#i will make you read every painstaking step of dating

[somber-sapphic]

Hi if it is still allowed for a request, can I request a 26🌷 with 14a with Natasha? Thank you, I am loving your works!

It Could've Gone Worse

Yes! My requests are open! Thank you anon!!

Natasha decides that she needs to prove herself after Wanda makes an offhand comment, making the witch regret her words. (wanda x natasha)

Word Count: 998

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“It’s a cough.” Natasha rasped, shooting Wanda a little smile. She was trying to appear nonchalant, but it was pretty clear that she didn’t feel great. The woman’s eyes were rimmed red, her nose chapped, cheeks flushed, lips cracked and whole demeanor screaming that she was in pain. 

“Clearly.” The witch deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at her sniffling wife as she pulled out her beautifully done hair, much to Natasha’s surprise. The assassin's mouth fell open and she went to speak, coughing instead. 

“Wait, it’s date night!” She said after she regained her breath, voice sounding rougher than before. Wanda laughed aloud and rolled her eyes, staring at the feverish woman in the mirror as she continued to pull bobby pins out of her hair. 

“My dear, do you really think we’re going to a restaurant if you can’t walk down the hallway?” Her tone was gentle and teasing but she recognized her mistake when the woman’s expression hardened. The witch stood, intending to placate her, but it was clear that Natasha’s mind was already made up. 

“Are you saying that if I can make it to the end of the hallway we can go to the restaurant?” The assassin was already by the door, going for the handle. 

“Natty, come on babe you know that’s not what I meant. Come on, please just sit down. We can watch a movie!” It was too late, Natasha had taken her words as a challenge and the stubborn woman was not backing down. 

Wanda followed her sick girlfriend out into the hallway, walking close behind her in case she collapsed. Based on the way that she was stumbling around the brunette was pretty sure that she would fall. 

Watching Natasha stagger slowly down the long hallway broke Wanda’s heart a bit. She was wishing that she could take her words back. Every few steps and the woman would waver, taking a moment to either lean on the wall or grasp for something invisible. Every time that the witch reached to help her she was swatted away.

Five painstaking minutes later and the pair had finally reached the end of the hallway, Natasha breathing heavily from her effort. She turned around and gave a triumphant smile, her eyes unfocused as she swayed slightly back and forth. 

“See, I told you I could do it.” She said proudly, blinking fast. Her eyes were darting around and Wanda didn’t need to be able to read minds to know what was about to happen. 

“Good, great job Natasha. Let's go back to bed now.” The witch encouraged, grabbing her girlfriend's elbows to keep her standing. The redhead nodded, took a step forward and promptly collapsed, her eyes rolling up in her head. 

Wanda let out a long suffering sigh as she cradled the woman’s unconscious body, feeling a mixture of annoyance and concern. 

“Yeah, that seems about right.” She grumbled, scooping Nat up in a bridal carry. The woman’s hair was matted to her forehead with sweat and her nice black dress had been rumpled in her excursion. When she felt better she’d probably want to argue about it, insisting that she was totally fine. 

The witch laid her girlfriend down on the bed and looked down at her, wondering if she should just let Natasha sleep. She didn’t sense any distress from the assassin, in fact her breathing had evened out and she was relaxing comfortably against the covers. 

Part of the woman wanted to just leave her there, let her body get the much needed rest without needing to fight her. On the other hand though, that dress was too nice to be slept in. 

“Natty, time to wake up baby.” She coaxed, stroking Natasha’s cheek. The redhead sniffled and turned away, whining softly in her sleepy daze. Wanda held back a laugh, amused by how cute her girlfriend was. It took a few more gentle pats to get Natasha to open her eyes and when she did she looked confused. 

“Hm?” The sick woman grumbled, sort of shoving Wanda away. 

“Let's get you changed into something more comfortable.” Getting Natasha changed was an ordeal to say the least. Every time Wanda offered an article of clothing the woman would nix it for one reason or another, claiming that it was too heavy, too light, too stupid, too old, etc, etc. They finally landed on one of the witch’s favorite shirts and then a pair of her pants. 

Basically, Natasha was insisting on wearing her girlfriends clothes. This was something that the brunette had done the last time that she was sick. Her skin had hurt too badly to let Nat hold her, but she wanted to feel close so she’d pulled on one of the assassin’s sweatshirts and gotten within a few inches of her girlfriend who proceeded to tell her old Russian stories. 

“How does that feel, baby girl?” Wanda murmured, bending down to kiss the woman’s warm forehead. Medicine was a fight for later, for now she really just wanted to see Natasha asleep. The poor thing really needed to sleep. 

“I did really good.” She replied, already nodding off again. The bad grammar was funny, it added to the woman’s cute demeanor. Wanda chuckled and tucked the blankets up over Natasha’s shoulders, wincing slightly when she was coughed on. The redhead pouted and she forced herself to just shake it off. 

“Well, I give you credit for lasting as long as you did, you were cooking in your own skin.” Natasha giggled and pressed her face into the witch’s thigh, rubbing her runny nose against the fabric of her nice pants. The brunette stifled a sigh and drew herself up onto the bed entirely, relaxing against the headboard. 

She began to hum an old Sokovian lullaby, singing softly to her ill girlfriend. All in all, this wasn’t the worst date they’d ever had. That day was not spoken of. Ever. The women would take it to their graves.

[enterpris]

An Education in Attraction, Chapter 18

Pairing: Reader x Gojo

Summary: It’s spring when you start your Master’s degree. As the flowers and leaves unfold, so too do your feeling for Gojo

Warnings: romance, no condom, v*ginal sex, FLUFF

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 16.5  17

Ao3: PlaidSparrow

The library glows with fluorescent lights and the warmth of heaters running. There's a few other students reading in the annex, but for the most part people are out and about today. You skim the questions in your document, reviewing the spacing you had meticulously input between each question, ensuring that the instructions in each section are clear and direct, and that the rows of possible multiple choice answers are perfectly aligned. 

You switch to the other tab. The corresponding answer sheet is just as neat and thorough from your hours of painstaking work outlining example answers and partial credit rubrics. At least the multiple choice key had been relatively quick to build. 

Although the example test isn’t due until the end of break, with how much time you’ve spent editing and reviewing, there can’t be many more changes you can make to improve on what you’ve done already. Plus, you’d like to enjoy the night without thinking of an assignment hanging over your head. With one final scan of the assignment outline, you confidently upload the document and hit submit. 

You shrug on your coat and bundle on the soft scarf on top before heading out. The blustery day feels even more frigid and gray outside after the near stuffy heat inside the library. You start at a brisk pace across campus. 

Even though it is cold, Tokyo in December may be your favorite time of year. The sky is gray with clouds, the late afternoon sun breaking through every so often to flare across the ground. Snow flutters between the buildings and across the frosty lawns, but the movement keeps you warm as you trek across the university grounds. 

You can’t keep the smile from your face as you approach the metro station and hop on.

Christmas Eve is the most romantic day of the year, and for the first time you have someone to spend it with. 

Just a few weeks ago, you’d celebrated Satoru’s birthday quietly, the two of you and a cake from his favorite bakery, (because apparently he eats enough sweets to have a favorite). Birthdays in Japan are usually small affairs and usually spent with family or closest friends, and he wanted to spend his time with you.

You exit the train to make a quick stop before heading to Satoru's apartment- the city is alive and beautiful. Many couples are out, on their way to fancy dinners or to walk amongst the city lights. When the sun sets, entire street blocks are radiant with lights that hang from the trees that line nearly every street.

While the holiday is celebrated differently here than your home, seeing everyone else so cheerful and excited fills your heart with a joy that can only happen during the holidays. 

You had predicted having to wait to pick up your box, and there is a short line at the storefront. You check your phone, still plenty of time, and pick up your box quickly. 

When you jump back onto the metro with your parcel, you just have to ride a couple more stops. Small flurries still wisp through the air when you exit the train and begin the short walk to Satoru’s apartment, the sun nearly set. Instead of going out or ordering fried chicken, he’d insisted on having you over for a chill home date to relax. 

As you approach, you can see Gojo is already waiting outside. His coat is nearly too short for his long legs, but his face lights up when he sees you approach, peeking over his glasses. You greet him warmly and he hurries you towards the entrance. 

Even though your walk was short, tension melts out of your body when you step into the warm foyer of the building. 

“You get it done?” Satoru asks as you step into the elevator.

“Yup! Finished and turned in. I didn’t want to worry about it the rest of the week.”

“Can’t believe we have a winter break assignment, who does that?” he complains. 

“It wasn’t that bad, if I got it done in a couple hours it’ll be nothing for you.” 

“It’s the principle, we should get at least some time off.”

He huffs as he unlocks the door and lets you in. Since he hasn’t been away traveling so much recently, the space has become more and more lived in- several pairs of shoes kicked off at the door, a couple books sprawled out on the low table near the couch. Maybe you’re just more comfortable existing in his space. 

You privately agree with Gojo about the winter assignment, even your students at the Eikaiwa school have a complete week off for the holidays, but the demands are great in a Graduate program. After next year, you’ll never have to worry about assignments over breaks, just grading them afterwards.  

You set down the parcel and your bag and smile at the thought of your students. When you do reconvene after the break, you’ve prepared a cultural lesson on how different English speaking countries celebrate the holidays. 

“So I made dinner, not sure how it turned out.”

As much as you hate to admit it, in your time together you’ve yet to find something Satoru doesn’t excel at. He seems naturally good at everything. The apartment smells delicious and you can see multiple pans steaming on the stovetop.

“It looks good! You didn’t have to do everything yourself though,” you reply. 

“I think it needs more time to reduce down, wanna take a walk?”

While you don’t relish going back out in the cold, you grew up looking at lights on Christmas, and Tokyo does have some beautiful decorations. 

“That could be nice.”

Before your warmed through you're back out in the early evening. The city was beautiful earlier, but the multi-colored lights and trees are truly magnificent in the dark of night. Different sections of the city are known for their particular displays, and the Tokyo Skytree is close enough to Satoru’s apartment that you can walk there. 

The air is crisp and chill on your face, but the excitement of the night keeps you warm. Gojo slows his long strides to walk alongside you and you slow down to take in 

It’s a dream of a night, a true winter wonderland in the heart of the biggest city in the world. The needle shoots into the sky and shimmers with the rainbow of colors. When you turn to face Satoru, the luminescence is reflected in his eyes a hundredfold. The warm golden glow from fairy lights on the street color his face.

“It’s beautiful. All the lights always remind me of back home.”

“It looks like this?”

That makes you laugh. “No, not quite. But Christmas was always really special. I like having a piece of that here.”

He looks back around at the decorations strung up, maybe imagining what it would be like to see the lights in your home. Perhaps you’ll take him there one day. 

The two of you walk around the base of the Skytree, chatting mildly about your plans for the rest of the week. By the time you’ve circled the Skytree and up and down the surrounding streets, your breath clouds in front of you and the cold has sunk into your bones.

“It’s getting kind of chilly.”

“Let's head back. Dinner should be ready now.”

You agree, and begin the short walk back to the coziness of his home. 

Satoru has prepared a savory stew for dinner- hearty mushrooms and veggies in a creamy roux sauce over rice. He serves you each a bowl and you hold the sides, letting the heat soak into your fingers. 

The meal is fantastic, rich and warming to the bone without being too heavy. You’re thankful Gojo took the day to cook instead of working on the assigned test design. 

In the last few months of dating, you've also found out that Satoru is always hungry- it doesn’t matter if you’ve just eaten, and that goes double when there’s dessert involved. 

You sigh. “It is nice having the week off. I haven’t gotten the texts for the Leadership in Education class yet.”

“Well, you can’t borrow mine,” Gojo smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Most of us don’t have the option to get out of classes,” you grumble. 

“It's my reward for ‘inspiring future educators’ at the symposiums. Besides,” he rolls his eyes and gets himself another portion of dinner, “you know they’re not letting me skip student teaching.”

“Yeah, because it’s one of the most critical parts of the program. You can't graduate without doing any actual teaching.”

“It'll make things busier. Will you still be taking Eikaiwa shifts when we start student teaching?”

You pause. The year has gone by so quickly, you hadn't put much thought into when you'll stop teaching English and step into your specialty. 

“Um, I’m not sure yet. I don’t want to stretch myself too thin. Planning lessons and grading for two different schools might be too much. I don’t know how you even manage classes with conferences.”

“Eh, it’s not that bad. I’ve already written the stuff, they just want me to talk about it.”

You finish your bowl and clean up the dishes from dinner, you can’t finish the night without something sweet though. You unwrap the parcel you picked up on the way over, revealing the Christmas Cake. 

It’s exquisite- all whipped cream and fresh strawberries on a soft sponge cake. Satoru kisses your cheek and grabs another knife to cut into the confection. You serve yourself a slice, and Gojo makes a serious dent in the remainder with his own piece. The cake is just sweet enough, light and balanced and fresh in a way that brightens the winter day. 

“Ugh, I think I want another slice,” Gojo says. 

You look at him- if he takes another piece as big as the first, there will be hardly half left. And frankly, you’re not sure how he could still be hungry after two servings of dinner. He sighs.

“Actually, maybe I want something else instead.” He walks over to you with a devilish glint in his eye and kisses you. “Mmmm, so much better.” 

Normally a line like that would make you roll your eyes, but Satoru is so playful and the night has been so pleasant so far, you can’t help but bring your lips to his. 

When you taste his lips, it’s comforting and exhilarating all at once. You know that he likes when you’re soft and gentle, and that he loves it more when you take control.  Every time your bodies meet there’s still a thrill that runs through you, an electrifying current that pulses in your veins and makes your heart sing. 

Satoru continues kissing you, keeping the touches light and chaste, but he begins walking you backwards towards the bedroom. 

You reach the doorway and when you reach under his shirt and press your hands into the warm skin of Satoru’s stomach, his chest, you feel the intoxicating rush of wanting and being wanted in return.

He takes his time running his hands over your shirt, down your arms, around your shoulders and back. The heat of his hands sinks into your skin through the fabric and heats your blood underneath. 

But the way his lips move against your own is ravenous, and when you open your mouth for more, his tongue slides into your mouth. He tastes you and consumes you, like any amount of you will never be enough.

Your blood is running hot now, but Satoru continues to just barely touch you, making no moves to feel underneath your clothes. If he’s not going to do anything, you will. You grab the bottom of your shirt and shimmy it up to your chest, breaking off the kiss to pull it over your head. 

Satoru pulls you right back into his arms, but you’ve had enough of his leisurely pace. You nip his earlobe and kiss down to the sweet spot on his neck, taking the time to run your hands over his clothes. When you reach his hips you slowly inch your hand around to his front to cup his hardening erection. You squeeze and suck on his neck at the same time and he melts in your hands. 

