#i see rhubarb ready for picking

[gregorgregor]

Had a great bike ride this evening! Beautiful weather and it was along the river for most of the 38km. Time to water the garden and head to bed!

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Under Summer Stars

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: In Under the Summer Stars, the scene unfolds at the illustrious birthday celebration of Tarquin, set against the picturesque backdrop of the Summer Court. As the night descends into a playful chaos of laughter and drunken antics, the story centers around the heartwarming and sometimes chaotic experiences of a pregnant protagonist, you, her close-knit circle of friends, and their significant others, as well as your mate, Azriel. From navigating the complexities of motherhood and friendship to rekindling sibling bonds with Tamlin and igniting old flames, this fic covers a lot of ground. Amidst the revelry, unexpected moments of vulnerability and hilarity ensue, leading to a night that promises to be unforgettable.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activity and brief nudity, along with pregnancy.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors note: This includes only info from ACOTAR and does not include any background from Crescent City. Also, this is my first more lengthy fic so please read with that in mind! As much as I read, and reread this, there are bound to be typos so if you see them.... no you didn't.

“My love, you can't exactly camp out on the couch all day,” Azriel says. I glance up at him with a package of raspberries neatly arranged on my very pregnant belly. With a grand gesture towards the pile, I pop another berry into my mouth. “I’m not just hanging around—I’m busy making a baby here.”

Azriel grins as he snags a berry from my fingers and eats it himself. I shoot him a playful scowl, the kind meant more in jest than anger, and focus on devouring the rest of the berries.

“I do appreciate you taking a break from your hectic schedule to grow our little one,” Az jokes, his hands gently caressing my belly, “But we've got plans tonight, and you need to get ready.”

I let out a heavy sigh and dramatically flop my head back over the chair’s armrest, letting my hand, still holding a berry, dangle to the floor. “I really don’t wanna go,” I moan, while Azriel steadies the berry basket that's perilously close to sliding off my bump.

“You have to,” he chuckles softly.

“You can't make me,” I shoot back, my head still draped lazily over the back of the chair.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Azriel retorts, picking up the basket of berries and giving me a quick kiss on the forehead before taking them back to the kitchen.

I hear the tap running as he starts on some dishes—my ever-busy, nesting mate, who’s more prepared for this babe than I am, while we still have three months to go.

“What are you wearing?” I call out, curiosity peaking.

“What?” he yells back, sounding puzzled.

“Your outfit,” I clarify, pushing myself up with a grunt and swinging my legs around. While I still had time, this belly was proving to be a real hassle.

Azriel calls back, “Um, pants, a sweater and socks?”

I shuffle my way into the kitchen where Azriel stands, washing a plate with a tea towel casually thrown over his shoulder. “I mean, what are you wearing out tonight?”

Azriel dries a plate with the towel, then hangs it back over his shoulder before leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his palms resting on either side. His fingers tap rhythmically against the surface as he considers his wardrobe for the evening. “Probably the black button-down, slacks, and boots,” he decides with a nonchalant shrug.

I respond with a noncommittal “hm,” and swing open the fridge to scout my snack options. My hand lands on a jar of rhubarb jam. I pop the lid off and swipe a finger through the sticky sweet contents, humming in delight as I taste it. Azriel's chuckle floats over from the sink.

“It’s just not fair,” I complain, scooping another dollop of jam and licking it off. “You toss on anything that isn’t stained, torn, or stinking, and you’re gala-ready.”

Azriel, still busy with the dishes, throws a playful retort over his shoulder, “Are you suggesting I wouldn’t look good in a dress?”

I replace the jam in the fridge, leaning against it as I try and ponder that image. “Oh, you’d be stunning, no doubt. But let’s be real, the choices for females? Endless. Short dresses, long ones, off the shoulder, petticoats, sleek lines, just the right amount of lace…” I trail off, knowing he's smirking without even looking.

He finishes up, turning off the water and tossing the towel onto the counter with a flick of his wrist. I sigh, grabbing the towel to fold it neatly on a cabinet knob. Azriel rolls his eyes but his expression softens as he draws me close by my hips. I rest my chin on his chest, looking up into his hazel eyes that crinkle with amusement.

“What?” I inquire, feeling his hands smooth a stray hair behind my ear.

“You’re gorgeous, whether in ball gowns or in nothing at all,” he says earnestly.

“You’d think I'm gorgeous in nothing,” I retort, half-teasing. “You’re feral.”

He presses a soft kiss to my nose. “Only because I love you.”

I close my eyes, basking in the warmth of his words. “I love you too. But I still have no clue what I’ll wear tonight. Nothing fits since you knocked me up.”

He steps back, feigning offense. “Hey, it takes two to tango, particularly the naked tango. It’s not like I was alone in this.”

I glance down at my swollen belly, half-joking, “Well, you’re the responsible one. Should’ve warned me about the perpetual sweat and swelling.”

Azriel chuckles, striking a mock-serious pose. “Nothing fills me with more hope for our baby than hearing their mother call me,” he gestures to himself, “the responsible one.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I’m sure you have something, love,” Azriel reassures me, nodding towards the lavish extension we jokingly call 'the second closet.'

I scoff, a smirk teasing my lips as I walk past him, giving his chest a light tap. “Guess I’ll just have to try on everything,” I tease, pausing in the doorway with a sultry glance over my shoulder. “You know, strip down, wander about in the buff, slip into something, despise it, peel it off...” My voice trails off, my smile growing more provocative as I catch the shift in his gaze—lips captured by teeth, eyes deepening with interest. “I might just need a second opinion.”

Azriel’s response is a deep, throaty sound that rumbles through the room, his playful side unfurling. “I’m certain I could be of assistance,” he quips, his tone laced with promise as he begins to close the distance between us.

Before he can reach me, I slip into the hallway, my steps light and teasing. I hear his footsteps quicken, a hint of urgency as he follows me up the stairs to our room, anticipation building with every step.

______________________________________________________________

By the time I settle on an outfit, Azriel has left me breathless no fewer than three times, each interlude accompanied by a chorus of compliments—beautiful, stunning, irresistible—every synonym for 'ravishing' that he can think of. The silver lining to this pregnancy, aside from the obvious, has been the noticeable spike in our libidos. Azriel's hands are seemingly glued to me, and barring the occasional wave of nausea or the fact that my toes have become a distant memory, I'm game for his advances nearly anytime, anywhere. It was actually our rampant escapades that clued us in on the pregnancy before Azriel noticed the shift in my scent—we were both equally wild, seeking out secluded spots in the River House, shadowy alleyways in Velaris, and once, rather riskily, an old woodshed in the Autumn Court while Rhys and Eris were busy hunting nearby. 'Feral' might be an understatement—I was downright voracious.

Emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing behind me, I find Azriel sprawled across the bed, as naked and carefree as ever despite our looming engagement. He flashes a lazy grin. “Round four?” he proposes, propping his head on his palms against the headboard.

“You're the one who insisted I get ready,” I remind him with a chuckle, tossing the towel onto the bed and striding toward the closet.

As I delve into the sea of clothes, Azriel's voice floats in, tinged with mischief, “And then you stripped, and suddenly, I stopped caring.” I can't help but laugh, sifting through hangers as I search for something that will accommodate both my bump and the sweltering heat of a Summer Court party in August. I wanted a word with whomever planned the date for this. 

I pull out a floor-length, champagne pink silk gown that gleams with a light pearlescent chiffon cascading down the front. The dress, cinching just below my breasts, seems ready to accommodate both myself and the growing babe. The slit running up the side promises a hint of breeze on what I accept will be another warm evening. As I touch the fabric, memories of wearing it to Nyx’s first starfall flood back—Azriel and I, not yet mated, laughing under the twinkling lights while Cassian, wine glass in hand, serenaded the night with a mix of folk songs and his own tipsy renditions.

Slipping the gown over my head, the bump causes the hem to rise slightly, creating an unintended high-low effect. Nothing a good pair of heels can’t fix. I reach behind to fasten the top but struggle with the buttons. "Az," I call out softly.

"Yeah?" His voice drifts from the bathroom, mingling with the sound of running water.

"Can you come here for a second?" I ask.

Azriel appears, his hair tousled and falling into his eyes, which light up as he sees me. “You still have that one?” he remarks, a touch of nostalgia in his tone.

"I haven’t worn it in a while, but it seems to still fit, right?" I motion for him to help with the buttons at my neck, which he does with practiced ease. He stands behind me, and we both gaze into the closet’s full-length mirror. He wraps his arms around my waist, gently lifting the weight of my belly for a moment. I lean back against his shoulder, relieved by his support.

"Just like I said," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "You look beautiful." He eases the weight back down and sweeps my damp hair over my shoulders, leaving a kiss on my temple. "Half an hour," he reminds me before disappearing back into the bathroom.

I take another moment to smooth the dress over my bump, admiring the silhouette from the side.

Azriel returns from his bath, towel-drying his hair with a shake that reminds me of a playful puppy. I'm securing my hair into a low braided bun, trying to keep as cool as possible. I pull two strands to softly frame my face, catching glimpses of Azriel in the mirror as he parades, unabashedly bare, back into the closet.

From the depths of the closet, Azriel's voice floats out playfully, "Hm, what to wear, what to wear—so many options." His mock contemplation sends a chuckle through me as I clasp on a pair of simple pearl earrings.

He emerges moments later, his black shirt hanging open, pants secured, and socks in hand. "It was a tough decision," he remarks, catching my eye in the mirror as he settles on the edge of the bed to slip on his socks. "But I managed to pick the perfect ensemble." He flashes a cheeky grin, and I roll my eyes playfully as I fasten a silver necklace with a tiny blue sapphire pendant—echoing the color of Azriel’s siphons—around my neck, adjusting it to rest just right.

Turning back to him, I see Azriel buttoning his shirt, meticulously placing his siphons into the custom slits designed for them. I step closer to assist with securing one on his left hand.

Giving him a thorough once-over as he completes a slow twirl for my inspection, I adjust his shirt slightly, smoothing my hands over his shoulders. "Do I look great?" he asks, half-jokingly.

"Beautiful," I reply, grinning. "Can you grab my shoes for me?"

He strides over to the blanket chest at the foot of our bed, retrieving the tan, two-strapped heels I'd selected for the evening. He juggles them in his hands, skeptical. "My love, there's no way you're going to keep these on all night."

I shoot him a defiant glare before setting the heels on the floor and sliding my feet into them. "I plan to."

But as I lean forward to fasten the straps, my belly firmly intervenes, making me pause and push a strand of hair behind my ear. I look up at Azriel, who's barely concealing his amusement. "Little help?" I ask, sheepishly.

Dropping to one knee, Azriel secures the straps for me, his fingers gentle. He plants a kiss on my thigh and mutters, "I’m not carrying these all night."

I nudge him away playfully, marching back to the closet to grab a pair of flat sandals. I hand them to him with a mock-serious tone. "Here, ask Rhys to stash these in a pocket realm in case I need them."

Azriel laughs softly, tucking the flats under his arm as we head out of the bedroom together.

______________________________________________________________

We converge with the rest of our group at the River House where Rhys and Feyre have arranged to winnow us directly to the Summer Court. Unlike Rhys, Azriel encourages me to maintain my normal activities during pregnancy, thus making winnowing an accessible choice. Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre, Azriel, and I begin our descent from the manor, with Elain cradling Cassian and Nesta’s baby girl, Nyx playfully tugging at her dress and waving eagerly to his parents. Feyre sends Nyx a blown kiss, which he theatrically catches and presses to his lips before launching one back her way. Rhys places a hand on Feyre’s lower back, open to the breeze from its low cut to bring her focus on our departure. Lucien appears in the doorway, his son perched high on his shoulders, as they wave us off. “We’ll be back later!” Cassian bellows toward the house.

Lucien shouts back with a teasing tone, “No rush! And be on your best behavior!”

Cassian responds with a vulgar gesture and Elain slaps her hand over Nyx’s eyes to shield him from it. After enduring a pregnancy marked by relentless morning sickness, Nesta found solace in the ocean's breeze. She spent much of her time at Tarquin’s castle, situated atop a cliff with sweeping views of the sea. Tarquin, empathetic and familiar with the challenges of parenthood, graciously readmitted Cassian into the Summer Court, with the strict caveat that Nesta keep him in sight at all times.

With an arm slung around Rhys, Cassian is the first to be winnowed, followed swiftly by Feyre and Nesta, and then Azriel and me. Although I can still manage the winnowing process, a twinge of motion sickness usually follows. Nonetheless, I prefer it to flying, which only prolongs the discomfort. As we materialize on the steps of the Summer Court palace, Azriel steadies me with gentle hands at my waist as I lean forward, taking a deep, stabilizing breath.

“You alright?” Azriel inquires.

I nod, the fresh ocean breeze helping to soothe my senses. Once assured of my steadiness, I take a moment to absorb the breathtaking view. Tarquin has chosen his "Summer House" for his hundredth birthday celebration—an amusing choice given its grandeur. Situated on a cliff opposite his main castle, easily visible across the bay, this secondary residence is no less opulent. Sandstone columns and marble steps lead to grand doors beautifully inlaid with blue and pink seaglass, while orbs of faelight suspended in fishing nets add a whimsical touch. With the sun dipping below the horizon, the sky is aflame in vibrant shades of pink and orange, creating a spectacular backdrop as we ascend the steps.

As we proceed, Azriel casually hands my sandals to Rhys, who offers me a knowing smile before they vanish into a pocket realm.

The grand doors swung open, revealing the entrancing melody of a live band in the foyer. The interior of the house matched the exterior in opulence, with a domed glass ceiling that bathed the marble floor in the sunset’s spectrum. Seashells were intricately embedded in the floor, and the familiar columns from outside now stood amidst streams of crystal-clear water that seemed to flow through the hall and cascade down the stairs. As we advanced, I marveled at the pearl mosaics adorning the high ceiling, a grandeur that left me nearly speechless.

Pulling gently on Azriel's arm to draw him closer, I whispered conspiratorially, “I want to change the theme of the nursery.”

Azriel chuckled, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “It took Cassian and me a week to paint it the color it is, and you mulled over those two shades of yellow for three weeks beforehand.”

Cassian's voice floated from behind, tinged with mock horror, “If you’re asking me to paint again, you’re on your own.”

At the top of the grand staircase, the crowd below melded into a vibrant tapestry of colors and movement. Feyre, in her flowing turquoise gown, descended gracefully with Rhys by her side, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. Azriel and I followed, his hand a constant presence on my hip, grounding me.

I scanned the sea of faces for a particular one, but as the crowd parted, I found myself face-to-face with Tarquin instead, his smile broad and slightly tipsy.

“Look who brought in the bats!” he exclaimed jovially.

Rhys clapped Tarquin on the shoulder, wishing him a happy birthday. He then picked up a glass of champagne, offering one to Feyre, and they toasted to Tarquin’s continued health. After the brief exchange, Tarquin turned his attention to us. Azriel exchanged a firm handshake with him, while Cassian, standing slightly behind Nesta with his hands on her shoulders, received a more personal summon.

“Cassian,” Tarquin slurred slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I want to show you something.”

Cassian looked down at Nesta, who responded with a nonchalant shrug. He then followed Tarquin out onto the balcony, his curiosity piqued. Azriel watched them leave with a guarded expression.

Nesta, catching the look, nudged Azriel gently. “Just go make sure Tarquin doesn’t throw him off,” she urged.

“On it,” Azriel replied briskly, striding after them with a determined pace.

Nesta grasped my hand, weaving us through the bustling crowd, muttering how she was going to need a stiff drink to get through this night. Since the birth of her daughter, Nesta had been grappling with intense separation anxiety, rarely managing a few hours away. She and Cassian had attempted a weekend trip getaway and she made it only four hours before returning in tears, taking her young babe from my arms and sobbing into her jet black hair. Since then, Nesta had promised she was going to stop being “mama” all the time and start being herself again. 

We reached the bar located near the grand staircase, where a fae female was expertly crafting cocktails. Nesta ordered a “Seabreeze,” and I opted for a lemonade.

“I can’t wait until you can drink with me again,” Nesta said, picking up her drink. The swirling glitter within the blue liquid looked delicious and I found myself licking my lips as I watched her down it. “You’re the only one who can keep up with me when we dance.” She said before ordering another. 

“Not too much longer,” I responded, caressing the babe within me. 

Nesta looked at me thoughtfully, the blue glitter swirling in her glass, “I want you to have a girl, so Elora can grow up with a friend. Not surrounded by Feyre and Elain’s boys.” 

I smiled at her, I had asked the healer to keep the baby’s sex a secret from everyone but Azriel who, as spymaster, kept that information under lock and key. 

My gaze returned to scanning the crowd, and finally, I spotted the familiar broad shoulders and gleaming blond hair of my older brother. I tugged at Nesta’s hand, leading her over toward Tamlin. As he sensed my approach, he turned swiftly and enveloped me in a hug.

“Careful!” I cautioned, a mix of surprise and laughter, before he gently set me back down on my feet.

Tamlin scanned me from head to toe, his eyes alight with surprise and mirth. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” he shouted, his speech slightly slurred from the drinks.

“I wasn’t sure I would make it, but I figured why not enjoy myself before the baby arrives,” I smiled back at him.

Nesta, still holding a subtle grudge against Tamlin for the whole “cauldron fae thing”, glanced at her nails and offered a cool, “Hello Tamlin.”

Tamlin, ever the optimist about winning back some favor, took her hand and kissed it—a bold move he’d likely reconsider sober. “Nesta, lovely to see you. You look stunning.”

And stunning she was in her pastel green gown with its daring neckline and slits, revealing her long, toned, cream colored legs— her dress, much like mine, but tailored to hug her figure perfectly. “You’re drunk,” Nesta quipped, pulling her hand away with a laugh.

Tamlin’s smirk widened. “Only a little. I would’ve paced myself had I known my favorite sister was coming.” 

“For what? It’s not like she can party hard right now,” Nesta pointed out, gesturing towards my pregnant belly.

Realizing his faux pas, Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he awkwardly placed his hands on my stomach. We were never a family that embraced often, and his sudden affection felt out of place. “I forgot!” he exclaimed. “Hi, baby!”

Trying to stifle her laughter, Nesta shot me a look that triggered my own snort of amusement.

“Tam, maybe it’s time for some water,” I suggested gently. “It’s still early, and you’re already peaking.”

Shaking his head, his blonde locks falling into his eyes, Tamlin pulled me into another hug, elongating the word “great” as if to emphasize his point. “I’m great,” he insisted.

“I just miss you, that’s all,” he murmured, his voice muffled by my hair. “I miss the name-calling and our hunting trips. Remember those?”

“Like asshat and idiot?” I replied, finally managing to extricate myself from his grip. His nostalgia often painted a rosier picture of our past than my own memories did.

In a moment of pause, he suddenly asked, “You promise you’ll bring my niece to see me?” he asked earnestly, searching my eyes.

“I promise, Tam, though I’ve told you—I don’t know the baby’s gender yet.”

“It’s a girl,” he slurred confidently. “I’d bet on it.”

Nesta joined in, “You could make that bet. Rhys and Cassian think it’s a boy. Feyre and I are betting on a girl.”

Attempting to high-five Nesta, Tamlin found no takers and ended up clapping his own hand. “Hell yeah, team girl!”

“Where’s Lucien?” he then asked, trying to shift the topic.

“Home with the kids,” I informed him.

“That old man,” Tamlin scoffed, his drink sloshing dangerously. “Has one kid and thinks he’s too good for a night out.”

Laughing, I couldn't help but tease, “Tam, you’re really drunk.”

“Am not,” he protested weakly. “You’re drunk.”

“Sure,” I agreed, rolling my eyes indulgently.

He squinted across the ballroom, waving vaguely. “Gotta go see a guy about a thing,” he declared, stumbling slightly as he made his exit after a quick, affectionate peck on my forehead.

As he sauntered off, Nesta and I couldn't contain our laughter. “I haven’t seen him this plastered in ages,” I noted, reminiscing about our younger days spent lounging by the lake in the Spring Court.

Catching her breath, Nesta added, “He’s actually tolerable when he’s like this.

I wiped a tear from my eye, still laughing, though each breath was a bit strained around the edges due to the baby pressing up against my lungs. Just as I managed to catch my breath, I heard my brother's boisterous shout, "Who do I have to screw to get a screwball around here?" Sending me into another peal of laughter.

Nesta, pulling herself together, wiped the smeared eyeliner from under her eyes and snagged a champagne flute from a passing waiter.

My laughter seemed to stir a frenzy of activity within me; I placed a hand over my stomach as a particularly vigorous kick landed just under my lungs, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over slightly, laughing through the discomfort, while Nesta leaned in with a worried look. "Are you alright?"

"Totally fine, the little one just got a bit too excited," I assured her, patting my belly. Nesta reached out, asking to feel the kicks, and when my baby delivered another strong jab, her face lit up with a mix of awe and amusement. "Certainly strong," she remarked.

"Unfortunately for me, yes," I agreed, sharing a knowing smile.

Her eyes filled with nostalgia. "I so miss that."

I gently placed my hand over hers. "I try to remind myself I’ll miss it too. Usually I do a good job, until she decides to kick my bladder and I end up pissing myself."

Nesta chuckled, her hand instinctively resting on her own stomach where her little one had grown not so long ago. I squeezed her hand affectionately. "You doing okay?" I asked, noting the slight tension in her expression.

She offered a tight-lipped smile, her eyes betraying a hint of her inner struggle—the pull to return to her child who, despite adoring her father, seemed to reserve her deepest affections for her mother. "Just say the word, and I’ll fake a headache, or actually wet myself, and we can bolt."

Nesta shook her head slightly, more to reassure herself than me. "No," she paused, then stronger, "No, this is good for me. I know she’s fine."

I squeezed her hand again, offering a gentle reassurance. "Just because she's okay doesn't mean you have to be," I reminded her softly. Nesta wiped a stray tear from her cheek, still clutching her champagne, before quickly finishing it off with a relieved smile.

"I am glad I can do that again," she said, nodding towards her empty glass before setting it on a passing tray.

Together, we continued weaving through the ballroom, exchanging pleasantries with various courtiers—some of whom were so tipsy they scarcely remembered who we were. Throughout my pregnancy, I'd never been offered so many drinks that I had to politely decline. It seemed every mother and elder fae woman felt compelled to touch my stomach, causing my little one to energetically respond.

Every so often, I bumped into my brother, and we playfully stuck our tongues out at each other. However, as we mingled through the crowd, neither Cassian nor Azriel crossed our path. Eventually, we found Feyre, just as a Summer Courtier excused themselves from her company. She gave them a warm, promising touch on the shoulder before turning to face us. With a deep sigh and a quick roll of her eyes, Feyre shot back her drink—a twirling pink concoction that made her wince from its potency.

