone else made your eyes burn, fingers itching to feel him when you pictured someone else touching his beautiful skin you’d grown so attached to. Knowing he was a few floors up in the gym made your lips pull into a faint smile, almost like you could feel him there, could sense the warmth that radiated from his body and imagine it baking your skin. 

Todoroki made you feel things others wouldn’t, and in a way perhaps that was why you’d found yourself growing so infatuated with him. That was always how they made soulmates seem in movies, like they would understand you in facets others couldn’t, that they would be the person that just clicked into place, like a missing puzzle piece you’d finally found. You couldn’t understand how you’d fallen so in love with someone who wasn’t meant for you, couldn’t grasp that even though you felt all the things you were supposed to feel for a soulmate, he wasn’t that person. Things had been hard before he met Momo, but afterwards it all felt worse, the love in your chest like a weight that made your feet drag and posture slouch. 

“I gotta get back upstairs.” Your head lifted as Midoriya stood, your body following suit as he pulled you into a quick hug, smiling faintly with a nod as he walked off right after. You remained in place for a beat, watching his figure with a sigh, jealous of him, jealous of how easy he tried to always find a bright side in his head. You envied how second nature it was for him to be positive, to find a light in a room full of dark. It’d never been that way for you, never so easy to become a spark that filled everyone with vibrancy, if anything, you’d become the one that always turned the lights off. 

After grabbing another coffee and pastry from the counter, your feet carried you up the flights of stairs towards the office, the steps resonating with loud smacks in the half empty staircase. They complimented the sound of your heart beat as it pounded in your ears, matching in rhythm the quicker you ascended them, the heavy door slamming behind you serving like a crescendo to the song being created behind your rib cage. This had slowly become your favorite part of the day, the short walk down the hall towards the double paned glass doors facing your own, admiring the way the sunlight sprouted through them and created hazy shapes on the carpeted floor. It looked so welcoming, like it was the perfect package just waiting for you to unwrap it, like the universe knew someday Todoroki would work there so they created an entry as warm as he was.  

You spotted him as soon as you walked inside the studio room, waving at the receptionist as you strolled past her and further into the space, fans running that created a quiet hum that mixed with the clicking of cameras. He was always tucked back into the corner office whenever he was taking a break, the one directly across from the main studio space, the room with the most windows that overlooked the streets below even if he insisted he didn’t like heights. He was hunched slightly over his desk, camera laying idly beside his laptop as he moved his finger over the keyboard, brows furrowed together and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. His hair was pushed back off his forehead though pieces fell forward, like he kept fussing with it, lips parted as he exhaled, the angle of his jaw accentuated by the light streaming into his space from outside. He was oblivious to your approach, completely deaf to the outside world as he poured himself into his paperwork.

And gosh was he stunning. 

“Todoroki?” 

His head lifted in a flash, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked rapidly until he focused on you, the curve of his lips spreading until his cheeks bunched upwards, eyes slipping faintly into half moons. The pang of guilt you felt for interrupting him washed away as he took his glasses off and moved to stand while you waved him off, moving closer to set his coffee and lunch down beside his computer. He was staring at you now as incessantly as he’d been doing to his computer, the sound of his foot tapping into the hardwood floors beneath his chair faintly reaching your ear when he sank back into his chair. 

“You didn’t have to bring me lunch.” 

“I knew you wouldn’t eat if I didn’t.” Your shoulders rose and fell with a faint laugh falling from your lips as you used one hand to push your hair away from your face. You looked his way long enough to catch his gaze before tearing your own away, pretending you didn’t feel the way his focus was making your esophagus feel too tight, like your heart had made a new home there. “Someone’s become quite the workaholic lately, hm?” 

“I have not, I just have a lot to do and I’m too tired to continue exercising.” His fingers landed on top of yours as you took a step back to move towards the door, focus shifting back onto his features as he nodded once in your direction. You swallowed hard, trying to force down the rock forming in your throat as he slipped his fingers between your own long enough to give your hand a squeeze with your palms flushed together. It was almost sad how incredible a him barely holding your hand could make you feel, how the smallest amount of affection from Todoroki felt like he’d dropped to his knee and asked you to be his forever. “Thank you though. Stay for a few minutes and keep me company?” 

He hardly had to put up an argument even if you should have shaken your head no, fingers slipping from his grasp as you sunk into the chair across from him, the desk serving as a barrier to separate your bodies. His posture relaxed once you were seated, lips wrapping around the opening of his cup as he snapped his eyes shut and took a quick sip, adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed and dropped the cup back down. The shirt he had on was gray, like the color of a sky after a thunderstorm in the middle of the summer, the colour making him look more drained as he pushed his wheeled chair slightly back from the confines of his desk, dark jeans clinging to his legs. 

The simple smile that flashed over his features as the paper bag crinkled open between his fingers made your own cheeks tug upwards, nothing but a pastry and the spare half of your bagel shoved inside but it was enough to make him feel appreciated. He always looked grateful when you dropped him off a coffee or snack, always made a point of thanking you for days after, like you’d single handedly made the world spin for him. It was one of the million things you loved about him, how humble he was, how he considered every act of kindness he received as a gift, one he couldn’t wait to return the first chance he got. 

“So what are you working on that’s so interesting?” His head rose when you spoke, eyebrows furrowing together as his lips pursed, jaw moving while he chewed on the sandwich. It made you grin, his cheeks full like a hamsters as he shuffled forward and swiveled his laptop around for you to see. The screen illuminated an article of breaking news covering crimes in the neighborhood, images of black and white mugshots dotted around the paragraphs in order to send a scary effect across to the reader.

“New villains showing up everywhere we least expect.” Your gaze flickered over to him when he spoke, eyes following the way his tongue poked out from between his lips, licking a crumb away from the pink flesh. He nodded his head once towards the screen before you focused back on it, voice thick as he half yawned, arms stretching forward and straining against the fabric of his shirt. “They want to be mysterious, I guess, but they’re not too good at covering their tracks. Quite an easy job for all of us right now.” 

Your head bobbed in a nod as he trailed off his speaking, lifting the bagel back to his lips as you leaned back in your seat and turned slightly to look out one of the windows. You had to squint, the sun steaming in just high enough to cover your face in heat, burning your irises in comparison to the pale coloring of the room. It felt peaceful, your eyelids drooping shut and arms folding over your chest, heartbeat at a steady rhythm while you listened to Todoroki’s quiet humming as he ate. For a moment you let yourself pretend you were at home, that the pair of you was married and this was any regular work day evening, content just spending your time together not speaking, because the love you felt in your chest said enough. 

It was so easy to fall into with him, the lull of security he provided simply by being there was too comforting to fight off. It’d become so natural to tune out the rest of the world when you were alone with Todoroki, like second nature to forget that the day dreams in your head were complete fiction. Being alone with him made it feel like it could be real, like the way your heart rate spiked when he laughed was normal because it was made for him to hold. His presence raised up the bubbles of hope in your chest until you felt like you were floating, like he’d placed you on top of a cloud and was letting you feel that sense of love you’d never really get, like he was letting you pretend your feelings for him were reciprocated without him even knowing it. 

It was like you craved Todoroki as much as you wished you could get away from him, like you wanted to fight the pull he had on you but feared how you would continue to breathe without him there giving you oxygen. He was simultaneously becoming your perfect dream and your nightmare, and slowly the two ideals were mixing into one muddled mess of emotions you were having trouble sorting through. You weren’t sure how to separate your feelings for him from reality anymore, weren’t sure how to continue being in his life without completely destroying your own heart in the process. 

A quiet click made your head move, eyes rolling as you groaned loudly and raised your hands to cover your face, Todoroki’s laughter mixing with the sound as he continued snapping away at you with his camera. You could hear his chair scraping against the wood as he stood up, footsteps indicating he was moving closer to you as your legs lifted, knees bent to try and curl yourself into a ball on the chair. 

“C’mon, stop covering your face, the lighting looks great right now.” 

“Knock it off.” 

“Please?” 

It felt right, with just the two of you there giggling over something so pointless, like that was how it was supposed to be. It felt like this was what the universe was supposed to have done, that all along it should have made the pair of you for the other, that you should have been the one that got to make him laugh like that every day. It felt like everything, for a moment, was how it was supposed to be, how your heart had decided it was supposed to be from the first moment you saw him in the park. Just you and Todoroki and no one else, nothing there to interrupt you besides the sounds of your own hearts beating. 