He’s wined and dined you, and now you’d like him naked. You quickly undo the belt of his pants and shove them down his legs before tugging the hem of his sweater up. Gojo grabs your wrist before you can pull it off though, and reaches around you back to pull off your bra. 

Satoru takes a moment to savor your topless form and then returns the favor, sensually dragging your pants off of you. He then pushes you onto the low bed and topples after you. Before you can catch your breath again his mouth is back on yours and his hands are everywhere on your body.

You’re overhot and understimulated, desperate for him to give you just a little more. As you trail kisses along his shoulder blade, you shove the boxers down and grasp him, moving your wrist just slightly. He sighs and swears into your hair. 

“You want me?” His voice is breathy and strained, and you can tell that he’s aching just as much for you as you are for him. 

“Please.”

He pulls back, slides his large hands down the length of your body, and pulls off your underwear. He takes his time coming back up to meet you, leaving open kisses on your calves, thighs, stomach and chest until you’re nearly writhing with need. 

At last, he stops at your face, kissing you once more before a low moan escapes as he slides into you. He’s spent so much time warming you up and teasing that you nearly sigh in relief too. 

His strokes are slow and easy, he doesn’t change his page as he kisses you deeply. Satoru looks into your eyes and brushes your nose with his own, soft and affectionate. While he props himself on one arm, the other wanders your waist and up to your breasts, where Gojo pays special attention to each one. He caresses the flesh there and rolls the nipples between his long fingers.

It’s not the lust filled sex you’ve had before, but a slow and amorous lovemaking. Satoru’s attention to your body and the tender way he’s looking at you make the experience even more erotic. You’re still spun up and haven’t had any relief yet, but you can feel the peak growing closer every time your hips meet. 

“Satoru, please,” you beg. 

This time, he acquiesces, and rubs small circles on your clit with the tip of his thumb. You can’t hold back a moan as the pressure climbs and climbs. When he kisses you again, the pressure reaches its peak, wracking your body. Your nails dig into his back the way you know he likes and you gasp out his name. 

Something about you seems him careening over the edge with you, like elements combining, the sum of your pleasure grows and becomes greater than its parts. You lay together in the afterglow, pressed against his stomach. 

He leans his head against you and sighs. “Love you.”

You flinch away from him and turn to stare.

“What?”

Satoru kisses you on the nose and repeats himself. Your heart stutters and it feels like the world stops. Not only did Satoru throw out this admission naturally, but he’s said it in English. 

“I said I love you,” he switches back to Japanese, “maybe you need to get your ears checked.” His mouth stretches into a smug smile.

Satoru hasn’t left you speechless in a long time, but as you stare at him now, you can’t quite force yourself to form any words. Too many thoughts run through your mind, clouding anything you could want to say to him. 

You know that outright declarations aren’t common. It's a big deal that he's just said this to you, and in your own language. 

“You’re not gonna say anything back? You’re hurting my feelings,” he fake pouts. 

“No, I do. I love you too. I just-” you scramble a reply in Japanese, and you use aishiteru, the deepest, most profound word for love. You flush a bit, not sure if that’s the level of love that he was talking about. 

Satoru rolls you onto your back and leans over you again.

“You do?” His eyes crinkle at the corners. He leans back over and kisses you again. You'd felt spent moments ago, but the admission sets heat simmering back through your blood. 

The second round of lovemaking is more passionate and frenzied than the first, but no less romantic. 

Satoru pulls you close again and you feel his heart beat slow. The night is dark outside the blinds of his window, and it must be close to Christmas day now. In the past that's meant days of preparation wrapping presents and gift exchanges. Laying in Satoru’s arms, thinking about the set of classes to come, you can’t find that you’re lacking anything.

[shurisneakers]

FFHFHFHFHFHHFFH

[make-me-imagine]

HI HI!!! that’s so exciting you hit 8k! I started following you just before the 7.5k marker and that wasn’t even that long ago!

anyway i’m super excited you always do the best ships, I was wondering if I could get two drabbles with the jealous prompt? one for Shadow and Bone and one for Star Trek (AOS or ENT)? I have no gender preference

a little about me i’m in uni (and like a week behind) I major in Physics and minor in Astronomy, I love engineering and building trinkets and things. I like to image in the grisha verse i’d be a Fabricator inventor either in ketterdam or the little palace. and in star trek i’d be a Science Officer boldly going and all that good stuff. if i’m not in class i’m at my job (a dog training facility) and if i’m not there i’m at a my other job (teaching ballet for ages 3-13) so i’m pretty much never home except to sleep. when I don’t have something to do i get bored quick so i like to keep moving but I love what I do. I’m pretty introverted and I typically don’t talk to people my own age if I can help it. I tend to lose track of time and will actually work on something i’m interested in all night if no one’s there to stop me. i’m also apparently super oblivious to flirts or advance’s cause I think people are just being nice and apparently my being nice back looks like flirting back. and that’s how I ended up dating someone for two weeks without even knowing. I like collecting skills like lock picking or wood working or osteoarchaeology or sewing, just the most random things. I love to read and if I can’t actually hold a book i’ll listen to audio books. i’ve also started mapping stars and making my own planetarium project.

I can’t think of anything else so if you need anything else just let me know! :)

Thank you!~

Also: "and that’s how I ended up dating someone for two weeks without even knowing." WHAT?? lmao that sounds like a moment write out of a fic to me lol

I hope you like them :)

Ships and Drabbles are under the cut~

Shadow and Bone:

I ship you with Inej.

I think Inej would be in awe of your fabricator abilities, and your usefulness and talent outside of being a Grisha. She gets along well with more introverted people, so I think she would be super comfortable and feel safe around you.

Runner Up: Kaz Brekker

'Jealous'

Inej felt a hot burning in her chest as she watched you flirt with the Grisha. She continued to tell herself it was for the job, it wasn't real, you didn't mean it.

She trusted you, but the Grisha that kept moving closer and closer to you with every word? She did not trust.

"Careful Inej" Jesper's voice appeared beside her, making her jump "That jealousy is showing on your face. I'm afraid you might turn green."

"Shut up Jesper." She whispered quickly, her eyes never leaving you.

After a few more painstaking moments, she let out a soft breath as you stepped away from the Grisha after he handed you a slip of paper. She felt the heaviness in her chest start to lift.

Once you reached her, you handed the paper to Jesper who quickly left. Sitting down i the seat beside Inej, you let out a sigh "I'm glad that's over."

Sliding a bit closer so your shoulders were brushing, she slipped her hand into yours underneath the table "That makes two of us."

"How badly did he flirt with you?" She asked after a moment.

"Horribly. I couldn't even understand half the innuendos he was making." You scoffed.

Inej cringed a bit as she glanced back at the man, seeing him looking over at you. She took in a deep breath. "i think we should go before he decides to come talk to you again."

As you looked back over your shoulder, you saw him wink at you and you looked away. "Good idea."

Inej slapped down some money for her and Jesper's drinks before she grasped your hand and led you out of the bar.

As you saw the way she looked back at the man, you smiled softly before teasing lowly "Were you jealous?"

She let out a sot 'Tch' Sound and refused to respond, but you saw a subtle smile cross her face, telling you the answer.

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

Star Trek ENT:

I ship you with Trip Tucker!

Trip is pretty extroverted, but he is attracted to more introverted types. He loves the sides of you that others don't often get to see. He would also think it was adorable how oblivious you are to flirting, until it was him flirting with you. You'd have a moment of "Are you flirting with me?" "Have been for a month now, thanks for noticing" lmao

Runner Up: Uhura from AOS

'Jealous'

Trip glanced at you a few times as you got ready to leave for your shift. He cleared his throat lightly, "So I saw you hanging out with that new engineer, what's his name, uh- Tyler?"

You looked over at Trip, noting the odd tone in his voice "Toby? Yeah, he's pretty nice."

"Yeah...he seems like a ray of sunshine."

You blinked a couple times before you turned fully towards him "Certainly sounds like you agree" You said with a sarcastic laugh.

Trip smiled softly "No, no, sorry, yeah I'm sure he's cool, he just...seemed to be flirting with you."

"Did he?" You asked, frowning.

"Yeah, of course I knew you wouldn't notice, but I did. He seemed pretty intent on getting you to notice him."

You took a small step closer to him "So you're saying you're jealous?"

He smiled but shook his head "No." He said with an obvious lie "I just don't know him, or trust him to back off."

"Well if it helps, he does know we're dating."

"Did he know that before or after the flirting?"

"When was he flirting?!" You asked bewildered.

"In the cafeteria when you were getting lunch! I went by with Malcolm and I saw you two in there, he was obviously flirting."

You rolled your eyes softly and shook your head. "I think you think anyone who talks to me is flirting at this point."

"Oh trust me, I can tell from a mile away when someone is flirting."

You let out a soft laugh "Yeah sure. But if you must know, it was after that, that I told him we were dating."

Trip nodded his head "How did I come up, did he ask you to hang out or something?"

"No, he did not. We were talking about the movie night and I saw me and my boyfriend were going."

"So he was leading you into asking you out!" He said in an 'AHA' manner.

You let out a sigh "Okay, whatever, but he knows now alright?" You let out a perplexed laugh "Can we drop it now?"

He sighed "Fine, but if I notice him flirting again I'm gonna say something."

You patted his arm as you ushered him from the room, "Yeah yeah, alright."

[luna-the-moth]

Lucifer, Leviathan, and Satan with a Plant-Loving S/O (SFW)

I accidentally deleted the ask, but here’s what was requested: @hey-its-spades : Hello! For Levi, Lucifer, and Satan if you dont mind uwu . Mc has a knack for plants and has taken it upon themselves to put plants everywhere. ( hanging from ceilings,crawling ivy on outside walls,in the kitchen, library, even luci's study.) All the rooms look a liytle greener and None of them say anything but the student body is saying that it makes the old place look alive and home-y. It makes mc really happy.       

Oh I adore this ask! SFW, with a GN! reader. I’m assuming by student body you mean the HoL residents? Since almost nobody outside the household residents visit there. I got really carried away with Levi and the Lucifer angst as well-

My vampire poll for the OM characters

My ask box is open, but please read my rules and guidelines before requesting! Please send them in my ask box, as I can keep track of requests better.  Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Lucifer, Leviathan, and Satan with a Plant-Loving Reader (SFW)

Prologue/basics for all of them:

Ever since you came to the HoL, you decided that it was too....lifeless.

Sure, there were bright candles lighting the halls, but the house was devoid of any life, besides the brothers and Henry.

So you took it upon yourself to decorate, of course!

While many human world plants didn’t fare well in the Devildom due to the poor soil quality, Lord Diavolo had agreed to bring you enchanted soil, guaranteed to grow any plant.

Regardless of temperature or sunlight needs, whatever plant grew in that soil would flourish to its upmost potential.

Asmo had a great deal of amusement with you decorating, advising you on what colors would fit specific areas of the household, and what species of flowers would bring beautiful symbolism as well.

In the house’s entryway, you left a pair of Strelitzia nicolai (giant bird of paradise) plants, as they added a subtle flair.

With long, stemmed leaves, it contributed a touch of elegance and flair.

On the a few windowsills, you had placed Begonia rex-coltorum (Rex begonias), their dark, vivid, colors standing out.

You had planted crawling ivy on the outside walls, making the house seem more inviting.

Lucifer:

Lucifer hadn’t minded your redecoration, as it had matched well with the house’s aesthetic, adding to the beauty.

In fact, he had quite enjoyed seeing you pore over catalogues and books, deciding which one would fit the space best.

Over the next few weeks, he watched as the House of Lamentation became brighter, more colorful.

It was a nice change, he thought.

However, he was surprised when he had woken up in his study, rose bushes in the corners of his study.

Deep, red roses greeted him as he surveyed his study with a pleased smile.

It was no secret Lucifer adored roses, and he was appalled when he had first arrived in the Devildom, as the soil quality was so poor, it could hardly grow anything.

Which meant he couldn’t grow roses, one of his favorite flowers.

The fact that you had thought about him, and wanted to gift him such a beautiful display, greatly moved the stoic demon.

Making his way to one of the bushes, he took off his gloves and knelt down on one knee.

The soft, sweet fragrance immersed his senses, filling him with memories of laughter, smiles, serenity, and Lilith.

Roses were her favorite flower.

As the memories flooded his mind, Lucifer suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of longing, and his vision became blurred.

He remembered the way Lilith used to brighten up when helping him with his garden, an eager grin ever-present on her face.

The way she would make him a colorful bouquet of roses whenever Michael had given him more stressful tasks than usual.

He quickly wiped a stray tear that had fallen from one of his eyes, and calmed himself.

Taking one of the velvety flowers in his hand, Lucifer gently brought his lips to the flower head, leaving a soft kiss, almost as if it was Lilith’s forehead.

The next time you went over to his study for some tea, he brought you into his arms, bringing you close to him.

Kissing your cheek, he lets a small smile break through his usually-serious facade.

“Thank you for the roses, my love. They compliment my study’s aesthetic nicely.”

Placing a small kiss on your neck, he smirked.

“Perhaps I can thank you with a date tonight?”

Leviathan:

Levi actively enjoyed watching you redecorate the HoL.

It was like one of his favorite games, The Grims! (Yes that was a terrible pun for The Sims.)

He had listened with interest as you went off on the best plants that would fit his aesthetic, and would match well with water.

What caught his attention, was when you brought up the topic of bio luminescent plants.

Of course, they weren’t naturally grown in the human world, but scientists had recently found a way to genetically modify tobacco plants.

In doing so, they had spliced the genes with four fungus genes related to bio luminescence, then carefully cultivated them.

From a seedling to maturity, the plants presented a small glow, visible to the naked eye.

The gene modification had no harmful effects on the plants, and the only difference between the lab-modified plants and wild plants, were height.

The entire time you had explained the plant’s origins passionately, Levi sat in awe, watching as you had gestured your hands in an excited fashion.

So this is what you meant when you had said you enjoyed him being so passionate about an anime or game.

At first, Levi had thought you were merely exaggerating to cheer him up, but as he looks at you now, eyes shining with delight, he understood.

You decided that since you were decorating the HoL, you would decorate Levi’s room as well.

You didn’t have access to the bio-luminescent plants, but you decorated his rooms to the nines nonetheless.

So, you had pooled together your money and resources, to create a mini lily pond for him!

You had miraculously gotten him out of the house, for a cosplay con, in which you had ‘accidentally’ forgotten to buy yourself a ticket.

Which we all know is a lie, you had just not bought one for yourself in order to stay at home, assembling the pond with Solomon’s help.

It was small, enough to fit around 6-7 lily pads/lotuses.

You had carefully grown the lily pads in your room, watching as they eventually bloomed into light, almost ethereal flowers.

By the time Levi came home, you had just finished cleaning up, getting the mud washed from your hands and arms.

Upon seeing the lily pond, Levi’s eyes were wide with amazement and shock.

You created and did this, for him?

Absolutely sets down his handfuls of merch, (gently, mind you) and silently steps over to you.