"Having fun?" Nesta inquired, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Feyre, still recovering from the fiery liquid, nodded. "Absolutely. I love playing the diplomat at other courts. I can't really start drinking until everyone else is well into their cups." She then snatched Nesta’s wine glass and drained it. "Can't afford to make a fool of the Night Court."

I chuckled to myself. Feyre might have been slightly tipsy, but as High Lady, she only truly relaxed around family. After many evenings spent with her, I knew her tolerance was notably high—we'd even had a shot contest when I first came to live with them. In my enforced sobriety over the past seven months, I had observed the high fae's love for maintaining a facade of sobriety, despite obvious inebriation.

"Have you seen Az or Cass?" I asked, scanning the room.

Feyre glanced around, her brows knitting slightly. "No, I haven't, actually. Not since they stepped out onto the balcony with Tarquin."

"Where's Rhys?" Nesta chimed in, her voice laced with mild irritation.

Feyre threw her hands up, nearly clipping a waiter bustling by with more drinks—which she quickly commandeered. "Don’t know. He wandered off somewhere when I was chatting with what's-her-face. Haven't seen him since."

"Fantastic," Nesta remarked dryly, "We’ve been here an hour and the boys' club has already managed to vanish on us."

While Nesta and Feyre chatted, I slipped into a corner to send a gentle pulse through our bond. Receiving no response, I intensified the signal, only to get a slight jolt followed by Azriel's slurred, "What's up, pretty lady?"

I turned back to Nesta and Feyre with a grin. "They're drunk."

I messaged Azriel again, asking, "Hi my love, where are you?"

His chuckle echoed down the bond, "Beach."

Realizing that was all the information I was likely to get, I informed Nesta and Feyre, "They're on the beach."

"They left?!" Nesta half-yelled, frustration mounting. "I want to leave!"

Seizing our hands, she led us through the crowd, up the stairs, and out the door. Outside, her braid loosened, hairs springing free as they often did when she drank. Spotting a sign for the beach, she marched us in that direction. Feyre, slightly tipsy, giggled and leaned on me as we followed Nesta.

Reaching the sandy path, Nesta kicked off her heels and hiked up her dress, staggering forward. Feyre and I quickly followed suit, Feyre removing her own shoes and then helping me with mine before we continued on with Nesta, the tall seagrass swaying in the night breeze.

The pathway was lit by fae lights, and the cool ocean wind caused goosebumps to rise on my skin. Feyre held my hand for balance as we walked, with Nesta leading determinedly ahead.

When we finally reached the beach, Nesta scanned the bonfires for our mates. Feyre, losing her footing in a dip, fell onto the sand with a shriek of laughter. I couldn't help but laugh as she lay there, the sand clinging to her dress and hair.

Her laughter contagious, Nesta turned and joined in, stumbling over to help Feyre up as the wind pressed her silk dress against her legs. Without warning, Feyre threw back her head and called out, "Rhysand!" Nesta shouted “Cassian, get your ass over here! I want to go home and drink without clothes on!” This promptied laughs from other partygoers.

When Nesta tried to yell again, I quickly covered her mouth, accidentally getting sand in her mouth, which she spat out as Feyre howled with laughter.

Down the beach, Rhys's voice called back, "Feyre Darling!" Pointing in his direction, Feyre declared, "That one's mine," and staggered off toward the boys.

Nesta, wrapping an arm around me, leaned on me as we followed. Soon, Feyre charged into Rhys, sending them both into the sand, while Cassian's laughter boomed over the crashing surf, nearly toppling him from his driftwood seat. Tarquin, adding wood to the fire, doubled over with laughter.

Nesta settled next to Cassian, her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the ocean. "Hi Ness," Cassian slurred, pulling her into his lap and showering her with kisses despite her protests. "Stop, stop," she laughed. "I'm supposed to be mad at you."

"You can't resist me!" Cassian declared, landing another sloppy kiss.

Meanwhile, Azriel sat in the sand, a bottle of wine in hand, his smile lighting up as he saw me. Dropping beside him, I laid my head on his shoulder. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," I replied, seeking a kiss which he tenderly delivered, his lips tasting of sweet strawberry wine.

Azriel stashed the bottle in the sand, wrapping one arm around me and lazily stroking my stomach with the other. Together, we took in the serene scene—Feyre and Rhys wrapped in each other's arms, Cassian and Nesta chatting with Tarquin, all of us enjoying the moment.

There, with Azriel and our soon-to-arrive baby, I soaked in the beauty of our world, filled with anticipation for the new life we were about to welcome.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello I’m the one who requested a fic for Xavier (p.s I loved it) maybe you could do the same thing but for Wednesday and/or Enid

“Enid, get your had o it the batter!” You scolded the blonde as you lightly slapped her hand out of the batter. “I’m sorry! Your baking is just so good!” She whines, licking off the batter she did manage to scoop out from the bowl, “so good.” She whispered under her breath. “It’s not even done yet!” You exclaimed, pulling away the bowl so she wouldn’t be tempted for another helping of salmonella.

Originally the plan was that you were going to bake a batch of sugar cookies then some lemon butterfly cakes, iced star cookies after that before finishing off with some almond and raspberry jelly drops or s’mores depending on which you were feeling at the time. However Enid insisted that she’d lend a helping hand but that ‘helping hand’ was too preoccupied by dipping itself into the batter more times the you could count.

“So? The batter is always the best part.” Enid counters as though she was speaking a proven fact. “Then don’t come crying to me when your sick in bed from your over indulgence.” You retorted, pinching her cheeks lightly; Looking over the book you had prepped up and began to read the following steps when Enid runs a cold blob of batter down your cheek.

You pause your reading to look at her as she chuckled behind her hand, eyes crinkling in the corners from how wide she was smiling it warmed your heart and forged a playful fire within your soul. You smirk as you dip your finger into the batter, taking advantage of her lack of self awareness to leave a streak of batter across her forehead, causing Enid to gasp. “You didn’t!”

“I did.” You smirked like the shithead you were and before you could blink, Enid had sent a cloud of flour into your hair, powdering it in white. “You better be up to finishing what you start kitten because you just stared a war.” You told her as you sprinkled some edible toppings into the tresses of her blonde hair. Funnily enough her blonde hair looked like the iced topping of a cupcake from where you stood. “I was born ready.” Enid rebutted, already holding a couple of eggs in her hand.

Wednesday didn’t have a sweet tooth per-say so when you were flipping through your big book of bakery one day, you came across all sorts of treats that immediately brought Wednesday to mind; Apple strudel with cider sauce, rhubarb, ginger and raisin muffins, dark chocolate blueberry tarts, Halloween spiderweb cookies and rich ginger brownies.

Wednesday wasn’t as overall enthusiastic about sweet treats like Enid was but that didn’t mean she despised them all together. She just had a different choice in what she’d like to go into them, that’s all. With your mind made up, you immediately went down to the kitchens and got started on baking the first recipe on your list.

Wednesday was curious when you didn’t meet her at her dorm like usual whenever you had spare time on your hands. She wasn’t worried either as she knew very well of your penchant for baking; So it didn’t take long for the Addams to deduce where you’d might be in this current moment and time and sighed. Wednesday found your impulse to bake very endearing but you had a tendency to over bake which then leads to you struggling to carry up your finished products without accidents to occur.

That plus the fact that you had left your tuppaware boxes and bag in her dorm from the last time you came to hang out with herself and Enid. “That fool.” She utters fondly, seeing as she now has a reason to go see you, Wednesday picks up the tuppaware and puts them into the bag and heads down to the kitchen where you had just placed some rich ginger brownies on the cooking rack. “Are those for me?” Her voice took you off guard as you almost flung a oven mitt before realising it was her, you took a deep breath as you placed the mitts on the side.

“Jesus Wednesday, you scared me you flat footed harbinger of darkness!” You swore you could see a small smile on her lips that left as soon as it came. “You forgot these.” She said blandly, holding out the plain carrier bag with Xavier’s cute little doodles across it with the tops of the tuppaware boxes just slightly visible. “Your a life saver Wednesday.” You sighed, crossing the kitchen to take the bag; Only for her to pull the bag away from you with a mischievous glint in her eye which made you confused.

“I’ll give you this, only if you allow me to stay and have the first bite of your ginger brownies.” You made a face as though you were heavily in thought which then quickly turned into that of a happy expression as you reached out to grab the bag. “I accept your deal miss Addams, your throne awaits.” You said almost as exaggeratedly as your bow, causing her to scoff, before taking her hand in your free one and helping her sit upon the counter; From where she studied you like a hawk as you continued to bake.

[tinyshe]

Garden Report & Frugal Living 23.08.07

It is easy to forget how much I love working in the garden when I am feeling overwhelmed. I just love it so much and even more so when I have my kids help me! We harvested garlic, trimmed up the seaberry/ sea buckthorn and picked so many berries off those bushes; two beds and two paths were reclaimed. So much was done and I am so grateful for the help. Very happy time and so inspiring to do more now that the overwhelming parts are beat back.

While we were trimming up the thicket of buckthorn we discovered a nest!! It is like a Seal Of Approval or a major award: the birds love the garden and feel safe enough to have a nest to raise their young. We get many birds coming through but to have one that wants to set up housekeeping is just a blessed joy.

We moved an additional brush pile into the self feeder compost rack (from the last heavy pruning job -- months and months ago but the wood was still fresh and green as it has been wet and cold). Soon all the weeds will be layered in and then another brush pile. The self feeder compost “rack” is a long row area with pairs very tall metal fence stakes set every so often. The stakes guide/keep the organic matter in row while we stack and tamp it down for a fence like wall. No turning required, we just let nature do its thing and add to it as we need/have.

There are now two grow boxes that need to be repaired. The centre one I am thinking of spliting to create a ‘hi-lo’ with a barrow/walker wide path between. The ‘lo’ will be for the humongous rhubarb I can’t dig out/lift and the ‘hi’ will be walled up maybe three ‘levels’ (at least knee height) . I’m thinking for limited mobility access if necessary but it will also make an interest instead of three uniform low level beds. I will lose a bit of production ground by inserting another path but there is no saying that in several years it can be changed again (and again and again).

Sides notes on the harvest: We left the higher up seaberries for the birds but need to come back for a second harvest of the gooseberries. I like to leave part of the fruits for the birds especially if the little buggers don’t eat it all ahead of time >:) The red alpines are fruiting. One or two nibble-worths of early blackberries are coming off. Some of the kale is growing: enough for snacks for the hens or little bits for our salads and soup accents.

Still pondering the elderberries. I can see them out the bathroom window and they are so beautiful with those large white umbels waving against the sky. Daughter 1 and I discussed just leaving them for the bees (she is a great bee lover! we would have a hive if we could rest assured the spray-happy neighbor would just Stop). So I will watch and see if they will visit there -- its up very high on the north-side where the wind tunnel forms as it comes off the ocean and through the city’s buildings. If there is no bee action, I will take some flowers. The tree-shrub is just loaded with blossoms this unexpected second flush. The first blooming was slow but those bracts do have some fruit currently (but not ready for harvest -- still very green). There might be enough of those fruits to add into the firecider that needs to get started soon.

For the frugal living tip: we use to do a lot of hand washing outside so I kept a tightly crotched or knitted hand size bag/pouch tied to the outside water bib in the summer that all the bits and pieces of soap bars went. Now at this place, we don’t do that as much so what I want to do is recycle a small dish soap squirt bottle for the same purpose but leave it in the half bath to use up those tiny bits (instead of poking them down the drain!).

Hope you are enjoying your garden or even a friends garden be it in physical labour, visiting to enjoy the nature or dreaming of a future garden -- and that there are birds nesting there!

[palanciacabinet]

The Foolproof Way to Make Jam at Home, According to an Expert

Preserving fruit at home can be a sticky and expensive process. Skip the stress and guesswork with this streamlined recipe.

By Jane Black -- Wall Street Journal

August 9, 2024

There is an undeniable romance to making jam. Three ingredients—fruit, sugar and lemon juice—plus heat transform excess into extraordinary and capture summer in a jar. It’s true alchemy. 

Except when it’s not.

Every few summers, I spend extortionate amounts of money on fruit at the farmers market, then pass a sticky day in the kitchen. The results are uneven: sometimes, a rubbery preserve; others, more a loose compote than a jam. Alchemy, per its reputation, is elusive.

This summer, I decided to apprentice myself to a jam master, Daniel Perry. I had picked up a jar of his Jam According to Daniel plum jam on a visit to Charlottesville, Va.; after tasting it I immediately went online and ordered a dozen more. 

These jams are magic: plush, with chunks of fruit and an intense brightness to balance the sweet. Perry, 39, first made jam during orientation at Hampshire College. In the weeks that followed, he made almost-daily trips to the campus farm to experiment. The next summer, he lucked into a job helping to make jam at a Charlottesville vineyard, where French jam legend Christine Ferber’s book “Mes Confitures” was the team’s bible.

Today, Perry turns out some 12,000 jars of jam a year and is a bit of a legend himself in the Charlottesville food universe. In a mint-green commercial kitchen in his basement, with the help of his wife and his mom, he stirs up small batches of the expected varieties—berry, peach, plum, apricot—as well as strawberry with a whisper of lavender, or yellow plum with calamondin, a ping-pong-ball-size citrus grown in nearby Stanardsville, Va. 

I arrived on a blistering July day full of questions and not a little anxiety. With Perry’s help, I mastered the fundamentals to perform some summer alchemy of my own.

Small Batch Rules 

With jam, small is all. If the pan is too full, the fruit will burn on the bottom before the water cooks out; the pectin (a natural fiber in fruits that helps jam thicken) will get bouncy. A copper jam pan, which conducts heat extraordinarily well and has a wide bottom, helps to prevent burning. (Find the one Perry likes—a very good value—along with other recommended tools, below.) 

The Right Ratio

Jam recipes vary in their ratios of fruit to sugar. Perry keeps it simple: 1 quart fruit, 1 cup sugar, ¼ cup lemon juice. 

No adjusting for high and low pectin, or the sweetness of raspberry versus rhubarb? That’s right, and it works if, like Perry, you’re after the essence of the fruit at that time. “The pursuit of sameness is not meaningful,” he said. “I want the jam to be consistently of quality. But I want it to express itself.”

Overnight Sensation 

Making jam is a two-day project: Prepare the fruit the first day and macerate it with sugar overnight. Mixing fruit with sugar helps break down the fruit’s cell walls and extract juice, essentially starting the cooking before you even turn on the stove. 

French Style 

For a plush texture, Perry recommends the French method: After fruit and sugar come to a gentle simmer, strain the fruit and return the syrup to the pan to cook on its own. This way, the liquid can concentrate without risk of the fruit burning or turning to mush. Jam sets at 220 degrees, but Perry often brings the syrup only to 217, which makes for a gloriously drippy consistency. Then he returns the fruit to the pan and cooks it until great, big bubbles appear.

Ready? Set? 

Many recipes recommend a fussy freezer test for doneness: Drip hot jam onto a spoon straight from the freezer, see if it clings. “There’s too much preciousness in craft food,” said Perry. He lets a drop of jam fall from a rubber spatula onto a room-temperature surface. If the drop resembles an old-fashioned gumdrop with high sides before collapsing, it’s ready. 

And so was I. A week after my morning lesson, I made a stress-free and, if I do say so, heavenly batch of apricot jam. Sweet.

The Right Tools for the Job

Practice makes perfect, sure. But so, it turns out, does having the right pans and utensils. These tools will help you up your jam game.

opper Jam Pan

Copper is an exquisite conductor of heat, which means you can cook the fruit for less time, retaining the flavor and preventing scorching. The wide bottom offers maximum surface area, and sloping sides catch boiling jam from spilling onto your stove. A 9- or 10-quart jam pan is big enough for most home cooks and will easily hold the four 8-ounce jars of jam this recipe yields. Daniel Perry recommends the excellent pots from French manufacturer Matfer Bourgeat, which are more reasonably priced than some competitors. Matfer Bourgeat 10-quart jam pan, $162 at Kitchen Restock

Clip-On Thermometer

A reliable thermometer will help you pull the jam off the heat at just the right moment. This version gets rave reviews and clips to the side of the pan. King Arthur Baking Company Candy Thermometer, $20

Y-Peeler

If you are peeling fuzzy peaches, this style of peeler with a fine-toothed serrated blade is a gamechanger. Swissmar Y-Peeler, $7

Stainless-Steel Ladle and Funnel

Hot liquids on plastic is a no-no, so use a stainless-steel ladle and funnel to pour jam into its jars. Winco 8-ounce Stainless Steel Ladle, $10 at Amazon; Stainless Steel Canning Funnel, $10 at Mason Jar Lifestyle

Find Your Jam

Even if you make a great batch, it’s still okay—recommended, even—to buy jam, especially from these talented American artisans.

Jam According to Daniel

Daniel Perry’s gorgeously loose jams are made from fruit local to the Shenandoah Valley. Damson, apricot and any fruit mixed with tart cherries are standouts. $12 per 8-ounce jar, or $10 each when you buy 12

Girl Meets Dirt

When Audra Query Lawlor moved to Orcas Island, Wash., she discovered her new home had a plum tree. With a harvest of 150 pounds of fruit, she taught herself to make jam. Her company, which still produces everything on-island, offers classic flavors with a twist, like donut peach with lime or Orcas pear with bay leaf. The tomato jam, served with soft cheese, is dreamy. 7.75-ounce jar, $14

Bonnie’s Jams 

Bonnie Shershow got her start in the late ’90s in Massachusetts before moving her operation to California to have the pick of the very best fruit. Her red pepper jelly or peach ginger jam will be the star of any cheeseboard. 8.75-ounce jar, $10

Corrections & Amplifications Daniel Perry’s jam ratio is 1 quart fruit, 1 cup sugar, ¼ cup lemon juice. An earlier version of this article incorrectly said 2 quarts fruit. (Corrected on Aug. 8)

Foolproof Apricot Jam

Apricots are one of the best fruits to make jam with thanks to their natural acidity and fragrance. Plus, you don’t have to peel them. If you have a copper jam pan, that’s ideal. But a wide-bottomed enamel or stainless-steel pot will work too. This small-batch recipe uses two quarts of fruit. You can double it but no more. Feel free to sub in peaches if they are easier to find than apricots. You will have to peel them, and the cook times may be a bit longer because of the fruit’s water content.

Total Time: 9 hours

Active Time: 1 hour

makes: 4 (8-ounce) jars

Scott Semler for WSJ, Prop Styling by Sean Dooley

Ingredients

8 cups washed, pitted apricots chopped into bite-size pieces (about 4½ pounds ripe or slightly underripe whole fruit)

2 cups granulated sugar

½ cup fresh lemon juice (from 3-6 lemons)

Directions

Place fruit in a large non-reactive container. Add sugar and lemon juice. No need to stir. Cover and refrigerate overnight or up to 24 hours to allow fruit to release juices.

Transfer fruit and liquid to a wide-bottomed, high-sided pan and set over high heat. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook until fruit has softened but is still holding its shape, 10-15 minutes.

Remove pan from heat. Use a slotted spoon or a colander fitted over a large bowl to separate fruit solids from syrup. You should have about 3 cups fruit and 4 cups syrup.

Return syrup to pan and bring to a strong simmer over high heat. Continue simmering until foaming subsides, 10-15 minutes. The bubbles will get fat and loud. Use a candy thermometer to test the temperature. If you like a looser jam, it’s ready when the syrup hits about 217 degrees. If you like it a bit firmer, wait until temperature hits 220 degrees.

Return cooked fruit to pan with syrup. Continue to cook over high heat, stirring regularly to prevent fruit from sticking, until jam is bubbling intensely and begins to “jump” out of pan, 10-20 minutes more. The sound of the bubbles will shift from a snapping to the sound of hand-clapping applause.

Check the jam to judge how well it has set: Stir jam and tap your spatula on the edge of the pan three times, until just a bit still clings to it. Hold spatula low over a room-temperature plate, and when a drop hits, look for it to stand up like a gumdrop before flattening out. When it does, the jam is ready.

Spoon jam into prepared, sterilized jars (or into unsterilized jars if you are prepared to keep it in the refrigerator). Seal jars according to manufacturers’ instructions. Jam in sealed sterilized jars will keep 1 year at room temperature.

—Adapted from Daniel Perry

[burlyjourneythem]

Willi and Rhubarb Tea

Whisps of smoke like tiny ghosts haunting my face Flit loosely about as I rub the sore spot on my wrist. I go to bed high, in a little less pain, but still hurting. I wake up at the crack of noon to get ready for a date. Willi Carlisle is playing "The Grand Design" on my speaker Like some sort of algorithmic reminder of survival. I'm at the coffee shop waiting for my friend for a bit. They show up, we embrace, we talk, and we order. We sit. I see a pink sticky note on the ground. I pick it up, and it reads, "Hey you, I'm glad you're still here :)"

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Blood Brothers.(Part 8)

(Sundrop picks Moondrop up).

Sundrop: So, Jake, you said you were a vampire rehabilitator, what exactly does that mean?

Jake: It means that I find vampires that are lost and either consumed by bloodlust or trying not to be consumed by bloodlust and take them to a little sanctuary me and my friends made so the vampires can live a life free of blood sucking.

Sundrop: So there is a way for me and my brother to survive without consuming blood?

Jake: There sure is, you just need to follow me to the sanctuary.

Sundrop: Okay.

(Sundrop follows Jake to the very center of the forest where there was an entire secret village of vampires and mortals that help provide them with a safe home and a blood free life).

Marceline: Hey, Jake, how's it going?

Jake: It's going great, Marceline, I found two vampires needing our help.

Marceline: That's so good to hear, who are the two vampires in question?

Jake: I don't really know their names.

Sundrop: Oh, I am so sorry for not introducing us to you. I'm Sundrop, (points up to Moondrop) and this is my older brother Moondrop.

Moondrop: (weak) I must feed, I need blood...

Marceline: Moondrop really does need our help, doesn't he?

Sundrop: Yeah, the bloodlust is really strong in him.

Marceline: Well, don't you worry, both of you can satisfy your bloodlust without harming the innocent by drinking red.

Sundrop: Drinking red, what does that mean?

(The three head to a tent that said "Meal tent" where someone else was inside).

Marceline: Hey, Simon, can you make two bowls of red juice please? We've go two vampires who need to feed without blood.

Simon: Sure thing, Marceline.

(Simon takes a bunch of red produce such as apples, strawberries, beets, and rhubarb, liquefied it in a blender, and poored it into two bowls).

Marceline: Thanks, Simon.

Simon: You're welcome, Marceline.

(Marceline takes the bowls and hands them to Sundrop and Moondrop).

Sundrop: And you're sure this will satisfy our hunger?

Marceline: Well this sanctuary wouldn't exist if it didn't.