“Stop!” You laughed at his insistence, peeking out from between your fingers to find him bending closer to you, his cheeks pulled into a wide smile as your eyes connected for the second he lowered his camera slightly. He took another picture, you could tell by the sound of his shutter releasing, another groan falling from your lips, this one laced with laughter as he reached a hand out and started gently tugging at your wrist. The contact felt electric, like he was shooting fireworks off that were spreading up your arm and making your heart skip a few beats out of surprise, his laughter only serving to heighten how light everything felt.  

“Todoroki?” 

It was laughable how quickly your mood could plummet, the air no longer feeling light and delicate, but rather too thick for you to breathe in, spine locking up as your legs dropped back to the ground with a gentle tap from your shoes meeting the wood. Todoroki’s touch on your wrist vanished, his laughter trailing off as he stood upright and cleared his throat, your eyes burning into his as he stared at you before focusing off at the door. You didn’t want to look at who it was, didn’t want to see her smiling face when Todoroki moved past you to give her a hug, just knowing it was happening right beside you enough to make your fingers dig into your thighs. 

“Momo, I didn’t know you were stopping by.” His voice was pleasant but you could tell he was surprised, his posture stiff as he slowly came back into your line of sight with her in tow. You focused on her back at first, on the way her hair was tied up into a tight bun, on the clasp of her necklace that was catching the light as Todoroki pulled a chair over from the corner of the room for her to sit in. 

“I wanted to bring you lunch.” Her voice was delicate, like her full volume was someone else’s whisper, her arms folding in her lap as she sat down, Todoroki’s palm on her lower back as she did so enough to make you swallow harshly. She was wearing one of his jackets, you noted, that brown one with the elbow patch you’d sewn on for him when he ripped it during a night out. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.” 

“You’re not.” 

Her head whipped over to focus on you once you spoke, the smile on your lips feeling as ingenuine as it did uncomfortable, your fingers weaving together as she flashed you an tense grin with her nod. She was holding a paper bag with Todoroki’s name written on it in swirly black ink, a heart scribbled beside the T with a smiley face inside. She passed it off to him, her fingers brushing his own as he nodded in appreciation, setting the bag beside your own crumbled up one, it almost seeming like a metaphor for the two of you, one that made you exhale like a deflating balloon, the false sense of comfort you had now ripped away. Todoroki cleared his throat awkwardly, a silence falling over the room that made you itch to escape it, like the walls were closing in on you the longer you sat there watching him glance between the two of you. 

“Well, good.” She pressed her lips into a thin line as she nodded and looked over at Todoroki, your eyes flickering to her palm, seeing her soulmark when she flexed her fingers back and forth mid air, like she was trying to stretch out a muscle. Your own palm suddenly felt like it burned, like your subconscious was reminding you of how badly you wished you had that mark. You would have given anything to be in Momo position, to be the person that Todoroki would marry and have a forever with, to be the person Todoroki loved so strongly it was all consuming and soul changing. “How’s your day been?” 

It almost felt like you weren’t there, watching Todoroki turn his screen towards Momo as he started rambling on about his morning, like you were seeing a scene from a movie you didn’t want to be watching. You could almost picture them like that, like this was how they’d be as the years passed, chatting in their kitchen while the rest of the world fell away behind them, their skin growing wrinkles but their palms staying matching and pristine. It stung, like the bubbles of hope you let yourself build up were all being popped one by one, like wasps were stinging your insides just to put you back in your place. 

“Todoroki we need you out here for a second?” A girl poking her head into the room looked apologetic as she motioned for Todoroki to follow her, his eyes darting between your own and Momo’s before he was slipping out. You wanted to grab his wrist and drag him back in, wanted to force him to stay and serve as a barrier protecting you from talking to your own worst fear. Momo was everything you wished you were, the person you were most envious of and found yourself loathing when none of this was her fault. 

She couldn’t help it the universe had paired her with Todoroki, she couldn’t help it that she was made for him and you weren’t. It wasn’t her fault that you didn’t have a soulmate and yet on the nights you laid alone in bed you found yourself blaming her, because she had gotten the person you craved like a drug. She couldn’t change the fact that you were made to be alone, that you had fallen in love with a man that was made for someone else, someone you could never be. You could blame her all you wanted but none of this was Momo’s fault, and deep in your chest you knew that, you just wanted someone to be mad at. Disliking her had seemed the easiest way of avoiding the demons you liked to ignore, the truth of knowing that you were meant for no one and there was no reasoning behind it too much for you to accept. You wanted a cause, wanted an explanation, even if you’d never truly get one. 

And through your jealousy that temporary bandage of an explanation had become her. 

“He works too much sometimes, don’t you think?” Her light voice made you lift your head, eyes flickering over her features as she stared at his desk, drawing on the surface with the tip of her finger. She had a half smile on her lips as she shook her head side to side, laughing faintly as she adjusted in her seat, the dark jeans she had on almost matching the ones Todoroki had on, pale pink sneakers poking out beneath the ends of them. “I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and find him typing away on his laptop.” 

You tried to laugh, tried to ignore how your chest stung picturing them in bed together, tried to pretend the mental image didn’t make you want to curl up in a ball and scream until your lungs gave out. She meant well, she was trying to make conversation rather than sit there in silence in her boyfriends office, but you doubted your amusement was even half convincing. You weren’t sure it was possible to be genuine when your insides felt like they were rotting, weren’t sure if you could even be truly happy when your soul had stopped trying to a while ago. 

“Yeah, he gets sucked into it sometimes.” Your head bobbed in a half nod as you focused back down on your legs, tracing circles around the red scratch on your knee from when you bumped into your bed frame earlier in the week. 

“I’m sure it’s just because he’s so passionate about it, but sometimes it worries me. I’d hate to see him overwork himself.” She trailed off, eyes focused on you judging by the slight shift in voice and the subtle goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. You lifted your head to lock eyes with her, hands overlapping each other in your lap as she pressed her lips into a thin line, like she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. “Does he mention it to you? That he’s tired or unhappy?” 

Todoroki was never really one to share emotions with people, not the ones that he didn’t deem good or important enough. It took you months of persistence before he opened up about any problems he had, any unhappiness that lingered in his heart. He took a lot on himself, held the weight of the world on the tops of his shoulders but still stood tall with a smile on his face. He didn’t like admitting he needed help or comfort, besides with a few people, and somehow you’d become lucky enough to be one of them. 

You’d become the friend who he called in the middle of the night to talk about the things that were keeping him up. You’d become the one who heard of all the problems his parents had caused for him, the one who listened to the things he disliked about society and the way the world worked. You were his confidant and his comfort blanket, and in many ways he was yours, the one person who never judged you when the mark on your hand made you want to ball your eyes out. He never pushed away from you when the rest of the world sent you judging looks, never let others assumptions change the way he acted around you. 

All he wanted at the end of the day was to be happy, and for the people he cared about to feel the same. You knew how heavily it weighed on him when someone was upset or unhappy, and sometimes he felt the need to try and fix things himself. He always went out of his way to do extra work if it’d help his co workers, always volunteered to be the one paying for other’s lunches so it wasn’t a burden. He always went to his family dinners even if they made him miserable, always put up with his parents nasty remarks and harsh judgements because he thought he had to. He pushed back in little ways, with his career and choice of friends, but sometimes you wondered if it was enough for him. 

He had a heart that was surely even more golden than the shimmering line on your palm, one that shined like a lighthouse in the dead of night, but also weighed heavily in his chest. Sometimes you wondered if he was stopping himself from being as happy as he made most everyone else. You questioned, if he could have anything in the entire world, what he would want, what the secret wishes were he had that he’d never uttered out loud. 

If you could wish for anything, you would wish for him. 

“No, but I don’t think he would admit working too much is a problem anyway.” She nodded, glancing away to focus out the window at your response, the light falling over her features like a spotlight on a beautiful painting. “I should get going, my lunch break is ending soon.” 

Her head moved up and down as you stood, eyes not turning towards you as you tugged down on your skirt, making sure it hadn’t ridden up. She was outlining her soulmark, you noticed, the dark lines stretching along her palm almost dark as the night sky, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. You could picture it on Todoroki’s, could see the mark you’d memorized and tried to wish away like a movie playing in your subconscious. They probably traced eachother’s all the time, probably had dreamed their whole lives of meeting the other and lucky for them they had. Lucky for them they had someone who matched them, they got to love the person they wanted to love and didn’t have to hide it under blankets of self loathing.