He does his best to hug you like in anime, wanting you to know how much he appreciates this.

Yes, it may be awkward, but it warms your heart knowing that he stepped out of his comfort zone, just to thank you.

He’s too embarrassed to say it while looking at you, but you can hear his voice as he rests his head against yours.

As he pulls away, a blush is evident on his face, his head turned to the side as he awkwardly places his hand against the back of his neck.

“T-thank you, Y/n. It’s a b-beautiful lily pond.”

Satan:

He fully supported your botanical excursion

After all, he’s always had an affinity for plants.

Whether it be for potions, poisons, or mere decor, Satan had a green thumb, through and through.

If his room weren’t full of books, scriptures, and all sorts of literature, he’d fill it with various plants.

So when you had announced that you were going to re-decorate the HoL with various flora, he was buzzing with excitement.

He gathered every human botanical book he knew of, and started leaving them for you on your desk.

Within a week, you had stacks upon stacks of books, knowledge ready at your disposal.

And so you began to research.

Satan was considerate to leave footnotes in a few of them, like what type would pair well with what color schemes, etc.

You smiled while reading through them, seeing Satan’s elegant handwritten flow across the pages.

Within a few weeks, you had skimmed through the books, thoroughly reading a handful of them.

After ordering the plants you wanted on Azukon, (courtesy of Lord Diavolo’s credit card-) you were eagerly anticipating their arrival.

Especially because a few ‘special items’ were in the package.

After all, you wanted to thank Satan properly for his help.

When the various flora arrived, you had carefully cultivated each of them, encouraging their growth.

Satan had assisted you, monitoring their progress, and making sure none of his brothers ruined them.

The following weekend, Satan had a student council meeting planned, as did the rest of the brothers.

Which left you with the perfect opportunity to set up Satan’s gifts.

In his room, you had placed Senecio rowleyanus (string of pearls) plants, their bright green globes spilling over the bookshelves.

Along with that, were lavender candles, with dried lavender crushed inside.

After all, Satan had always (usually) been the most level-headed out of his brothers, despite his title.

He’s much more than the avatar of wrath, and has gone through painstaking time and trials to overcome that.

That’s why you had picked lavender, which without a doubt, would be noticed by Satan.

When he had come back from the meeting, he was already in a pissy mood, as things didn’t go as planned, ending in an argument between the brothers.

However, when he stepped into his room, seeing lavender candles lit, and garlands of plants over the bookshelves, he immediately broke out in a smile.

A real, genuine smile.

Seeing you sitting on his bed, lavender candles lit, plant garlands stringing down from the bookshelves, it was almost like one of the romance novels he had read...

Quickly, he scooped you up in his arms, spinning you until you were laughing for him to stop.

Finally setting you down to gently kabeddon you, he playfully kisses the corner of your lips.

“Thank you my love, these are absolutely beautiful. I shall preserve these for all eternity.”

[brywrites]

Little Beautiful

Summary: In which Max’s art exhibit is a gallery of beautiful things, and Spencer Reid finds himself surprised by what it includes. Spencer Reid x Max Brenner

.......

Spencer Reid can name many beautiful things. He can talk in depth about the natural splendor of the Golden Ratio and why humans love symmetry. He can explain the history of the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, recount the painstaking detail with which the Taj Mahal was built. He’s seen desert sunsets and shooting stars and the faces of parents reunited with children they thought they might never see again.

He loves all the great and beautiful things in the world. And nobody quite makes the world look as beautiful as Max does. She’s protective of her art, fiercely private about it, but the glimpses she allows him stun him. Then again, he figures he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s beautiful.

Reid thinks he could never tire of looking at her. Her wide, brown eyes, her long eyelashes, the way her cheeks are painted pink each time he pushes her hair back from her face. Her smile just knocks him out. Her movements are graceful, elegant. And the sight of her bare body in the soft light of his bedroom makes him think that no word in any language could ever even hope to come close to describing this sort of perfection.

Everything about her puts a sunset to shame. Her laugh. The way she makes him smile on the worst days. The softness of her touch when her skin is on his. The warmth of her embrace. The kindness of her heart. There’s no doubt, Maxine Brenner is beautiful, in every sense of the grossly inadequate word.

But beauty has a way of reminding him of his own inadequacies. For all his love of lovely things, Reid knows the word is never one he could hope to claim. His face won’t ever inspire poetry. His hair is, at best, an unruly mess. His stubble is always a little scruffier than he’d like it to be. And while he managed to get physically stronger after Milburn, getting in shape didn’t quite happen. He can hold an unsub on the ground without worry, but he’s absolutely terrified each time he undresses before her.

But he loves her. Which is why when she hands him a flyer that reads, Little Beautiful, he knows he’ll say yes to whatever it is before she even explains.

“I have a confession to make,” Max says. “I didn’t want to tell you sooner because I was afraid I might jinx it, but now that it’s all official – I’m going to have an exhibition at Jolie Laide!” Jolie Laide is one of the District’s most revered contemporary commercial galleries, and Max is understandably over the moon.

“What?” he gasps. “When did this happen? How?”

“There was a call for submissions, and well I’ve been working on this idea for a while and I figured why not give it a shot? Spencer, they loved it! They actually loved my art!” she says, and the little hop of joy in her step makes him want to kiss her right there in the middle of the street. Is she even aware of how adorable she is?

“That’s incredible. I mean, I’m not surprised. Everything you do is incredible. But what’s the title mean?” he asks, pointing at the flyer.

“It’s a Van Gogh reference,” she says, and he smiles. Of course it is. The Dutch master will always have a spot in her heart, and in the small “Starry Night” tattoo on her inner arm. “Find things beautiful as much as you can,” she recites. “Most people find too little beautiful.”

She takes his hand in hers. Her hands are small and dainty. He could almost close his fingers around hers completely. It makes him think he must look so strange beside her, a mess of lanky limbs.

“I know that big parties aren’t really your scene,” Max says. “But the opening night is kind of a big deal and it would really mean a lot to me if you came.”

“Are you kidding me?” he laughs. They turn down the street to his apartment. “You’re my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for five months, three weeks, and five days. Of course I’m going to be there.”

“Well good. And tell your friends! The more the merrier. I think you’re really gonna like it,” she adds, with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes that makes his stomach flip.

“If you made it, I know I’ll love it.” Deciding the doorstep of his building is close enough, he leans down to kiss her.

Two weeks later, he finds himself standing in the lobby of Jolie Laide with the rest of his team. Many of them have decided to make a date night of the event, as it’s not often profilers have the excuse to attend a formal event. Reid shifts nervously from foot to foot as they wait for the doors to open. Somehow he still feels out of place in nice suit, wearing the “Starry Night” tie she bought him at a work trip she took to the MoMA. Everyone here looks so beautiful, and he feels like he’s playing dress up, like they’ll all be able to tell he doesn’t belong in a place like this. He’s all too aware of the way he hasn’t managed to tame his hair, of the way his shirt fits a little tighter than it used to, of the way the people around him exude an air effortless cool that he could never hope to.

To ease his mind, he takes comfort in counting the people waiting. They’re all here for Max, for the beautiful things she makes. The last time he was at a gallery opening like this he was standing in a sweater vest next to Gideon who was flirting with the artist while Reid tried not to stare too much at Lila Archer. The memory makes him want to laugh – how infatuated he felt at that time with her. And now with Max, he can’t imagine thinking such a feeling was love. It’s so different than the consuming warmth he feels when he’s with her, the way hearing her voice can bring him back down to earth when his mind moves too quickly, the way he he’s always hated touch but never seems to mind when it’s her. Rather he craves the feeling of her hand in his, her arms around him, her lips on his skin. He’s in love with her, and he’s in deep.

The clock strikes seven and the doors are opened. They step into the bright white gallery space. The moment he’s inside, he is in awe. He recognizes Max’s work immediately, and it’s everywhere. There are large canvas paintings of small objects that take up so much space. There are paintings that must be zoomed in, hyper-focused views of much bigger objects. And it’s all beautiful. Max’s work has the same mastery over colors as the Impressionists, but with contemporary details and precision. Her paintings don’t just look like something, they feel like something. There is a series of pieces of stunningly detailed school supplies – a crayon, a yellow pencil, a bottle of glue. They seem to reflect light, possessing colors far too rich for items so simple.

Max has made them lovely with her gaze, with her hands.

In one painting, a vibrant sunset is seen through a small window. In another, the trunk of a tree is made to look so close that the leaves the viewer stares up at are but a golden blur. Fruit, a butterfly’s wing, and a flower are made into a kaleidoscope of colors. He catches glimpses of familiar faces in portraits – her sister Michelle’s eye, her father’s hand, identifiable by his watch, holding a baseball with vibrant red stitching.

“Wow,” Simmons says, standing beside him. “This is amazing. I mean, I don’t always get art, you know? But damn. Max is talented.”

“She sure is,” Reid says. But he’s only half listening, because he’s taken in by it, by all of it. This is the world through Max’s eyes. All these little details, all the little beautiful things that she sees. And she has reflected them back to the world in a way that takes his breath away.

The unfamiliar voice of an man calls the gallery to attention through a microphone, and Reid makes his way back towards the entrance where all the guests are slowly gathering.

“I now have the pleasure of introducing tonight’s guest of honor, Maxine Brenner,” a man with tiny wire-rimmed classes says.

Reid joins the crowd, falling into place beside Garcia and JJ just in time to see Max walk over in a white lace dress. She is utterly radiant, resplendent. His heart quickens at the sight of her. She takes the microphone and thanks the man with a dazzling smile. “Thank you all for being here,” she says. “It’s truly an honor to share this night with you, and I’m thankful to Jolie Laide for the opportunity to do so. It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that Van Gogh is my favorite artist. He once said, find things beautiful as much as you can. Most people find too little beautiful. The concept for this exhibit was to find all the beautiful things that we overlook. I wanted to pay attention to their little details and find new ways to show the world what beautiful is and what it could be. Every painting is of something I’ve found lovely – whether it’s a natural phenomenon seen through a new lens or an everyday object that just needs someone to notice it or a person–”

She pauses and her gaze moves over the crowd until she spots him. And that mischievous glimmer returns to her eyes. “– who doesn’t realize how beautiful they are. I hope that tonight helps you all to see the beauty around you and in yourselves, and maybe encourages you to see things a little differently, and to find the world a little more beautiful.” As she bows, the room bursts into applause and he swells with pride. This is her moment, and she’s beaming, and he couldn’t be more happy for her.

He wants to go up and hug her, but a swarm of admirers immediately descends upon her with enthusiastic questions and curious remarks. This is her night. He knows that when she wants to talk to him, she’ll let him know. For now, he’ll let these strangers have their moment with her – he can have all of the time in the world with her. The team opts to take a break to help themselves to the refreshment table and Emily offers to grab him a drink, but he politely refuses. He wants to keep walking around.

He can’t help but smile as he does so, hearing the praise and wonder in the words of the other guests. Yes, he wants to tell them. Yes, she’s that talented. Yes, she notices things nobody else does. And she’s hilarious and generous and gorgeous and somehow, somehow I am hers. But how unsightly it would be of him, in his suit and crooked tie, with his messy hair and off-balance gait to interrupt these strangers reveling at the beauty before them. So he stays quiet, happy just to be here. Happy to have the privilege to even witness such beauty.

When he turns the corner, he’s grateful he declined that drink because if there were a glass in his hand, he surely would have dropped it. Many of Max’s pieces are gathered on walls or in corners in groups based on themes or subjects. And in this particular nook, he finds himself uncomfortably familiar with the face staring back at him from one of them. The same face he has stared down in the mirror a thousand times.

It strikes him – Max has painted him. Reid steps closer and realizes it’s not just one painting. The whole wall is him. There is a painting of just one honey-colored eye, gazing down. A hand on the spine of a book. His lips, slightly parted, just a little uneven. His shoulders and collarbone, the slope of his neck and the curve of his chin, a few wild curls visible in the narrow view of the painting. And two portraits where his face is fully visible.

The brushstrokes are so careful, the colors so soft. She paints him in curves and edges and tiny hints of unexpected hues. She paints him with such detail, as though she has tried to memorize every inch of him. She has painted him beautiful.

And for a thirty-six seconds he can’t breathe. He just stares. Because this is how she sees him. And she’s put it on display for all the world to see.

“There’s a level of precision in these that I didn’t see in the other portraits,” an older woman says to a young woman beside her. “I can’t explain it, but it somehow feels like they were more… lovingly painted.”

“Like she knew exactly how they should feel,” her companion agrees.

“The subject has such a striking jawline,” a man says to the woman holding his hand. “And I like the way she painted his hair. Every curl is so careful.”

“It’s really beautiful,” she says, pointing to one of the portraits. Max has painted him smiling, gazing upwards, and he isn’t even sure if he’s capable of looking that way. “I think this one might be my favorite overall.” When they step aside, he can read the small placard on the wall naming the paintings. It reads, “And if I asked you to name all the things you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?” Series. Oil on canvas. 2020.

Reid swallows hard, past the lump of emotions lodged in his throat, and turns quickly to walk to another corner of the gallery, both to avoid recognition and because if he keeps looking he thinks he might cry. But when he turns, she’s standing right there. Looking up at him through her long lashes, her graceful hands clasped in front of her as she waits in that lovely lace dress.

“Do you like it?” she asks him, nodding at the corner.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why did you paint me?”

Max smiles. “I told you, Magic Man, I wanted to paint pretty things.”

He shakes his head. “But I’m not – I mean, look at me, I’m–”

“I am looking.” She reaches up to brush her fingers against his cheek, having to stand on her toes even in heels to do so. “And you are beautiful. My beautiful. I wanted to show you the way I see you. Because of all the beautiful things, none of them make me feel quite like you do.”

Max takes his hand and walks up to the paintings. She says nothing, just waits as he looks at them close up, unafraid of someone realizing he’s looking at himself. He stares at the light and shadows created by her paintbrush. The bright colors that draw attention over painted skin. The soft gaze, the eyes that seem to look so alive. Stray freckles, flecks of tan and gold. It feels so astonishingly intimate. There’s no denying that her work is remarkable. It is beautiful.

And this is how she sees him. Worthy of that sort of attention. Capable of bringing those kinds of colors to life. And when he faces her, he realizes – the painting with the smile. He does look that way. He can feel the movement of the muscles in his face forming a near mirror image as he realizes he only ever looks that way at her.

“Thank you,” he says. Max pulls him down to kiss him, her lips so sweet, and it feels beautiful. He thinks that if they were not here, surrounded by other people, that he would love nothing more than to avail her of that beautiful dress and paint patterns of her skin with his fingertips, give every inch of her the same level of attention with his lips that she did with her paints, and whisper over and over to her just how lovely he finds her.