Sundrop: Good point.

Marceline: Alright, drink up.

Sundrop: Thank you, I've actually been using a lot of my energy and will power to fight back the bloodlust.

(Sundrop drinks the red juice until he was full).

Sundrop: Wow, it actually worked.

Marceline: See?

(Moondrop sniffs his bowl of red juice).

Moondrop: This is not blood! But I'm so hungry. Grrr, I don't care anymore!

(Moondrop grabs the bowl and quickly gulps down every drop. When he is done, his eyes change back from blood red to sky blue).

Moondrop: Ugh, what happened?

(Moondrop looks around and sees he in a completely different place than he last remembered).

Moondrop: Sundrop, I thought we were in The Bloodmoon Elite's mansion, now where are we?

Sundrop: Wait, you don't remember anything that happened between now and when we were in that dinning room?

Moondrop: No, the last thing I remember is that vampire weasel asking if we were hungry and the next thing I know a shadowy bat creature took control over my mind and body.

Simon: That shadowy bat creature is the mental manifestation of your bloodlust, it tends to take control over you when you're hungry, and it's stronger in some vampires than others.

Moondrop: Is that why I have such a big gap in my memory?

Simon: That's exactly why.

(They suddenly hear a big bell being rung).

Sundrop: What does that mean?

Jake: It means an unknown person is entering the sanctuary.

Moondrop: What should we do?

(Moondrop gets up, ready to fight if need be).

Jake: You and your brother need to stay here and hide with the other vampires in case that person is a vampire hunter.

Moondrop: But I want to help.

Marceline: You can't, it's way too risky.

Moondrop: But-

Sundrop: Moondrop, please listen.

Moondrop: Okay...

Marceline: Alright, now go to the tent at the end of the sanctuary, that's were the other vampires are hiding.

Sundrop and Moondrop: Okay.

(The two did just that).

(The end of part 8)

(Simon and Marceline are humans in this universe, if you couldn't already tell).

[ediblegardenspointloma]

Strawberry Guava Redux, Part 2

The thumbnail is a chance reflection of the strawberry guava tree in cooling, processed puree.

We are about 40 pounds into strawberry guava season and my scientist husband estimates that is about half the crop. I maintain a list of eager recipients and also travel the immediate neighborhood with a large container doling out whatever friends want. They get the best and largest. The smallest ones are processed for guava puree which is today’s Strawberry Guava Redux, Part 2.

Low garden trays with small openings ring the strawberry guava tree. Most mornings when the tree is in the shade, my husband gives the twelve foot tree a good shake and a shower of guavas lands in the trays. We empty the trays and do an initial sort with discards going to the compost bin and the largest ones pulled for friends. Then the guavas are transferred to containers where they’ll be stored until processed, usually in a few days. Thankfully, in a layer only 3-4 deep they keep well in the fridge.

A further sort occurs as the guavas are washed and placed in 6 and 8 quart saucepots on the stove. Only about half to three-fourths cup of water is needed since the guavas are so juicy.

The fruit is brought to a boil, covered and then simmered for about twenty minutes or until the guavas break down and the liquid is released. I help things along with a potato masher or spoon.

At this point I have readied the chinois and I’m wearing my guava shirt and a dark apron to camouflage splatters. As with berries, it takes boiling water to remove guava stains from clothes and linens.

From Wikipedia: A chinois (English: /ʃiːnˈwɑː/; French pronunciation: [ʃin.wɑ]) is a conical sieve with an extremely fine mesh. It is used to strain custards, purees, soups, and sauces, producing a very smooth texture. It can also be used to dust food with a fine layer of powdered ingredient.

Chinois is a loanword from the French adjective meaning Chinese. French cooks call it this not because this kitchen tool comes from China but because it resembles an Asian conical hat.

While the cooked guavas cool slightly, I use an immersion blender to roughly puree the mixture. This allows the puree to proceed through the chinois strainer easily, leaving the seeds behind. The wood pestle forces the last of the goodness into the bowl below.

Six quarts of strawberry guava puree cool before ladling into containers for the freezer.

Over the years I’ve found other uses for strawberry guavas—in part out of desperation. Most often I stir the puree into plain Greek yogurt or my homemade applesauce. It also brightens the color and flavor of my cooked rhubarb. Frozen cubes of puree go into smoothies. Other favorite uses include strawberry guava sherbet, guava-lime agua fresca, guava paste and guava BBQ sauce.

There’s a strawberry guava tree in our church’s courtyard and yesterday I photo captured two children eagerly eating the fruit. On the right, my husband climbs the nine foot ladder to pick guavas up high.

Check the What I’m Planting Now page as I begin soon to sow seeds for the cool season garden. Then head today to Harvest Monday, hosted by Dave at Happy Acres blog and see what garden bloggers around the world harvested last week.

To leave a comment, click on “Leave a comment/Show comments,” enter the comment, then insert your name. Finally, click on “Comment as Guest” to post comment.

[dragon-kazansky]

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

Huge thank you to @rumblelibrary for helping me with the menu 😌💕 I've put a little surprise in this chapter for your hard work!

This chapter is shorter than the others. The next one is the finale. We are coming to the end :(

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 13

The sign had been repainted. You looked up at the way the sun was bouncing off the gold lettering. It made you smile.

Escorpión Morado.

Officially your favourite place on Earth. The place where you had tried the best Spanish food ever. The place that felt like home with it's welcoming atmosphere. The place you fell in love with a handsome chef.

Helmut stepped outside and smiled at you. You smiled back at him.

"What do you think?"

"I love it," he says.

"You didn't even look at it."

"I don't need to look to know it's perfect and I love it."

He snakes his arm around you and pulls you into his side. You chuckle softly as you both stand outside the restaurant.

The outside furniture had been updated, the menu was arriving this afternoon, and all the invitations had been sent out.

All that was left to do was open on Friday.

Helmut kisses your temple.

"The new menu is here."

You smile at him.

"Show me!"

He takes your hand in his and takes you inside. Over on the bar, the new menus were left sitting. You walked over, leaning into Zemo's embrace as his arm wraps around you again, and pick one up.

You smile.

The design was simple. The menus were white with purple and gold detailed around the edges. The food lists in neat text, each section clear and easy to read.

Menu Escorpiòn Morado

Starters

- Prawn marinated with rice and vinegar

- Croquetas with cuttlefish with alioli sauce

- Andalusian style squids

- Marinated white tuna with strawberries

- Fish salad (cod fish with prawns and vegetables)

- Tortilla of the day

- Patatas bravos (potatoes with spicy sauce)

- Pimientos de Padron (green peppers with spicy or mild sauce)

- Gazpacho

Main course

- Soup of the day

- Fideuà with fish of the day

- Paella (Zemo family style)

- Fish of the day with Patxaran and purple corn

- Monkfish with rhubarb and lilies

- Pigeon with nuts and armagnac served with aromas a vegetables

Desserts

- Catalan Cream

- Arroz con leche

- Milk Caramel

- Tarta De Santiago (Spanish almond cake)

- Sorbets

You gaze up at Helmut with a soft smile. He's waiting expectantly for your opinion.

"Helmut, this is amazing."

"Yes?"

"Yes! Goodness, I'd sit here and try everything if I could."

"Well, come right this way."

Helmut guides you into the kitchen. Sam, James, Wanda, and Natasha are all in there with some of the new kitchen staff. You had hired some talented chefs, though not quite as talented as your own, to help Zemo out in the kitchen when the plays reopens.

On the counter were plates. One of everything.

"I have made a sample of everything on the new menu. I want you all to try them, and be honest with me."

Everyone digs in.

You try everything. There isn't a single thing presented to you that you don't instantly love. You look up at Helmut to see his eyes on you.

You smile.

"I love everything."

He chuckles and comes to stand beside you again, wrapping you up in his arms.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do. You're an incredible chef. It's one of the things I fell in love with about you."

He kisses you, ignoring the soft sounds of complaints from those around you. He turns to the group and tells them to hush.

Another figure walks into the kitchen.

"Ah, Y/N, this is Veronica. I thought, perhaps, you two would like to co-host out front."

You smile at Helmut.

Veronica holds out her hand and you shake it, greeting each other.

"What's left to do?" You ask, looking around the room.

"Just the bar and then we have to prepare for Friday."

"Speaking of the bar," Sam slides up beside you and hands you a menu, much like the first one, only this was a list of drinks.

Drinks (non alcoholic)

- Horchata (nut milk with cinnamon)

- Coffee with a splash of cream milk

- Granizado (fresh drink for summer, mixed fruits with ice crushed together, most commonly made with lemon)

- Lemon Beer

- Hibiscus Lemonade

Drinks (with alcohol)

- Vermouth

- Rebujito (sherry with a soft drink such as Sprite)

- Cava (Spanish champagne)

- Agua de Valencia (drink with vodka, gin, cava and orange juice)

- Morado de Verano (Escorpión Morado signature drink)

"Brilliant!" You grin at him. Sam smiles and takes the menu back, happy you liked what he put together.

You look around the kitchen and smile.

"I can't thank everyone enough for what you have all done. It means the world to me that you're all here helping me salvage something so important to someone so important," you say, glancing at Zemo. He smiles. "We don't have long. Chefs, you'll be expected to be here first thing Friday morning. Helmut will give you all the details then. Sam, James, you two will be on the bar, but give a shout of you need extra hands, Natasha knows a thing or two. Veronica and I will greet everyone as they come in and make sure they are seated. Wanda, will be head waitress that day, I'll introduce you to the others when they arrive."

Wanda nods.

"Friday is a big day. We have to show Sokovia that its5the little businesses that need the moat support. Not everyone is made of money like Tony Stark."

Everyone nods and mutters in agreement.

"You're all dismissed. Help yourself to the rest of the samples."

Helmut presses a kiss to your temple when you finish and guides you back out front. Your four other friends follow out.

"This is it."

Helmut comes to stand in front of you. He places his hands on your shoulders and looks you in the eyes.

"Thank you for everything."

You smile.

"I'm happy to help. This place became so important to me. You became so important to me."

He smiles back at you.

"The restaurant is important, but not more so than you," he tells you.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell out of place back to where it belongs. He tilts his head into your light touch and smiles softly once more.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes."

Back at The Iron Grill Tony Stark was staring at his invitation. Heike and Pepper were present, just watching him. Strange was there too, but he was busy on his phone reading the updated online menu for the Escorpión Morado.

"Are we going?" Pepper asks.

He looks up at her, letting out a breath. He looks impassive as he turns the card back and forth between his fingers.

"Yes, we're going. We've been invited. We should follow up on it."

Pepper nods.

"All of us?" Heike asks.

"All of us."

You two brought guests, so he should too.

"What are you going to do?" He asks Heike.

She sighs.

"Talk to him. Change his mind."

Stark stands up from where he had been comfortably seated and looks at her.

"Make him sign."

She nods.

He looks over at Strange.

"Well?"

"It's a very good menu. Much more exciting than your own, actually."

Tony Stark grits his teeth in silence.

Friday. On Friday he will stomp all over Zemo's restaurant. People will see that only Tony Stark can bring life to this miserable city.

"I won't lose."

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @swooning-for-mc-avoy @nonamec0s @apparrio @scuttle-buttle @alex-the-nb @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @greeneyedblondie44 @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[eggtoasties]

dazed bees to honey

Pairing: Shisui Uchiha/Sakura Haruno

Rating: T

Word Count: 6.3k

Better on AO3

Chapter 2

______________________________________

Getting Sakura’s attention had been…difficult at best. Trying to work around his erratic schedule was near impossible given Sakura’s equally hectic schedule and Shisui wasn’t sure how to approach the Hokage and demand that she rearrange his missions to better accommodate his dating schemes.

But, he had never met anyone more alluring—the sway of Sakura’s hips, the creaminess of her skin, the way her eyes lit up when he brought little trinkets he acquired from far away missions. She makes the blood rush to his cheeks when she makes fun of him and he had never known that getting his bones crushed would make him feel like he was the luckiest man on Earth.

She was the sun—bringing him light and warmth like he had never before experienced, and he was the moon orbiting around her. He needed to be closer; he wanted to be consumed by her. She could crack his chest open in two and carve her name in the ribs protecting his heart and it still wouldn’t be close enough.

He just didn’t know how to tell her.

___

Shisui had been idly sharpening kunai at his dining room table waiting for his bread to proof, when he received a summons. Tapping at the balcony door, a small crow was impatiently waiting for Shisui to retrieve the message tied at its foot. Wondering why Itachi sent a crow instead of making the short trip to his apartment, Shisui set his weapon down and ambled towards the sliding glass door, making sure to grab seeds for the summons.

Letting out a squawk, the crow started pecking at his door faster. Alarmed that Itachi was possibly in danger, Shisui shunshined to the balcony and grabbed the crow to get to the message. Puffing its feathers and pecking at Shisui’s hands, the summons squawked indignantly and Shisui offhandedly wondered when Itachi had kept such poorly behaved crows.

Gently releasing it into the air and unfurling the message, Shisui read:

Came back from the mission a few days ago. At training ground 7 if you’d like to join. -S. Haruno

His heart pounded. Sakura was back in the village and she contacted him promptly afterwards to ask to spar? Dough be damned he was sprinting to training ground 7, he thought giddily. He looked down at himself—green fuzzy socks, loose gray sweats, and an old t-shirt—he had to get ready! His cheeks warmed. Wait, he mentally stammered. How did she know where he lived? How did she know where to send the summons to? Did she snoop around his medical files to find his address because for some reason, that made his throat dry.

Running to his bedroom while haphazardly throwing his clothes off, he suddenly stilled again. She had sent him a crow? She had a crow summons? There were a few crow summoners in the village, Shisui reasoned. She could have gotten a contract from Aoba or someone else. But, the thought of Itachi presenting the summoning contract that he had bestowed as a sign of trust and friendship made Shisui frown. As the elder, and the first contract holder, he should have been the one to give her the contract to sign. Or, Itachi should have gone to him and inform Shisui of his intentions.

Nodding to himself, Shisui made a note to stop by Itachi’s house later and question him.

___

Arriving at the edge of training ground 7 in record time, Shisui paused as he saw Sakura and Itachi in their uniforms warming up together. Sakura was in standard uniform sans the flak jacket and Itachi was in his ANBU uniform as always. Shisui fidgeted uncomfortably. He had worn what Itachi rudely called “the douchebag” shirt—a loose black sleeveless top where the arm holes were cut down to the bottom of his ribs. The tank top, Itachi always lectured, could hardly be defined as a shirt since it was so open. Itachi had questioned the practicality of a training top that would leave one so vulnerable to weapons and Shisui at the time, had retorted that he would understand when he was older.

Beginning to wonder if he should discreetly go back home to change, Sakura and Itachi called Shisui over.

“Oh, you came!” Sakura shouted excitedly as she beckoned him towards the middle of the training field.

As he walked slowly towards the pair, Itachi assessed Shisui.

“I see you got my summons,” he said, raising his eyebrow when he took in Shisui’s clothes. “Nice pants.”

Shisui flushed. He had chosen his tightest black training pants. Pants that he knew made his ass look good, thank you very much, but at the moment he was wondering if Sakura would think he was trying too hard. Or worse, he mentally shuddered, a douchebag.

“I was excited when Itachi told me you were in the village. I wanted to work on my response times with you,” Sakura started, interrupting Shisui’s mental torture. His heart fluttered at the thought of her wanting to spar with him and he let out a little breath of relief realizing that the crow was indeed Itachi’s. He crossed his arms in a poor attempt to cover the long slits in his shirt.

“I can dodge pretty much anything,” Sakura continued, beginning to sway on the balls of her feet, pink pony tail swinging with the motion. “But I wanna see how I’ll do against an opponent I can’t hit—or at least that’s what Itachi says,” she said, smiling at him prettily.

The early morning sun illuminated her face and made her green eyes impossibly bright. The faint ring of gold around her pupils winked at him and he swore he could feel his pulse reverberate in his skull. He realized she was waiting for a response. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and all he could muster out was a weak, “Sounds good.”

Sakura nodded happily and walked a few paces away from him, wringing out her arms. Suddenly pulling out kunai from her holster and twirling them around her forefingers, she faced him.

“Taijutsu only. Ready whenever you are, Shisui-san.”

___

She was fast, Shisui noted. He had expected as much given the way she took him by surprise in her office, cutting his shunshin off. He also factored in the fact that she regularly trained with Itachi, Sasuke, and Kakashi who were notoriously quick on their feet. But, not as fast as him.

Flickering in and out of her reach, he studied her movements with his sharingan. He knew that Itachi was on the sidelines, similarly monitoring her, but Shisui wanted to brand the image of her looking at him like he was prey for the rest of his life. Sakura was an incredibly flexible fighter, he noted. Depending on the type of attack, weapon, and opening he left, she would quickly and seamlessly recalibrate.

There were times her movements reflected Tsunade-sama’s—sharp and fast and meant to obliterate. Other times, Shisui realized, she would adopt Might Guy’s Strong Fist technique, Asuma’s melee style, or most surprisingly, the graceful but precise movements of the Gentle Fist technique.

Bracing a chakra enforced forearm against a kick to his head he asked, “Who taught you the Gentle Fist?”

Grunting and trying to strike his open stomach she responded, “My graduating class has two Hyuugas.” He side stepped away from her punch and flickered behind her. Ducking when she swung a kunai to his head and dodging the knee about to pummel his face, he shunshined a little farther away.

“Hyuuga don’t hide their techniques because no one can use it without the Byakugan, but someone would have had to teach you those movements,” he said breathing heavily.

“Kakashi copies them to piss people off and I was—am close to them,” Sakura said catching her breath. He watched as she pressed the back of her hand to her sweaty forehead and picked the hem of her shirt up to wipe at the rest of her face. Her toned stomach glistened with sweat. Little rivulets of perspiration rolled down her abs and Shisui cursed, damn.

“Was it the little Hyuuga genius? Neji-kun?” Shisui asked, remembering Sasuke’s clear distaste for the boy.

Itachi chose then to materialize in Shisui’s line of vision, cutting his view of Sakura. Pouting, Shisui flash stepped in front of Sakura, startling her while Itachi began his commentary on what and how Sakura could improve as well as ideas for them to try out.

The rest of their morning session consisted of Itachi valiantly trying to train while Shisui cast low level genjutsus of himself telling Itachi to leave. Itachi dispelled the genjutsus, but Shisui relentlessly recast them, sometimes conjuring up little dancing animals or mini Sasukes berating him to leave. Tiring of Shisui’s antics, Itachi dejectedly sat on the ground and began his stretches, saying that they should call it a day.

“Are you alright? You seemed distracted today—I definitely hit you more than usual,” Sakura said kneeling in front of him, raising a glowing green hand to his chest.

“Thank you—I’m fine,” Itachi responded tiredly. “It’s just that Shisui,” he said harshly, glaring at him over Sakura’s shoulder, kept telling me to leave.”

Alarm bells started ringing in Shisui’s head and he looked incredulously at his cousin. His cousin who sold him out. His decidedly, least favorite cousin. He glared back at Itachi. Shisui flashed his dimples which made Itachi narrow his eyes further.

“Sorry, cousin,” Shisui started. “I’m just absolutely starving and wanted to eat—you know how I am when I want something,” he said, throwing his arms behind his head and wiggling his eyebrows at his cousin.

“Annoying? Irritating? Childish?” Itachi grumbled, causing Sakura to giggle. “Sakura,” Itachi started. “Would you want to go to that new bakery in the North District? I’ve only heard incredible things about their rhubarb ice cream,” Itachi said excitedly, ignoring the way Shisui was pouting and lightly kicking at the ground.

Sakura finished healing Itachi and slowly rose, dusting the dirt from her knees and wiping her hands against her thighs. “Ooh, that sounds really nice, but I should probably get real food before I start on desserts,” Sakura laughed.

Not to be outdone, Shisui stepped beside Sakura. “I agree, let’s get lunch Sakura-sensei,” he chirped while resting his hand against Itachi’s head, who was still sitting down. Scowling, Itachi yanked on Shisui’s arm, making his older cousin stumble, and jabbed the back of his knee. Pleased that Shisui was now sprawled in the dirt, Itachi rose and said, “Well, I’m also going to get sesame cookies,” he sniffed. “Good luck with this,” Itachi said to Sakura, poking an incensed Shisui with his sandal. “And thank you for the coconut oil.”

With that, Itachi gracefully straightened himself out and walked towards the edge of the clearing, waving back at Sakura.

___

Shisui and Sakura made their way towards the main hub of Konoha. Excited to be alone with her, Shisui asked her questions about her last mission and her work at the hospital. He listened intently as she recalled the mission details, chuckling when she complained about the humidity in Waterfall, telling her he completely understood while pointing to his curly hair. She talked animatedly about her research project at the hospital. Although he didn’t understand about seventy five percent of what she was explaining, he nodded dutifully, lips quirking as he watched her excited hand movements as she discussed…molecular interventions through pathogenic mechanisms of neurocristopathies—he thinks.

Humming at the right times and throwing in a “oh, really—what does that mean?” every so often, he basked in her voice. Her voice, Shisui decided, was his favorite sound in the entire universe. Wanting to sit down together, he interrupted her briefly to point at the first restaurant he saw.

“How’s ramen sound, Sakura-sensei?” he asked.

“And that’s why normal and pathological neural crest cells—” Sakura, paused. “Oh, Ichiraku’s is fine. Did you know this is Team 7’s spot?” she asked, heading towards the shop. “We used to eat at Ichiraku’s a few times a week,” she scrunched her nose in distaste, “when we were genin,” she finished.

“Itachi says Sasu-chan always complains about Naruto-kun’s ramen eating habits but I didn’t realize this was your guys’ place of choice,” Shisui chuckled. “Does he know that the stand two streets over also does a killer ramen? A gal needs variety if I recall correctly,” he threw in cheekily. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continued. “There’s also this other place that has great ambience and incredible food—you should come some time?” he voice rising in speed and pitch at the end of the sentence.

Her step faltering, Sakura looked up at Shisui. “Huh?” she questioned at his word choice, “What is it?”

“My place,” he responded quickly, smiling sunnily at her and ignoring the rush of blood to his face.

Shisui’s heart thundered at the way her mouth opened in surprise and he felt his bones reverberate when the tips of her ears turned pink. While she scrunched her nose at the cheesy line, she couldn’t help the way her lips quirked up.

“Well—”

“SAKURA-CHAN!” Naruto screamed, running towards her from down the street, waving both hands excitedly. Behind Naruto, walking at a leisurely pace, was Itachi and Sasuke. Sending Shisui an apologetic smile, Sakura faced Naruto as he spun her around in a hug.

Exasperated, Shisui watched Itachi amble towards him and sent him a mental middle finger. Looking pleased with himself, Itachi didn’t even try to hide his smirk behind his massive ice cream cone.