From the time you were a child it was all you heard about, soulmates, how magical and wonderful it would be when you met them. Everyone talked about it, about how that one person was the only one meant for you, society ensuring that with the laws preventing non-soulmate relationships over a certain age. There were people who didn’t like it, those who found the laws oppressive and out of date, considering most people ended up with their soulmate anyway, but fighting back was pointless. It was all so ingrained into society at this point, the nursery rhymes you’d sing at recess even laced with the messages of your one and only being the one you matched marks with. 

They always said the only person you’d truly love would be your soulmate, and maybe that was why ignoring how strongly you felt for Todoroki hurt so much. Because he wasn’t your soulmate, he didn’t match your mark and yet you’d fallen so damn in love with him it seemed impossible for your brain to accept he didn’t belong with you. Even there in his office, staring at the girl with a mark on her palm that was an exact copy of Todoroki’s, it felt wrong, like the burning in your chest was more than just jealousy. You loved him more than all the stars loved the night sky and you couldn’t help the thought that maybe you loved him more than Momo could. 

“I like your necklace, by the way.” You paused your movements towards the door when she spoke up, spine tensing as your fingers subconsciously rose to toy with the pendant hanging from your neck. You turned back towards her, her eyes drawn to where your hand was, her lips spread in a half smile that curved downwards as her fingers curled, hand palming into a loose fist on her lap. “Todoroki gave it to you?” 

She phrased it like a question but didn’t seem to want an answer, your lips parted slightly as you swallowed down hard. Your hand slipped away from the necklace, landing back at your side as you nodded once nonetheless, her eyes drifting away from the jewelry to instead float back up to your face, smile faded as she blinked a few times. The air felt heavier, more thick, like the unknown thoughts running through her head were clogging up the space, skin feeling too hot like suddenly you had on a hundred layers of clothing. 

“I found it one day, when I was doing the laundry. He’d forgotten to take it out of his jacket pocket before he tossed it in the hamper. I actually had thought it was a present for me. ” Her voice had dropped in volume, her head shaking as she exhaled all the oxygen from her lungs and took a quick glance at the necklace again. Your stomach felt like it dropped, like it had been filled with cement and was too heavy to stay put, an irrational sense of guilt crawling up your spine from the look on her face. She looked wounded and confused, wistful but unaware of what she wanted to say, mouth opening and closing twice before she finally spoke. “Is something going on between the two of you?” 

“What?” You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, surprised by her rather upfront question, and judging by the way her eyes widened momentarily she must not have meant to be so forward. She cleared her throat, pursing her lips and exhaling heavily as she looked out the windows again, your fingers curling into your palms to close into tight fists to hide how they were shaking. 

“Do you like Todoroki?” 

“Sorry about that.” Todoroki’s rush back into room cut off anything you would have said, lips parted and pulse pounding in your eardrums as you took a step back towards the door. It felt like you’d been caught red handed doing something you shouldn’t, like you were a little kid with their hands shoved into the cookie jar before dinner. Todoroki’s palm landed on your back as you stumbled slightly into him, his eyebrows raised when he focused down on you, hair falling onto his forehead like he’d just combed his fingers through it. “You okay?” 

“I have to go.” The words tumbled out as you stepped away from the warmth of his palm, ignoring his fingers as they tried to grasp onto your wrist, clearly confused as to why you were hurrying out. You could feel Momo staring at the pair of you, could sense Todoroki’s apprehension to just let you run off so clearly bothered. You knew he wouldn’t follow you, not with Momo there, his soulmate, with her perfect packed lunch for him waiting on his table top. 

It was like you were in a haze, barely anything registering in your eardrums as you walked back into your office, sitting down to riffle through the papers waiting for you on the desk, eyes moving over the words but not reading them. You couldn’t feel anything besides the pounding in your chest, the force so strong it felt like it might burst through your ribcage and fall onto your keyboard. 

You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle the situation or the question she’d thrown at you. What would she do if she found out you were in love with her soulmate? Would she keep him away from you and cut off the thing you cared about most. Did she know for a fact you liked Todoroki or was she just insecure? Was it that painfully obvious you were completely in love with him? If she knew you liked Todoroki, than did he know? It felt like the room was spinning and no one else could notice but you, like the walls were caving in and on them was written all of your secrets, ready to swallow you whole. 

All the worst case scenarios were flooding into your conscious and making your eyes burn, eyes squeezing shut, the paper fluttering between your fingers as your hands slightly shook from your nerves. It felt like all your emotions had skyrocketed and you didn’t know how to handle it. You simultaneously wanted to call Todoroki to listen to him talk until you calmed down and wanted to run as far away from him as possible, wanted to lock yourself in a room where no one could see you anymore. It was all too much for you to deal with alone but was too heavy of a secret to spill on anyone else. 

Who exactly could you tell that you were madly in love with your closest friend and his soulmate had perhaps figured that out? 

Who could you tell that your world felt like it was about to fall apart?

Sometimes when you were thinking too much your eyes stopped focusing, the world becoming fuzzy as all your attention poured into daydreams rather than what was right in front of you. It felt like a filter, like you’d applied a blur to the colors coming from your laptop, barely registering the sounds of laughter pouring from the speakers. You could fall into a fog when you were like that, could get so distracted away from the world around you with a few dazed blinks at nothing in particular. It always seemed to happen when you had the most on your mind, the loss of focus, your quiet breathing the background noise to the scenarios running through your mind. 

Right now those scenarios were all about Todoroki. 

You’d been thinking about what Momo said all afternoon, that alone enough to make a wave of panic ripple through your gut. She’d looked so distant, so unreadable but somehow intimidating, like she had your entire world in her palms and didn’t realize it yet. You questioned how long she’d been thinking about it, if finding the necklace from Todoroki was what spurred her self doubt or if she’d known from the first time she answered his phone for him and found you on the other end. You wondered if it poured out of you so visibly that everyone knew but just hadn’t had the heart to shut you down, that you were a silent laughing stock to the haves, the only have not there seemed to be who didn’t know their place. 

Your lungs deflated as your lids fell shut, feet shuffling beneath the blanket covering your legs, the sounds of the stupid action film playing on your laptop coming to a stop when you blindly reached out and smacked at the keyboard. The enveloping silence was both too quiet and too loud, letting your thoughts run rampant until they were so aggressive they felt like blood chilling screams. You didn’t know what to do or where to go now, you didn’t know how to handle a situation that hadn’t even happened yet. There were too many what ifs, too many possibilities for how Momo’s question came about and too many options for how bad the outcome from it would be. 

You’d never imagined loving someone would be so messy when you were growing up, always idolizing that passion for another human being as something almost magical, something otherworldly. Everyone made it seem like once you found it nothing else would matter, that the world would stop being so loud until all you could feel was that love in your chest. No one told you how bitter it would be, how acrid the taste in your mouth would be watching the person you loved be with someone else. No one took the time to sit you down and tell you maybe things wouldn’t work out how you wanted, no one set you aside and traced the gold on your palm to warn you maybe you wouldn’t be as lucky as everyone else. 

No one told you back then that maybe you’d be alone now. 

No one told you that love was only magical when someone was loving you back. 

The buzzing beside your thigh made your lids flutter open, the fuzzy light still coming from your computer painting your legs the color of a blue sky. You squinted at your cell phone, blinking rapidly as Todoroki’s name came into focus flashing across the front. He’d texted you a few times since you rushed off so suddenly earlier, always able to tell when something was bothering you even when you wouldn’t admit it. He had a way of knowing things about you before you knew them yourself, always noticing little quirks and habits that he’d point out before you realized you even had them. He knew you better than you did and at times it made it harder to ignore how strongly you felt for him, made it scarier to imagine moving far enough away you wouldn’t see his face everyday. 

Part of you was tempted to let it ring, to ignore his voice just a little longer, to try and peel yourself away from the strong hold he had on you without even realizing it. You didn’t know if he’d talked to Momo, if she told him her suspicions and was now just calling to let you down easy, didn’t know if he was calling to tell you he couldn’t be around you anymore because it caused her discomfort. You didn’t know if you could listen to him reject you, didn’t think you could handle how crestfallen you’d be if he quietly whispered that he couldn’t see you again. You didn’t know what you’d do if your worse case scenario was true and Todoroki was about to be ripped away from you, but the stronger part of your will power was desperate to hear his voice ringing in your ear drum, regardless of the words coming from his parted lips. 

“Hello?” 

“Thank gosh, I was starting to get worried.” His relieved sigh made your lips tug slightly up into a smile on your cheeks, picturing the way his hand was probably tugging through his hair in his bedroom, his legs folded up like a little kid. “You weren’t texting me back all afternoon.” 