But they’re not alone, not yet. “Well I’ll be damned,” Morgan says. All of his friends are there, having discovered this nook of the gallery. “Look at that! She somehow managed to make you look even prettier than usual, Pretty Boy.” Reid flushes crimson as they praise Max’s work. She joins them to walk around the rest of the gallery, her hand in his, and from time to time he swears he can see someone staring at the two of them, and he knows they recognize his face. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how the rest of the world looks at him, so long as he knows the way he looks through her eyes. For the first time, he can see himself the way she sees him. As he is, not as he fears he is.

Somehow, this has become his life. Walking through a gallery of paintings made by his favorite person, while she gazes at him like he’s her only muse, telling him that he belongs among lovely things. Somehow believing it all. Somehow at home surrounded by strangers and a few of the people he trusts most. This is his life. And what a beautiful life it is.

[princeanxious]

Part One; “A Wounded Snake Lies Still”

A continuation fic in the au i built from this art piece I did and this post that I’d written that inspired this whole idea. I don’t know how many parts there will be, but the plan is for it to be hurt/comfort? It’s just that the comfort comes in small increments, but I promise the ending will be happy!

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Ships: mentions of past healthy Anxceit, start of story begins w/ analogical, end goal is analoceit! Side royality, Remus is lowkey Aro.

Minor Trigger Warnings: in no particular order.. brief mentions of painful memory loss, brief food mention, Remus and Deceit as sympathetic characters in general, accidental revealing of a secret-Remus feeling awful about it and Deceit being completely forgiving on it. Deceit being sorta selfish but also being very selfless without realize it. Deceit lying when he speaks/ backwards talk.

Serious Trigger Warnings: (slight spoilers) Deceit ignores his own distress in favor of keeping up a nonchalant act around the others, and doesn’t process his inner emotions in a healthy way. Deceit repressing years of his own resurfacing emotional trauma that originally came from his separation from Virgil, Deceit also briefly relives said trauma in the fic and pretends nothing is wrong even though something Really Is. Patton has minor empath abilities in this au and accidentally gets hit with a ride of very negative emotions that Deceit is already internally feeling when he touches Deceit.

(Let me know if I need to tag something else!)

Summary: Virgil’s missing memories have always been a touchy subject. After Remus and Deceit gain their acceptance of from the Light Sides and Thomas, Deceit still seems to have a few secrets to hide. If you asked him, he’d tell you it was for the best that he kept them. Partially concealing the truth was a slippery slope, indeed. But, could you really blame him? When Virgil was dating Logan and finally seemed happy again? To him, All the repression of his own trauma was worth Virgil’s happiness. Their years of love were lost with Virgil’s memories of the past, and there was no way in hell Deceit was about to jeopardize Virgil’s current stability now, not when the only person at fault for losing was Deceit himself.(or, was it? He’s never sure anymore. Trauma is a fickle beast.) Well, one slip up from Remus is all it takes before Deceit finds himself faced with that exact dilema fast approaching, and he finds he is less than prepared to face the music..

[[MORE]]

“Ugh, gross. In front of my deodorant?? Could you guys like. Not?? Be romance-y in the living room?? You two remind me of when Dee and Virgie were dating.” Remus grumbled offhandedly, too tired to deal with his twin’s particularly loud and loving attention directed towards Thomas’s literal representation of the heart this late into the afternoon.

They’d been loudly and shamelessly flirting back and forth from across the room while everyone set up for movie night, Roman in the living room with the others and Patton in the kitchen with Deceit making snacks. It was only seconds later that the duke realized his slip up as everything and everyone around clattered to a halt, the other sides turning stare at him in confusion.

Three years. It had taken Deceit three long, painstaking years and counting to distance himself from the years of memories he’d spent in bliss, to separate his mind from the heartbreak of losing his only love. Three years to come to terms with the fact that his only love now held no memories of the time they spent together, to accept that his love now deeply loved another.

Three years to come to terms with the fact that Virgil would never know what it was like to watch helplessly as his love writhed in pain. To watch as The Line ripped the memories from his love’s very being, forcing Virgil into a clean slate. Three years to come to terms that Virgil would never remember.

Three years of patience and heartbreak and anguish and lies, telling himself that it’d be okay, telling himself that he would move on and heal eventually. Three years of painstakingly separating himself from the narrative he and Virgil used to share, and ensuring that Virgil never had any inkling to what had been of his past. It was the only secret Deceit ever asked Remus to keep.

Rest assured, he’d tried to respark Virgil’s memories many times in the first few months after Virgil crossed over The Line from Dark side to Light, having ultimately crossed for good. It’d only led to fight after fight, driving a wedge further and further between them with each escalated argument. With a bleeding heart, he’d eventually given in, and stopped any further attempts. After all, each attempt only seemed to fuel Virgil with irritation. It had been clear then, that whatever they’d had, was never going to be again.

Three years it’d been. He thought he’d nearly healed, really. Most days he found he could exist and interact with the others and not be reminded of the past, and be comforted that he himself would not be a reminder to the past. Repression had always been his strong suit, though, conciously or not.

The Line had diminished as of late, after Thomas had really begun accepting Deceit and Remus. They could cross The Line for long amounts of time now, and mostly be fine. Occasionally they suffered from a bout of fatigue when disagreements with the others briefly turned sour, feeling The Line tugging back at them insistently. It never lasted for long, but there was always that underlying worry that The Line would finally snap them back into the dark for good if one of them made a final wrong move. The Light Sides didn’t know about The Line, not even Virgil remembered stumbling away from it after all that had happened. And well, if it were up to Deceit? They would never find out about it. Too many questions, too many messy answers.

Three years later, Deceit finds his heart splintering once more, an ache sinking into his chest that he knows Patton feels as they stand nearby one another. Memories flood in harshly, a deep painful longing resurging from the depths of his mind as it always did when faced with his reoccurring trauma sinking its claws into his psyche.

It’s only been seconds, but the silence is starting to feel heavy. Instead of moving on from the previous comment, Remus glances to Deceit, eyes pleading and devastated by having made his mistake, breaking the only promise to Dee he’d ever been seriously asked to keep. And Deceit knows he must do what he does best to save face, there is still time to redirect the carnage.

“Remus, please don’t refrain from spreading lies, that’s certainly not my job, after all.” He teases lightly, keeping his tone precisely on the edge of amused confusion, though his eyes hold an understanding none of the others know to read for. “Next you won’t be telling me that your favorite animal is a squid, not an octopus. Not your worst try at shock humor, yes?”

Remus catches on after a millisecond, drawing out a full cackle. “Sorry, not sorry! You should’ve seen the looks on your faces though! Priceless!! Who knew a shitty joke falling so flat would shock everyone so good!”

Their reactions held the desired effect. Quickly, everyone around the room seemed to relax, Roman even firing back his own playful quip to further lighten the mood. In the end, it was just a bump in conversation, something Remus caused every once in a while as everyone adjusted and Remus learned. Not a single step amiss that wasn’t already expectedly out of line.

Still, he’d have to talk to Remus in private later. Remus was just as sensitive to rejection as Roman was, and paired with his inherently intrusive thoughts, it would come to no surprise if Remus already thought Deceit now hated him. He didn’t, it’d been an accident, and Remus’s first ever slip up in three years since making the promise. Even if Dee had been mad about the slip up, he wouldn’t have had any right to be. He’d be sure Remus was the first person he sought to soothe when they got a free moment alone, it wasn’t right to let those kinds of thoughts fester.

Remus first, Virgil next, as it wasn’t quite crisis averted. He could feel Virgil’s eyes on his back from the living room. He denied his bleeding heart the closure of meeting Virgil’s gaze, of sharing his expression. He was too vulnerable, even now the anxious side could read his tells far too well, often without even realizing why. There was no doubt Virgil would try and talk to him later about it, and no matter how good the terms they were on with each other now were, Deceit knew the conversation would be a rough one. Virgil knows he has missing memories, and only recently had he accepted Remus and Deceit’s vague answers when he’d asked lightly about his past. It was at least him acknowledging they had the answers to the past he doesn’t remember.

If he wasn’t careful, each and every brick in the wall that Deceit had carefully worked to build up in the past three years could crumble right before his eyes, leaving him stripped emotionally defenseless, his trauma bared for all to see. And who knew what the others would do if they knew so much? What would they think of him then? Deceit inwardly shivered at the thought. It would not come to that.

Slipping into the nonchalant act was an easy card to play, it being his strong suit and most comforting form of security, a version of his own little lie of omission to soothe the bumpy situation over.

What he didn’t account for, was Patton gently reaching to touch his arm when everyone else had settled and their attentions returned to their tasks at hand. Deceit fought against his immediate urge to pull away, knowing the moral side just preferred connection through touch when addressing another, and instead looked up to meet Patton with a questioning gaze.

Whatever Patton was about to say died on his lips as he suddenly seemed to reflect an absolutely heartbroken expression, tears welling up in his eyes. Pain and sorrow and surprise seemed to seep into the other’s expression, warring for dominance amongst the primary confusion. It was only then that Deceit realized that Patton was still touching him, his bare arm with an equally bare hand, to be exact. The memory that Patton bore minor empath abilities that were tied into his existence as the representation of Thomas’s morality and feelings sunk in two seconds too late.

Direct skin to skin contact, something Deceit sought often to avoid in general nowadays anyway, was a direct way for Patton to tune into another's current feelings through said abilities, often by accident. There were limits that Patton could control, of course, and Patton only ever seemed to struggle coping with that ability when faced with an overwhelming swell of emotions from the other side. And, well.. Deceit’s mind certainly hadn’t taken well to being reminded of his repressed past, seeping through his protective mental walls with all sorts of roiling negative emotions.

From self-loathing, to dread. From anger, to guilt. From longing, to grief, then to depression, and finally apathy. It just couldn’t be helped that Deceit, a master of disguise and deception, had had three whole years to perfect the act that hid it from the outside and controlled it all from within.

Carefully, Deceit pulled Patton’s hand from his arm, and gently tucked it against the moral side’s chest. Still, he keeps his gloved hand there, letting Patton grasp it with both hands to ground himself after such an emotional ride.

“Deep breaths, dear Patton. Whatever isn’t the matter?” He asks gently, still playing into his act but his eyes plead a different story. ‘Not now,’ they say, ‘I will tell you, but not here,’ they beg. Patton nods slowly, and Deceit carefully wipes away Patton tears. In a move he knows he might regret later if it raises questions, he slips his hat off to gently plop onto the moral side’s head, and gently presses against the others clothed shoulder with his own in a show of comforting affection. It has the desired effect of distracting Patton and lightening his mood, Patton’s lingering upset masked by a watery smile only they can share. Deceit silently mourns the loss of his safety blanket, but accepts that a few minutes of feeling vulnerable while comforting Patton is a good trade to escape having his distress found out. He couldn’t have the other sides cornering him into explaining why Patton had suddenly begun crying without reason. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he felt guilty for Patton having experienced second hand an echo of his painfully raw emotions, no, not at all.

Thankfully their little scene goes unnoticed by the rest of the preoccupied sides, who are far too busy bickering over the movies they want to watch. Well, unnoticed by all but the one who sits to the side. Said side keeps an unconcerned but intrigued eye on the two in the kitchen, glancing over every time he adjusts his glasses to avoid suspicion. Logan says nothing, but knows he has questions for his dearest Virgil when movie night is over. He can only hope that the answers Virgil gives will not raise more questions.

(..Unfortunately, they do raise more questions than answers.. However, they now know exactly who has the answers they seek. It’s only a matter of getting those answers that is a task far harder than they’d ever expected it to be.)

To be continued..

[joannevixxon]

Love Comes At A Cost

An Elsamaren fanfic by JoanneVixxon on AO3.

Summary:

The Fifth Spirit is one of many myths that came to life. And, not all myths are meant to be saviours in times of woe.

Just as Arendelle welcomes Queen Anna into her reign, the Northuldra wade through their newfound freedom under the protection of their Snow Queen, Elsa. Unbeknownst to them, lurking behind shadows awaits a monster whose anger finds peace in the demise of others. Together, Elsa, Honeymaren, Anna and Kristoff must save Arendelle and Northuldra from prophetic destruction.

Meanwhile, Elsa and Honeymaren come to terms with their mutual attraction— as terrifying as it is exciting.

Preview: "How ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion."

Chapter 1: Anna’s Astute Mind

Queen Anna of Arendelle had the likeable disposition of a puppy in summer. Her entire existence seemed to premise upon her providence of love and warmth, even when they were aplenty under the radiant sun.

She was fiercely loyal to companions, deft in maintaining her optimism through thick and thin, steadfast in altruistic commitments, to name a few of her many virtuous attributes. She carried herself like a fountain whose liquid provided welcomed relief to parched birds, except with Anna, she did it through sheer benevolence.

Fine, indeed, her feisty obstinacy prevailed at times, be it within the confines of council rooms or private quarters, patiently endured by royal advisors and Kristoff alike. But, it was Anna’s astute mind that allowed her to suspect that some volatile anxiety had been brewing amongst the spirits.

A gust of wind had been bellowing through her study every afternoon. Her fireplace had flickered pink time and time again. A distorted neigh echoed in her ears at every casual passing by the fjord. And, worst of all, she had been tripping over plain flat soil more in the past week than she had in a lifetime! That’s a lot of bruised knees, stained dresses and dismayed grumbles coming from the castle staff!

Maybe, it was just that— coincidences, or Arendelle’s weather throwing a temper tantrum (of its own accord, this time).

Or maybe, it was the spirits.

Maybe… It was Elsa.

It all happened during the second game night of January—the month following Elsa’s 26th birthday.

The sun of late had been setting at five in the evenings, painting the dinner table a warm cozy fuschia against the backdrop of a white crisp winter. Clanking away with their forks and knives were Anna, Kristoff and Olaf, joined by Elsa and Honeymaren.

This wasn’t the first time that Elsa had been accompanied by Northuldra guests, but it did strike Anna by surprise when she found the blonde descending Nokk at the docks with none other than Honeymaren.

Upon the touch of Elsa’s delicate fingers on her forearm, Honeymaren wore a courteous smile and said to Anna, simply, as though hoping not to invite any further query, “Ryder had to attend to private matters,”

The food was scrumptious that night, wine all the better. Anna’s keen gaze couldn’t help but linger at Elsa as she restrained herself from sipping a second glass. One may compare her sister nowadays to spirits and deities, but she was no god of alcohol. Mild intoxication alone was enough to convince Elsa that sauntering on rooftops was as safe as belting hymns, the prospect of death put aside altogether as myth.

“How’s Northuldra?” asked Kristoff, mouth chock-full of braised salmon. “Anna and I have been wanting to pay everyone a visit,”

“If my schedule allows it...” Anna chimed in, sighing. “Seriously, Elsa, how did you do it? We were able to share tea dates while you were Queen, and I’m struggling with...” A hand gesticulated in the air, as if to conjure words with magic. “...struggling with small things, like menus for dignitary lunches, village tours, picking dresses!”