“Me and teme ran into Itachi-nii and he said you and Shisui-nii were around here somewhere,” Naruto exclaimed. Turning to acknowledge Shisui he said, “Oh, dude nice pants, your ass looks great in them—let’s all get Ichiraku!” he shouted, grabbing Sakura’s wrist and running towards a waving Teuchi.

Shisui stood alone in the middle of the street with his mouth slightly open. Itachi joined his side while Sasuke trailed after his two teammates, not before assessing Shisui’s shirt and pants and throwing him a grimace.

“Tch,” Sasuke said dismissively.

“You love this don’t you, Itachi.”

“Ah,” he responded. Itachi angled his ice cream towards Shisui and raised a brow.

“No.”

Itachi pouted.

___

Bounding ahead to Ichiraku’s, Naruto pulled the chair against the wall with a flourish, exaggerating a bow and extending his hand towards Sakura. Easily following the mimicry of their genin days, she giggled and pretended to ignore him. Sakura took the seat at the middle of the bar which Sasuke quietly pulled out for her.

Pouting, Naruto complained, “Aw, c’mon Sakura-chan, you don’t actually want to sit next to teme, do you? He asked, easing in the seat to her left.

“It’s so she can mediate when you eventually say something stupid to piss me off,” Sasuke said, distributing the menus.

Sakura punched him in the arm in response and turned to chat about the menu with Naruto. When Shisui and Itachi settled into the wooden seats next to Sasuke, Sakura asked,

“How long are you two in the village for?” leaning towards Shisui and Itachi.

“We’ll both be local for about a week.” Itachi offered, now nibbling delicately at his cone.

“They’ve both been easing back on their ANBU duties and are doing more stuff for the clan,” Sasuke supplied, absentmindedly picking at a paint chip on the counter.

Whooping in response Naruto added, “Hell, yeah!” he threw a fist into the air. “Now you guys can train with us more! And Itachi-nii,” he started, leaning back in his chair to look at Itachi, “if you could bring more of those rice balls you made last time, they were incredible, dattebayo!”

Smiling, Itachi leaned back to discuss snacks with Naruto.

“And what about you, Sakura-sensei,” Shisui asked, completely pushing Sasuke out of the way.

Grumbling, Sasuke pushed back at Shisui, which the elder responded by trapping a hissing Sasuke in a headlock.

Rubbing Sasuke’s head placatingly, Sakura said, “I should be staying in the village for the next week too—there’s a lot of hospital stuff I’ve got to do.” Nodding to Teuchi as he placed her order in front of her, she added, “I’m glad you’ll be in the village this week, we should train together again—if you want,” she fiddled with her wooden chopsticks. “It was great to spar with you and watch you, I learned a lot.”

Jealous that he wasn’t invited to the spar, Sasuke wrenched himself from Shisui’s grasp and aggressively ripped his chopsticks apart. Noting his little brother’s behavior, Itachi chuckled and said, “I just told Naruto I’d stop by your training this week, otouto.”

“Tch,” Sasuke responded. But, the way his shoulders relaxed and he smiled gently into his bowl made it clear he was pleased.

“Sakura-chan,” Naruto started. “I feel like I never see you anymore!” he said between bites of ramen. “Let’s do a Team 7 get together—you, me, teme, Kaka-sensei, Yamato Taichou, and Sai too!” he slurped noisily.

“Yeah you’re right,” Sakura sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “With all my projects, the hospital, and,” she waved her hands distractedly, “we haven’t hung out in a while.” Frowning lightly she said, “We could do it at my place, but I don’t know if I could fit everyone…” she trailed off.

Sensing the opportunity, Shisui swooped in. “You should invite your friends over, Sasu-chan,” he mockingly admonished.

Ignoring Shisui’s baiting and staring down at his bowl, Sasuke grumbled.

“Absolutely no-“

“Your friends are coming over?” Itachi asked excitedly.

“No-“

“Yes!” chorused Naruto, Sakura, and Shisui.

“They’re,” Sasuke started, pointing his chopsticks at Naruto, “going to make a mess.”

Ignoring Sasuke’s continued rumblings, Itachi started to list off different food and dessert ideas to Naruto who grew more and more excited by his suggestions if his hand waving was anything to go by. Glancing sharply to his right at an extremely pleased Shisui, Sasuke scowled.

“I know you just took advantage of nii-san’s househusband fantasies,” Sasuke whispered sharply. In the background, Itachi was dreamily listing the various courses he thought would best suit Team 7’s tastes while Naruto and Sakura egged him on with ideas of their own.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Shisui responded smugly, leisurely slurping his noodles.

Irritated, Sasuke leaned across Shisui to talk some sense into his brother, but Itachi was staring serenely into space, using his full genius brain to plan out dinner. Huffing, Sasuke hunched in his seat and poked dejectedly at his noodles, missing the way Sakura peered past him.

___

Dinner at the Uchiha household was scheduled that Friday—a few days after lunch at Ichiraku’s. Shisui, conscious to not make another questionable fashion choice, opted for black training pants and a traditional Uchiha top—short sleeved and high collared with the Uchiha fan embroidered on the back.

Arriving at the head family’s home, he was greeted by a tired looking Fugaku who wearily told Shisui that everyone was in the kitchen. Laughing to himself, Shisui figured that Itachi and Mikoto had ran Fugaku to the ground with dinner preparations. Trailing after his uncle towards the kitchen, he saw Sasuke tending to a flower bouquet.

“Why are you here?” Sasuke asked, incensed.

He ignored the venom in his younger cousin’s eyes since he didn’t look very intimidating with carnations in hand. Shisui presented a tin-foil covered pan.

“He made shokupan,” Itachi said breezily.

“They should be here any minute! Sasuke, Fugaku, go set the table and get the plum wine out of the fridge,” Mikoto ordered, putting last minute touches on the pastries she and Itachi were decorating.

In a few minutes, there was knocking at the front door and Itachi went out to greet Sakura and Naruto.

“Come on in,” Itachi said happily. Leading them inside he said, “I ran to the store earlier today and got everyone slippers,” pointing to the neat row along the wall.

“Wow, Itachi-nii. You really got this mom thing down,” Naruto noted, nodding to himself.

“You think?” Itachi smiled serenely and Sakura giggled at his pastel yellow apron with white trimming.

“No one else could make it today,” Sakura said frowning. Handing a wrapped plant to Itachi she said, “Yamato Taichou and Sai are out on a mission, Kakashi said he was…busy…” she trailed off.

Humming to himself while inspecting the healthy green leaves of the plant and the tasteful wrapping, Itachi said, “Sakura, you really didn’t have to.” But the pleased look on his face said otherwise.

“Hey! I helped too!” Naruto interrupted loudly.

___

Settling himself at the low dining room table, Fugaku sat at the head of the table. To his right was Sakura, Naruto, and Sasuke. To his left sat Mikoto, Itachi, and Shisui.

“Wow, everything looks incredible,” Sakura gushed at the spread.

Naruto nodded enthusiastically, eyes gleaming. “Mikoto oba-chan, Itachi-nii, you guys really out did yourselves!”

“I helped too, dobe,” Sasuke grumbled.

“I made the shokupan!” Shisui chirruped.

It was a little too much food for the seven of them, Shisui noted. He looked down to the heaping bowl of white rice in front of him with a hearty serving of stew to its right—steam still emanating from both. Each person also had an individual portion of teriyaki salmon, its sweet glaze reflecting the dining room light above them. Sat on the middle of the traditional table, Itachi and Mikoto also prepared stir fried vegetables, soba salad, fried tonkatsu, mapo tofu, and tempura on large serving plates. The dishes took every space of the dining room table, some of it teetering dangerously close to an edge—the table overflowed with intermingling spices and glistening sauces.

Shisui blanched knowing that dessert was bound to be a similarly overwhelming experience.

Saying a brief thanks to his guests, Fugaku uttered a brief, “Itadakimasu,” and began eating.

___

Between the passing of dishes, clinking of chopsticks, and hums of pleasure, easy chatter filled the room.

“Thank you for the coconut oil dear, it works so well,” Mikoto smiled at Sakura over her glass of wine.

Dabbing her lips delicately after devouring several slices of tofu, Sakura shook her head.

“It was no problem—thank you,” she said, looking at Mikoto and Itachi, “for the dumplings. I ate them all in one sitting they were incredible,” she gushed.

Sasuke grumbled beside her, saying he had helped too and that it shouldn’t be physically possible to consume that many dumplings at once, but his mother cut him off.

“I heard we have Hyuuga Neji-kun to thank for the hair tips?” Mikoto teased.

At the mention of Neji, Shisui slowed his chewing and conceded defeat to Naruto, who was not-so-subtly trying to eat all of the tempura as quickly as possible. Shisui looked discreetly at Sakura to see how she would respond.

Sakura was caught by surprise at the comment and her spoon hovered in midair for a millisecond. Processing the joke, her shoulders shook lightly as she giggled and playfully rolled her eyes.

Naruto, with a mouthful of food said, “Neji does have nice hair, ‘ttebayo.”

Choking a little when Sasuke elbowed him in the stomach he stuttered, “A-ah, not as nice as yours, Sakura-chan!” The table laughed at the duo in response.

“Itachi-nii, you should quit ANBU and become a cook, this is the best food I’ve had in forever,” Naruto said dreamily.

Fugaku frowned deeply into his wine. “Yes, Itachi, when will you quit ANBU and fully take on your duties as clan head?”

Fugaku’s shoulder length brown hair had streaks of gray in it, which Mikoto lovingly said made him look refined although she had hardly aged in the past five years. His face showed years of exhaustion and responsibilities with his heavy brow and fine lines at the side of his mouth. His hands were still rough and battle worn despite it being years since his active duty days. Despite it all, his eyes were still keen, sharp as flint, and just as dark.

The rest of the table stilled with Fugaku’s displeasure—the Uchihas either frowning at Fugaku or throwing Itachi an apologetic glance. Sakura and Naruto ate impossibly quicker.

“Well Father,” Itachi started breezily, taking a languid sip of his glass. “You still have life in you yet.”

Preparing for an even more disgruntled Fugaku, Naruto and Sakura nervously chattered about the incredible food, piling each other’s plates even higher, and Shisui off handedly wondered if Sasuke had ever mentioned that Sakura’s appetite matched Naruto’s.

Surprising his guests, Fugaku wearily sighed into his rice bowl. “Son, please put me out of my misery so I can spend time with my wife.”

Over Mikoto’s pleased giggles and Sasuke’s embarrassed choke, Sakura and Naruto stopped their babbling to stare openly at Fugaku. Realizing that their surprise was obvious, they busied themselves again with food, ignoring Sasuke’s second-hand disgust.

“And Shisui,” Fugaku said sharply, cutting off whatever sly retort he had prepared on the tip of his tongue, “when will you fully accept the mantle as the police force commander?” he questioned.

Ignoring Shisui’s attempt at a response, Fugaku braced his hands on the floor behind his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Why Itachi and Sasuke don’t want to take over the police force is beyond me,” he muttered to himself as Mikoto gently consoled him.

Laughing at his uncle’s tiredness Shisui joked, “Well oji-san, given that Itachi’s biggest dream is being a full-time househusband—” Naruto looked incredibly interested at this prospect. “—and mine is living on oba-san’s food for the rest of my life,” Sasuke rolled his eyes at this. “Maybe we’ll make you suffer a little longer.”

Shisui raised his glass to Itachi, who clinked his glass in return, happily sipping the plum wine at the expense of an entirely spent Fugaku who mumbled to himself about shattered retirement dreams.

___

After dinner, Naruto and Sakura helped clear out the dishes despite Mikoto and Itachi’s protests. While Sasuke and Fugaku were relegated to cleaning the dishes, Shisui prepared the tea while Mikoto and Itachi set the table with dessert.

Surprisingly, dessert wasn’t as overwhelming as Shisui thought it would be. There was sakuramochi at the center of the table, elegantly plated in a neat line on a porcelain plate, the pickled blossom leaf folded meticulously over each cake. Itachi’s eyes crinkled towards Sakura while setting it down. Mikoto placed the higashi towards the end of the table, near Sasuke’s seat. The biscuit-like sweet, Shisui noticed amusedly, had uzumaki swirls pressed onto each biscuit. Shisui’s shokupan was also set down alongside a small pot of honey and jam. The last dessert was Fugaku’s favorite: butter cookies. Each cookie was a perfect circle and slightly browned at the edges. But to Shisui’s increased amusement, a black, three-tomoe sharingan was stenciled in icing on each cookie.

Settling back at the table, Sasuke looked at each dessert in growing exasperation before taking in the sharingan butter cookies. He glanced at Itachi in thinly veiled disbelief, but Itachi was intently staring at his guests’ reactions.

Sakura and Naruto had expressions of awe on their face. Naruto, with one hand on his protruding stomach looked a little nauseous when he said, “Wow…you really went all out on this team dinner…it looks so good dattebayo,” he finished weakly.

Sakura, trying to make up for her teammate’s lack of gusto quickly chirped, “I’m SO impressed with your icing skills,” she gushed, “I tried once and it was a complete failure,” she pouted, running a hand through her ponytail. “I’m so full from that incredible dinner but we’ll,” she quickly darted her eyes to Naruto, “make sure and try everything,” she finished, silencing Naruto’s protests.

As Itachi went prattled on the fine details of piping, not icing, because they’re obviously very different, Shisui idly wondered if Sasuke never hosted team dinners because of Itachi.

___

As everyone forced themselves to eat as much dessert as possible for Itachi’s sake, at the head of the table, Mikoto was cajoling her husband in hushed tones and nudging him with her shoulder.

“Sakura dear,” Mikoto started, which silenced the rest of the table. Mikoto turned her head to her husband. He responded by straightening his back and clearing his throat a few times.

“Sakura,” he started stiffly, not quite looking her in the eye. “Thank you,” Fugaku said, “for your work with the clan medics.

Shisui looked at his uncle, then Sakura in surprise—he hadn’t known just how close she was to the Uchiha clan. Looking around the table, no one else seemed to be surprised with her work, more so surprised at Fugaku’s thanks.

Sakura smiled kindly at Fugaku and Mikoto. “You’re welcome, the sharingans a tricky kekkai genkai and the blockages in the delicate blood vessels are definitely hard to work with, but working with Sasuke and Kakashi gave me a leg up. I’m just happy you allowed me to treat your clan members and train your clan medics.”

“With your instruction, Sakura-chan,” Mikoto began, “nearly every clan member has noted a mental and physical improvement. The Uchiha owe you a life debt.” Fugaku, Itachi, and Sasuke nodded in agreement.

Blushing at the compliment, Sakura shook her head. “Thank you, but you all don’t owe me anything. The payment, as agreed, was fully enough.”

Shisui paused. He hadn’t realized that Sakura had found a way to ease the pain the sharingan brought. Having awoken his mangekyo at an extremely young age, he was used to the near perpetual eyestrain and frequent migraines that came with overuse. He had given up on his clan medics’ treatment for his eyes since they’d been ineffective over the years. Incredibly interested at the prospect of relieving his pain he quickly turned to Sakura.

She was still talking to Fugaku and Mikoto, trying to convince them that they didn’t have to commit to any favors for her, and all of his thoughts stilled. She was talking with her hands, trying to explain that she was just glad to be of service to her teammate’s family, and by extension, the village. That no one should be in chronic pain if there was anything she could do about it. Her cheeks were flushed with the wine, and he was taken by the fullness of her lips. Wet with the plum wine, they glistened in the soft overhead light. Every so often, he could see a glint of her pink tongue as she laughed, or caught the corner of her lip.

Noticing that Itachi was staring at him with amusement, Shisui mentally shook himself out of his stupor.

“Ne, Sakura-sensei, I hadn’t realized you figured out the sharingan. Any chance I could schedule a doctor’s appointment with you?” He smiled cheekily at her, ignoring the way Sasuke and Naruto threw daggers at him.

“See, Sakura-chan,” Mikoto said, “you take such good care of our boys—no matter what you say, we’ll always be in you debt.”

“Mikoto-san—” Sakura looked down at her shirt—a standard issue jounin top—which now had a dark wine stain blooming at her stomach.

Naruto looked sheepishly at her, grabbing his napkin. “Sorry…at least it wasn’t your kimono this time?” Naruto said as he dabbed.

“Aw man,” Sakura complained, “this is one of my last good ones too.” While it was customary for shinobi to keep one or two sets of pristine uniforms for show—if they were on guard duty for a prestigious client, or to maintain appearances for foreign dignitaries—the reality was that most shinobi were running around in repeatedly stained, slightly tattered, hole riddled uniforms until they were unwearable.

Getting up to rinse her shirt in the sink, Mikoto stopped her. “Let me get you something to change into,” she said, rising from her seat. At the same time, Sasuke stood up, saying he’d get something of his, and missed the way Shisui had grabbed the back of his own shirt collar and started to undress. Itachi yanked the hem of Shisui’s shirt down and Fugaku stared at Shisui like he was stupid.

“No, no, sit back down Sasuke,” Mikoto said quickly, “look how pretty Sakura’s hair is today,” gesturing at her pink locks, “I’ll have to get her something of mine.” Mikoto placed a hand at Sakura’s upper back and ushered her along.

Sitting back down, Sasuke stared after his mom and teammate in silent confusion over the correlation of Sakura’s everyday pony tail and clothes.

After a few minutes, Mikoto and Sakura shuffled back into the main dining area. Mikoto walked slightly behind Sakura, staring intently at her sons’ and nephew’s faces. Catching the glint in her eye, Fugaku sighed.

Sakura changed into a loose black sweater with an Uchiha fan stitched on the breast. The sweater itself had a similar cut to the jounin top, and was slightly loose on Sakura’s frame. Seeing his teammate, Sasuke furrowed his brow. He had several shirts exactly like that. Sakura also probably had several shirts like that—it wasn’t particularly nice even—why did it have to be his mother’s, he wondered. What does it have to do with her hair—did ponytails have some significance he hadn’t known about? Deep in thought, he continued to scrutinize while Itachi happily munched on butter cookies. Glancing nonchalantly at Sakura he offered a “Hm,” and went back to cajoling Naruto into eating more.

Shisui was gone. The thought of Sakura wearing his clothes with the Uchiha fan would be forever branded in memory. He imagined quiet mornings with her as he made her coffee as she got ready in the mornings. He imagined how she’d look wearing one of his t-shirts—the oversized fit exposing the cream of her shoulder and him kissing the open space.

He watched her as she spoke. The slender curve of her neck, the peach fuzz on her cheeks, and the irresistible plumpness of her lips mesmerized him. Shisui felt the rush of chakra to his eyes, activating his sharingan, and quickly turned his head.

“Thank you for the meal,” Sakura said, rising from her seat, bowing to Mikoto and Itachi.

“Yeah, dinner was great thank you so much!” Naruto chimed in. “Ne, ne, Sakura-chan,” leaning towards her with a glint in his eyes, “why don’t you stay and sleepover! It’ll be like our genin days!” Naruto cheered.

Lightly grimacing, Sakura responded, “I have a shift at the hospital at six in the morning—maybe next time,” she apologized, although she didn’t look sorry at all.

“It must be exhausting having multiple full time jobs,” Itachi said sagely, still munching on butter cookies.

“Yes.” Fugaku deadpanned. “I wonder.”

Completely ignoring his father, Sasuke got up and heaved Naruto with him as well. Nodding to his mother, he jutted his chin to Sakura then jerked his head at the door.

“God, teme—use your words!” Naruto yelled, swatting the back of Sasuke’s head. Ducking before Naruto could hit him, Sasuke jabbed the side of Naruto’s stomach, grinning when he doubled over and wheezed. “W-we’re gonna walk S-Sakura-chan home,” he managed to get out, glaring at Sasuke from his hunched over position.

Seeing his chance, Shisui shot up from his seat and clapped a heavy hand onto Naruto’s back, forcing the blonde to stay hunched over. Cheerfully he said, “I’ll do it! My apartment’s on the way anyways and you’re staying here!” Squeezing Sasuke’s shoulder forcefully, Shisui grinned at his younger cousin trying not to flinch in his vice grip.

Raising a brow, Sakura looked at Shisui unimpressed, although the corner of her lip was curling. Itachi mirrored Sakura, except he was actually unimpressed. Fugaku massaged his nose bridge and his wife hid her smile behind her hand.

“Sasuke, Naruto, come help with the dishes,” Mikoto said.

Sakura gave once last bow to Sasuke’s parents and waved at her friends before heading out.

___

Sakura’s apartment was not on the way to Shisui’s. In fact, it was on the opposite side of the village.

But, there was no way he’d miss the opportunity to talk to her one-on-one without the intrusion of pesky teammates or baby cousins. They walked leisurely side by side, shoulders occasionally bumping, as he basked in her undivided attention. The walk to her apartment was made in quiet tones, careful not to break the stillness that surrounded them.

Crickets chirping in the background and the moon softly illuminating their way, Shisui, for the first time with Sakura, felt at ease. He wondered if maybe they were meant for this—quiet conversations under the moonlight, with her wearing the Uchiha crest.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

At the Edge of the Woods (Werewolf!Steve x Reader)

Summary: When you move into a cottage on the edge of the forest, you’re ready to start a new life in a new, quiet town. But when you attract the attention of Steve Rogers, a man who everyone in town seems to dislike and fear, your world is turned upside down after he decides that you belong to him. 

Pairing: Werewolf/Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader

Read part two here! 

A/N: Hey, guys! So a couple warnings about this one: it contains stalking, a/b/o dynamics, non-con, dub-con, breeding kink, and a whole lotta sin. Also, this is my first time writing anything with alpha/omega stuff in it, so be kind! And let me know if you liked it or if there’s anything I need to work on when writing about this sorta thing. Thank you so much, and enjoy!

It was love at first sight. From the moment you laid eyes on the cottage, you knew it would become your home. The thing was tiny, barely any bigger than a shack, and it was a good fifteen minutes’ drive from the nearest sign of civilization. But you didn’t care; you were enamored with the thick layer of ivy that had overtaken the western wall of the structure, and there were huge bushes of honeysuckle growing along the edge of the forest just a few feet from the backdoor.

And when your real estate agent told you the price of the property, the deal was immediately sealed.

“You’re kidding,” you’d deadpanned. “That’s all?”

“Yep,” she’d grinned, clutching her binder of properties tight against her chest. “Quite the bargain, huh?”

“I mean… Yeah,” you’d laughed. “It must be too good to be true. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, structurally,” she began, “The plumbing is on the older side of things, but it passed inspection. Same goes for the heating and air conditioning. There’s been a bit of a rodent problem in the past, but the appraiser said that a few mouse traps should do the trick to take care of that.”

Her smile had fallen at that point, though, and she shifted on her feet as she considered her next words.

“What is it?” you’d prompted.