“Sorry, I was just sort of out of it.” Your lips pressed into a thin line as you leaned back in your bed, palm resting flat on your stomach, the huge t-shirt that was serving as a pajama top bunching around your waist. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“It’s alright.” He hummed for a moment, ears picking up on the sound of his bedroom window being pulled shut, before he let out a heavy puff of air, presumably moving to sit back down on his oversized bed. You wondered if he was alone in it, gut churning picturing Momo there beside him, nerves swelling with the unknown of where this conversation was going. “You just rushed out so fast earlier I thought I’d done something. You don’t usually ignore my texts and I guess I just thought the worst.” 

His faint chuckle at his own worry made your chest ache, eyes squeezing shut in relief that Momo hadn’t said anything to him, or at least if she hadn’t he didn’t seem to be taking it to heart. You still felt apprehensive, shaken up, like you were on the edge of a cliff and unsure of how good your balance was anymore. It was soothing to hear his voice nonetheless once you got over the initial panic, swallowing hard to get down the rock formed in your esophagus before you spoke.

“You worry too much, Todoroki.” 

“Only about you.” The laugh that followed the syllables made your lungs feel empty of oxygen, body rolling onto its side and face nuzzling slightly in the pillow. If you closed your eyes tight enough you could almost imagine it was Todoroki’s chest you were burying yourself against, could almost smell his cologne you’d memorized the scent of long ago. It was like you were intoxicated and the only think you’d ever tasted was him, like was your drug of choice and biggest addiction, one you didn’t want to worry about the consequences from. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me. “ 

“I’m hardly ever mad at you.” 

“Remember that time I broke your coffee table and you didn’t talk to me for a week?” 

It was so easy to fall back into him, so easy to let the conversation flow naturally into your eardrums with him giggling through the phone and rambling everytime you responded. It was simple, loving him, when the rest of the world was quiet. It was easier to love him from afar, through the safety of a phone where you could hang up and close yourself back off once it was over. It was more difficult to hide the stares when you were in front of him, harder to swallow back the praises you wanted to shout at him, to stop yourself from grabbing his hand and never letting go. When you were apart you could pretend everything was fine, you could close your eyes and imagine your soulmarks matched, that he was yours and he was close enough for you to touch. When you were in front of him you were reminded of everything you didn’t have, reminded every time you saw his palm that he already had his someone and it wasn’t you. 

He made things feel easy, made the rhythm of you talking feel easy over the time that passed with him speaking to you through the phone. He chipped away at your unease and put a fog over the worries that had been burning into your brain, if only temporarily. His chatter about his afternoon and tangents about things you already knew were enough to make everything feel warmer, more gentle. He knew how to get to the deepest parts of you and brighten them, knew how to pull you from your own thoughts without much effort, in a way that you could only hope you did for him as well. 

“I wish I was there right now.” His heavy sigh made you swallow, rolling onto your back as you took a peek at the alarm on your bedside table, reading the blinking red numbers with a muted yawn. You ignored the fluttering in your stomach at the idea, picturing him momentarily there in bed beside you, imagining how incredible he’d look with his hair all fused up and his chest rising and falling like the rhythm of a slow ballad. 

“I’m sure Momo will be back soon from her parents, it’s not like you’ll be home alone that much longer.” Her name sounded foreign coming from your tongue but you tried to ignore it, arching your back and moving your legs as you tried to pry the blanket up from underneath you, slipping it over your body soon after. It was soft, like the texture of a those giant teddy bears people got for valentines day, the same color of the sun the sky had been wearing that morning. 

“She probably will, but that wasn’t what I meant.” 

You paused momentarily as his words floated through the phone, unsure of what to say to that, not positive what exactly he meant. It made your pulse quicken, pounding in your fingertips and eardrums like you’d just run a marathon in the middle of summer. He seemed to be contemplating how to continue, judging from the deep breathe you heard him suck in before he spoke again, voice somehow more gentle than before. 

“I wish I was there in your bed, in your apartment, with you.” He paused and cleared his throat slightly, the sound of him flopping onto his pillows melding with the car honking as it drove by down below on the street. “I miss you.” 

“You saw me a few hours ago.” You laughed faintly, heart in your throat and pounding so violently it was hard to breathe, something about his tone and choice of words feeling more intimate than you were used to with him. Suddenly the phone didn’t feel like it was giving you much distance from him, felt like it was making you more vulnerable without seeing his face to try and work out what was going on inside his head. 

“I don’t care, I miss you.” His voice dropped in volume, your lids falling shut as you took a heavy breathe, one that felt like it wasn’t enough oxygen even with your lungs swelled like close-to-popping balloons. “I miss your laugh and your smile and that look you get when you stare out the window too long and forget what we were talking about. I love when you do that, have I ever mentioned that to you? I love when you get all embarrassed or angry and try to act like you were listening to a single thing I said.” 

“What are you doing, Todoroki?” 

“I love your soulmark too. I know you hate talking about it and hate seeing it even more but it’s so beautiful. It’s the prettiest shade of gold, it reminds me of what the sun looks like right before it sets.” He ignored the slight wave to your voice as his kept getting softer through his rambles, your hands shaking as you used one to grip the blanket around your waist. It felt like the room was spinning, like your brain couldn’t keep up with the things tumbling past his lips. “Sometimes I wish mine looked like that. Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if mine matched yours.” 

You nearly dropped the phone, your lips pressing into a thin line to stop yourself from saying anything. Your eyes burned as you squeezed them shut, trying not to make a sound as you let the words replay in your head, fingers shaking as you gripped the blanket tighter. It was something you’d thought about a lot as well, about how desperately you wished your marks matched, about how different things would be if he was your soulmate. It was almost strange to hear him saying it, like you were daydreaming rather than being awake, like your dream had come a reality but was laced with a nightmare.

“I was so disappointed that day in the park, when I ran into you and I saw your palm when you went to brush off your sweater. Fuck my stomach just sank to my feet, like someone kicked me in the chest and tried to bash my ribcage in.” His bitter laugh sounded thick, too loud for how mutely he was speaking, your teeth clamping down onto your bottom lip in an attempt to stop yourself from letting him know there were stray tears slipping down your temples onto your cotton pillowcase. “I never hated my own soulmark before that, I never wanted so badly for it to go away or be someone else’s instead. ” 

“Don’t say things like that.” Your voice shook as you interjected him, sniffling once as you shook your head reverently on the bed, the room feeling too small, the air too hot, heart still like a drumbeat in your eardrums. 

“I wanted it to be you so bad.” 

You didn’t bother hiding the quiet cry that fell from your lips as you rolled over onto your side and pressed your cheek into the damp pillow, muscles too tight from how hard you were trying to hold yourself together. It felt right and wrong, it sounded like heaven and hell, hearing him tell you how damn much he wanted you to be his one, because it was what you wanted all along. You’d always wanted Todoroki, you’d wanted him since that day in the park and him finding a soulmate hadn’t changed that. 

But even if he meant the words past his somewhat tired and rambling state of speaking out loud it didn’t matter. Even if he was as in love with you as you were with him, the two of you could never happen, it was never and would never be allowed. Todoroki had a soulmate, and by law he had to be with her. You would never be allowed to touch his skin or kiss his lips, you’d never get permission to marry him someday or fall in love with the eyes of the world watching you. You could never have Todoroki, even if somehow what he was saying held as much weight as it felt like it did. Even if you both loved eachother, you couldn’t be in love, and that was what crushed you the most. 

“Todoroki?” You could faintly make out the sound of Momo’s voice as she called out in the background, cutting off Todoroki as he cleared his throat to say something else, your eyes snapping open, like someone had woken you up from a too deep sleep. Without thinking you pulled the phone from your ear, hitting end and tossing it away to the end of the bed, like it’d been on fire and you’d only now realized. 

Everything felt twisted now, more confusing than before, because Todoroki had never said anything like that to you. He’d never brought up that day you two met in the park, never said that he’d felt as stopped in his tracks as you had been. He never told you that he wished his palm looked like yours, never informed you of how angry it made him that you didn’t match, how much he hated his own palm after seeing yours. 

Todoroki had a soulmate, he had Momo, and he was supposed to be with her, but the words that had tumbled from his lips felt like ones he’d been stopping himself from saying for a long time. He sounded lost, confused, desperate for someone or something to give him a sign on what he was supposed to do, what all the things he’d bottled up meant. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle the world piling all of this onto you, onto your already fragile heart and weaning self acceptance. You didn’t know how you were supposed to stop yourself from loving someone when he was making you feel like somewhere in the back of his mind, he loved you back. 