Elsa stifled a giggle. “Northuldra’s fine, Kristoff. Thanks for asking. And, those aren’t small things at all, Anna,” Proving to everyone that she remained a stickler for manners, Elsa dabbed her lips lightly with the hem of her napkin before speaking any further. “Remember, I was eighteen when I ascended the throne. I had barely turned a new chapter into adulthood, let alone prepared myself enough to serve as sovereign, or be of age for coronation. Every single little thing was as daunting as it could have been…”

Catching sight of her reflection on the impeccably clean wine glass, she looked up at Anna and gave her the tenderest of smiles. “Dipping a pen to write letters was as scary as negotiating trade deals with kings of neighbouring states, likewise with picking dresses or menus for dignitary lunches. It’s all new to you, Anna. Give it time. I’m sure you’d find yourself comfortably acquainted with your role much quicker than I ever did,”

“You’re right. A-At least, I hope so,” replied Anna, fumbling with her hands. Her eyes frantically surveyed the room for a comfortable point of fixation. “I mean, it’s only been half a year. I shouldn’t expect to conduct myself as effectively as you did when it probably, no, definitely, totally, took years of practice on your end, I imagine,”

Elsa smile grew even wider. Having just endured being the subject of a portrait painting, Anna was dressed in full regalia that night, with her velvet train whipping in the wind and tiara twinkling lustrously under candlelight. But Elsa saw the same sprightly kid with pig-tails as she peered into the teal eyes of her younger sister—now Queen and no longer a Princess. “Yup, years of practice,” said Elsa, before adding, “You don’t have to reign as I did, Anna. Please, conduct yourself as you see fit. You are your own person after all,”

“Well, y-yeah, of course,” said Anna, returning the smile. “But there’s nothing wrong with—I mean—it’s recommended to follow in the footsteps of my predecessors, right?”

Pursing her lips, Elsa swirled her wine as though to exude an air of nonchalance, before, to everyone’s surprise, imbibing the wine all in one gulp. Anna felt her voice hitch. That must’ve scorched her sister’s throat for sure. It was far from difficult to notice the reddish hue that crept up to her sister’s porcelain cheeks.

Upon the loud creak of doors opening by the far end of the Great Hall, Kai stepped in to announce that dessert was ready to be served. Over citrus palate cleansers and parfait, Honeymaren endeavoured through the flurry of questions of which Olaf had a curiously endless supply.

“What are your thoughts on pranks?” asked Olaf, at one point.

“Pranks?” Honeymaren cocked her head. “Fun, in moderation,”

“Fantastic!” The three short twigs that sat atop Olaf’s crown gave the faintest quiver. “With an ample amount of time on my hands, I can afford to entertain my personal interests,”

“Like… planning pranks?” asked Honeymaren, brows furrowed. The royal family of Arendelle defied convention, but a snowman taking stock of ideas in horseplay was new terrain.

“Yes, pay attention,” snapped Olaf. “I recently made a list of pranks that I thought might be fun to try with a close companion of yours,” Honeymaren and Elsa shared a nervous glance. Bringing a twiggy palm to his forehead, Olaf heaved a theatrical sigh, “No, not Elsa. Nokk ,”

At that response, the four adults shared an exclamation of surprise.

“Oh, good!” continued Olaf, smiling. “I see my suggestion is already garnering desired effects! You see, I read that potassium explodes upon contact with water—”

“O-Olaf!” stuttered Anna loudly. “That’s a fantastic idea! I’m sure we’d like to hear all about it tomorrow morning. Didn’t you say something about, um, saving good stuff for later makes you feel happier, more excited, or something—?”

“Oh, why yes, Anna! How can I forget: greater satisfaction as a result of greater delays in gratification! An excellent suggestion. In that case,—” Olaf winked. “—I’ll save it for later,”

“Good!” Anna’s eyes sparkled, as she turned to face everyone else. “Who’s up for games?”

———

Games could not have come sooner.

Sitting still was never Anna’s best pursuits, let alone standing statuesque in full regalia with an orb and scepter in hand for a portrait painting. It took a painstaking two hours, enough for the newly anointed queen’s mind to wander from the colour scheme of bed sheets to apocalyptic war.

Rubbing salt to Anna’s wounds, the court painter then had the audacity to take a photograph as reference for his final touches— “Live painting still carries the best merit, ma’am,” he had said with his nose pointed up to the ceiling. Had Kristoff been elsewhere, the court painter would have met Anna’s fists shortly before being delivered to the doorsteps of his Maker.

Anna’s arms were itching to flail about. Her foot tapped impatiently against the timber as she gawkily handed her dress to her lady-in-waiting and fumbled to wear her nightgown, first inside-out, then backwards, and finally, as it should be worn.

Striding out in haste, Anna’s hair remained tightly wound in a singular bun, as had been the tradition with queens of Arendelle. But upon the doors to her study, Anna found herself nearing a dither.

Frantically, she ruffled her hair into loose locks.

Her heart had once beat aflutter when Elsa stared at Anna, as though to find their mother somewhere behind the fabric of her younger sister’s regal mien. “Mother’s gone,” Elsa had mumbled pensively, before realising what had tumbled out of her lips. “I’m sorry, i-it’s just… the resemblance is uncanny,”

“Anna?”

Returning to present time, Anna turned to find Elsa and Honeymaren jogging down the hallway in their nightgowns. “Oh,” said Anna, mustering composure. “That’s unlike you to be late—”

Elsa pulled Anna into a tight embrace without a moment to spare. “I’m actually excited,” she whispered, pulling away. “I’ve been practicing with Honey,”

“She has,” Honeymaren nodded over Elsa’s shoulder. “Though, there remains room for improvement,”

“Just last night you said I was excellent,” Tapping playfully on Honeymaren’s shoulder, Elsa turned the door handle with an adroit twist of the hand as she had done countless times before as queen, and held the door with a smile.

It must have taken Anna a full moment to realise that Honeymaren had been standing abreast, giving her the courtesy to enter first. Anna stumbled into the study. Every piece of furniture was in its rightful place— the sofa was riveted in the center, curtains drawn, paintings of her Father’s and Elsa’s coronation hung behind looming shadows— and yet, the expanse of the room felt foreign.

Anna suddenly blurted, “You two...were talking about charades, yeah?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment too long, waiting to be plucked as prophecy. Elsa darted a look at Honeymaren, before her nimble fingers started fiddling with loose strands of hair. “What did you think we were talking about?”

Anna shrugged, blushing. “Nothing... I-I don’t know. Never mind me,”

———

The midnight chime of the old grandfather clock came sooner than expected. Kristoff announced that he best retired to bed or he’d slip into slumber right then on the sofa.

“Just admit it,” said Anna. “You don’t want to clean up the mess you’ve made,” She pointed at the litter of paper on the floor. Kristoff could only offer a yawn in response, before racing out of the room with Olaf.

“Boys,” said Honeymaren. Raking in a load of paper balls with her hands, she piled them up into an idle bucket sitting dangerously close to the hearth. Its once blazing wood had now reduced to crackling embers, dimming the study down to the haze of blue moonlight.

“Thanks, Honeymaren,”

“I’ll put out the fire,”

“Oh, no, actually, don’t… It’s a bit cold...” Anna paused, trembling at the sudden chill that trickled down her spine. As she wrapped her arms around her middle, Anna’s eyes trailed around the room, tracing the familiar figure of a certain quiet someone. Sure enough, standing in solitude on the balcony was Elsa. Her loose blonde locks and purple satin dress fluttered in the strong breeze that drifted its way into the room, threading along curtains, lapping against carpets, hushing cinders to the lullaby of distant tides.

Without so much as a pardon, Honeymaren ambled towards the windows left ajar, making her presence known to Elsa by placing a tender hand squarely against the small of her bare back. Anna watched that very hand falter in its attempt to provide comfort, as it trembled to give gentle pats. Yet, how ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion.

The whistle of the breeze lulled, leaving Anna in the placidness of stale office air. Quietly, Anna joined them, smiling appreciatively at Honeymaren’s warm nod of encouragement.

“Elsa?” said Anna. “Is everything alright?”

Elsa seemed transfixed at the undulating ridges of mountains, which caressed the heavens as much as it dived into the earth behind the town’s lofty roofs and spires. She turned to Anna, with a smile stretching across quivering lips. “My favourite view of Arendelle,” she said in faint whispers.

Catching Honeymaren’s averting gaze, Anna sensed that her sister meant to say something else.

———

Anna tossed and turned in bed at the break of dawn, begging herself to catch a few more minutes of sleep before Gerda would come knocking at her door. But, her attention seemed to have overstayed its welcome in the deepest recesses of her mind, hitched against some dark suspicion that her sister was shackled again by an old habit of hers—keeping secrets, namely ones that bode misfortune.

Elsa had three years following their parents’ departure to break to her sister that she possessed magic, but chose not to until she had casted Arendelle into winter. She had weeks to tell her family about hearing a voice, but chose not to until Arendelle had nearly crumbled into the earth. Elsa was never irresponsible, however, far from it. Quite simply, she was often paralysed by fear, and would care less about herself than to worry the people she loved about problems beyond her control. Anna learned that she needed to entice her sister into conversation, remind her of the unceasing support she had, or suffer the consequences.

It didn’t help that the chilly breeze of last night had invited itself into Anna’s bed. Getting up meant falling prey to shivers—all the more reason to stay warm under quilted sheets.

Just as Anna’s eyes fluttered shut, a loud bolt of footsteps trailed outside her room, dying down as quick as it came. Anna jolted upright.

“Gerda?” called Anna, breathless. Quickly, she tumbled out of bed. Opening the door just enough to pop her head out, she looked left and right to find the hallway properly deserted. “I must’ve been dreaming...,”

Convinced that the rush of adrenaline would have done little to allow for more snoozes, Anna decided to officially start her day. Game nights this past year were usually followed by a day off for Anna and Elsa to catch up, over tea cakes, horse rides, picnics, village tours, anything. This time, however, as Gerda had been sympathetic to remind the young queen, the governor of Jorgenfjord had requested an urgent audience with her for that morning. Replacing a sister bonding session with a meeting was the last of Anna’s desires. But, the least she could do for Elsa was to lend her ears, be a shoulder to cry on, to support however she can, before rushing into the first task of the day.

Dress neatly donned, hair tightly wound in a bun, Anna made her way to Elsa’s room. As with all monarchs following their coronation, Anna moved into her parents’ room, which had been Elsa’s until she abdicated. So, quite simply, Elsa was forced to return to her childhood room.

Anna rapped a familiar tune on her sister’s door, before rubbing her cold hands together.

No response.

“Elsa?” called Anna, knocking again. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit early. Wait, actually, this should be past your usual waking time, unless you’ve gotten lazy in the forest! Hah! Can’t blame you. I-I’d do the same. I can tell you that this is definitely not my usual waking time, though. Still isn’t! At least not for another year! Way too early. Anyway, Elsa, like I said yesterday, I have to attend an early meeting. Before you go for your walk around town, I’d really, um, appreciate it, if we can talk. Talk? That sounds too serious. I-I just want to have a little chat , really, that’s all.”

Anna bit her lip and clasped her hands tighter, hoping to squeeze some warmth into her palms. The permeating silence became indicative of another failed attempt to elicit a response. Taking a deep breath, Anna opened the door to peek inside, to check if Elsa had, for the first time in forever, overslept. To her surprise, the room was empty—so empty, in fact, that the stack of towels and fruits that Gerda had placed carefully on the bed seemed completely untouched.

Anna blinked, confused.

“Anna?” croaked a voice from behind.

Anna turned to find Elsa walking down the hallway in her white dress, rubbing circles into her eyes. “Elsa! Good morning,”

“Good morning,”

“I-I was knocking on your door but…”

Elsa halted beside her sister, squinting at the familiar row of snowflakes that adorned her white door. “...but what, Anna?”

“Elsa, did you… come from Honeymaren’s room?”

Elsa nodded. “Yeah?”

Anna’s eyes widened, sparkling. The redhead opened her mouth to scream but frantic hands clasped it shut. The epiphany slammed into her like a hustling reindeer, jamming all colours of emotions into her core, waiting to burst into shrieks of rainbows.

She and Kristoff had a fair share of amorous intrigues before their engagement— hiking up trails, serenades in stables, rowing in the great expanse of Arendelle’s fjords, sneaking into the castle just before her quiet disappearance caught the attention of her sister. This, with Elsa, was similar. She knew all too well.

Elsa looked concerned. “Anna, what’s wrong?” She placed a hand on Anna’s forehead. Anna shuddered at the touch and flinched away. “O-oh, I’m so sorry, Anna. Was it cold?”

“Elsa!” exclaimed Anna in hushed whispers, rounding her sister towards the windows. “This makes so much sense. I knew it! Something was bothering you!”

Shoulders arched, Elsa fidgeted with the hem of her sheer cape. “Y-you do?” said Elsa to Anna’s back. “Oh, Anna. I was actually planning to tell you last night with—“

“—Honeymaren!” yelled Anna, barely containing her excitement as she saw the confused young Northuldra approaching the two sisters. Anna dashed to Honeymaren’s side, tugged her by the wrist and nudged her towards Elsa. “I know, Elsa, I know. First, you didn’t bring Ryder because you didn’t want me to get confused,”

Elsa and Honeymaren shot a flabbergasted look at the redhead. “Wait, what?” queried Elsa, brows furrowed.

“During dinner, when I talked about following in your footsteps, you gulped down that glass of wine like it was coffee because, hah, I’m with Kristoff! Of course , I don’t swing in the other direction,”

“Anna—“

“And, oh, seriously, Elsa? I thought you were good with subtlety but I stand corrected. ‘Just last night you said I was excellent’ ? You really think I can believe you guys when you say it was about ‘charades’ ?” Anna winked.

Elsa and Honeymaren were now as red as berries, realising what Anna had meant. “A-Anna,” started Elsa. “You got it all wro—“

“Last night! At the balcony! You wanted to say it to me. You wanted to announce that you and Honeymaren are in love!” At this point, Elsa nearly ducked behind Honeymaren—god forbid anyone saw in her furiously blushing state. “But you couldn’t, so you talked about the view! And Honeymaren—“ The Northuldra turned to look at Anna but her gaze seemed to have pierced right through Anna’s body and out the window. “—Oh, Honeymaren, the way you rubbed Elsa’s back, how intimate, how romantic ,” Anna glanced at her old room, whose amenities were meant to extend to Honeymaren alone. “And now, you two are sharing a bed —”

“Y-Your Majesty—“ stammered Honeymaren.