“Well… The thing is,” she said sheepishly, “The locals have this superstition about the woods in this area. People say that they’re, uh…haunted.”

“…Haunted?”

You were barely able to contain an amused grin from overtaking your face, and with a shrug you turned back toward the kitchen, admiring the view of the trees through the little window above the stove.

“I know, it’s pretty weird,” the agent chuckled. “But people around here really do believe it. Something about an urban legend. I will say, though, that coyotes and wolves are known to roam around at night, so that’s probably where the paranoia comes from. Just try not to go out after dark. And if you get any chickens or outdoor animals, I’d keep them inside a kennel.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assured her. “I’m not exactly a farmer. I’m just looking for a place to settle down.

“And I think this cottage is the perfect spot.”

A month later, after the papers were signed and your possessions were moved in, you found yourself happier than you’d ever been in your new abode. You’d purchased house plants and artwork, designing the small space until it was exactly to your liking. You’d even decided to take up gardening, and your tiny back porch had become dotted with pots filled with flourishing herbs.

You fell into an easy routine. On Mondays, you would venture into town, picking up groceries from the local mart and picking up any other supplies you needed. Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were dedicated to your work; you were the owner and manager of a blog that had become an overnight success several months ago, and so you spent those days curled up in the cottage, typing away at your laptop and creating content.

The only strange thing thus far had been the town residents’ reaction to you. Everyone was friendly, of course, and they’d made it clear that small town hospitality was a value the entire population seemed to share, but you weren’t oblivious to the way they side-eyed you. No one ever looked suspicious, per se, more like…expectant. Like they were waiting for you to say or do something, though you had no idea what it could be.

Earl, the bookstore owner, was by far one of the friendliest people you’d ever met, and after four weeks of the bizarre treatment, you finally asked him about it.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” he waved you off, sliding your new books into a paper bag. “It’s just that no one’s ever lasted long in that cottage o’ yours.”

“…Well, that’s a bit…unsettling. What happened to them?”

“Nothing,” he was quick to assure you. “Nothing bad happens to ‘em. It’s not like they’ve gotten hurt or anything. It’s just that, uh… Well. Strange things seem to happen in that part o’ the woods at night, and it’s scared the last couple o’ tenants off.”

“Huh… My real estate agent did mention something like that,” you admitted, starting to feel an irrational spark of apprehension. “What kind of things did they see?”

“Well… I don’t wanna scare you away,” he grumbled, scratching at his salt-and-pepper beard.

“I promise you won’t. I really like where I’m at right now. I’m just…curious, I guess.”

Earl seemed to consider it for a moment before giving in.

“Alright,” he sighed. “But for the record, I don’t believe any of the silly nonsense some folks ‘round here like to gossip about. This is a quiet town – a safe town. The only dangerous thing about this place is Mary Jo’s strawberry rhubarb pie down at the soda shop – I swear those things are the reason I got diabetes.”

You chuckled at Earl, and he gave you a warm smile before leaning towards you over the counter, propping himself up on his elbow.

“So, anyways, back to your house,” he started. “The last people there were this younger couple. They were nice kids – had just gotten hitched. But after a few weeks, they said they started noticin’ howls at night. Now, that’s normal for this area; we’ve got some wolves. But these howls were close, so loud that it woke em’ up most nights.

“Then, they started seeing people walking around the property around midnight. It coulda’ been that they were smokin’ some stuff they shouldn’a been smokin’, but they swore up and down that they saw naked men traipsin’ around. One time, there was one on their back porch, and the husband ran out to chase him off, but as quick as they saw him, he vanished.

“Again, I don’t know if I believe all of that junk,” Earl huffed. “But… the old lady who lived there before the couple said the same thing before she passed away, god rest her soul. And ol’ Lizzy didn’t lie about this sorta thing.”

You made a quiet hum of contemplation, nodding.

“Well,” you eventually spoke, “if I see any naked men hanging around, I have my handy dandy taser.”

A wide grin broke out over the older man’s face, and he reached over the counter to cuff your shoulder.

“Thata girl,” he chuckled. “I like it. And if you do see people hangin’ around on your property, give me a call, ok?” He fumbled around for a business card, eventually opening the cash register and pulling one out. “Call the bottom number if anyone gives you trouble, ok? I know I’m not the most intimidating guy around, but I keep a shotgun at the house just in case. And if the wolves become a problem, call the police. They’ll send some guys over from animal control to chase ‘em off.”

“Thanks, Earl,” you smiled, tucking the card into your wallet. “Oh, and before I forget, do you have any stationary? Letter writing paper, colored pens, that sort of thing?”

“I’m afraid we don’t. Oh, but Greg and Lou would probably have some. Try their art supply store; it’s right around the corner on the left side o’ the road.”

With that, you thanked Earl and walked out, clutching your paper bag of novels to your chest. You had to admit that the idea of wolves on your property was starting to scare you, but the thought of a naked guy just hanging out in the woods was enough to make you laugh to yourself. Even if it was true, you’d dealt with weirdos before. If that was the worst of your problems, then you’d be a happy camper.

You followed Earl’s instructions and immediately spotted a quaint store with a sign over the door reading “The Brushstroke”. Upon walking inside, you were greeted by the smell of paper and ink, and papier mache mobiles were hanging from the ceiling every few feet, dancing in the breeze that had flown in after you opened the door. Two men were standing behind the counter, sipping from steaming mugs of tea, and their heads popped up as you walked in.

“Hey, there!” one of them called, giving you a wave. “Welcome; come on in.”

“Hello,” you replied with a smile.

“We haven’t seen you around before,” the other man remarked, a kind smile on his face. “You wouldn’t happen to be the new girl in town, would you?”

“Word spreads quickly, I guess.”

“It does when you live in a town like this,” he nodded. “I’m Lou, by the way. And this is my husband Greg.”

Greg nodded in greeting, and you gave them a wide smile.

“It’s nice to meet you guys.”

“Likewise, hon. Can we help you find anything?”

You told them what you were looking for, and they instructed you towards the back of the store, where you found a wall filled with rows of neat packets of paper right next to a cubby of pens of all types and colors. You took your time in making your selections, not even noticing the door of the shop opening and closing; it was only when you heard Greg and Lou’s quiet conversation come to an abrupt halt that you glanced around the corner to see what was going on.

Your eyes widened when you saw the man standing in front of the counter; he was tall, maybe a few inches over six foot, and built like a tank. A thick, well-groomed beard adorned his face, and his hair was on the longer side, curling just past his ears in thick, easy waves. Despite the chilly weather outside, he was only dressed in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, and you watched his biceps bulge under the fabric as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“…Steve,” Greg finally said. “Long time no see.”

The man – Steve, evidently – nodded his head as he approached the counter.

“Wh-what can we do for you?” Lou asked, seeming to shrink back as he walked towards them.

“I need a new sketchbook,” Steve mumbled, almost too quietly for you to hear. His voice was deep, resonating, and something about its gravelly edge made goosebumps rise up over your arms.

“You know where to find ‘em,” Greg stated after clearing his throat. “Just get whatever you need and go.”

It looked as if Steve was about to say something, but after a pause, he just nodded, ducking his head and turning directly towards you. You stiffened as he grew nearer, feeling an unexplainable urge to turn and run away from him, but then his eyes met yours, and you were frozen in place.

Blue irises stared directly into you, and you watched as surprise washed over his features. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in through his nose, and you swore that you saw his pupils dilate as he looked you up and down. When his gaze finally met yours again, and you stumbled back a step, stunned at the look on his face. It was as if he knew you.

But that couldn’t be; you’d never seen this man before. If you had, you definitely would’ve remembered him.

“I-I…” you stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for, but all of a sudden you were broken out of your strange stupor. Fixing your eyes firmly on the floor, you turned and blindly grabbed the first stack of papers that your extended hand came in contact with. You did the same with the pens, grabbing a random pack before turning on your heel and heading towards the front.

Or, rather, heading directly into a broad, firm chest. You hadn’t heard any footsteps, but while your back was turned Steve had apparently stalked up behind you, and now you were so close that you could smell the distinct scent of pine wafting off of him. Pine and…something else, something musky. It made your mouth water and your eyes flutter shut, and you could have sworn that you heard a deep growl sound from his chest.

The noise startled you so badly that you dropped everything, even your paper bag from Earl’s, and you felt as if your entire body was trembling as you turned away. On unsteady feet, you walked back to the front, glancing at Greg and Lou out of the corner of your eye as you headed towards the door. Lou was watching you with a concerned expression painted across his face, but Greg was still staring Steve down, as if he were sizing him up.

The cold, early-spring wind hit you square in the face once you exited the store, and it sobered you up enough to cease your nervous trembling. There was still a sense of blind panic, though, a deep-seated fear that drove you to march over to your car without turning back.

As you peeled out of your parking space and sped towards your home, you slowly began to calm down, taking slow, even breaths to slow the frantic beating of your heart. As you put more and more distance between you and the mysterious man from the art store, you found that, even later on when you were safe in your home, you still couldn’t rationalize why you’d felt the way you had. And that evening, when you were getting ready to go to bed, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched.

Typically, you kept the curtains in your bedroom open, enjoying the sight of the forest laying just beyond the panes of glass. But tonight, before going to bed, you drew them shut before burrowing under the covers, hiding away from the lingering, unexplainable dread that had followed you home that day.

____________

You weren’t sure what had woken you. When you jolted out of your slumber, you were laying sprawled out over your mattress, your sheets tangled around your ankles. Everything was quiet, unsettlingly so. It was as if your cottage was holding its breath, waiting for something horrible to happen. The world was black beyond your windows, and the clock on your bedside table read 3:42 in the morni-

Wait.

The lingering tendrils of sleep within your brain melted away as you bolted upright, your wide eyes focused on your windows and the curtains that were neatly pulled away from them. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you slowly, deliberately, stood up from your bed, reaching for your phone blindly as you kept your eyes on the windows.

You drew the curtains closed as your thumb hovered over the emergency call button, and you gulped before turning towards your open bedroom door.

“H-hello?” you called out, voice still thick with sleep.

There was no answer, and you took a deep breath before stepping out into the living room. You were relieved to find nothing out of place; the kitchen, as well, was in perfect order, as was your tiny bathroom. You grew bolder as you searched your house, checking underneath your bed and inside of your wardrobe, but still you found nothing.

Eventually, you sauntered over to your back door, and that’s when you smelled it. Smelled him. The same scent that had flooded your senses back at the bookstore was thick in the air right next to the backdoor. You blinked rapidly, feeling a stirring in your gut as you inhaled it, and you gulped as you faced the door.

“…Steve?” you murmured, suddenly unable to make a sound any louder than a whisper.

Without realizing what you were doing, your hand came up to the doorknob, tracing the curve of it with your thumb. A tiny, experimental twist revealed that it wasn’t locked, and a small voice in the back of your head supplied that it was sure you’d locked it before going to sleep.

One more twist, and the door popped open, goosebumps rising up over your skin as the night air rushed over you. You turned on the porch light with a flick of your fingers and stepped out, wincing when the floorboards creaked under your feet. You half expected to see a naked man standing there just as Earl had said, but there was nobody.

You let out a shaky laugh, leaning against the doorway as your eyes flitted over the forest. You felt silly, getting all paranoid for no reason. With a small, sheepish smile, you straightened up and turned to head back inside, eager to climb back under your warm sheets and forget about the whole thing.

But that was when you saw it.

You stopped in your tracks and sucked in a deep breath as the wolf sauntered out from the tree line, its eyes focused directly on you just as yours were focused on it. Its fur was sandy and mottled with streaks of light brown and creamy white, and in the dim light you thought that you caught a flash of blue in its eyes. You took a step backwards as that same smell washed over you, and for a short, fleeting moment, you thought that there was something familiar about the beast.

It took another step towards you, and that was when you realized how massive it was. You’d seen pictures of wolves on the internet; you knew how big they were supposed to be compared to people. But this was another thing completely; this wolf looked to be the size of a grizzly bear, and you knew that if it were to stand up on its two hind legs, it would tower over you.

Abruptly, you broke out of your paralysis, blinking rapidly as you turned back towards your door. You heard a growl from behind you, but you ignored it as you fled back into your house, slamming the door shut and turning the lock back into place. A thud sounded on its other side, followed by the scratching of claws against wood.

You waited several moments, silently begging the animal to stop, but the thumping only carried on, accompanied by muted, distressed whining. Taking a deep breath, you turned to your phone, punching in ‘911’ and holding the device up to your ear.

“911, where is your emergency?”

“U-um… I-I’m at 432 Nottington Lane. Please, there’s this, this wolf outside and it’s trying to get it, and…”

As you spoke, the noises suddenly stopped. You paused, frowning at the door and straining your ears. But everything had once more gone silent.

“Hello, ma’am? Ma’am, are you still there?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m still here. Um… I think it’s gone now. It’s… Yeah, it’s gone. I’m really sorry to bother you guys. Just, uh… Just ignore this call, please. I’m sorry.”

You hung up and set your phone down on the kitchen counter, staring hard at your back door.

“…Shit.”

_______________

You didn’t close your curtains again after that night. You told yourself it was because there was no reason to, that you had nothing to hide yourself from. But, in the back of your mind, you knew that it was because you were too afraid of waking up with them open of someone else’s accord.

Two days went by with no further incident. You kept up with your little routine, throwing yourself into your work and acting as if you weren’t still shaken up from the ordeal. You called Earl and let him know you’d seen a wolf, just like he’d said, and the two of you had laughed over the scare it had given you. But the laughter didn’t reach your eyes or your heart, and it was still hard for you to fall asleep whenever night came around.

On the third day, though, you decided that you needed to get out. Every time your eyes strayed to the forest, you felt a pinprick of anxiety, and you were desperate to forget about what had happened. And so, dressing in your most comfortable leggings and oversized sweater, you ventured out into town, stopping for breakfast at the soda shop.

Mary Jo’s Soda Shop had been open and owned by Mary Jo herself since before you were born. It was located right in the center of town, and it was the closest thing to ‘busy’ that the small township’s population could be capable of. The front porch was lined with old, worn rocking chairs, and empty planter boxes sat beneath every single window; you were sure that they’d be overflowing with petunias as the weather turned warmer.

The atmosphere was warm and cozy as you stepped inside. People of all different races and walks of life found solace under Mary’s roof, and it was clear by the easy smiles, easy laughter, and easy conversation that pervaded the dining room. A teenaged girl, who you’d later find out to be Mary Jo’s granddaughter, showed you to your table and took your order, and as you settled down into the cracked-leather seat of your booth, you found yourself finally relaxing.

It was easy to get lost in your own thoughts, especially with the dull roar of voices and the soft sounds of country music playing over the radio as background noise. You stared off into space as you sipped your orange juice, content to just zone out for a few moments and let your brain go on autopilot.

Maybe that was why it startled you so much when a man abruptly slid into the seat across from you. You were pulled out of your revelry by a dark shadow suddenly appearing in your peripheral vision, and your initial fright only deepened when you looked up to see who it was.

“Steve…”

The man from yesterday was staring you down, dressed this time in a red and black flannel. His hair, too, looked like it had been combed out, and his beard was shiny and soft-looking, as if he’d rubbed oil into it that morning.

You didn’t know what to say as he sat across from you, his fingers laced together on top of the table, and for an uncomfortably long moment, the two of you were completely silent.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked, and you arched your eyebrow at him.

“Why do you want to know?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and he let out a long sigh through his nose. He didn’t answer your question, and you started to shift in your seat as he continued to stare.

Finally, you told him, murmuring your name under your breath. Upon hearing it, he nodded, finally glancing up when your waitress came back to take your order. When her eyes fell onto the man seated across from you, she visibly paled, her mascara-lined eyes widening as her smile turned to a grimace.

“Mr. Rogers,” she said timidly, “my grandmother told you not to come in anymore-“

“It’ll be fine, Rosie,” he grunted. “I won’t cause any trouble; I’m just talking with (Y/N), here.”

Rosie looked over to you, and you blinked up at her, hoping your incredulity was showing through in your eyes.

“I… I’m not sure…”

Steve huffed and looked over at you, a predatory edge appearing in his visage.

“Go on,” he encouraged you. “Tell her.”

“I really don’t-“

Suddenly, his scent was flooding your senses once more, and you almost gagged on your words as you breathed it in. You wondered why Rosie didn’t seem to notice it as it washed over you, nearly suffocating in its intensity.

“I, uh…” Your voice trailed off distractedly, and Steve’s knee nudged yours under the table.

“I-it’s fine,” you finally managed to stutter, and a pleased smirk appeared over his features.

“See? Everything is fine,” he insisted. “Now, weren’t you coming to take our orders?”

Rosie hesitated, but finally she slipped a notepad out of her pocket and nodded.

“Perfect. I’ll have the sampler with crispy bacon. Eggs over easy. And, uh… a biscuit on the side,” Steve listed off.

After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat, prompting you to jump a little before telling Rosie what you would like.

“Oh! Uh… I’ll have the same,” you muttered, though you hadn’t really been planning on eating anything of the sort.

But Rosie jotted it down in her notepad, all but fleeing to the kitchen after you were done speaking.

“And I’ll take some coffee!” Steve called after her.

When it was finally just the two of you, he once again gave you his full attention, and you fought to keep your mind straight.

“I don’t…know you,” you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know you, and you’re making me uncomfortable. Please, just-“

“I really liked the nightgown you had on last night.”

Your eyes bugged open, and your head shot up to look at him. You felt your blood run cold as he watched you with that same smirk he’d worn while ordering Rosie around, and you clutched your purse tighter to yourself.

“Wh…What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he insisted. “How are you liking living in that cottage? The last few people there-“

“What the fuck,” you interrupted. “You…you were watching me?”

He sighed at your interruption but nodded, leaning forward on his elbows.

“And you were watching me.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I never saw you, or I would’ve called the cops-“

“But you did see me,” he insisted. “While I was in my other form.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, but then understanding came over you, and you shook your head.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. “You mean…the wolf?”

Steve nodded, looking up when Rosie came back with his coffee. She all but slammed the cup on the table, spilling a few drops of the beverage as she poured it. After shooting him a sour glare, she turned on her heel to attend to the other tables around you, the occupants thereof starting to notice who you were sitting with. The din of voices had gone just a bit quieter as they watched him, and you were starting to realize that the entire town knew who Steve was, and judging on the locals’ reaction to him, his reputation wasn’t on the favorable side of things.

“So… Let me get this straight,” you deadpanned, watching as Steve took a sip from his steaming mug. “You’re saying that you were the wolf I saw?”

He nodded, swallowing his coffee.

“I’m among the last of my kind,” he sighed, tapping his fingers against his cup. “At least in this area of the country. But, yeah, that was me, scratching at your door. I was honestly a little hurt by your reaction-“

“You’re fucking insane.”

A scowl overtook his features, and his hands tensed as his fingers went still.

“I would really prefer it,” he growled, “if you didn’t use that sort of language with me, Omega.”

“Ome- What?” You shook your head, unable to process how insane this man really was. “Ok, I’m done here.”

You grabbed your purse and stood up from the booth, but a hand clamped down on your upper arm as you made for the front door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Steve insisted, and you felt fear course through you at how possessive he’d just sounded. “We have a lot we need to talk about.”

“Let go of me!” You tried to pull away from him, but you might as well have been struggling against an iron chain. Steve didn’t budge as he held you in place, and a whimper escaped your throat as he began pulling you to sit next to him in the booth.

“Steve.”

Both of you froze when you heard the voice, and you looked up to see three men standing over your table, frowning at the man who still had a firm hold on you.

“Steve, let the girl go,” one of them said, and you saw Steve’s lip curl out of the corner of your eye.

“Rhodey,” he grunted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not long enough,” the man fired back.

For a second, you were afraid that Steve was going to ignore them, but then his grip on you disappeared. You hurriedly stood up again, backing away until you were out of arm’s reach from him. The entire restaurant was silent as everybody within held their breath, watching Rhodey and Steve stare one another down.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Steve said, and it was then that you realized you couldn’t wait there any longer. You didn’t care how it played out; you just wanted to get out of there.

And so, while everyone was distracted, you turned on your heel and slipped out, pushing past the front door, running past the rocking chairs and planter boxes, crossing the street without first looking both ways. Your heart was pounding a mile a minute, and you didn’t fully know where you were running to until you were standing in the entry way of Earl’s bookstore.

“Hey, there,” he called out to you, but his typical cheerful greeting died on his tongue when he saw your face. “What happened?”

Twenty minutes later, you and Earl were seated in his office. You’d told him everything, save for the way Steve’s scent affected you. You knew it was crazy, and you didn’t want one of your only friends in your new town to think you were as insane as your stalker.

“…Shit.”

It was the first word he’d uttered since you began telling him your tale, and he rubbed his forehead as he took in your story.

“Shit. I mean… I always knew there was something off about that Rogers boy,” he admitted. “But he’s never pulled anything like this.”

You quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at him.

“Why does everyone dislike him?” you asked. “It seems like the whole town has something against him.”

Your friend sighed and sat back in his chair, stroking his beard in thought.

“It didn’t used to be that way,” he started. “Steve, he grew up here. He was always the golden boy – never cursed, never acted disrespectful. Hell, he was a boy scout for years, and all throughout high school he was the team quarterback. He won so many games that he became a local celebrity.

“But, uh… Well. Shit hit the fan the day he turned 18.”

You frowned; you couldn’t picture the crazy, creepy man you’d just been borderline-assaulted by as a popular, polite teenager.

“What happened when he turned 18?” you asked.

Earl hesitated, wringing his hands. For a pregnant pause, he didn’t say anything, but finally he took a deep breath.

“Look, I don’t personally have anything against the guy,” he finally huffed. “But even I get the creeps when I’m around him. That boy, he was never the same after that fourth of July. Hell, the town hasn’t been the same since.”

You raised your eyebrows expectantly, and finally Earl began the story.

“Steve’s folks were a nice couple. He was their only kid, so each year, Sarah and Joseph would throw Steve this big birthday party. I’m talkin’ fireworks, barbeque, the whole nine yards. But his 18th birthday outdid them all; the whole town practically showed up for it.

“But Steve was off the entire day; I think he was sick or something. He was real sweaty, and his eyes were all…red. Like he’d been scratchin’ at ‘em. And when the fireworks started goin’ off… The boy lost it.

“It was like a flip switched in him; next thing we knew, he was takin’ off into the woods, holdin’ his head like his skull was gonna split in two. His mama went runnin’ after him, and then his pops went to get ‘em after about five minutes or so when there was no sign of them comin’ back.

“After half an hour, we went searchin’ for ‘em, and it wasn’t till dawn that we found the three of them.”

Earl took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with a trembling hand as he recalled the memory.