Your hands rose, covering the entirety of your face as you cried quietly into them, chest shaking as you choked on the air you tried to get down, everything feeling like too much once again. You were exhausted and wide awake simultaneously, desperate to sleep but scared of what you’d dream. You didn’t know didn’t know what was the right thing to do and what was the wrong, and weren’t sure which path you even wanted to take. You felt like the world had swallowed you whole, like you were thrown down a pit and left to figure out how to pull yourself free. 

There in your bedroom with his whisper of how much he’d wished you’d been made for him replaying in your head, you had never felt more confused.

-

[previous chapter] - [next chapter]

[pinkhairedlily]

[Open Your Mouth] Chapter 3 - O

See previous chapters here: AO3 | Tumblr

Summary: She downs her mimosa in one long drink and snaps her fingers. The television shuts blank, and she sashays her way to a room. It looks just like any other wall partition but it opens to an expansive study. It has a day bed on the side, a long table, and her most comfortable swivel chair. Metallic chairs are folded on the side for her clients.Taking up the rest of the space are shelves filled with her favorite books. In the middle, sandwiched by volumes of Crime and Punishment and Les Miserables are jars of teeth submerged in liquid, white, sparkly, well-maintained. On the other end of the wall is a chest box which also functions like a wide ottoman. Except that it isn’t. It’s a freezer for the meat she has yet to eat.

-xxxxxxx-

March 7, 2021, 12:03 PM

“Open your mouth please.” Her bright emerald irises pop out from her mask as she probes the inside of his mouth. Sasuke feels the metal tool scrape against his tooth on the lower left. His tongue is on the edge of making a clucking sound, but he winces from a sharp pain when she moves his tooth from front to back.

“It’s loose,” she confirms for him. He recognizes notes of jasmine in her proximity. “I can extract it for you now. You’ll just have to spend the rest of the day under pain killers.”

He dropped by her clinic during his lunch break, intending to take up her offer in the off chance that she accepts walk-ins.

Of course, it was situated on the 25th floor of one of Senju’s high rise buildings which houses their offshoot businesses in the medical field; one floor for every niche – a chiropractor on the tenth, a hair transplant on the 17th, herbal practitioners on the 20th.

Of course, the brunette receptionist with a very sharp eyeliner sent him away, and looked at him pointedly with visible annoyance when he brought up that the dentist offered the appointment herself. People often tell him he’s handsome, and he gets to use this pretty privilege during the conduct of cases sometimes. But people here are immune to his so-called stoic charm.

Of course, it’s probably because there are far richer, far more aristocratic clients than him that would have naturally made a beeline towards the beautiful dentist.

He clucks nonetheless, his tongue grazing against the cold metal. “Can you do it under thirty?”

“Rushing for an appointment?” She gets the syringe from her assistant and taps it on her delicate wrist.

“Vying if I could get ten more minutes for an ice cream.” Her hands are light and quick to inject the anesthesia in the surrounding gums. He hears her soft chuckle against her mask.

“Not the first time that someone did that move.” She hands him his cone with one scoop of mint chocolate.

“I’m not a fan of sweets if you should know,” he says. “Is strong arm strength needed for a dentist?” Two big bites from the top.

Sakura blushes with an intensity, he notes, and in contrast her actions – she shies away her gaze from his stare with her fingers devoid of any jewelry. “You’re as direct as everyone in your lot goes, huh?”

“Is the topic too morbid for you, Dr. Haruno?”

“I’m keeping tabs with the news but I forego the specifics.” She fiddles with her two scoops of double dutch in a small cup. “But to answer your question, you only need to have the right leverage, an accurate position, and a good angle to ease out the naughtiest of teeth. However, it’s really an advantage to have great arm strength. It can get tiring after the twelve noon patient.”

Sasuke finishes his ice cream in the next three bites, feeling nothing in his mouth, the anesthesia still kicking, but he can taste the blood mingle with the freshness of mint, a tinge of rust in the sweetness on his tongue. “You’re not as bothersome as everyone in your lot.”

She raises both of her eyebrows, not sure if she understands his underlying implications.

“Dr. Tsunade Senju and Dan Haruno, top billing general surgeons of the medical world.”

Her mouth opens to form a small and soundless oh. “Ah I’m sure you already snuffed most information about me – it goes that way, right? Ah? Not at all? – So the thing is….I’m not their legitimate daughter. I’m adopted.”

He didn’t have to snuff, these are all open information in the playground of the rich. “A stroke of luck to land on a high end and well managed orphanage.” Her immense wealth does not translate to jewelry, face jobs, and fancy lash lifts. On her breast pocket are three pilot coletos, an apple watch on her wrist, mid-budget choice of clothes, and comfortable white Nike sneakers to be later replaced with a good fit of block heels. When summed up, they barely make a dent out of her daily worth. The rest of the money must have been channeled to her clinic’s state of the art facilities.

“You could say that I struck gold with my circumstances since then.” She spoons out a big chunk of her ice cream.

“But not prior.” The sugar brown cone also disappears in his mouth, all the chewing done by only one side.

“Amnesia. I reportedly had a traumatic head injury when they found me.” Her pink locks drift to the side, her head tilted in expectation of his further prodding.

Sasuke twists the line to another direction, and he captures the quick change of her microexpression from subtle guarding to surprise. “Would it be possible to inject one strong dose of anesthesia to the full mouth and extract all teeth?”

“Enough to knock them unconscious,” she confirms.

And kill them without sound, Sasuke surmises. He stands up and taps his wristwatch. “My ten minutes with you is up. I take it my extraction procedure is free?”

“I’m sure you’ll afford the next one.” She continues to fiddle with her cup as she watches him go.

Sasuke halts in his exiting steps and looks back at Sakura like it’s an afterthought. “If you’d like a payment, a dinner wouldn’t be so bad.” He turns on his heels and doesn’t stop, he can hear a faint laughter behind his back.

-x-

March 10, 2021, 7:16 PM

“Did I keep you waiting?” He slides on the seat across her and takes in her body language as well as their milieu.

They agreed to meet at seven sharp but Kakashi had asked for another briefing from him so he was held back. Her soft expression, in all its exuding naivety, gives nothing away. “This place doesn’t have no reservations, Detective.”

“Just Sasuke,” he remarks. He clucks his tongue in appreciation. “A hole in the wall noodle place. You frequent this area?”

“A reminder that you gave me the green light to choose.” She’s dressed today in an olive sweatshirt tucked into a neat pair of trousers and velvet loafers – a right mix of classy and casual. “It’s my assistant’s go-to. He would always bring me the best-selling set after a grueling work day so I asked for an address.”

“Thanks for the consideration, Dr. Haruno,” he says. Their order arrives minutes after, and she flashes an apologetic smile. For ordering beforehand Frankly speaking, he expected her to bring him into a Michelin restaurant – one to boost her reputation and second to blanket her in safety of familiar breeds. Or maybe safety is much better in company of anonymity.

“Just Sakura.”

They finish two plates of dimsum and almost empty out the small bottle of chili oil, garlic, sesame, and soy sauce concoction. Sipping a glass of soy milk after a bounty feast, Sasuke reviews the facts again in his mind.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Sakura asks, finished with her drink.

“Give me a hundred bucks then.”

“How many coffee orders would those be worth?”

Sasuke smirks in spite of himself. He changes topics again, on to the mundane life of a Senju-Haruno heir.

“How is the case progressing by the way?”

He glances up and notes the curiosity and fear in her eyes. “Classified information.”

She leans, plates with crumbles and half-empty glasses in between, and tilts her head, her rose locks spilling from her back. “Will they come for me?”

An alarm ticks off somewhere in his mind. “What makes you think so?” They’ve only had one body so far with no other indication of a succeeding death.

He sees that she bites the inside of her mouth, and she fiddles again with the cutlery in front of her. “Maybe I’m just overthinking.”

About ten minutes later, he ushers her outside the rather dingy restaurant but when no car arrives to escort her back to her place, he encourages her to place an uber. He could ask her to ride with him but the mere implications are layered, and he’s not ready for that quite yet. She gives him a look when he opens the door to her uber, an unspoken question she is yet to articulate. When he gets nothing within seconds, he waves goodbye.

“Give me a text when you’re home,” he says although he shouldn’t have.

“It has been an interesting night,” she replies. “Detective.”

The car finally drives away, and he remains with the remnants of her jasmine scent.