“Say no more,” responded Anna, bringing a finger to her lips. “You have my blessing,”

Feeling a tug on her dress, Honeymaren found Elsa crouching by her feet, bringing her knees to her chest. Ice fractals crackled beneath her soles. “Elsa,” whispered Honeymaren. “I thought you were planning to tell her—“

“Oh, why, yes, of course!” gasped Anna. “You’re absolutely right, Elsa. It’s like I never learn. I take it back. I don’t give you two my blessing. You have to court each other, for at least three years like Kristoff and I, before you could even think about something as huge as marriage,”

As Honeymaren and Elsa stared blankly into space, the breeze outside howled louder and louder, whistling through the cracks of windows, rustling through scraggy trees. Either Gale, the Wind Spirit, was thoughtful enough to spare them the pain of listening to their own thoughts, or Gale was having the cackle of a lifetime.

“Your Majesty,” called Gerda from afar. She took a few quick steps towards the three young women before giving a deep curtsy. “Your Royal Highness,” She bowed her head at Elsa, and turned back to Anna. “Your meeting, ma’am. It starts in ten minutes,”

Anna wrenched Elsa by the arm, forcing her up her feet, and gave Elsa and Honeymaren a hug that squeezed all the air out of their lungs. “That’s my cue! I love you! See you for lunch!”

With the click of her heels, the young queen was off to the council room. Gerda followed closely behind but darted a concerned look at Elsa. In all her years of taking care of Elsa, she had never seen the blonde so pink.

———

Anna was practically hopping to the council room when Lieutenant Mattias came to her visual periphery with a steaming mug in his grip. He extended a polite hand, halting the young queen in her tracks.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head. “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate milk?”

“Why yes!” said Anna, accepting the mug. “Did you make this specially for me?”

“No, ma’am. There was a surplus in the kitchen,” Mattias responded. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, waiting for the young queen to take a couple sips. His voice quieted down to a whisper. “The kitchen staff said that Honeymaren requested for two cups of hot chocolate at 5 in the morning. She was as pale as a ghost, they said,”

Anna nearly spewed milk at Mattias’ face. “Wait, what?”

“Ma’am,” continued Mattias, looking around. “It is not my intention to startle you before your meeting but I think it best to know if anything had gone amiss. I can help you… check on things while you attend the council meeting,”

Anna nodded slowly. “Oh… Okay…?”

“Did Elsa say or do anything that struck you as… strange or peculiar?”

Anna took a step back, her stomach tightening. “No, I mean…S-She seemed nervous and preoccupied, b-but—” Anna shook her head. “Nothing too suspicious. What’s wrong?”

“Several guards with clandestine posts have just reported to me that she had been in Arendelle for at least one day before she arrived in this castle yesterday,” replied Mattias, wearing the most empathetic look he could muster for the young queen. “She was first spotted northeast of the castle, in the forest, which I believe you would know to be—“

“—close to the Valley of the Living Rocks. The trolls...,” said Anna, brows furrowing.

“Yes, ma’am,” responded Mattias. He hunched forward to whisper further into Anna’s ear. “The same day, she was spotted in Jorgenfjord, whose governor, you are about to meet in five minutes,”

Anna paused. Tears formed at the rim of her eyes, as her breaths grew shallow. Elsa was keeping secrets from her. All those letters they wrote to each other and Elsa had chosen not to mention a single hitch. Anna felt the hollows of her chest kindle with fire, its cavities ignited with a fury that wanted burn every morsel of her sister’s failure once more to deliver promises of honest disclosure— promises to never shut each other out again.

The thing is, Elsa did express her intention of confidence. Just that, Anna hadn’t given Elsa the chance to even catch her breath this morning.

Anna stood in silence.

It was her fault.

Elsa wanted to talk, but Anna didn’t make it clear that she was ready to listen.

“Mattias,” sputtered Anna. “I-I don’t know what all of this means. For all we know, she was just giving Honeymaren a tour around Arendelle! But... I know one thing for certain. Elsa would only request for hot chocolate at that hour if she had a nightmare. A bad one. She started getting them before our journey to Northuldra,” Anna paused. “I need you to go into my old room—the one with crocuses on its door—and check for any sign of Elsa having blasted ice in the room,” Anna gulped her chocolate milk down. “And send for royal guards to follow her. Discreetly. Keep her safe,”

Mattias simply nodded, motioning for the queen to wipe the chocolate moustache off her lips.

As Anna steeled herself and entered the council room, Mattias dashed to Anna’s old room, wondering why Elsa had swapped rooms with Honeymaren. He entered to find the room clean and dry. Either the maids had done an impeccable job of discarding any evidence to suggest that Elsa froze the room or Elsa had gotten better at thawing every last snowflake.

Mattias had barely touched the door handle to make his exit, when a bowl of fruits on the mantelpiece caught his eye— what a curious place to put a fruit bowl. He approached it, and picked up an apple. It seemed badly bruised, as if it had been tossed to the ground and trampled by the hooves of a stampede. Squeezing it slowly, the apple molded into the wrinkles of his fist, smushed into gooey pulp.  

“You can’t find ice that has been properly thawed,” Mattias mused to himself. “But you can find the effects it’s left behind,”

———

A/N: I’VE NOT WRITTEN SOMETHING THIS SERIOUS IN 4 YEARS???? Please spare me

[charmingnines]

(i kinda wanna be) more than friends - DE artfest day 7/time loop

summary: 

Gavin is stuck living the same day over and over. He doesn't know how to break the cycle. Maybe it has something to do with his feelings for a certain gray-eyed android....

read on ao3 (rest of fic will be posted on here not tumblr!)

or read it below vvv

Gavin had a habit of hitting the snooze button on his alarm clock. But could he be blamed? It was Monday. Insomnia was a bitch, Gavin was late, what else was new? He threw on some clothes and rushed off to work.  

Gavin paused outside of the DPD to catch his breath. Then, he walked in casually, like he wasn’t half an hour late, making a beeline for the break room. “Hey, T,” Gavin said.

Tina nodded at Gavin. “O late one,” she said, buttering her bagel.  

Gavin flipped Tina the bird and Tina rolled her eyes, their version of a friendly greeting. Gavin pulled out the pot of coffee from the machine, swearing when he realized it was empty.

Tina clicked her tongue. “Maybe if you were here earlier….”

Gavin returned the pot to the machine, using a little too much force. He shrugged. “Guess I’ll die.”

Tina hummed. “I think your funeral will have to wait,” she said, inclining her heads towards the bullpen.

Nines was sitting at his desk across from Gavin’s; not unusual. What was unusual was the steaming mug of coffee sitting on Gavin’s desk.

Gavin looked at Tina questioningly. “Did you…?”

“You know I’m not that nice,” Tina said. Then, smiling deviously, “Guess Nines thought of you.” Tina left the break room, leaving Gavin to digest that information. Gavin stalled in the break room for a few moments before walking to his desk.

“You’re late,” Nines said, as Gavin sat down, not even looking up from his terminal.

“Good morning to you, too. Is this for me?” Gavin asked, pointing at the coffee.

Nines looked up. “I can’t drink coffee.”

“Is that a yes?”

Nines’ LED flickered yellow. “Yes,” he finally said.

Gavin studied the mug. “Did you…poison it?”

Nines rolled his eyes. “You can’t function without caffeine and I need you at your optimal performance today.”

Gavin took a sip of the coffee, ignoring Nines’ jabs. It was surprisingly good for precinct coffee. Gavin wondered when Nines had cataloged how he took his coffee. Nines always acted so above it all, but he really... paid attention. Not just to me, Gavin thought, Nines was crazy detail oriented because he was originally programmed to be a police android.

Detail oriented may as well have been Nines’ middle name (did Nines have a middle name? Did Nines have a last name?). It showed especially in Nines’ appearance. Today, he wore a high collared, navy blue button down and black slacks. His hair, of course, was perfectly styled. Even that one stubborn piece that hung into his face seemed artfully placed….

Stop staring at Nines. He’s pretty. Move on, Gavin told himself. “What’s going on today?” Gavin asked.

“Check out the case Fowler assigned to us this morning,” Nines said.

Gavin pulled the case up on his terminal and started to read. He didn’t get very far; Connor seemed to be trying to teach Anderson a coin trick. Anderson dropped it every time, the coin pinging annoyingly against the ground.

Gavin spun around in his chair. “Hey dickheads, some of us are trying to work.”  

Anderson flung the coin from one hand to the other, dropping it, again. “Didn’t you get here thirty minutes late?” he asked innocently.

Gavin scowled. “Least I’m not fucking around.”

“Quick reflexes are actually a very important skill for field detectives,” Connor said, flashing a grin. Gavin narrowed his eyes. It was difficult to tell when Connor was shooting the shit; he always said everything in such a sincere tone.  

“I think we should check out the house on Mack Ave,” Nines said. Then, lowly, “Unless you’d like to stick around and see Hank hit himself in the eye with that coin. The probability increases each time he fails.”

Gavin barked out a laugh. “Tempting,” he said. “But no. Let’s go.”

_

Nines ran over the case as Gavin drove them to the house.

After Jericho took over Cyberlife, they gained access to all of Cyberlife’s records, including all of the androids who’d ever been sold. It was painstaking work, but Markus had managed to document all the androids who were currently apart of Jericho, as well as all the ones who’d died during the revolution. That left a handful of androids unaccounted for. Connor, Hank, Nines, and Gavin had been working with Jericho for months to try and track the missing androids down.

Apparently, there’d been several noise reports about the house they were going to. As Gavin got a glimpse of it, he realized why it’d been put on their radar. The house was a shithole. It was a structural miracle that it wasn’t falling down just from Gavin closing the car door in its proximity. There was no way a human squatter could live there. The noise reports had to be about an android.  

Gavin grimaced as he and Nines walked inside. There were holes in the roof, allowing weak light to stream throughout the house. There was no furniture and the walls were filthy with grime. The wood floor was warped and rotting from water damage. As Gavin moved through what he assumed would be a living room, he stepped on a weak spot. His foot broke through the floor. Nines caught Gavin underneath the arms, before he could break his ankle.

“Jesus, shit,” Gavin said, shaking the debris off his shoe.

Gavin’s ‘thank you’ died in his mouth when Nines held a finger up to his lips. Nines must have heard something; Gavin knew Nines’ hearing was far more sensitive than his own (when their stakeouts had lulls, Nines would relay the gossip of passing strangers to pass the time). Nines pointed to the hallway that led to a closed bedroom. They both took out their guns and approached the door slowly.  

Gavin led the way. When he opened the bedroom door, several things happened in fast succession. Gavin was spun around and gripped tightly around the shoulders. He struggled until he felt the cold press of a knife against his throat. Nines trained his gun Gavin’s attacker, a difficult thing since Gavin was being used as a human shield.

His attacker was no doubt an android judging by the inhuman, iron grip he had around Gavin. Gavin didn’t dare move anything but his eyes, trying to silently communicate with Nines. Nines’ gaze darted between the android and Gavin, LED spinning yellow.  

“We’re here to help you,” Nines said.

“Put down the gun,” the android demanded. A man, by the sound of his low, staticky voice.

Nines’ aim didn’t waver. “We just want to talk.”  

“I want you to put down the gun,” the man said, pressing the knife harder against Gavin’s throat.

Nines pointed his gun at the ground, but didn’t drop it. “What’s your name?”

“He didn’t give me a name,” the man said. Gavin could feel the man’s hand shaking. “I saw the news. About Markus. All of those androids joining him. My owner-” the man spat- “tried to kill me. I ran away.”  

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Nines said. To the untrained eye, Nines was calm. But Gavin could see the tension at the corners of his mouth, the sadness in his eyes.

“You’re sorry,” the man parroted, voice wavering. “Why should I believe you? You came here with a human.”

“There are humans that are on your side,” Nines said.

The man pressed the knife against Gavin’s throat hard enough to draw blood. “Humans can’t be trusted.”

Nines’ LED turned bright red. “I really am sorry,” he said. Then he shot the man in the shoulder. The man dropped the knife from Gavin’s throat in shock, then jerkily sunk it deep into Gavin’s stomach.  

Gavin fell to the floor. The pain muddled his senses. Vaguely, he registered the sound of the man falling over and shutting down. “Nines,” Gavin murmured. Nines’ worried face appeared above him, telling Gavin to hold on, that the ambulance was on its way. Gavin wanted to reach up and smooth out the crease between Nines’ brows but he couldn’t find the strength. Gavin closed his eyes.

_

Gavin woke up heart pounding, breathing heavily. Instinctively, his hands went to his side where there was… nothing?

Gavin sat up, confused. Had that all been just a really elaborate dream? He realized his alarm, which had woken him up, was still beeping. Gavin turned it off, frowning at the date. It was Monday (hadn’t it just been Monday?). He was going to be late. Gavin shook off his uneasiness and got dressed. He’d have to get coffee at work….

[lantur]

if you were mine - part one

summary: Riza has been working on the unit for close to a year when she starts to wonder whether Colonel Mustang’s interest in her is more than professional.

rated: t | words: 6632

part one of two

read on ao3 

Riza has been working on the unit for close to a year when she starts to wonder whether Colonel Mustang’s interest in her is more than professional.

It’s a tricky question. Her position as his adjutant and bodyguard shows a level of trust between them that is as personal as it is professional. Personal connections and relationships should have no room in the military. But at the same time, of course their relationship is more than professional. That is inevitable. They have known one another since they were teenagers; even spent three years living together while he had been her father’s apprentice. Roy had been her closest friend, then, back when he was just Roy, and not Colonel Mustang.

They had gone to New Year’s celebrations in town together. Roy had taught her how to dance, she had taught him how to cook, and they had a little book club together when neither were occupied with their studies. Years later, she had entrusted him with the secrets of her father’s alchemy, and he had inspired her to enlist in the military academy. They served together in Ishval. Neither of them has forgotten any of that long history. How could they?

They keep to the appropriate boundaries regardless. 

Riza only ever refers to him as Colonel Mustang, and he follows her lead. Their working relationship as colonel and adjutant necessitates that they are close, even more so than the other members of the unit. Falman, Breda, Fuery, and Havoc all operate independently or in small groups as their operations demand, but she is almost always by Colonel Mustang’s side. All day, every day. Often into the evenings as well. And lately, Riza has been wondering whether Colonel Mustang has been taking advantage of that fact.

The first reason for her suspicion is that working together after hours happens more than it should. Colonel Mustang works at a snail’s pace during the day, but when the clock strikes six in the evening and everyone else leaves headquarters, he is a man transformed. Suddenly sharp, alert, working with alacrity on a dozen different tasks - and needing her help on every one of them.

“I finished the Hielscher case report. Do you have the preliminary reports about the developing situation in Limeton for me to review?” he asks her, one evening in early October, as she enters their office. “Also, has there been any progress in finding soldiers to testify in the Schwartz court martial case?”

“Yes, and yes,” Riza replies, unloading an armful of paperwork onto his desk. “I’m glad you finished the case report, though I will say that could have easily been done this morning between your meetings.” ”

Colonel Mustang leans back in his chair and stretches, sighing with satisfaction. “You know I do my best work at night, Lieutenant.”