“I was in the team that found his parents, and… Hon, they were butchered. The bodies, they were hardly recognizable. Big bites had been taken outta them; blood was everywhere. Another team found Steve about half a mile away, completely naked and shivering by the river.”

“Oh, my god,” you murmured. “That’s… That’s horrible.”

Your friend nodded gravely, but he wasn’t done yet.

“We all figured that it was a coyote that got ‘em,” he continued. “Or a wolf. But Steve… He was in shock, you see, so take what I’m about to say with a grain o’ salt. But all the way to the police station, he kept sayin’… He kept sayin’, ‘I didn’t mean to kill them… I didn’t mean to kill them.’

“O’ course, no one really believed him; it was clear that an animal had gotten to them, and this was Steve Rogers we were talking about. The kid had never said an unkind word to anyone. And his family got along great.

“A few years passed, and Steve was never the same, but we expected as much. Everyone was still nice to him, and he tried for a while, you know? But then Peggy moved into town.”

“Who’s Peggy?”

“She was this real nice girl – British. She moved with her family to the area. Shoot, she was a firecracker. Didn’t take any shit from nobody; the whole town fell in love with her. Including poor ol’ Stevie.

“When the two started dating, we were thrilled for ‘em. Steve was finally starting to act more like himself; you shoulda seen him. The kid was head over heels, and she was the same. About six months went by, and we really thought that they were gonna make it.

“But then…”

Earl swallowed thickly, eyes darting back up to your face before resting once again on his hands.

“Peggy was found one day in the woods, just like Steve’s parents – mauled, butchered…dead.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“No one saw or heard from Steve for years after that. The kid just vanished into thin air without warning. And so soon after Peggy’s death, well… You can imagine the rumors that started flying around about him. Five years went by, and that was when people started hearing and seeing strange things in the woods. And your cottage, it’s right by where the bodies were found; you can’t be more than a quarter of a mile from where they found Peg.

“Eventually, Steve moved back into town, though no one recognized him. He’d always been a skinny, lean kinda guy, but when he moved back, he looked like he does now. And even if he hadn’t changed so much on the outside, no one would’ve recognized the polite young man we’d all watched grow up in this new Steve. He was mean; I can’t tell you how many fights he got in at the bar, or how many times he lashed out at someone just to have an excuse to throw some punches.

“Whatever happened to his family and his girl, he’s never been the same since. And if he really believes what he told you earlier at the soda shop, then he’s finally lost his mind.”

___________

You spent the night at Earl’s house. He and his wife set up their guest bedroom for you, and as you and Sherry ate dinner, Earl called the sheriff. You listened in as he told him everything that Steve had done, including watching you the night before, and after ending the call, Earl gave you the sheriff’s number.

“He said to call him at the first sign of trouble,” Earl instructed. “And he said that he’s gonna head over to Steve’s cabin to have a nice, long talk with him. Don’t you worry; Sheriff Wilson is a tough son of a bitch, and he’s a great man. You’re in good hands with him.”

You thanked the couple profusely, and you were finally able to sleep restfully through the night, knowing that you weren’t alone. You didn’t even mind that you could hear Earl and Sherry’s snoring from all the way down the hall; you hadn’t had such a good night’s sleep in days.

The next morning, Sheriff Wilson stopped by after Sherry had served up breakfast, and you had to admit that you did feel better after talking to him.

“So I set everything straight with Steve,” Sam explained. “He said that he’d been drunk that morning at breakfast, and he admitted to saying some things that he regretted. He asked me to apologize to you on his behalf, and he said that he would stay away from you from here on out, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“I’d be more comfortable if he moved to a different country altogether, but I’ll take it,” you’d joked weakly, coaxing a laugh out of the sheriff.

“Well, I’ll run it by him the next time we see each other,” he’d chuckled. “But for now, I think you’ll be just fine.”

After helping Sherry clean up from breakfast, you reluctantly got into your car and started back to your cottage, feeling your short-lived relief start to dwindle away as you approached your home. Who’s to say that Steve would stay true to his word? And there was something about the memory of him calling you ‘omega’ that didn’t sit well with you. You had no idea what that meant, but the conviction, the possessive, commanding tone in his voice still made shivers crawl up and down your spine.

Once you stepped into your cottage, you gave each room a cursory once-over, making sure nothing was out of place before plopping down onto your couch with your laptop. You were severely behind on work, and you needed the distraction to calm your nerves.

Before you knew it, the sun was starting to slip over the horizon, and as the evening turned to night, your eyelids started drooping. You’d finally managed to catch up on work, and although it took you until 9 o’clock at night, you were back on schedule with your blog.

Finally giving in to your sleepiness, you stood up and stretched before methodically going around to each door and window, making sure that they were all closed and locked. After once more checking that Steve wasn’t hiding in your wardrobe, shower, or backyard, you relaxed and went into your bedroom, changing into a flannel pajama set before crawling into bed.

Sleep came easily to you that night, but it didn’t stay for long.

_________

It was, once again, just after 3 in the morning when you woke up, although there was something different about this time around. There was an almost electric charge to the air, and it immediately made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You sat up in bed and looked around your room, and even though the curtains were still closed, just as you’d left them, you immediately noticed the smell.

Your hand fell onto your nightstand, blindly fumbling for your phone, but it wasn’t where you’d left it. Panic pierced through you, and you frantically reached for your charging chord, but it was no longer plugged into your cell. There was, however, something new sitting on your bedside table, and you flicked your lamp on to see clearly what it was.

Your blood went cold when you saw the paper bag from Earl’s, still filled with your new books, just as you’d left it in the art shop.

“I’d been meaning to give that back to you.”

A scream tore itself out of your lips, and your hand flew up to clap over your mouth as you turned to the man now leaning in your doorway.

Steve was watching you with an amused smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His hair was wild, and you noticed the way his chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths. He looked…unhinged, and Earl’s voice started ringing in your ears, telling you all the gory details about the deaths that had followed this man through his life.

“Steve, please,” you begged, pressing your back against your headboard. “I don’t know what you want-“

“Oh, c’mon,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re a smart girl; I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

With that, he pushed off of the wall and sauntered towards you, ignoring the way you trembled as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I read your blog, by the way,” he remarked. “I actually liked it; you’ve got a talent with writing.”

You gulped, not sure what to say as he turned to face you. For a moment, something flashed through his eyes, something other than the smug cynicism that usually dwelled there, but he looked away before you could get a good look at it.

“I’m sure Earl told you a lot of things about me,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry that’s how you had to hear them. But I’m not… I don’t want to hurt you. Honestly.”

“Wow, that really puts me at ease,” you grumbled. “It definitely makes the fact that you’ve broken into my house twice now totally ok.”

Steve huffed, and annoyance crossed his handsome features.

“Careful, omega,” he grunted. “I’m trying to be nice, here.”

You wanted to snap at him that he should really try harder, then, but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that you didn’t want to anger him if you didn’t have to.

“…Why do you keep calling me that?” you instead asked, and the fire in his gaze cooled just a bit.

“…I’ve given this a lot of thought,” he finally sighed. “And I can understand why this all sounds so crazy; if I were in your situation, I would probably think the same thing. But just… hear me out, ok? I’m going to tell you everything I know.”

You nodded, hugging your knees to your chest, and after another deep breath he began.

“I used to be normal, or so I thought,” he began. “I used to be like you; I didn’t know what was out there. I didn’t know that certain legends that we’ve all learned to accept as fiction were actually based on fact. But that all changed on my 18th birthday.

“That was the day that I first turned into a wolf.” Steve paused, looking pained for a moment, but after swallowing thickly he continued. “I had no clue what was happening to me. I just felt…wrong, like I was being torn apart from the inside. I fought to keep control of myself, but… I couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“People got hurt; I’m sure you’ve been told all the gritty details. But that wasn’t… It wasn’t me. I tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to keep it inside, bottled up, but eventually I couldn’t hold back anymore. And that was when I left.

“I went looking for people like me. It took me a while, but eventually I found a small group of them in New York. They called themselves the Howling Commandos.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head.

“Not the name I would’ve chosen, but they were good people. They helped me control it, taught me how to remain myself even when I’m in my other form. And I learned more about what it means to be a, uh…

“Werewolf.”

You bit your lip, staring at him as you grew even more fearful; he believed this. You could tell by the way his eyes were glistening with barely-contained tears, and if you weren’t so terrified of him, you would feel sorry for how sad he looked.

“Steve, you… you must realize that this is hard for me to believe, right? I mean… This isn’t Twilight; this is the real world.”

He rolled his eyes at the mention of that book.

“There’s about a thousand things wrong with that fucking story, and I’ll die mad about it,” he muttered under his breath, and you hugged yourself tighter as he stood up.

“You want me to prove it to you? Fine.”

Steve stood still for a long moment, closing his eyes, and you found your gaze straying to the door behind his back. He was distracted, evidently focused on transforming into a fucking wolf, oblivious to you as you slowly moved to set your feet on the floor.

Now is your moment, your brain whispered, and after taking a deep breath, you leapt to your feet. You didn’t notice the way his skin was slowly starting to grow patches of blonde fur, nor did you register that his voice had become more of an animalistic growl as he realized that you were trying to run. You were solely focused on making it out alive.

The back door was closer to you than the front, and you could practically feel Steve’s breath on the back of your neck as he gave chase, and so you nearly yanked the door off of its rusty, old hinges as you went flying out onto the back porch. You just barely managed to close the door behind you, and right before it slammed shut, you were able to make out an open maw filled with sharp teeth. The same thumping you’d heard several nights ago sounded from within your home, but with the way the wood was creaking and splintering, you knew it wouldn’t keep Steve trapped inside for long.

You began to run towards your car, but with a curse you realized that your keys were still resting on your coffee table inside the cottage, and you wouldn’t go back inside there if someone offered you a million dollars to. So, fully aware of what a terrible idea it was, you started running down the length of your gravel driveway, the small stones and twigs digging into your feet until you felt them starting to grow slick with blood.

You didn’t get far at all before you heard the sound of a low, deep howl split the silence of the night, and you pumped your legs even faster when you heard heavy footfalls starting to give chase behind you. Frantically, you turned and made a beeline for the forest, hoping to lose him in the woods. Low branches and brambles clawed at your face, and the cuts on your feet burned so bad that tears started rolling down your cheeks.

It was simultaneously an eternity and a millisecond before you felt a massive weight crash into you from behind, and with a cry you fell onto your belly. Your arms and legs scrambled about as you tried to crawl away, but you stopped with another scream when a set of impossibly sharp teeth nipped at your shoulder. Even though they didn’t cut deep, it was still enough to scare you into submission, and you immediately went still as your captor panted above you.

Your chest rose and fell as you fought to catch your breath, but it felt as if your heart had stopped beating entirely when you chanced a look to your right and saw…a paw. A huge, sandy-blonde paw about the size of your head was planted in the mud right next to your neck. You turned, and on your left side was the same thing.

Slowly, you rolled over onto your back, and you found yourself face to face with the wolf from before, only this time, you were close enough to see its blue eyes clearly – Steve’s eyes.

“…Steve?” you breathed.

Before your disbelieving eyes, the animal hovering over you started to shift and change, morphing gradually back into the man who’d terrorized you so much up to this point. Except now, as he straddled your hips, completely nude, you knew that he’d been right all along.

“Still think I’m crazy?” he panted, still out of breath from the chase.

“I… How…”

“I tried to tell you,” he grumbled, leaning down. You squirmed when you felt him press his nose to your neck, nuzzling it as he inhaled deeply, and you whimpered when his cock twitched against your thigh. “God, you have no idea what your scent does to me.”

You made a small noise of protest when his tongue darted out, laving over a spot right under your jaw.

“I thought it was too good to be true, you know,” he groaned, and you let out a noise that was dangerously close to a moan as you realized you could smell him once again. “I thought that people had to be a werewolf to be an alpha or an omega, but as soon as I smelled you in the art shop… Fuck, I knew you were mine.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried to protest, but you were silenced when Steve nipped at your neck.

“We both know that’s not true,” he chided. “We both know what my scent does to you.”

Steve dragged his teeth down the side of your neck, and you shivered at the sensation. You wanted to fight this; you didn’t want to give in to him. But something inside of you refused to do anything but lay there beneath him, panting as he tasted your skin.

“I’ve never been with an omega before,” he confessed. “The Commandos told me they were incredibly rare, a dying breed just like me. But fate must have brought us together for a reason.”

“I’m… I’m not an omega,” you insisted, but a soft mewl fell out of your lips when he ground his hips forward, the line of his cock sliding up the length of your clothed pussy.

“Then why do you have a mating gland?” he rasped, his tongue darting out to lick at a spot on your neck.

“A what?” you squeaked, but suddenly his hands were on your hips, flipping you over onto your hands and knees. His palms groped your ass, and suddenly you felt your pajamas being pulled down until they pooled around your knees.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Steve growled.

No, no, no. Your thoughts were swirling rapidly as Steve’s fingers slid down your spine. You didn’t want this; you weren’t an omega; Steve was crazy.

Why does your body want this so bad?

You couldn’t find the strength to try and crawl away when Steve’s hands left you, but your eyes widened when he suddenly spread your legs wider apart. The cold night air was icy against your cunt and your thighs, and when the warmth of his hands finally returned to your body, you couldn’t hold in your moan.

“That’s right, omega,” he panted, his hand reaching down to cup your pussy. “Fuck, you’re so wet; it’s already dripping down your thighs…”

Your pussy made an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as he pushed his finger inside, and your body’s reaction started drowning out your brain. As he thrust his finger in and out, your hips started pushing back against him as white noise echoed in your ears.

“Mmm,” you whined, clenching your teeth. “M-more, fuck-“

“More?” Steve cooed. “You want more?”

You nodded your head, and a gasp parted your lips as he added another finger, curling it in a way that had you seeing stars. Your legs spread wider, and you dropped to your elbows, pushing back in time with his hand.

“This is what you need,” he growled. “You need your alpha to take care of you, don’t you? To use your pretty little cunt and fill you up with my seed. Ain’t that right, doll?”

“Y-yes,” you moaned, feeling your walls start to flutter around him.

All too soon, though, he pulled his hand away, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. You burrowed your face into your arms and whined at the loss, but a few seconds later, Steve was gripping your hips. You could feel his fully hard length against your ass, and your breath caught in your throat upon feeling how big it was.

“W-wait-“

Steve shushed you, tangling one of his hands in your hair as the tip of his cock glided through your folds, brushing against your clit.

“It’s ok, omega,” he whispered. “Just lay back and take it.”

With that, his head pressed against your entrance, and your lips parted in a silent scream as he impaled you. Your cervix ached as his dick pressed against it, and you were vaguely aware of the broken moans falling out of your lips.

“Fuck, doll,” your alpha breathed, and you felt him rest his forehead against your shoulder. “Feels so good, so fucking good. My good girl…���

You groaned when he drew his hips back and thrust forward again, jarring your whole body with the movement. Your teeth clenched together as he found his rhythm, the initial stretch still burning. You’d never felt anything like this before, and the pain was mixing with your pleasure until you couldn’t tell one from the other.

Slowly, as the minutes went by, your abused cunt started to adjust, and your moans became less and less strained as you once more felt pleasure start to crest within you.

“That’s it,” Steve praised, pushing your hair away so he could press a kiss to the side of your neck. “Just relax; let your alpha make you feel good.”

You whimpered as he started thrusting faster, his hips snapping as deep, gravelly growls spilled out of his throat. Your own moans filled the air as you once again felt your orgasm build up inside of you. Your pussy walls contracted and fluttered as you got closer and closer, and Steve’s hand came down hard on your ass.

“Go ahead, omega,” he commanded. “Cum for me; don’t hold back. Give it to me; let me feel it. Cum for me-“

With a wail, your body did as it was commanded, and you trembled as you reached your climax. Your cunt squeezed his cock as he slowed his thrusts, and your hips moved of their own accord as you rode it out. Quiet, hoarse moans were still trailing out of your mouth as you came down from your high, and Steve’s beard tickled your skin as he pressed kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you were sickened to realize that you enjoyed his words of encouragement.

You were surprised when he pulled his cock out of you, and you allowed him to flip you over onto your back. His cheeks were flushed, and he was panting, and your eyes trailed down to see his cock still painfully hard.

Without warning, he shoved it back inside of you, and your hands flew up, digging your nails into his back as he once again started thrusting at a brutal pace.

“’M gonna fill your fucking pussy up,” he was moaning, his hair falling into his eyes while his mouth hung open. “Gonna breed you like the little bitch you are-“

Despite having just cum, shocks of pleasure spread through you as he filled you, and in this position, you could watch his muscles bulge and flex as he chased his release. His eyes were squeezed shut, and one of his hands was pawing and kneading at your breast as he used the other to support his weight. The veins in his neck throbbed as he grew closer and closer, and you were taken off guard to find that you were approaching your second climax with him.

“You already gonna cum again, baby?” he whispered. “Do it. Give it to me; I want it.”

You closed your eyes and arched up, frenzied moans of yes, please, God, more, I need more, spilling past your lips almost unintelligibly. You were so close – just a little more and you would be pushed over the edge.

Just before you could reach it, though, Steve’s eyes snapped open, focusing on your neck hungrily. You should have felt fear, knowing what he was, what had happened to his parent and his last lover. But instinct took over, and you found yourself tilting your head back, baring your neck to him in a sign of submission.

With a feral growl, he lunged forward, and you shrieked as his teeth pierced your skin, right where he’d claimed earlier your ‘mating gland’ was. You closed your eyes, expecting to feel your life fade away, ready to see blood spurting up from the wound. But that never happened; no, instead you felt as if you’d just been electrified. Every sensation you were feeling was suddenly amplified tenfold, and your vision went black as you came for the second time.

Your ears were ringing, but you were still able to hear the primal roar that Steve let out as he came, painting your inner walls with his seed as hips finally slowed to a stop. For several long seconds, the two of you were perfectly still save for your chests as they rose and fell with your heavy breathing. Steve’s cock began to soften inside of you, but he made no move to pull away. No, instead he collapsed over you, his head resting against your chest as his heated skin shielded you from the cold air.

“You were perfect,” you heard him whisper, and one of his fingers came up to trace the bite mark he’d left behind on your neck. “Your bond scar is gonna be so gorgeous, little omega.”

Sleep threatened to overtake you as you lay there, not truly processing Steve’s words as his weight atop you lulled you towards sleep.

“Go ahead and rest, doll,” he murmured. “I’ll carry you back home, and then we can go again. Don’t worry, doll; I won’t stop until you’re nice and round with my babies.”

You should have felt scared – you should have pulled away and ran into the woods. But instead, you let out a content noise of acknowledgement before doing just as he said. The last thing you registered before slipping into a deep, dreamless slumber was his arms as they wrapped around you and picked you up, carrying you away from the road and into the forest.

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iii

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2   ||   chapter 4

word count: 4.2k

a cheeky drink and some mutual sabotage. 

warnings: oh no, they say s*x, fluff, pining, the usual, and a wittle angst on the side, reader smokes cigs bc its a salem trademarked fic thing

enjoy folks ;^) the whole of this piece is gonna be about? ten chapters. so. hold on tight!!!

beta read by @keiqos, heart EYES

||||||||||||||||||||||||

“Let that sit for a second or you’ll burn yourself—”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, angel. I know the drill.” Hawks replied with a wink.

You weren’t ever going to get tired of that.

You really expected Hawks to disappear out of your life. You really, truly expected him to run off for good. How many bigger, better, and more important things did he have to do? Even if you managed to speak to him and regard him like any other customer (or, perhaps acquaintance, and more recently, friend — ), your mind swam with insecurities that only seemed to get worse over time.

You were waiting for the metaphorical thread to snap.

You waited for the day Hawks simply would stop texting you flirty bullshit on a somewhat regular basis.

But, holy fuck, the dude didn’t.

 You couldn’t think of why. You weren’t complaining about the attention, but you also were terrified of getting too used to it. Hawks was a part... bird (?) right? He was flighty by nature.

Despite this, Hawks continued to not only text you but also stopped by the shop fairly frequently for his special, quirk-fueled beverage fix. Politely, he’d text you the day before he planned to make an appearance to check and see if you were working, and then show up the next day like it was nothing. 

He usually wouldn’t stay for long; the hero was ungodly busy and always on the move. But, he always took the time to flirt and get a full description of his drink before dashing out to save the world once more. 

Most days he visited were his ‘hero work’ days. He’d appear in his costume, done up and dashing for a sip and a quick talk before disappearing once more into the skies. Every once in a while, Hawks had an ‘office’ day where he’d be confined to his agency to catch up on his insane backlog of paperwork. On these occasions, Hawks would talk (stall) at the tea shop for as long as possible. You talked and joked with him as long as he would let you. Sure, it put you behind on work, but no one at the shop was going to tell you off for fraternizing with the number two hero (whose repeated presence was drawing more customers anyways). You both reveled in each other's attention, drinking in the other’s slowly softening smiles and quick wit. 

 On this day, Keigo’s wings were the shittiest they had been in a while. Plucked and almost barren with how much he’d been working lately. Total exhaustion seemed like it was constantly on the horizon, tugging as his eyelids and weighing down his chest each morning.

It was easier to get out of bed when he got to think about seeing you.

Sure, your drinks were a perk. Very much so. He was getting so used to the artisan beverages you crafted that the taste of his normal canned coffee was starting to bother him. 

But, what his real thrill in visiting the tea shop was that he got to see you, and that made his heart pound. 

He sat across from you, looking down into your newest drink. It swirled between dark and milky, a heady, rich aroma billowing up with the steam it produced. He had requested something ‘surprising, new, and horribly caffeinated’ as deep fatigue was the worst villain he’d likely see that day. You had just nodded, cheekily starting to prepare his drink with a bounce in your step, pupils going wide. 

“I feel like you’re gonna start running out of ideas one of these days,” Keigo laughed, adjusting himself on his stool, gloves and jacket removed. He almost looked like a normal patron.

 You grinned to yourself, idly cleaning around you as you often did, “I dunno, I’ve got a lot.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, “Tell me about them.”

“Nope, top-secret,” You shook your head, digging into your apron to flash him the small notepad you carried on you.

Scrawled in nasty handwriting, you carried your many ‘feeling’ ideas around with you. Different concepts and abstractions all scribbled down, a nice long list to look back on whenever Hawks would make his appearances and his own vague requests. Your backlog of ideas made it easy to find something more than suitable to make for him.

When Hawks saw your notepad his eyes widened, tilting his head and a devious smirk coming to his lips.

Your expression fell, and you stuffed the papers back into your pocket, hiding your hot face by idly cleaning some more. 

You left yourself very open for teasing, it seemed.

(Not that you or Keigo minded.)

“You keep a little list of all of your ideas! I’m beyond flattered,” Hawks ran a hand through his hair, flashing a cocky smile for you. 