-x-

March 13, 2021, 5:49 PM, The second body

“You are not going to release that profile,” the wife of Haru Kagoshi says. She also stands as the chief overseas director of Haru Light, Inc. “Are you insinuating that my husband fucked a gay man?”

“Fuck is a callous word. Watch your tone,” the CEO of Mingwa Industries warn. “Are you sure you’re on the right track?”

“With all due respect, Captain Yamato is the best we have in the country in the field of criminal profiling. He knows what he’s doing,” Asuma assures everyone.

“And are your detectives doing the proper work? Are you covering all fields?” the Mingwa COO pointedly looks at Sasuke. “Because as far as performance goes, you’re allowing that killer to cripple our economy by snuffing out the next best minds.”

Kakashi’s eyes roll in sync with Sasuke’s at the cripple our economy.

Yamato stands up and offers a cup of coffee at the recently widowed which she explicitly ignores. “We will not be identifying the gender of the killer, but we need to narrow it down to males. Of course, it’s up to the public how they will presume it is connected to the genital mutilation.”

“Fuck you,” the widow says. “You know we can cut off your institutional funding, right?”

Kakashi has started massaging his forehead, a sign that he is nearing his bullshit tolerance level. “Yes you can, but we have an annual appropriation from the government. And cutting off our resources won’t solve this case any faster.”

“-with your due respect,” Asuma adds, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

The grandfather CEO of Mingwa Industries scoffs. “We’ll just have to launch our individual investigation then. In case you might be intentionally sabotaging the progress of this case, isn’t that right, Uchiha Sasuke?”

The disdain in his voice when Uchiha rolls off his tongue is jarring and pointed. Sasuke smirks in defiance, willing to push these elites further to the edge of self-destruction. Years in a gray cubicle and thousands of meters walked in company to a reviewing mind, he found that money could get you somewhere – just not the finish line. “You’d better keep an eye out on me then.”

“What the fuck was that about?” Asuma sneers at the detective department after the white collars scampered off. “They are strong lobbyists backing powerful politicians. We shouldn’t be picking a fight with them.”

“He started it,” Sasuke points to Kakashi who shrugs.

“Anyway, Yamato and I will prepare to announce the profile to the media, just a vague description, and then we’ll work on a composite sketch based on these assumptions,” Kakashi pats Asuma’s shoulders. “Ease up. I’m sure Sasuke and his team are doing their best.”

“I’m not doubting an Uchiha, but I’m doubting the way your petty behaviors get in the process of investigation. Now get out and do your jobs.” The Chief Police retrieves a half-emptied pack of cigarettes and lights up a stick. “This job is giving me cancer.”

11:13 PM

She sips her third glass of mimosa as her eyes drift to the sound of her television. A big banner of breaking news is placed below with the caption authorities release a profile: a serial killer at hand?

She chuckles, almost spilling the cocktail on her fingers. She drifts closer to the screen and her nails stick on the necks of the silver-haired man and the man who she assumes is the criminal profiler.

“Authorities confirm that Armando Mingwa and Haru Kagoshi have been killed by the same person. Renowned profiler Captain Yamato reveals the breakdown of the suspect – male with a minimum height of 5’7, age from late 20s to early 30s, and frequents the high-end districts. When asked if we have a serial killer at large, the chief detective and the profiler neither confirmed nor deny.”

She downs her mimosa in one long drink and snaps her fingers. The television shuts blank, and she sashays her way to a room. It looks just like any other wall partition but it opens to an expansive study. It has a day bed on the side, a long table, and her most comfortable swivel chair. Metallic chairs are folded on the side for her clients.Taking up the rest of the space are shelves filled with her favorite books. In the middle, sandwiched by volumes of Crime and Punsihment and Les Miserables are jars of teeth submerged in liquid, white, sparkly, well-maintained.

On the other end of the wall is a chest box which also functions like a wide ottoman. Except that it isn’t. It’s a freezer for the meat she has yet to eat.

March 24, 2021, 1:10 PM

“So what was the dentist’s alibi?” Neji asks the sullen detective.

“He had a meditation class for each date – January 29 and February 27 – which runs for five hours. They time it with the moon cycles. I also called his teacher – she prefers to be called witch ­– and confirmed his attendance.” Sasuke clucks his tongue. “However, they are a class of 100. He can easily slip out when everyone else is closing their eyes and saying humbda dumda.”

He glances at the map on the wall, pins already on the dumpsites, and he zeroes in on the address smack in the middle. “And he can dump the body with his nondescript car and go back in again. Did you know he has three cars – a Tesla, Mercedes, and a black pick-up?”

Tenten carries a fresh pot of coffee to the table and stares at their evidence board. “I’m guessing it’s the same truck with the garbage ones – those going through the suburbs?”

Sasuke nods. “He says it’s for farming. He has a land on the rural side of the district.”

Jugo raises a brow. “That ends my snooping in with the golden spoons.”

“Not quite Jugo.” Neji fills himself a cup. “These people socialize in the same circles you know.”

Someone knocks on the open door of the room and raises a box of cake. “Delivery for you, Detective Uchiha.” The staff attempts to enter but Jugo raises a finger to stop her.

“Who’s it from?” Jugo asks. “It might be the killer.”

The staff scratches the back of her head. “I don’t think the killer is a beautiful pink-haired lady with green eyes.”

All heads turn curiously to Sasuke who gets the cake from the staff. “It’s my punishment.”

Tenten’s eyes narrow at the name on the card. Haruno Sakura. “How is it a punishment? She brought you – us – sweets.”

“She knows I hate sweets. Help yourself though.”

“So you’re dating?” Neji says it with disbelief. “How? You’re barely in the office and – oh my god, you’re skipping hours aren’t you!”

Jugo repeats the name over and over. “Fuck. You’re seeing the Haruno Sakura? She’s as recluse as the oddball heirs go, but I’ve only heard good things from her. I heard she’s very skilled with her hands. Experienced it yet, Uchiha?”

Sasuke kicks him in the shin as soon as he’s done talking. “Firsthand. A tooth on the lower left. Now shut up and get back to work.”

-x-

April 12, 2021, 6:17 AM, The third body

The team congregates in the morgue. Another body. Only this time, it was found on a ravine, some parts already devoured by wild animals.

“It’s Fugashi Imamu, current overseas director of Imamu Holdings,” the medical examiner tells them. “Same methods done but there’s more clotting on the crotch area, indicating his genital was mutilated while he was still alive.”

Jugo and Neji both groan inwardly.

“He has an eight-year old.” Tenten crosses her arms in front of her. “A math wizard.”

Sasuke closes his eyes, fending off the initial signs of a migraine. The cases kept piling, and they were nowhere close to a lead. “Can you estimate the date of death?”

“I wouldn’t know just yet with all the rigor mortis and animal attacks. But if we pattern this with the recent killings, and the body was dumped within the last two weeks, the killing must have taken place on the last week of March.”

11:13 AM

March 29, Sasuke thinks about the ME’s latest message. There must be a pattern for the dates of killings. And if there was, they are up against an intelligent killer, a methodical one. He must have a list of targets with a step by step process on how to approach and kill each one. He plans weeks ahead with several contingencies.

“Captain Yamato confirms the ME’s assumption. There really is a pattern,” Tenten tells the team. “Unfortunately, the information already reached the golden spoon team.”

Neji comes in with stacks of folders and notebooks. “Got all his stuff from his secretary. Seems like the bastard slept around or may have been just a bad boss, said she couldn’t be more than happy to live in a world rid of such filthy lolita creep – her words, not mine.”

They go through each page, jotting down relevant information. Sasuke, on the other hand, flips through a small wallet-sized planner. Jotted down on March 26 is veneers with Dr. Akugawa. He seems like the go-to dentist of the big shots. He goes further up the dates and there on March 6 is a name he doesn’t expect. Haruno Sakura.

“It’s true. His daughter had an appointment with me,” Sakura confirms over the phone. “But he also dropped by last year for a tooth extraction dislodged by a punch from his grandfather. Old money can be quite controlling.”

“Ah. Doesn’t he have a family dentist?” He taps his pen on his desk, tens of gears running through his mind.

“Told me his dentist was unavailable for an emergency procedure so he dropped by the one nearest his office.”

Sasuke looks at the time on his watch. “Did you have lunch yet?”

“I have an 11:30. But I can see you in 12.”

He gets there fifteen minutes before, and he flashes his badge to Laura who has grown accustomed to his lunch break visits. Nonetheless, her countenance makes apparent her dislike.