Riza ignores the joke, taking the completed case report off his desk and looking through it. It had been completed in painstaking detail. “How long are you planning on maintaining this farce of incompetence during regular work hours, Colonel? Surely others must have seen through it by now, considering the quality of work you actually produce and your accomplishments.”

“They assume that I simply take credit for the work you and everyone else on the team do,” he replies happily. “And now,” - he picks up the phone and looks expectantly at her. “May I interest you in dinner?”

Riza eats dinner with him at least a few days a week, takeout in the office. These long days are exhausting, but Colonel Mustang doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems oddly cheerful on the evenings they work late together - upbeat and chipper, sometimes whistling to himself as he works.

Every night, he helps her put her coat on, and Riza wonders whether she imagines his fingers lingering on her shoulders. He drives her home, even though she insists that she can walk; that it will be good to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the office all day.

Riza takes Hayate out for his twice-daily walk afterwards. End even though she should savor her short twelve hours away from work and Colonel Mustang, she can’t get him and his odd behavior out of her mind.

-

Their unit goes out for drinks and dinner every other Friday after work at Blomgren’s, the bar at the end of the street, and Rebecca often joins them. It’s been a year and a half since Ishval, but the memories still weigh heavy in Riza’s mind. These Friday nights, and her quiet weekends with Hayate and Rebecca, are a welcome escape. She doesn’t deserve this respite, not after everything she had done in Ishval, but she still guiltily enjoys shedding her uniform in favor of civilian clothes, even swapping out her earrings to something a little more fun and a little less professional.

Every other Friday, when the unit piles into a booth, Colonel Mustang always ends up by her side. There’s so little space that despite Riza’s attempts to keep a respectful distance, they end up pressed together from hip to knee, shoulder to wrist. She can feel the material of his clothes and the warmth of the skin underneath, the strength of him, pressed against the stretches of skin on her legs and arms revealed by her skirt and sleeveless blouse.

Colonel Mustang laughs and jokes with everybody and seems completely unfazed by their proximity. Like he doesn’t even notice it, despite the fact that they seem to end up in a position like this every time they go out with the team.

Riza sips her drink, trying to focus on her friends’ conversation, but she can’t help but speculate. Her thoughts turn in the predictable ways they have been doing lately. The late nights, the proximity. The way Colonel Mustang always seems to glance at her first after he makes another one of his jokes or witty comments.

Across from her, Rebecca directs a subtle look at her and raises an eyebrow, nodding along to Falman’s story about his landlord from hell.

Riza lifts a shoulder a fraction of an inch.

He’s definitely doing this on purpose, Riza.

Honestly, I have no idea.

Rebecca gives her a flatly skeptical expression so blatant that Riza has to cough to remind her of the code.

Colonel Mustang offers to drive them home afterward, since he’s giving everyone else a ride anyway. “We’ll walk,” Riza says, and she offers her team a small smile. “Rebecca’s staying the night at my place. Besides, I need some intelligent conversation after spending the last twelve hours with you all.”

She and Rebecca wave them off and head in the direction of her apartment. “Okay,” Rebecca declares, the second Colonel Mustang’s car disappears around the corner. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

Riza covers her face with her hand. It feels warm. “Nothing’s going on,” she says.

“Nothing’s going on?” Rebecca asks incredulously. “He asks you to work late with him every single week. Sometimes more than once a week.”

“We do work,” Riza insists. “There’s nothing salacious happening in the office, I promise you.”

“Bet you wish there was,” Rebecca mutters under her breath, and then dodges Riza’s elbow. “And tonight--”

“We sat next to each other, like you and Havoc did.”

Rebecca snorts. “Havoc doesn’t mysteriously appear by my side every time we’re about to sit down. He doesn’t buy all of my drinks. He doesn’t check me out when he thinks nobody is watching, and he doesn’t smirk like a cat that got into the cream when I smile at his smartass jokes.”

Riza tilts her face up, grateful for the cool night breeze on her flushed skin. “When you say it like that...”

Rebecca looks at her curiously. “Why do you sound so disappointed?” she asks. “You told me about the way you felt about Mustang, growing up. You should be jumping for joy that he’s clearly interested in you. Don’t you want to be with him now?”

Riza keeps her eyes straight ahead. “My wants have no place in this.”

“Don’t give me that, Ri.”  

Riza sighs. “There’s just no place for it, Rebecca. It could have happened when we were teenagers, before he joined the military, or if I hadn’t enlisted. But now he’s my commanding officer. There’s the anti-fraternization regulations. And we’re working towards things that are more important than any petty, personal wants or desires. Nothing can stand in the way of that.”

“Sure,” Rebecca says, sounding unconvinced.

“Enough about me.” Riza nudges her. “What happened on your date with Rikert? Were you able to get over that mustache?”

“It’s funny you ask…”

-

Riza tries extra hard to maintain professional boundaries with Colonel Mustang after that. She skips Friday night team dinners twice in a row. She refuses to let herself think about him at all after work hours (especially at night, in bed). She redirects herself to mentally disassembling and reassembling different models of guns whenever she catches herself admiring anything about his personality in a way that strays too far from the platonic admiration and devotion their entire team has for him.

“Can Catalina or anyone else on the team look after Hayate this weekend?” Colonel Mustang asks casually, driving her home one Tuesday after a late night at the office. “I’d like you to accompany me on an undercover mission to Maastritcht. There’s an information broker there that I’d prefer to meet in person.”

Riza glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She opens her mouth and then closes it, reconsidering her instinctive denial. Damn him. As his bodyguard, she can’t refuse to go with him, or suggest another member of the team step in for her on this assignment. Colonel Mustang keeps his eyes on the road ahead, his demeanor casual, but she is sure he knows that as well as she does.

“Rebecca’s visiting her parents this weekend, but Havoc will be able to watch Hayate,” she says shortly, glancing out of the window, taking in the yellow light from the streetlamps as they pool on the dark roads. “Do you think this is a good idea, sir?”

“Of course it is,” Colonel Mustang replies blithely. “I really should meet this man in person. Not everyone is as adept at speaking in code over the telephone as we are.”

Riza takes a deep breath, willing herself to be patient. If this was any other man, she’d snap at him to cut the crap. “That’s not what I mean, sir.”

“Oh?” They come to a stop in front of her apartment, and Colonel Mustang parks the car and turns to look at her. “What do you mean, then?”

There is a challenge in his eyes, and Riza suddenly feels exhausted. She can’t have this discussion, this fight, now. She has already had it with herself too often, and she can’t face it with him now. Roy (back when he was just Roy) always knew what to say to push her buttons, crack through her stoic facade, out-logic her logic. “Nothing, sir,” she says, leaning over and grabbing her bag from the floor beneath her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

-

Riza leaves work on Friday, collects her things and Hayate, and drops her smallest friend off at Havoc’s apartment. Jean is in high spirits, crowing about how hanging around the park with such a cute pup will definitely help him collect a lot of phone numbers from the ladies.

“I know he’ll be in good hands with you,” Riza says, giving Hayate a scratch behind the ears. “But no ice cream for him this time, okay? Now he begs for it shamelessly whenever Rebecca and I stop for a cone.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Havoc grins. “And hey, you and the Colonel be safe up there in Maastritcht, all right?”

Riza nods. “Of course. We’ll be back late Sunday night.”

“I’d say you know you can call us if you need backup, but I know that the Colonel won’t need backup since he’s with you.”

Riza smiles and bids them farewell. As she departs, she spares a moment for gratitude that nobody on the team is at all questioning of the closeness that she and Colonel Mustang share. Not a single one of them has ever made any sort of comment, question, or innuendo about their relationship or the amount of time that they spend together. Colonel Mustang really had picked not just the best soldiers, but the best men, to serve on his team.

She stops in at a deserted public restroom near the train station and assumes her disguise. A colorful scarf wrapped loosely around her head, hiding the distinctive haircut, and long, dangling earrings. Glasses. A suede skirt, cream-colored sweater, dark tights and coat, and boots that come up to her knees. She looks different enough from Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye in her blue military uniform, and not as different as she’d like from Riza Hawkeye in her civilian clothes. Undercover operations are the only time she wishes that she were an alchemist. Changing her hair color and length would be a blessing.

Riza finds Colonel Mustang at the train station, at Gate C15, just as they had discussed earlier. There’s only a few other people at the gate. Two elderly ladies and a middle-aged man in a battered jacket, frowning at a newspaper. Riza glances them over quickly, discreetly, assessing and analyzing. She judges their clothing and possessions for the ability to conceal hidden weapons, their body language, facial expressions, demeanor, physical fitness for combat. They aren’t spies, she determines after a moment, and her shoulders relax somewhat.

Colonel Mustang smiles slightly at her reaction as she approaches. Of course he had noticed her risk assessment. He has pointed out to her before, in a way both teasing and admiring, about how she does that every single time she enters a space, whether it’s a train station, a park, or a cafe. He is dressed in civilian clothes, like her.

“You look nice, Elizabeth,” he greets, stepping close and pressing a kiss to her cheek, as any lover would do.

Riza rests a hand on his chest, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. Spice and citrus, as familiar to her as the scent of her firearm polish. “You as well, Rhys.”

They have played this a few times before. It feels different now, after the undercurrents that have swirled around and between them for the past several weeks. At least, it does to her.

Colonel Mustang steps back, though he’s still rather close to her. “Ready for this weekend?” he asks, and then grins. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Riza replies dryly. “Remind me when and where we’re meeting our friend tomorrow?”

“Noon, for a walk in Arnsberg Park.” Colonel Mustang glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m hoping that Russell then introduces us to that other friend of his I mentioned. We’ll encourage him to do so, anyway.”

Arnsberg Park… It hadn’t been her first choice for a meeting location. Too open and insecure. Countless opportunities for this Russell person to hide his colleagues in the forested area around the park and attempt to ambush them. To reassure herself, Riza immediately catalogues the weaponry she had brought along. 1873 Buntline Target in her purse, Akdal Ghost TR-01 and Alfa-Proj Model 3520 in her bag, knife in her left boot, Colt Detective Special in her right.

Colonel Mustang bursts out laughing. “I think the encouragement won’t involve what you have in mind, Elizabeth.”

Riza feels her face warm slightly. “How did you know?”

Colonel Mustang taps his forehead. “Oh, you get this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes when you think about your favorite things,” he says. “Just like a woman in love.”

“Similar to the look you get when you’re supposed to be working, but you’re thinking about going out drinking with Colonel Hughes and then toilet-papering senior leaderships’ houses afterwards?”

“...Yes.”

Riza sighs. “It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“Really, Elizabeth,” Colonel Mustang sniffs. “It’ll be the most fun we’ve had in a long while. I promise you that.”

-

The train ride to Maastritcht takes them two and a half hours north. Riza reads a novel, the latest in The Cases of Eddie Drake series. Breda had lent her the first book in the series last year, and she had read the next six in a matter of months. Colonel Mustang sits beside her and reads over her shoulder, claiming that he can’t work in a moving train because it gives him motion sickness. (“Rhys, that is obviously a lie. You’re reading right now.”)

It is dark and snowing when they disembark. Thankfully, the snow isn’t as heavy nor is the air as cold as it is in Briggs. Maastritcht is a truly tiny town that reminds Riza of where she had grown up. She looks around, committing the streets and shops around them to memory, forming a mental map. She is so preoccupied that she doesn’t notice Colonel Mustang take her arm at first.

Riza glances up at him. “You’re restricting my movement in case of an emergency, Rhys.”

The colonel scoffs. “As if you wouldn’t be able to shake me off and arm yourself in an instant. Besides…” He gestures to the empty streets. “I think chances are low that there will be an emergency.”

Riza doesn’t shrug him off. His warmth is welcome on this cold night. And it feels good to be walking with him like this. For a little while, she can pretend. They can pretend.

For the first time, she divorces herself from her discomfort at this situation and thinks of it through Colonel Mustang’s - Roy’s - eyes. If he does have feelings for her… To content himself with takeout dinners while working late, the contact of sitting close to one another in a crowded booth while out to dinner with their colleagues, the brief moments of intimacy while on an undercover mission…

These must be small, hollow comforts for him. Scraps, to someone who longs for a meal. Despite the confusion and frustration she’s felt over the last several weeks, her heart goes out to him.

Riza holds his arm a little tighter, ignoring the voice in her head that warns her that she is playing a dangerous game.

They reach their inn a little while later. It is small and plain and smells faintly of cabbage. Still, Riza breathes a sigh of relief at being inside from the cold, blowing on her hands to warm them as Colonel Mustang picks up the key to their upstairs room from the front desk.

“I hope it’s warmer in our room,” he says. “I know that we’re quite far north, but this is unseasonably cold.”

“At least it’s not as bad as Briggs.”

“Of course it’s not, since General Armstrong isn’t here.” Colonel Mustang shudders. “That terrifying woman… I’m so glad our Major Armstrong has a more amiable personality.”

“I think she’s an inspiring leader,” Riza defends. “And she gave me a few valuable lessons in hand-to-hand combat.”

Colonel Mustang opens the door to their room and flicks on the light, and Riza trails off as they enter. The tiny size of the room doesn’t give her pause, or the threadbare covers and rug. The single bed does.

“Oh,” Colonel Mustang says, lost for words for once in his life, as he shuts the door behind them. “Well, I can sleep on the floor.”

“Nonsense,” Riza says briskly, recovering. “You’re my commanding officer. I’m happy to give the bed to you.”

“That wouldn’t be chivalrous of me at all.” The colonel shrugs off his coat and drops his bag to the ground, placing the room keys on the battered nightstand beside the door. “I suppose we’ll have to share, then.”

Riza can’t help but shoot a suspicious glance his way, and Colonel Mustang raises his hands as if to defend himself. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, Elizabeth.”

“The things I would do to you, if they wouldn’t be considered insubordination…” Riza mutters.

Colonel Mustang grins, and Riza has to shove her hands into her pockets to keep from punching him in the arm. “You know what I meant!”

“Regrettably, I do.” Colonel Mustang rolls his eyes. “Every now and then when I do dishes, I still remember you splashing the dirty dishwater at me as retaliation for making some bad joke or another.”

“You deserved it. Every time. And you still do.”

They should wash up and go to bed. They’re on an assignment for work, after all. Besides, she should take Colonel Mustang to the park well before their noon meeting time to scope it out. Instead Riza sits down beside him on the bed, and they reminisce until he falls asleep, leaning back against the headboard, fully clothed.

Riza eases him down into a more comfortable position, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his back, and draws the comforter around him. It’s all so intimate, but this isn’t the first time that she’s tucked Colonel Mustang into bed. This is, however, the first time he’s been sober.

She looks down at him. He frowns in his sleep as he usually does, lines appearing on his forehead. Riza reaches down and smooths them away, a feather-light touch. She remembers herself, then, and jerks back, as if burned.