“I have to stay prepared, can’t be disappointing my celebrity sugar daddy,” You winked as Hawks’s eyes went wide, half-hearing a choke get caught in his throat. (You loved it when you were able to get him visibly flustered. What a treat.) You nodded down to the drink, “Should be good to try now.” 

 Keigo really liked spending time with you. He knew it was always fleeting and short and consistently he wanted to find reasons to stay with you at the tea shop counter for longer and longer. Your quips and chides continued to get quicker and more clever and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool around you. Most of the time he smoothed himself easily, not showing a trace other than that which he neurologically couldn’t control. 

But sometimes, you were bold enough and ballsy enough to get him to gag on his literal words and he was positive that you were the only person to ever have him break composure in such a way. 

He covered his weakened poise by sipping the new drink, mindfully letting the taste wash over his tongue.

Increasingly, you’d been changing up the so-called ‘vibe’ of your beverages. It seemed like each time Keigo dropped in, you had something new and vibrant to show him. 

This drink was particularly different.

The taste was rich, dark, and smooth, rolling into the back of his throat and down his spine. It coated his insides with a warm, low heat. Peeking through were sweet, light accents, warm but almost... teasing?

His dick twitched.

 Hawks’s mouth dropped open, any and all professional veneers dropped as you just beamed so fucking smugly at him. 

“What do you think?” You leaned a bit forward, bouncing on your toes with excitement.

“Is... Is this supposed to taste like sex?” Hawks asked, taking another mouthful to confirm. Based on the way his eyes briefly shut and some of the tension rolled from his shoulders, he thoroughly confirmed it.

“Technically, it’s crafted based on like... a late-night rendezvous. I left it fairly up to interpretation beyond that. The rest is on you.” You shrugged, still bouncing as Hawks took another chug.

“What the fuck, (Y/N),” Pleasant shock colored his features, but clear amusement stretched across his lips as he continued to drink. 

“You wanted something surprising and horribly caffeinated. That’s a dark chocolate mocha with two extra shots, our in-house raspberry and rhubarb syrup, a bit of white chocolate syrup, and a few of my add-ins as well. It’s pretty different from what I’ve made you before,” You blinked at him, stomach twisting as his expression remained unguarded. “I... I probably should’ve asked before giving you a drink that definitely could’ve been taken as sex. That’s my bad. I can remake you something else if you’d like?”

 Keigo shook himself from his stupor, shaking his head and quickly regaining his composure. He took another sip to emphasize his words, “No, nope. It’s okay. Definitely okay. The drink is really good. I’m just now wondering something.”

“And, what’s that?” You asked, reaching behind the counter to grab your own iced beverage.

“Can your quirk be used to manifest bad feelings and concepts, just like good ones?” Keigo asked. Normally, he’d add more nuance, but he was getting impatient and sloppy around you. He’d have to keep that in check.

Especially with the way your shoulders drew up and tensed. You turned a bit away from him, any and all potential for eye contact torn away.

He hit a nerve.

“The type of abstract feeling doesn’t matter, I can emulate it,” You replied, pulling at your nails. Keigo had long picked up that it was one of your habits when your anxiety spiked. 

He dropped it, but didn’t forget. There were public files on quirks. Maybe he’d look into it. Maybe. It felt a bit invasive, but considering plenty of that data was freely accessible, it hardly was an invasion of privacy, right? 

(Except for the fact that it obviously made you very uncomfortable to discuss the more unsavory potentials of your quirk.) 

(He just wouldn’t tell you.)  

Keigo switched topics, easily rolling away from the topic, “Any particular... event that inspired this one?” 

You pressed your hands into the counter, leaning over it to glare at him, “Are you referring to something with that comment, Hawks?”

He shuddered when you said his name, but you don’t notice. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Keigo shrugged easily, going for another sip.

 The drink was inspired by the several day cinematic, wine-bender you went on a week or two prior. An entire weekend with just you, your cats, three entire bottles of wine, and a backlog of movies to catch up on. You tried to consume lots of different types of media, but what had been catching your eye lately had been anything with gushy romance for fairly obvious reasons.

(There was an embarrassing amount of ideas for drinks that were a bit too romantic to properly indulge with your quirk. You’d never tested the limits of how certain feelings could manifest, and you weren’t quite ready to face the reality where you could make people nut from caffeinated milk.)

“It is good though, the drink,” Hawks smacked his lips together as if it would make his coming analysis more credible. “It definitely does taste like sex, but more so complicated. Darker.”

“Deeper.” You smiled. “Your palette is getting more refined. I’m proud.”

“Are you saying it was bad to begin with?” Hawks pouted, flashing you falsely weepy eyes and a puffed out lip.

You rolled your eyes, “Yes, you yourself have admitted this. You drink canned coffee still, so I can’t even call your taste good.”

Hawks gasped, putting a hand to his chest, “I’m hurt, truly wounded.”

“I’m sure you are, tailfeathers.”

“I really thought I had reliably moved up to ‘birdboy’, angel.”

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, “Just goes to show how quickly the tables turn, tailfeathers.”

Hawks’s pager suddenly chimed, a familiar sign. He took a quick look at it and sighed, moving to re-robe. You were surprised by the speed at which he did so, and the way he became tense so quickly. 

It made you realize that he was always tense.

(Unless he was talking to you.)

“I thought today was an office day?” You asked, a bit of a disappointment clouding your voice.

Hawks just gave a small smile, fully plastering back on his heroic facade, “Duty calls. Lots happening lately.”

He flicked his visor back over his eyes, slid you your normalized wad of cash, and whisked himself out the door, immediately taking to the skies from the streets.

He’s in a bit of a hurry.

He... didn’t even say goodbye. 

Wonder what’s happening?

 Truthfully, Keigo was a bit startled by the notice on his pager. The whole reason he’d started patrolling the particular neighborhood the tea shop was in was because there was word of a villain syndicate working nearby. It hardly seemed right for the neighborhood, but Keigo knew that villains hid anywhere. Whatever they were planning was still relatively shrouded, but it was clear that it needed to be treated delicately. That particular neighborhood was rife with pedestrians, businesses, and homes and any sort of villainous activity had the possibility of reaping a heavy amount of collateral damage. Keigo and the Commission had been on their guards about it, but things had been steadily becoming more intense over the past few weeks. 

Plopping himself on a rooftop, Keigo took up residence to stake out his newest lead, watching figures and silhouettes in a nearby office building.

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Funnily enough, the rest of your week went horribly. Just downright shitty. You figured at some point, things would let up, brighten, but they didn’t. Each day brought some new, personal calamity. 

The first was a trip to the emergency vet with one of your cats after she swallowed a hair tie. An expensive vet bill later, she was perfectly healthy, but you remained wracked with anxiety. 

Another day, the owner of the tea shop paid a visit to chew you out for your newest tea blends not fulfilling his picky seasonal requests. You were relieved it had nothing to do with how Hawks monopolized your time. Still, getting yelled at easily within earshot of both coworkers and customers made your insides twists. 

The final small disaster was when a particularly asshole-ish customer chucked a hot drink all over you and your cute white sweater. One of the younger openers had been dealing with a difficult patron and an incorrect order, nothing out of the ordinary. When you tried to step in and de-escalate the situation, the man ripped the lid from his cup and splashed you with the burning liquid. You held back any sounds of pain even as your skin stung like hell when you offered to remake his drink.

One of your managers luckily allowed you to go home early. Thank god.

By the end of your shitty week, you fell into your apartment and just cried. White sweater stained and day feeling fairly ruined, you let yourself have a good, solid sobbing session to just release how terrible things had been. 

It would pass, you knew. But it sucked at the moment.

It also didn’t help that Hawks had been particularly absent after running out the last time he came around. He’d still managed to shoot you a funny text or two, but mostly, it was silence from him. You rationalized it by reminding yourself of how quickly he flew off at the end of his last visit, hero business forever more pertinent than you and the shop.

You reminded yourself to keep yourself grounded in Hawks obvious impermanence, even if you were starting to get used to (and really like) having the hero around. 

You decided that your Friday evening would be good. You treated yourself to a hot shower, noting with a hiss the pink scalded skin that covered your chest from your collar bones to just below your breasts. You threw on a facemask and uncorked a bottle of wine you had been saving for a rainy day. 

You clicked on one of your favorite shows, an older cartoon that brought you consistent comfort in times like those. Curled up with a knit throw blanket and your healthy cats, it did help soothe the burns, mental and physical.

That is until you got a bit too drunk on red wine and it turned into sad drunk.  

So, you made your way to the roof.

You weren’t fucked up beyond belief, despite the fact that you were towing an open bottle of red in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the left. The cold would sober you up, along with the nicotine. You hoped it would force you out of your head. 

Upon throwing open the door to your apartment complex’s rooftop, you were made very aware of its wintertime disuse. The gardens that grew during the summer were snowcovered. The chairs and tables for lounging were in a similar state. You didn’t mind. 

The view was still nice. 

You set down your bottle and zipped up your coat. Quickly, you brushed off the flurries from a rickety lawn chair and plopped yourself down. You threw on some music from your phone, playing some sweet, old songs that made your chest ache when you needed it to.

The city stretched in front of you, beyond the rooftop. You didn’t live in a particularly wealthy district, but there was no shortage of dazzling neon and bright street lights dotting the ground below. You watched how the rest of the city stretched far beyond your little pocket, still gleaming with multi-hued lighting and dazzling in the wash of the crescent moon.

You took a swig, fishing for your self-dubbed ‘sad cigarettes’ and lit up. With your exhale, you watched as smoke lazily swirled away, carried by the soft winter wind. If you were any less drunk, you’d be freezing.

A shadow, winged, fell across the snow. 

“You know, I get nervous when I see pretty girls on rooftops with bottles in their hands,” You jumped at the voice, whipping your head to the source.

Hawks stood, scarlet wings fanned outwards, on the lip of the rooftop. 

Your eyes widened.

You took another sip.

He gave an affectionate laugh, jumping down into the area where you were seated.

 Keigo had just been out on his normal, nightly patrol. The leak had been correct and he’d been stealthily tracking the villains while completing the rest of his hero duties. He was able to laugh off his exhaustion, but it was starting to eat him. Several cans of coffee a day was hardly doing it for him. He hid his sleepiness and aches well, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. All the same, his typical roles had to be fulfilled. 

He was surprised to see you, all alone on a rooftop with a lit cigarette between your fingers. Keigo let himself be surprised before noting that ‘ yes, you definitely probably live in this apartment building and you’re just outside to smoke’, but the sudden jolt of panic he felt was crushingly unbearable. 

Mostly because it was personally protective and not heroically instinctual and he couldn’t start acknowledging that aspect of his feelings for you. Not yet. 

Keigo walked towards you, asking, watching you blink blearily at him “You doing alright?” 

Eyes downcast, you shrugged, “We all feel shitty sometimes. Just depends on how you cope, ‘ya know?”

“And how do you cope, (Y/N)?” Keigo asked, pausing before brushing off a chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit? I could use a second to rest my wings.”

You nodded, almost offering him the bottle, but quickly pulling it back to your chest before taking another inhale. Offering a pro hero alcohol while he was pretty obviously working seemed like a bad move, even in your tipsy state. 

“Most of the time, I watch nice stuff and distract myself, like most people, ya’ know?” You exhaled as you smoked, relishing the nicotine buzz. “Sometimes, though, I just feel extra shitty and need to extra cope.”

Hawks hummed in agreement, sitting back in the chair. His wings were folded up and over its back, the longest feathers trailing in the small snowdrift behind him.

“Do you get cold, being in the sky all the time?” You asked, eyes going cloudy as you stared up at the lights of the city and higher into the sky. 

“Most of the time,” Hawks chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head, “I’ve told you this, angel. It was one of our first conversations.”

Your eyes widened at the realization, mouth open with a hearty laugh.

 It made Keigo’s eyes water a little. He blamed it on the wind. 

 “I’m silly, I can’t believe I forgot,” You nestled back into your chair, tracing the lines between constellations. “It’s the whole reason you came to the teashop in the first place.” 

Your voice resonated, focus foggy. Somewhere else, old memories played in your mind, recounting your first few meetings with Hawks.

A warm, small smile stretched across your face as you traced the stars. 

 Keigo watched, enraptured. You were cute, especially like this. All bundled up in your winter coat, half-zipped. There was a lot less stress in your shoulders than he normally saw at the shop, especially as your thoughts were so far away.

He wanted nothing more than to commit the contours and shadows of your face in the white moonlight to memory, never forgotten in the blissful cold. 

 You interrupted his thoughts so beautifully.

 “Thanks for talking to me.” You took a sip from your bottle just after speaking, half-drowning your words, but Keigo caught each one. “I appreciate you.” 

“P-pardon?” Keigo couldn’t tell if you caught his stutter, but even if you did, you didn’t show it. The comment felt like a jab to his jaw, half-knocking the wind of him and turning him into a filthy masochist. He’d take any whiplash if it meant you saying such kindnesses to him. 

How could you just say shit like that?

What exactly did you mean by that?

Why did your attention make his legs tremble?

You turned your attention from the night sky to Hawks, something like uncertainty bubbling in your chest, “I appreciate you, ya’ know? Coming by the tea shop still, teasing each other and shit, you humoring me—”

Hawks interrupted you, feathers tensing at his back.

“I’m not humoring you.” Hawks deadpanned, staring at you oddly seriously. The yolks of his eyes seemed even more intense in the neon and night light. 

“You’re... not?” 

There was utter disbelief in your voice, accented by the way your jaw was half-opened.

Hawks shook his head, standing in emphasis, feathers fluttering as he did, “ No, angel. Not at all. I visit because...”

I like you.

“Because I like your drinks.”

  Because you make me feel good in a way I’ve never felt.

“You’re fun to talk to, too. Added perk.”

  Because I want to hear your voice when I breathe and when I die. 

“I enjoy it, you know? You're fun.”

 Some feeling in your chest, something full of hope, crushed itself and compacted to the point of pain. You sniffled at his admission, blaming it on the cold. In a fucked up, sad way, part of you was so relieved. 

He likes the shop. He likes your drinks. 

He’s around because he wants to be. 

But not because you’re special to him. 

 His words reminded you of your insignificance in Hawks’s life. No matter how much you craved his attention and words, and more recently found yourself staring at the plumpness of his lips and the curve of his cupids bow and daydreaming about how much you wanted to lean over the tea shop's counter and kiss the constant, teasing smile off his face—

But.

You don’t matter that much to him.

Sure, he likes you, but he’ll never feel the same way about you. 

 You made the decision then to make the most out of Hawk’s affections and sweet words. You’d take what you could get, even if it was fleeting and probably  eventually heartbreaking. It seemed smart, to refuse to get your hopes up for someone so unattainable.

 You let out a shaking sigh, “Thank you, Hawks. I appreciate you coming around. You really light up my day.”

 Keigo saw the fall of your face and bottled himself up. Shoved down everything. Fuck his feeling, fuck how he felt about you, this was all fucking terrifying. It was getting to be too much and he had to try and control himself.

Just like he’d been taught so well.

He was just so happy to be around you. He could squash his feelings, even if they were fairly obviously somewhat mutual. God knows that he didn’t know how to handle anything like that.

On the gods, his pager beeped.

 “Duty calls?” You said, standing up yourself and brushing off the stray snowflakes. 

“Seems so.” Hawks sighed, nodding, “Thanks for letting me rest here. It was good to see you, (Y/N). I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You waved goodbye as Hawks disappeared as quickly as he came, launching himself from the roof with the heavy sound of wing beats. 

Soaring away, Keigo risked a final look at you. He swore he saw tears in your eyes.

He forcibly repressed his feelings, reminding himself that your company, words, and quirk-made beverages were more than enough. The flutter in his chest when he thought of you wouldn’t rest, but he could learn to ignore it. 

 On the roof of your apartment, you felt fatigue in your bones and wetness on your cheeks. You ignored both in favor of smoking another cigarette, soft, melancholy music being your only constant, reliable companion. 

You reminded yourself that he, Hawks, was a temporary fixture, more flighty than most and liked you just enough and for surface-level reasons. You could take that. You’d do anything to be around him more, even if it never amounted to anything. 

You, just as Keigo did, pressed down any larger feelings.

 (The thing about feelings, though, that neither of you was very good at remembering, was that they don’t go away. Sure, you can let them go, but that takes time or a practiced mind!)

(When you take feelings, big, aching, soaking feelings and shove them down into the deepest parts of you, they just tend to make you bleed. The ‘hidden’ feelings color your blood as it spills, even if you don’t notice when it falls and its change in hue.)

(One can only hope that both Keigo and you listened instead of lied.)

 Both of your hearts ached, and neither of you fully understood why.

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour et bienvenue. It’s another sunny Sunday here in Bar-sur-Aube, 19c expecting 21c so perfect for whatever I plan to do today.

Friday evening I was in town to see the Halloween Parade. I spotted people I knew, my physiotherapist, some of my refugee ladies, my old mechanic, his wife and daughter plus the staff from the Maison Pour Tous. I called into the little supermarket in town and they had a basket of sweets ready to distribute to the children. It really is lovely to see.

What a day yesterday!! I went into town bright and early to buy my fruit, vegetables and newspaper, my head was feeling even woozier than it has been for the last couple of weeks, so I just returned home instead of calling for a coffee. I got home and was baking, macaroon topped mincemeat tarts ready for Xmas, a mushroom tart, which I was going to have for my lunch, I was preparing cake topped stewed rhubarb and planned on making a lemon drizzle cake. Anyway, ate some mushroom tart, was on the phone, when suddenly the pain and pressure in my ear forced me to touch my face and ��� it was swollen, huge behind my ear and the pain was going up the side of my face. I came off the phone and was in a complete tizzy, thinking all kinds of terrible things. I saw my neighbour was at home so went there to ask what I should do! By this time my head was pounding, I felt I couldn’t see properly and when they suggested going as an emergency to the hospital I asked if someone would take me (couldn’t trust myself to drive). Anyway long story short…. we had to ring 15 (Urgence) I gave my surname and the man at the other end said my first name (do they pick that up from the phone number?) after finding out the problem he put me through to the on-call doctor. Fortunately, I know her and was able to speak in English. We were told to go the the surgery and she would see me. I quickly packed a bag (well better to be prepared). Blood pressure and temperature were ok and she concluded that it could be a blocked salivary gland. Anyway, I am going for blood tests (yes again) on Monday (hopefully), just to check it is nothing else. My neighbour brought me home, called early evening to see that I was OK and then this morning his wife came round to check I had had a good night and was feeling ok. How very kind 😁.

One of my refugee ladies delivered her baby on Monday 17th, she has called him Martin. I messaged to see if she was ok and was surprised that he had arrived, as hospital had said she was due in November. She said he has had the hat and bootees on, I really must finish stitching up another hat for the lady who was expecting a girl. I imagine she has had her by now too.

Pauline messaged and gave me the name of the roofer who replaced her grandmother’s roof. I rang and left a message, then I sent a message. He rang me the following day and said he would call to have a look on Friday, guess what he did too! I asked if it was a big job and one guy (spoke some English) said it wasn’t. Hopefully the price is right and it will solve this problem once and for all!

Didn’t get my cake made last Sunday and mid afternoon Anie rang to say she had a pumpkin for me and would call round. I quickly took cheese scones and coffee cake out of the freezer and they were all defrosted by the time she arrived.

Called at the Social Security office (again) to check to see what to do with the “bon de transport” for my trip to Nancy. Until my Carte Vitale is re-opened I cannot book a taxi….. I need to stay calm and just hope that all is resolved by the first Thursday in November (otherwise I may just have a meltdown!)

This coming week, the lady who is going to clean my home, will be arriving for the first time. She is coming at 9am so I had better set a few alarms so that I am up and ready for her. It’s just to help me out and knowing me I will probably do half if the work before she comes, but it will just make things easier and will mean I can get outside more 😉

So when you are in such a tizzy it is nice to be able to wander around the garden checking out all the beautiful plants still flowering. I have (fingers crossed) taken some cuttings of œillets and coleus. I cut the grass, I love it when it is just done. I checked on the peonies in the pots, although there is not much to show at the moment there are some shoots just under the compost so I am hoping for grand things from them next year. I ❤️ my garden……

My granddaughter went to her first football match yesterday, Scarborough v Spennymoor. Unfortunately, “The Daddy”and her had to leave at half time as it was too noisy for her. I am sure she will go to another match at some point, it was nice that “The Daddy” took her.

Wow, things are stepping up for “The Paralegal” now too, he is about to embark on the next phase of his life, he is excited (he is not the only one) although it’s a big leap into the unknown. Well we all have to make a leap at sometime, which is something I have tried to instil into my children. We all love the comfort of “familiar” but it’s great to start to write a whole new page.

So this week I have chosen a poem which is described as, to be recited to relieve stress/anxiety.

An excerpt from Up-Hill by Christina Rossetti

“Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.”

Bon dimanche!

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap

A/N  I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”.  By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head.  I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper.  Modern AU.  Silly fluff.  Claire POV.  First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw.  I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike.  Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit.  Shitshitshit.  Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist.  I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again.  More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes.  Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells.  I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp.  Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze.  I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat.  I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing.  The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services.  Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking.  How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon.  What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really?  Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp.  We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four.  Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen.  Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard.  I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era.  A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering.  Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep.  Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies.  I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen.  Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar.  Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine.  He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.  Sorry.  Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake.  A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it.  There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service.  I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans.  I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off.  I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest.  I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs.  Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main.  An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert.  There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look.  “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes?   It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much.  Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken.  Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work.  There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye.  Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties.  I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was.  My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon.  I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank.  He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family.  I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine.  But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin.  “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform.  Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser?  How did you get into the catering business?”  It wasn’t polite conversation.  I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.”  At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam.  She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work.  We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business.  Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love.  I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents.  Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block.  His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side.  What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests?  I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner.  Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.  

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie.  By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set.  I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me.  I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed.  Jamie tipped his head sideways in question.  “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services.  That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...”  I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize.  Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately.   The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe.  With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.  

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling.  We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

The Farm Stand

Days 10-11: peaches, hug

Read it on AO3 here!

It was Steve’s idea. Billy could have said no, obviously. He was a grown-ass adult, and now that he had his own apartment and a hefty government stipend and never had to see Neil again, he generally did what he wanted. But it was Steve’s idea, so he said yes. He complained a lot about it, but he also got up at the ass-crack of dawn and pulled up in front of Steve and Robin’s apartment half an hour before he had to. He knocked on the door. When Robin opened it, he held up the tray of coffees in his other hand. 