“Your cctv records please,” Sasuke tells her. It isn’t a request, Laura knows, so she leads him to the administrative room on the floor and instructs the staff to show the dates he mentions.

Kiyoko Imamu went there on March 6 with her mother and a helper. They backtrack until they find the date when Fugashi had an appointment. A 30-minute visit and he was quickly out.

“Does Dr. Haruno have other clinics? A private location for a niche clientele?” Sasuke asks.

Laura shakes her head. “Only this one, and she doesn’t accept house calls. She likes to concentrate her work in one place.”

He tells the staff to rewind the records on January 29, February 27, and March 29. Nothing was peculiar about Sakura’s body language, Sasuke notes. He commits all records in his memory and allows himself to be ushered out by Laura. They arrive to Sakura waiting at the receptionist’s desk.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” She asks him with a tilt in her head.

“Just right about now.” He offers an open arm to her which she links with hers. Her face immediately blooms in shades of red.

“We have mussel soup today and grilled mackerel. On the other hand, we also serve bolognese. Or do you have any other location in mind?”

“Your cafeteria’s menu sounds nice.”

They’re interrupted by Sasuke’s phone.

“Where are you?” Kakashi’s voice borders on the edge of frustration.

“Lunch,” Sasuke replies.

“Come back asap. The families had Jugo come in and take Akugawa for questioning.”

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Green Gold

Summary: 

"The one Levi had picked out was of a minimalist design. The color in particular though was what stood out. At first glance, it looked like a typical gold or yellow. As Levi took a closer look from different angles under a light source, he couldn’t help but notice the way it glowed a bright green and was quick to fall back to a simple yellow. It did it too consistently though that Levi was sure it was not just a trick of the light."

Levi scrambles for a last minute Christmas present and Hange copes with being eight months pregnant.

Same verse as Rough Day, Sugar Rush and Household Planning.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes: I know it isn't Christmas yet but I decided to drop some Levihan Christmas Fluff a little early. I wish you all a happy holiday!

When a new jewelry shop opened in a space adjacent to his favorite tea shop in Paradis, Levi was quick to notice it.

It never did catch his interest though. The hard life he had lived for roughly 40 years had him completely nonchalant at most significant developments. The opening of some ordinary jewelry shop was not at all a significant development that called any attention from the battle hardened soldier, even if it did attract a crowd for the first two months.

That was until Mr. Spasky the tea shop owner brought it up over a round of tea tasting. Levi had seen him exchange a few words with the jewelry shop owner before he would welcome Levi into his shop.  He had guessed that they had become fast friends through the excitement of their tones and the detail they looked too comfortable giving each other. The friendship between those two was something he had brushed away too easily though. Levi was too preoccupied by a cranky pregnant Hange and his own household projects to consider much of anything else.

One day, Mr. Spasky brought up one unfamiliar question which got Levi particularly confused.

“So what kind of engagement ring did you buy your woman?"

"Engagement ring? Woman?" Levi frowned in confusion. “I have a woman?”

“It’s the season of giving so maybe it would be a good time…” The shopkeeper winked.

Levi’s thoughts were elsewhere. Partner. That was the word. By the expression and the tone on Mr. Spasky’s face, Levi could at least tell, they had the traditional woman in mind. Of course they would, they’ve never met Hange.

Hange was definitely pregnant and had been glaringly pregnant for the past few months already. Was she being the traditional woman about it? Definitely not.

Levi only had to be reminded of why he even felt the need to correct Mr. Spasky when he got home from his quick trip to the tea shop that day to find Hange as usual, coping with her six month leave in a very unconventional manner.

It had been two months since he had emailed that letter to the queen and requested for a leave for Hange. And with how Hange looked, hunched up on a microscope with a broken rock next to the table, Levi could tell that she was still far from the acceptance stage.

In fact, she had been constantly scrambling for something to do since she had been put in a leave of absence in the first place. She was probably penultimate month of pregnancy according to the doctor and she was still fighting for control of her life.

The first week into the leave she would take long walks, long enough for Levi to feel the need to circle the perimeter of the block where their apartment was, only to end up pacing by the entrance of the house not wanting to relax until she got home. Even when she did arrive home, Levi found himself only getting more stressed by her little souvenirs.

She was like a cat. The big difference lay in the fact that while cats brought home dead rats and game, Hange would bring home different types of leaves, roots and other plant parts and leave them on the table next to the microscope she had set up on her desk.

“Shouldn’t you be doing other things?” Levi had asked as he watched Hange set up the microscope in their room in the wee hours of morning, when he was about to sleep.

“What other things? I’m on leave right?” Hange had too much venom on the word leave that Levi had to look away and remind himself that it was Historia after all who made the final say. So it’s her fault not mine. He would reassure himself, conveniently forgetting the fact that he did draft the letter. He didn’t reply to Hange’s implicit accusation, instead deciding to hide under the covers of his bed and stay there unmoving, even when it did take him an extra three hours to fall asleep.

By the second week, Levi could barely get a wink at night, too busy wondering what risk lay in a pregnant person studying such strange substances. Levi started to follow her surreptitiously as she went about the town, only to see that she had been getting them from a nearby public garden.

It wasn��t strange at all to see Hange digging through plants, roots and flowers. She had expressed her passion for botany on top of titans too many times to count.

But she’s pregnant. And that’s unsanitary as fuck. Hange being unsanitary as fuck wasn’t anything new though. Levi had known her long enough to accept it.

The circumstances then were different. For a while, Levi considered telling her off. He found himself in a state of panic a second later though completely forgetting that intention, as he realized that it wasn’t just unsanitary. A few inches away, a dog decided to pee on that same soil which Hange was digging through. Somehow that view was what helped him put three and two together to get five. Hange was desperately studying whatever green and brown she could find. And it was mixing with dog shit, cat shit and whatever else made their home in that little bush.  

Levi did not need to consult a doctor to know that it was potentially dangerous for a pregnant woman. He rushed back home, went to Hange’s desk and disposed of all the samples into a bag and threw it out into the dumpster before she could get home.

For the first time, Levi was grateful that Hange did go on such long walks. That gave Levi at least enough time to create a backstory for the sudden cleanliness of her desk and her missing samples. In a state of panic though and faced with the obstacle of limited time, Levi had come up with another idea, an idiotic one, completely unbelievable that it had little chance of working.

Levi was desperate though. Although he did have the reflexes on the battlefield to take down an enemy bent on killing him, scrambling to find a cover up story for a very pregnant and very unpredictable Hange Zoe was another story.

At that rate though, Hange must have been as crazy, desperate and idiotic as him a result of the pregnancy hormones and the stress of being in almost total isolation in a smaller part of town with little to no responsilities. Hange came home to see rocks lined up, in the stead of her previous samples, and continued on her mini research as if nothing had changed.  

They were less alarming test subjects at least. Levi had made sure to wash them thoroughly beforehand. They did not stink as much as the plants. And they had at least caught Hange’s interest enough that she did not ask too much about the missing plant samples, having brushed off the white lie of a bird stealing them.

Overtime, Levi eventually realized she never did believe the lie. She was too sharp for that. In fact, the reason she had accepted such a blatant lie in the first place was because the rocks on the table had turned out to be a more interesting subject. The hammers and nails became an ubiquitous part of her work desk. The meticulous side of Levi was also starting to begrudgingly notice the scratches on the table from the scrape of rock on wood.

From a coping mechanism of studying plants and greens, Hange had shifted to studying rocks. And as Levi started to realize over dinner, rocks were an incredibly boring topic, so boring that he almost missed hearing about photosynthesis and the difference of a xylem and a phloem.

Apparently, there were so many different types of rocks and the ones he had randomly picked out in the garden could have been igneous, hinting to the possibility of volcanic or seismic activity around the area. How she had gotten that from a bunch of random rocks, Levi did not know. She started talking about extracting metals from ores. And she had started to name the rocks too apparently: Gabbro, limestone, basalt. Hearing those names echo in his head, only made Levi miss the plants.

He started to particularly miss the plants a little more when the streets started to line with them, and the main square near their place was fitted with a large tree in the center, decorated with lights and bright balls. A surprising addition to his everyday view on the way to the tea shop.

Christmas. He never really did get used to it. A tradition brought from Marley apparently. With Hange's new obsession with rocks, the large tree in the middle of the square seemed almost nostalgic.

"So it looks like the Christmas tree can amaze even the most serious men," A voice said behind him.

The Christmas Tree was placed in the middle of the square where the tea shop was also conveniently located. And from his good view of the Christmas Tree in the middle, Levi was also a good few feet away from the shop. He only had to look behind him to see Mr. Spassky, having a smoke at the entrance.