“Oh thank God,” she said. “Steve can never figure out that stupid fancy coffee maker until he’s had at least one cup of coffee.” Billy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a real catch-22,” Robin said, eagerly taking the coffee he handed her. Billy followed her to the kitchen, where Steve had just resorted to banging his forehead against the cabinets above the coffee maker. Billy crossed the room, tentatively grabbed the back of Steve’s t-shirt and pulled him away from the cabinets, and handed him the hazelnut-flavored abomination he always ordered. Steve stared at it for a long moment, and then took it, raised it to his face, and inhaled deeply. 

“I love you so much,” he breathed out, eyes closed, and Billy knew he was talking to his dumb coffee, but it still sent a little thrill through him. Apparently it was enough for him just to be in Steve’s general vicinity when he said it. God, he was pathetic.

“Are you actually going to be ready to leave in half an hour, dingus?” Robin’s voice was skeptical. Steve swallowed the huge sip of coffee he had just taken and looked at the clock on the stove with wide eyes. 

“Half an hour?” he asked, alarm in his voice. Robin stared at him. 

“You were the one who said that we absolutely had to leave by six thirty. ‘Otherwise we’ll miss all the good produce, Robin,’ you said with your stupid huge Bambi eyes. I swear to God, if you’re not ready to leave at precisely six thirty, I will—“ Steve didn’t wait to hear the rest of the threat. He took his coffee and vanished down the hallway toward the bathroom. 

Heather knocked on the door fifteen minutes later, far too energetic for how early it was. Billy leaned on the counter, sipping his coffee and watching Robin and Heather shoot little smiles at each other until Steve reappeared at six twenty-five. He had on one of his dumb vests, and his hair was only partially tamed, and Billy wanted to call off the whole trip and steer him straight into his bedroom, and into his bed. But the trip was Steve’s idea and Billy was probably never actually going to follow through on his feelings, so he got into the passenger seat of Steve’s car instead.  

The ninety-minute drive was surprisingly bearable. Steve had chosen music that did not completely offend Billy’s sensibilities, and Robin and Heather mostly kept their hands to themselves in the backseat. Conversation flowed easily, and Billy wondered once again how exactly he had ended up as a part of this little friend group. 

Shared trauma creates bonds, he could hear his therapist saying, but was it really shared trauma when he had been the source of it for everybody else? He tried to shut down that particular line of thinking, and was grateful a few minutes later when Steve pulled him back into the conversation. The four of them were in the middle of a spirited discussion about where they were getting lunch after this (Billy and Heather were voting for pizza, while Steve and Robin were dead-set on burgers—they were absolutely going to end up getting burgers, but it was still fun to argue about it) when the car slowed and Billy was surprised to see a faded wooden sign announcing that they had arrived at The Farm Stand. 

Steve pulled into a parking space and got out, stretching out after the drive. He glanced around the parking lot and nodded approvingly at how empty it was. 

“I’m telling you,” he said, “this place is going to be jam-packed in half an hour. Good luck getting any morels or peaches then.” Robin shook her head as she climbed out of the backseat. 

“It’s way too early in the year for peaches, dingus. I can’t believe you made me get up this early for out-of-season produce.”

“Just you wait,” Steve said. “I’m going to make a peach-rhubarb cobbler that is going to blow your mind.” Billy followed them toward the produce stand, taking in the expanse of fields beyond it.

“Have you ever been here before?” Heather asked, falling into step beside him. Billy shook his head. 

“It’s nice this time of year,” she said, “although this is the first time I’ve been in years. We came out here every year during elementary school for apple picking, so I was pretty over it after that. But they have all kinds of animals, and beehives, and they do tours of the orchards and stuff.” Billy hummed in response. He didn’t care all that much about fresh produce or farm animals, but he did care about how excited Steve was to be here. He watched as Steve made his way through the produce stand, asking enthusiastic questions and seemingly buying a little bit of everything. Eventually, Steve was satisfied, though he kept tossing longing glances back at the few things he hadn’t purchased. With some difficulty, Robin persuaded him to leave his haul in the trunk of the car while they walked around the rest of the property. 

“It’s not even supposed to get all that warm today, Steven. Everything’s going to be fine. Put your stuff away so we can go look at the horses.” After a final, token protest Steve did, and they wandered over to the paddock. There was a miniature donkey in with the horses, and both Robin and Heather cooed over it. They wandered around for a while, until Robin and Heather decided to go on an orchard tour, and Steve wanted to visit the beehives and sample some honey. Billy followed Steve because that was just what he did now, apparently. Besides, Robin and Heather were almost surely going to spend the whole tour finding places where they could sneak off and make out, and Billy didn’t want to cramp their style. 

Steve was apparently just as passionate about honey as he was about produce, and Billy wandered off in the middle of his enthusiastic discussion with an equally passionate beekeeper about the different types of honey available for purchase. He eventually stopped in front of a large enclosure, which housed several miniature goats. There was a pair of baby goats running around with the others and as he watched them play-fight, Billy felt a familiar prickling behind his eyelids. 

Come on, he thought to himself, not here. Because this was a thing that he did now. Crying about stupid shit. About nothing. He hated it. 

Not about nothing, he heard his therapist say, voice calm and measured. It’s a kind of displacement. You refuse to grieve for yourself, for the things you’ve lost or never had, so those emotions find another outlet. Billy didn’t care what she called it—it was still dumb. Pathetic, even. And now here he was, crying actual tears over baby goats, of all things, right out in the open, where anyone could see him. Where Steve could see him. He sniffled a little and wiped a careless hand over his eyes, hoping he would be done before Steve reappeared. So of course Steve chose that moment to seek him out, as if summoned.  

“Hey, check it out, they had—are you ok?” Steve’s voice was all concern, and it only made Billy’s eyes well up even more. “What’s wrong, B?” Steve asked gently. Billy didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. Steve, of course, kept talking. “Do you hate it here? I was worried you would hate it. We can go if you want to. I can find Robin and Heather…” Steve looked around, as though he was going to go get them right now, and Billy’s desire to reassure him won out over his dignity. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, voice choked with unshed tears. “I don’t hate it here. I just…do this sometimes now.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked carefully. Billy shrugged and gestured helplessly at the baby goats. 

“They’re just so small,” he said, and then he was crying harder. 

“Come here,” Steve said, and then he was setting down his bag of honey and his hands were on Billy’s shoulders and he was pulling him in for a hug, which wasn’t—they didn’t do that. Billy had been all over Steve Harrington in high school, constantly in his space, but things had changed. Now, after everything, he did his best to maintain a careful distance from Steve, largely because he no longer trusted himself to stop touching Steve if he ever really got started. It had only taken a week or two of Billy tensing up at Steve’s touch and Steve looking faintly wounded every time for Steve to start keeping his distance as well. 

But now here they were, Steve’s arms solid and warm around Billy, and Billy’s arms instinctively coming up around Steve’s waist. Billy froze, expecting Steve to pull away fairly quickly, but he didn’t. He held on until Billy felt himself actually relaxing into the hug, melting against Steve and tucking his face into Steve’s shoulder. Billy figured he could let himself have this, just for a minute. Tears still slipped down his face, dampening a spot on Steve’s shirt. 

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve murmured into his ear. 

“The baby goats?” Billy mumbled. “I know.” Steve pulled back far enough to look Billy in the eye, and smiled. 

“No, dumbass,” Steve said, voice full of affection. His eyes were wide and warm and he brought a hand up to brush away some of Billy’s tears. “You crying about baby goats.” 

[thiswasinevitableid]

5, sternclay, nsfw? 👀

Here you go

5: Incubus

“Buddy, I promise, you can come in and cuddle in like, ten minutes.” 

The whining at the bedroom door stops, replaced by a big, wet nose, just visible through the crack at the bottom of the door as it snuffles back and forth. It’s very cute, but Barclay is not about to let his dog deprive him of a much needed jerk-off session.

He’s ready for bed, so it’s just a matter of pulling down his pajama pants and getting to it. Closing his eyes, he pictures that cute customer who gets black coffee and a croissant every morning at the Lodge. It takes a few tries to find a fantasy he likes, the one about the back counter and the new uses for a spatula.

Outside the door, Sass starts whining again, scratching frantically at the wood. There goes his deposit. 

God, he can practically feel the guy up against him.

The bed dips on the outside of each thigh. Opening his eyes reveals a man wearing nothing but deep blue boxer briefs and a smile. 

“Holyshitwhatthefuck?” He clambers back, banging his head on the wall in his hurry to sit up, “what the fuck man, how’d you get in here?”

“A portal between dimensions.  That’s the, um, simplified version. But don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. The opposite really. I’m an incubus.”

“Why the fuck is a fucking sex demon in my bedroom?” Barclay yanks his pants up. The incubus looks sad at this development. 

“I feed on sexual energy, and to do that I follow trails of that same energy to their source. You have a lot of it.”

“Yeah, year-long dry spell’ll do that.”

“Consider it broken.” The demon leans forward only for Barclay to hold up a hand.

“Nope. This is not how I want to break it. Sorry.”

“Is it my appearance? I can look like anyone--or anything--you want.” His features morph, eyes going from brown to blue to green, hair from honey-blond to fire red, “if you’re shy, my powers let me see into your deepest fantasies and make them come true.”

“No that’s not the problem, I wanna fuck someone I have some kinda connection to, not some guy who dropped into my bedroom. And would you please knock it off with that face-changing? I’m not gonna fuck you, so you can just look like yourself.”

The incubus starts, surprised by his sharp refusal, features landing on short, black hair, blue eyes, and a face that’d make a movie-star insecure. 

“I said you don’t have to try and be hot.”

“...This is how I look.” 

“Oh. Uh. Cool.” 

The demon smiles, “Having second thoughts?”

He takes a deep breath and lies through his teeth, “Nope.”

With that, he stands, grabbing the nearest shirt and pulling it on. Sass wiggles when he opens the door, takes one look behind him, and runs the other way.

“I wish I knew why earth canines react that way to me. I have a hellhound named Mother Leeds who adores me.”

“Jersey Devil reference?” He pads into the kitchen, starts the kettle and rummages in the cabinet for the most soothing tea blend he owns. 

“Yes!” The demon grins from his new position by the fridge, “when I found her she was pregnant with a litter. Most people don’t get it. Demons don’t either.”

“Friend of mine likes Mothman and all that kinda stuff. Uh” He takes a cup down, reaches for a second one automatically and then stops, “are you gonna hang around? Because my answer isn’t changing and if you keep pestering me I’ll just leave the apartment.”

“No, I’ll drop it. You’re not interested and sexual energy only works if it’s from something consensual. But, um” he toys with a magnet, “could I ask a few questions before I go?”

“About?”

“Humans. How things work up here, what your daily lives are like, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, sure.” He gets down the second mug, “is this so you can better seduce them or something?” Turning, he finds the incubus sitting at the table, producing a small notebook and pen from the air.

“No, this is my own research. I’m, um, more curious about humans than the average demon. I basically ended up an incubus because at my last job I kept trying to talk with humans or spend more time around them than was wise and, well, my supervisor got sick of it. So they offered me a reassignment to a role where the whole point was to be around people.”

“You fuck people just so you can, like, interview them afterwards?” He sets the two mugs on the table, notices that the notebook is crammed with questions in neat, elegant handwriting. 

“Technically, I also need the energy from it. But, um, yes” he blushes, “I know it’s a sort of silly hobby.”

“I don’t think it’s silly to wanna know about other worlds and people. But this doesn’t seem like the most, uh, effective way to do it.”

A sigh as the demon picks up his mug, “You’ve got that right. Sometimes I can get a few questions in during ‘pillow talk’ but mostly it’s in and out. Literally.” He snickers at his own bad joke, which further kindles the inexplicable, protective impulse Barclay feels towards him, “Don’t get me wrong, I like my work, and being a good incubus takes skill and dedication. It just...isn’t quite what I thought it’d be.” He sips the tea, brings the mug away from his mouth to study the liquid, “what kind is this?”

“Mostly chamomile.” 

“Chamomile…” he flips through the book, which contains more pages than should be physically and spatially possible, “that’s a plant, one that humans thing is calming, right?”

Barclay can’t help but smile, “Right. You want me to sit here and quiz you?”

“No, there’s too much to discover. What would you say is your area of expertise?” 

“I’m a cook, so food.”

“Food, food, ah here it is. Let’s see, why do humans persist in eating things that could kill them?”

“You mean things like rhubarb or are we in, like, Fugu territory here?”

The demon smiles, “I have no idea, please say more.”

They sit at the table until two in the morning, at which point Joseph ,the incubus, excuses himself to go collect energy from a willing participant. Before he disappears, he takes a chance and tells Joseph that he can come back if he has more questions. The demon thanks him and, out of what Barclay suspects is a habit more than anything else, blows him a kiss goodbye. 

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

“Y’know, I kinda figured you’d look more demonic. Do incubi just get human forms?” Barclay shakes red pepper flakes onto his pizza while Joseph finishes a filled breadstick. 

“This isn’t my ‘true’ form. When you asked me just to look like myself when we met, I figured you meant the least alarming version.”

“As long as it’s not, like, a beast with a thousand eyes, we’re good.”

Joseph wipes his mouth and by the time the napkin reaches the other corner of his lips, Barclay is gasping.

His nails turn sharp and silver, his eyes pure black, but it’s his skin that’s most noticeable; it’s swirls and swoops of blue and silver, dancing down his arms and blooming out from the neck of his  “Museum of Anthropology” souvenir shirt. He stands, giving Barclay a fuller view. Short horns sprout from his head, doubtless the perfect size and texture to hold him in place with your dick down his throat. His tail is that same mix of royal blue and silver, the right length to wrap around your hand and tug while you fuck him. Every inch of him is made to be pinched and pulled, groped and fondled, and Barclay will not be standing up from the table any time soon.

“It’s the color that gets people.” Joseph smiles with pointed teeth as he sits back down.

“It’s incredible, Joseph.”

The demon smiles, mischievous, “I’m glad you like it. Now, where were we?” He uncovers his notebook from a stack of parmesan packets and clicks his pen, appearance fading back to the human one Barclay is used to. He mourns his loss for a moment, before Joseph draws him into an animated conversation about movie theaters. 

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

“Come on Sass, it’s okay. Look, I even have your favorite.” Joseph holds out the treat, still fresh from the oven, while Barclay puts the rest of the batch out of range. The dog no longer runs from the demon, but will not come within arms reach of him. 

Sass whines, looking from Joseph to Barclay and back. 

“Here” Barclay settles on the couch next to him, resting his arm along the back of it, “see, buddy, he’s our friend.”

Sass creeps forward, still on his belly, plucks the treat from Joseph’s palm, and retreats to his bed. 

“Progress.” Joseph leans back, pleased. Their positions mean he comes to rest with Barclays arm around him. Barclay doesn’t move it, and the demon stays put until the end of the episode of Hells’ Kitchen

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

The newest Agent X is so engrossing that Barclay doesn’t register Joseph until his friend slumps onto the bed. 

“Hey, you’re early.” He sets the book down on the nightstand, scooching to where the demon sits rubbing his forehead.

“I’m, um, I’m having a bit of a problem.” When he looks up, silver and blue peeks through the skin on his face, “I misjudged how much energy I was going to get from my last two visits. I’m so weak I don’t think I can make it back home. I, um, I came here because if I’m going to be stuck and without powers I” his horns appear and he scratches them awkwardly, “I want it to be around someone I trust.”

“What’ll happen if you can’t get more energy?”

“I’ll get sick, and if the worst happens I’ll have to signal for someone to come get me. Which’ll get me demoted for sure.” He tucks his legs up onto the bed. He’s wearing the UFO socks Barclay gave him as a surprise last week, and the cook sets a hand on a flying-saucer covered ankle. 

“You can stay as long as you need, okay? And if there’s anything else I can do to help, let me know.”

“Unless you feel like taking me door to door to ask your neighbors if they want to fuck, a safe place to rest is what I need most.”

“What if, uh, you recharged here?” He draws a finger up and down the side of Josephs’ calf.

The incubus raises his eyebrows, “Barclay, are you forgetting how we met?”

“I didn’t want to fuck you then, but now...now you’re you, this handsome, clever, dorky guy who also happens to be a sex demon who hangs around my house most nights. I, I didn’t ask about sooner because I was afraid you’d think it was fuck me or lose our friendship, but if I can help you in a kinda self-serving way, I’m down.”

Joseph shakes his head, “That’s sweet, but you’re not the only one with concerns. How can I be sure you actually want me, and you’re not just offering because you want to help?”

Barclay snaps his fingers, “You can read my deepest desires, right? How about you take a peek and tell me what you see?”

Joseph closes his eyes, tail twitching as he concentrates, and Barclay gets the distinct pleasure of watching his face as he learns the truth. 

“Oh. OH. Um, you’re not kidding about how badly you want me. And some of this makes the reaction you had the one time I showed up in a suit make way more sense. But we can explore that later.” His eyes, now-pitch black, snap open, “right now, big guy, I’ll do whatever you want, however you want it.” 

“In that case” Barclay catches Joseph just as he tries for a kiss, “how about you tell me what you want?”

“Barclay, I’m an incubus, I want whatever the person I’m feeding on wants.”

“Nuhuh, I don’t buy that, babe. You’re telling me there’s nothing that’s your favorite, or that you’re curious about?” He teases their lips together.

“N-no?”

“You’re not getting any kisses until you tell me the truth.”

Joseph narrows his eyes with a “hmmph.” Then, as if it’s his greatest secret, he whispers, “I want to know what it’s like to get a massage as foreplay. No one’s ever wanted it or offered, and it sounds so nice.”

Barclay rewards him with a kiss. The demon melts against him, slides a forked tongue into his mouth to tease it. Clawed fingers tug at his shirt until Joseph remembers he can do magic and renders them both naked with a wave of the hand.

When they part, Joseph licks his lips, “Holy hell, Barclay, that kiss was enough to make me feel better than I did this morning. Tastes nice too, like coffee with lots of cream.”

“So, coffee the way you like it.” Barclay nudges him backwards, rolls him over as the incubus keeps talking. 

“Usually it’s a neutral sweetness. I wonder, hmm, maybe it has something to do with the fact you’re attracted to me, as in the actual meOHohhhhhhh” he flattens into the bed like a cat on a sunny floor as Barclay digs his thumbs under his shoulder blades. 

“You can theorize later babe, I promise. Right now, all you gotta do is let me rub you down. Uh, can you magic up some oil or something? It’ll feel better if--great, thanks.” Barclay sets the lit massage candle safely on the nightstand, waiting for it to melt. 

“Should I put my human form back on now that I can hold it?”

“Nope” he traces his hands up parallel patches of silver, pinches one horn playfully, “I love that version of you, but this one is so, so, fucking hot. Now” be kisses the base of his neck, “relax.”

Drizzling liquid wax down his spine makes the incubus moan, but the sound is nothing compared to what happens when he starts kneading him like dough. It’s a yowl, rough and inelegant in a way Joseph never is, and Barclay dedicates the next fifteen minutes to finding new ways to trigger it. He’s so beautiful, it’s like touching a painting, a galaxy, a miracle.

By the time he reaches his lower back the incubus is grinding on the bed and Barclay is half-hard from touching him. He grips Joseph’s ass, parting it enough to grind between the cheeks. 

“Don’t tease” his tail delivers a scolding thwack to Barclays cheek. The cook growls, turning his head to capture the offending appendage between his teeth.

“OHholyffffffuckinghell.” Joseph rips the blanket as he flails, “no one’s ever thought to do that before and now I really wish they had.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He ignores his growing hard-on in favor of nipping and kissing his way down Joseph’s tail. It’s velvety, feels like nothing he’s ever experienced as it twitches and trembles under his tongue. The base gets an extra-hard lovebite and Joseph moans, rolling over so fast he nearly catches Barclay in the face with his cock. And what a cock, on the narrow side but covered in swirling ridges.

“Holy shit, you just get hotter and hotter.”

“Th-thank you, big guy, now for gods sake pleeEEEase fuck me.” He whimpers adorably when Barclay licks up his shaft. 

“Okay babe, we can fuck. But I think…” he grabs the incubus, flipping them so Joseph straddles him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Joseph registers his words and his eyes glow deep blue. 

“Uh, is that a good thing?”

“Yes, big guy, it’s the closest I get to having my pupils dilate when aroused. And since you look so good underneath me, I’ll expedite things” he snaps his fingers and Barclay inhales in surprise; his ass is dripping lube and stretched like someone just pulled three fingers away from it.

“Fuck yeah” he spreads his legs, “c’mon blue eyes, don’t make me wait anymoreOHFUCK, fuck, yeah, like that.” He hooks his legs around Joseph as the incubus thrusts all the way in. Joseph kisses in precise shapes up and down his face, even as his hips keep a rapid, erratic rhythm. 

“Shit, shit, Barclay you taste so good, feel so good, please, please don’t stop touching me.”

“Not sure I could ever keep my hands to myself again, babe, god you’re so fucking handsomeAH, hah, someone got a praise kink?” He gasps out laughter as Joseph fucks him harder with each kind word. The ridges on his cock are solid enough that Barclay feels them with each drag, and it sets his toes curling.

“Maybe a little one” the incubus smiles against his neck, “though kink is a distinctly human concept and a complex one-SHITfuck, fuck please do that again.” He kisses Barclay hard as the human obligingly pulls his tail with one hand and smacks his ass with the other. Teeth catch Barclay’s lower lip on the next tug, a moan spilling from Josephs’ mouth down his chin. 

“That’s it baby, fuck me while I rough you up, fuck, Joseph, your dick is fucking perfect, never gonna want another one, c’mon please, I’m close.”

Joseph sits up, grinning joyfully, and grips Barclays cock. It’s a masterful handjob, because how could a sex demon give anything else, but what strikes Barclay most is how happy and relaxed Joseph is. The incubus admitted once that even when he was having sex, he constantly worried about fulfilling the fantasy to earn enough energy to feed. Yet here he’s laughing and smiling, eyes aglow as he works Barclay up to the best orgasm of his life. 

It means something; Barclay only hopes Joseph will stay in his life long enough for him to figure out what. 

He’s too busy with the sparks behind his eyelids and the pleasure coursing down from his head to his toes to note that Joseph managed to make them cum at the same time. The incubus pushes a hand through his fair, swooping it back and off his face, as he notes this accomplishment. 

“I want to run a marathon. Or maybe go hiking, or swim the lake. I have so much energy. Barclay, it’s amazing. You, it’s never been like that before. It’s felt good, but that was fucking transcendent. 

“No fucking kidding.” Barclay shifts onto his side, nestling up against him so his head is under Joseph’s chin. He yawns, kisses a blue shoulder, “but you might have to burn off some energy without me. You wore me out, blue eyes.”

Joseph adjusts his arms so he’s holding him, “If I stay the night, can I walk Sass with you in the morning?”

Barclay nods, already falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that Joseph is okay and, better yet, so fond of him that his eyes are still glowing, “You got a deal, babe.”