That thoughtless comment was enough to make Levi look away from the tree faster than he had wanted to. He entered the tea shop with a Mr. Spassky trailing behind and the tea had helped him cope. By that point, he had almost completely forgotten the Christmas Tree in the middle of the square.

Like always, Mr. Spasky would place a cup of black tea and make conversation. “So what did you get her?”

It was Hange who had pointed out years ago that his birthday was on the same day as Christmas day. For Levi, it was a surprise since he had built a habit through the years of never giving days enough importance to analyze them beyond what was available at face value. At that moment, when the shopkeeper noted that Christmas Eve was that night, Levi could only spit out the tea. It was his birthday. It was almost Christmas. And he had spent too much time and energy keeping Hange sane to have even noticed.

Mr. Spassky was a great salesman and a great marketer. Levi at that moment was at the mercy of his complex emotions constantly flitting from the guilt of disposing of Hange’s samples to his overall exhausted state to the state of panic which would stop by for a visit every few hours, when he would ask the question of  what Hange could be doing back home at that exact moment.

If Levi had been any sharper that day, he probably would have figured it out as quickly as he had figured out the food campaigns of King Fritz years ago that Christmas was merely a seasonal marketing campaign to get people to buy more and that new tradition on giving engagement rings was a piece of all year long marketing tactic to keep the jewelry business alive.

At his most vulnerable though, Levi had become prey to those propaganda and the nagging feelings of guilt, only spread through him, getting stronger with every point they made. He and Hange had been living together for more than a year, Hell she was pregnant with their first child already.

And I never bothered to get her an engagement ring or a Christmas present?   For the first time since it opened, Levi was finally starting to see the value and novelty in that quaint jewelry shop next to the tea shop.

As Mr. Spassky guided him through the doors of the jewelry shop, Levi was quick to notice the different rings on display. What caught Levi’s eye in particular was the display case on the side of the room that sold shiny colored metals, similar to a cavern under a church Levi had visited so many years ago. On the walls were pictures and detailed drawings of couples exchanging rings, only highlighting the tradition Levi had noticed among other couples he had witnessed.

Is there really commitment if there’s no ring?

Is it really love if you don’t buy them anything for Christmas?

Every good romance starts with a ring.

Blatant propaganda. Yet strong and relevant enough for Levi to put enough thought into picking out a ring.

The one Levi had picked out was of a minimalist design. The color in particular though was what stood out. At first glance, it looked like a typical gold or yellow. As Levi took a closer look from different angles under a light source, he couldn’t help but notice the way it glowed a bright green and was quick to fall back to a simple yellow. It did it too consistently though that Levi was sure it was not just a trick of the light.

Green Gold. That was what it was called according to the shopkeeper as he held it up to the late much better than what Levi had done. From the different angles, Levi could see the gleam of gold and the tinge of green.

Levi did not need the confirmation of the color to decide to buy it. Maybe it was the characteristic cloak they would wear from so many years ago which made it such an obvious choice. Maybe it was the homesickness that came and went from living and fighting in an almost all green landscape almost their whole lives then being forced to move somewhere within the city that had pushed him to that. Maybe it was a combination of all that, only supplemented by the nostalgia that came with missing Hange’s obsession with trees.

It probably was the fact that the color green had been so ubiquitous the past two decades of his life. Seeing it as a faint yet beautiful glow had awakened emotions of sentimentality for a life he had lived long before.  

As Levi took in the scenery of the urban jungle which they had been living in for the past few years and the stark contrast to the green they had been fighting in for many more years, maybe he did start to understand her obsession with green. In fact, he did realize with his own impulse purchase, he was a tad fixated with the color green too.

He gripped his small gift bag a little tighter as he arrived at the entrance of the apartment they shared.

“Hange, Merry Christmas.” Levi was completely comfortable with Hange and he was completely aware of that. Yet, for that moment he needed to rehearse it, having occupied himself with whether to say Merry Christmas before or after handing her the present.

Hange returned the greeting with her own questioning look, which could have maybe even been judgmental. For some reason, that had made Levi blush. He looked away as soon as he gave it and went straight to the kitchen to cram the Christmas Eve dinner he had forgotten about.

He allowed himself a last look, only to see a smile creep up Hange’s lips as she opened the gift box. Levi found himself smiling in return, even if he knew she wouldn’t notice it with his back to her. It had been weeks since he had seen such excitement in those eyes as she smiled, that same excitement and enthusiasm he had seen as she recounted to him every development in Paradis. As he was cutting the tomatoes for their meal that night, he couldn’t help but think that that smile gave him the same sense of nostalgia as the color green.

Maybe she felt it too?

“It looks like I was right… I knew they’d put titanium here. It shouldn’t be this hard if there wasn’t any.”

Levi placed the newly cooked pasta on their dining table. Hange was on the living room table, with a lamp at full brightness, hunched over like she was working on something. Just like always, Hange was scratching the table below with a new stone

A shiny new stone…. “Is that the gift I bought you?” Levi asked.

“Yeah…”

There must have been a hint of accusation or anger in Levi’s voice. The face Hange had was reminiscent  to what one would see when a dog is caught chewing on something they aren’t supposed to. With the realization that what they had done is wrong, most dogs would usually chew faster. Hange had done the human equivalent, or more specifically, the pregnant Hange equivalent of breaking into it faster.

“It’s a ring Hange. You’re supposed to be wearing it!”

“But is it really important that I wear it? Isn’t it more important that we find out the secrets of how they make this?” It was an argument which could have convinced any other scientist. Levi was far from what could have been a good target audience.  

“Give me that!” Levi found himself wrestling or at least trying to wrestle someone while avoiding the baby bump which was taking up more than 50% of her waistline at that moment.

“It’s your gift to me Levi! To me! Let me use it like I want to!”

Hange made a good point. That good point and the prospect of wrestling someone who was eight months pregnant with his first child was what got Levi surrendering and just sitting on the sofa within minutes just listening to one of her lectures.

Hange once again scratched the sharp side of the already broken ring on the table then bit it, inadvertently causing Levi more pain for multiple reasons. “See, gold wouldn’t make a scratch like this. This is why it isn’t necessarily pure gold despite what’s written here,” Hange explained as she slid the flier closer to him. “ I’m guessing they used titanium here, similar to the metal they used for our blades and the ODM gear. Maybe even copper or iron?

“So it was a fake,” Levi said bitterly. It was the mention of such cheap metals making its way into such a beautiful object with such a unique shine to it. He felt like an idiot for actually believing it was something pure.”

“This is actually a good thing because if they did make something out of pure gold, it would scratch pretty fast. In fact, the other metals make it so that it lasts longer.”

“That was supposed to be a Christmas Gift,” Levi said, completely ignoring Hange’s explanation.

“It was a great Christmas gift. I’ve never seen this shade of gold in my life.” Hange said.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be an engagement gift too.” Levi managed to add before the blood rushed through his face, leaving him unable to speak for a few seconds.

“Engagement?”

“Mr. Spassky said that most people give a ring to someone when they want to spend the rest of their lives with them.” Levi did not know how he had managed to get that out.

“And you’re falling for that propaganda now? Levi, we’ve been living together for the past two years. We’ve done things. I’m pregnant with our first kid. We don’t need a piece of metal to prove anything.”

At that moment, Levi remembered his own mother who had raised him. She’s done things. She was pregnant with someone’s kid. Yet he had never met his father.

Then what do we have to prove it? Levi didn’t need to ask her. He felt it in how quickly the exasperation of a minute ago gradually morphed into a playful feeling that tickled his chest and the sudden urge to grab her from behind and feel her tummy. He felt it a second later as she put her hands on his and gripped his hands a little tighter. Just the way he had wanted it.

Hange lay back down on the sofa next to him and gave him one of the softest smiles. She started to yawn and lay her head on his. She had fallen asleep next to him multiple times before. At that moment, he appreciated it a little more. As battle hardened soldiers, they would have only ever fallen asleep next to someone they completely trusted. Then and there, pregnant and tired, Hange was at her most vulnerable.

Then what do we have to prove it? The fact that they knew each other inside and out. The commitment to make it work. Their trust in the other to do the same.

At that moment, they were both at their most vulnerable.

“Now that I think about it... I haven’t been able to buy you a birthday christmas present,” Hange said, her voice only getting softer as she buried her face into his shoulder. “Maybe if you let me go shopping downtown I would.”

“You know what would be the best Christmas birthday gift? You not accidentally killing our kid.”