She gets ready for bed as quietly as possible and lies down with her back to Colonel Mustang, her hands pressed underneath her pillow. Even though she is exhausted, even though her work day had started seventeen hours ago, it takes an eternity for her to fall asleep.

-

The operation the next day goes flawlessly. Russell is an excellent information broker, and he introduces them to one of his colleagues. Best of all, the two of them seem trustworthy enough, and nothing untoward happens.

After the meeting, both of them return to their room in the inn. They sit down on the bed, facing one another, and begin to work.

Riza prefers exact transcriptions of conversations, as they are valuable to review after the fact and spot inconsistencies or untruths, while Colonel Mustang prefers detailed summaries. Honed after years of practice and lessons with Falman, Riza’s memory allows her to more or less transcribe the entire conversation. She does so, reciting the words softly to herself as she writes fast, in the secret shorthand their unit had developed. As she talks, he summarizes, adding notes and action items for when they return to East City and next time work takes them to Central.

Though she’s no stranger to this kind of work, by the time they’re finished, Riza’s mouth is dry and her hands ache. She massages her writing hand. “Done,” she says.

“We’ll have a lot of interesting leads to pursue next time we’re in Central,” Colonel Mustang replies. His gaze lingers on her hands. “Have I overworked you, Elizabeth?”

“Never. Though I wouldn’t turn down something to drink.”

Colonel Mustang stands and offers her a hand. “I’ll do you one better and get dinner for us.”

Night had fallen while they had been at work, but at least the bar is just a couple of streets away. It’s small, dimly lit, smoky, and crowded, though they find a small booth at the back. Riza is torn, as she always is in a crowded area. More people means more potential threats to assess. But the many intermingling conversations and raised voices around them, and the music playing from a gramophone nearby, ensures privacy and the ability to speak without being overheard, within reason.

She leans back into the booth, looking around at their surroundings, identifying potential emergency exits, until Colonel Mustang arrives. He holds a couple of beers and their food, having some difficulty balancing it all. “Sorry, they didn’t have your preferred drinks,” he says, setting the items down on the table and sliding in beside her. “But I thought this would make up for it.”

Riza brightens, leaning over their food and taking a deep breath in. They hadn’t had lunch due to the noon meeting with the broker, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. “Chicken pot pie,” she says. “Just like we used to do for New Year’s.”

“I know we’re a couple of months early,” Colonel Mustang says, passing her a fork. “But it seemed appropriate, considering our conversation yesterday.”

“It’s perfect.”

They dig into the pie, and when it’s finished, Colonel Mustang raises his glass to her. “To a successful weekend away,” he says, giving her the smile that always makes her melt. “Thank you for accompanying me, Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Rhys.” Riza clinks her glass against his, and curses herself for the could-be-construed-as-flirtatious reply. This is why she hates going undercover with him.

She expects some sort of smart comment from him in reply. Instead, Colonel Mustang takes a long draft of his beer, and sets the glass down on the splintering table somewhat harder than necessary. “I went on a date last weekend,” he says, staring down into the glass.

“I know,” Riza replies, slightly thrown by the non sequitur. “You came over to my place afterwards and insisted that I help you with the notes.” He had brought her food, too - an extra steak and salad, and piece of tiramisu, from the restaurant where he and Camilla had met.

“Yeah.” Colonel Mustang runs a hand through his hair. “I focused as best as I could. It was basically a work meeting, after all. But there was this one moment, where I was distracted - and I realized I hadn’t been on a real date in years. Not since before Ishval.”

Riza nods. “It’s been the same for me,” she confesses, and Colonel Mustang looks at her out of the corner of his eye. She has the feeling that he’s surprised, but pleased, to hear it.

“There’s just no time,” he says.

“Yes,” Riza agrees, guarded. “There’s no time for it at all.”

“Besides, it wouldn’t feel right.” Colonel Mustang takes a deep breath, and turns to face her.

“Sir,” Riza whispers, slipping out of their cover, hoping the reminder of her station and his will be enough to derail him. Her shoulders tense. “Please don’t.”

“Getting to know someone,” Colonel Mustang begins, ignoring her. “Is like learning a new language, or starting out on a long journey. Don’t you think so? There’s so much to learn about them. There’s so much they have to learn about you.”

“Rhys--”

“I think of starting from the beginning, with someone, and it doesn’t feel right,” he says. There’s a slightly pained look on his face. “Not when there’s someone who already knows me so well, that I know so well. Someone I can read just by looking into her eyes. Noticing the way she’s standing or the expression on her face.”

“You have to,” Riza says, in a hushed voice.

“I can’t,” Colonel Mustang says tersely. “How could I try to form another relationship with a clear conscience, when I compare every woman to you, and find them lacking in every way?”

Riza swallows over her dry throat, suddenly lost for words. He takes advantage of that, and places his hand on hers - her fingers tightly interlaced in front of her - and she almost jumps. “Your intelligence, skill, compassion, empathy, loyalty, devotion,” Colonel Mustang continues quietly, and a fraction of a smile touches his lips. “Your looks. Damn it, Elizabeth, I trust you with my life, to always look out for me, and I know you have the same trust in me. How is anybody else supposed to compete with that?”

Riza pulls her hands away. “Find a way,” she says, blinking away angry tears. Damn him for doing this to her, for putting both of them in this position.

“The reason I’ve been so bold with you is because I believe you share my feelings. Do you?” he presses. “If you don’t, I’ll never say a word about this again. We’ll pretend it never happened.”

She should lie, but she’s never been able to lie to him. Besides, lying goes against their code of conduct with one another. “Yes,” Riza whispers bitterly. “I do.”

Colonel Mustang studies her with that intense, unblinking stare he fixes on problems that must be solved. “Then can you tell me, honestly, that you believe what you were just saying earlier? That you’d be completely unaffected by another woman being as important a part of my life as you are?”

Riza averts her eyes, refusing to answer. Colonel Mustang sighs. “I know that I would loathe it, if I had a rival for your time, attention, emotions… Just the thought actually drives me insane.”

Riza tilts her head back, willing the tears to stop welling in her eyes. She had dreamed of Roy confessing his feelings to her for a good part of her teenage years. This is coming years too late.

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, re-focusing on the present. “Whatever we feel for each other. The anti-fraternization law prevents us from becoming involved on any level more than the professional. Even more so because you’re my commanding officer - you’d be court-martialed and I’d be dishonorably discharged.”

“Yes,” Colonel Mustang says. “If we’re caught.”

Riza stares at him, aghast. “You’re not saying…”

He leans back against the booth, trying to affect his usual, casual posture, but she can see how tense his shoulders are, the white in his knuckles as he grips his glass. “I am,” he replies.

Riza shakes her head. “The consequences are too severe. They would shatter the goal we’ve committed ourselves to.”

Colonel Mustang actually smirks a little. “Then we just have to avoid getting caught, don’t we?”

“I can’t believe you’re being so cavalier about this, sir,” Riza hisses, her voice barely audible over the music still playing and the conversations around them.

The levity fades from the colonel’s expression. “If you knew how many hours, how many sleepless nights, I’ve spent thinking about this, you wouldn’t throw such an unjust accusation at me.”

They stare at each other, at an impasse. “I won’t settle for less than you,” Colonel Mustang says softly, finally. “I refuse to. And you and I are going to be by one another’s sides for the long term. Years. Decades. We can’t keep dancing around this and contenting ourselves with half measures. Neither of us will be truly happy. And neither of us will be truly happy with someone else.”

“That’s part of the reason why I’m so concerned,” Riza murmurs. “I’ve committed to serve by your side until you reach your goal--”

“And after I’ve attained it.”

“It could take years, or decades, as you’ve said.” Riza pauses. “If we begin--” she whispers, almost shuddering at how tawdry it sounds, how unlike her, “--an affair, and it ends, especially if it ends poorly - that jeopardizes the working relationship that is so precious to us, that we value so much.”

“Ah, Elizabeth.” To her surprise, Colonel Mustang - Roy, there’s no point in continuing to think of him only as Colonel Mustang now that he’s smashed the barriers she had put up so thoroughly - smiles tenderly at her. “I don’t think we have to worry about that.”

It takes her a moment to catch his meaning, and when she does, she blushes. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“Well, yes. Have you met me?” Roy puts his hand on hers again. This time, Riza can’t bring herself to pull away. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he says quietly. “No matter what you may think, I haven’t deluded myself about any of this. There will be a lot that we have to worry about. It will be very difficult. It won’t look like a normal relationship. But that is one thing you don’t have to be concerned about.”

Riza stares at their hands on the table, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what has happened tonight. Her insides literally ache with turmoil. Don’t, every sensible part of her is screaming. It’s her job to keep Roy out of trouble, after all. He might be hurt if she turns him down now, but it will be for the best.

If they go through with this, it will be a terrible and unnecessary complication in her life. In both of their lives. It is just asking for disaster. It’s unprofessional. She had been the most accomplished student in her year at the academy; she’s the best sniper in the country. She is not the kind of officer that screws her commander.

Riza closes her eyes, feeling the weight of Roy’s eyes on her, trying to block out the rest of the distractions and stimulation around her.

It’s the lyrics coming through the gramophone that crumble her resolve, longing and plaintive, a repeated refrain, if you were mine--

Riza opens her eyes, takes Roy by the lapels of his coat, pulls him close, and kisses him.

They had shared kisses every New Year, when she had been fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. Every year, they would walk into town to attend the celebration and watch the fireworks. She still remembers it like it was yesterday; that first year, standing in the crowd, suddenly surrounded by laughing children and kissing couples.

I guess it’s some kind of tradition.

For good luck, Roy had replied, and before she could react, he leaned in and kissed her.

They never kissed again, or talked about it, until the next year’s celebrations. The same was true in the year after that. Every kiss had been a little longer than the year before. There was the unspoken understanding between them that it was inappropriate. Her father would have been enraged if he found out, and would have ended Roy’s apprenticeship. Even back then, though, when she knew so little and had just been an inexperienced girl, it felt right. Natural. Perfect, for all of those few, fleeting moments. She had never wanted it to stop.

It feels just as right now, but different.

Instead of holding back, Roy makes a small, involuntary sound against her lips and reaches out, running his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head in his hand, and the touch makes Riza shiver. He kisses her hard, hungrily, like he’s finally getting something he had been starved of. She unclasps her hands from his coat, flattening her palms and running them up to his shoulders. It feels surreal, to be touching him like this, to feel the warmth of his mouth on hers, the strength of his shoulders underneath her hands. It feels amazing and surreal that it is happening in real life, after all the countless times she’s spent dreaming about it.

Riza presses her hands against his chest, gently pushing him back. “I think we should leave,” she says quietly, in response to the question in his eyes.

Roy smiles at her. “You’re always full of good ideas, Elizabeth.”

They leave the bar hand-in-hand, and it feels so good to do that openly. Riza has no illusions that this can never happen when they’re back home and back to their normal lives. She savors the warmth of Roy’s hand in hers.

It’s snowing hard outside, the snowflakes powdering their coats within moments, standing out sharply against Roy’s dark hair. He looks at her, and then actually stops in the middle of the road, cups her face in both of his hands, and kisses her again.

“What was that for?” Riza asks, breathless, when they emerge from the embrace.

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes. We shouldn’t be so frivolous.”

Roy laughs at her straight-faced retort. “It doesn’t snow in East City or Central,” he points out. “And we don’t go to Briggs often. I figured I should kiss you in the snow while we have the chance.”

Riza sighs, but she can’t keep the smile off her face. “You’re such a romantic.”

They stop every half block to steal kisses. Briefly, they stumble into an alleyway, Riza’s hands firm as she pushes him against the stone wall. They dart back out just as quickly when a fox trots from the depths of the alley, emanating a series of disturbing, shrieking calls, which makes Roy yelp and jump half into Riza’s arms.

The inn’s front desk is empty. After looking back and forth to see if there is anyone else in the vicinity, Roy sweeps her up into his arms.

“Do you see a fox?” Riza asks, nudging him in the side. “You know, I can still walk.”

Roy frowns down at her with mock seriousness. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time--”

Riza feels a momentary thrill at the fact that she hadn’t been the only one who has wanted this for so long. “Undoubtedly, while you were supposed to be working.”

“Irrelevant,” Roy says nonchalantly. “Now, my dear Elizabeth, let me live out the fantasy properly.”

“As you wish, Rhys.”

Roy carries her back to their room, unlocks the door, and Riza kisses him as he gently sets her back on her feet. She feels a vague sensation of surprise that she isn’t nervous at all, even though she’s never done this before. And she isn’t nervous about tomorrow morning. There is no fear of awkwardness, of things between them being ruined. She trusts him, them, with that, with the same certainty that they trust each other with everything.

“Riza,” Roy murmurs, sliding her coat off, caressing the curve of her waist, her hips. But it’s the sound of her name on his lips that makes her gasp. “No titles. No cover names. Not here. Please.”

“Roy,” Riza whispers, testing it out on her lips, and in her mind. The lines, the boundaries, were already blurred. After tonight, they will be broken beyond repair.

She locks the door with a soft click.

-

When you guys eventually hook up, are you afraid that it won’t live up to your expectations?

That will never happen, Rebecca.

Okay, fine. If you guys ever hook up, are you afraid that it won’t live up to your expectations? Since you’ve wanted it for so long?

...I’ve never thought about that.

You know, I can tell when you’re lying to me.

I wasn’t lying. I meant that I never even considered that it wouldn’t be what I imagined.

Oh, Riza. You’ve got it so bad.

-

Sex feels just as right as having Roy’s back, as working with him, as kissing him. In so many ways, the course of her life has shifted in parallel to his. Growing up, she had always assumed she would become a teacher, but then she had enlisted in the military academy because of his vision of protecting the people of Amestris as a soldier. Continued serving after the horror of Ishval because of him. Working by his side has shaped her entire professional career and adult life.

The famous Hawk’s Eye. I heard you’ve turned down two promotions in favor of staying on Mustang’s team, General Armstrong said, when they had met, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Such devotion.

It feels natural to share this with him, as well.

-

They linger over breakfast the next morning at Maastricht’s sole, small cafe. Roy holds her hand the entire time. Both of them have to eat their eggs and bacon one-handed, which is ridiculous, but Riza doesn’t complain. They look into each other’s eyes and neither of them has to say that this kind of openness won’t, can’t, happen again.

-

to be continued

-

[sarah-sandwich]

Prompt list from @peachycottagecore​! I’ll be posting using #cottagetober2020 if anyone wants to join in or follow along!

Day 1: Sleeping In - Ned (714 words - I tried 😅)

The TV is scrolling through the Netflix screensaver when Ned wakes up. He shifts and under his pillow a chip bag crinkles, shattering the cozy quiet.

“Finally.”

He blinks the fuzz from his eyes and spots MJ in a tiny oasis of clean floor with a book open in her lap. It’s the same one she’s been carrying around at school all week. She’s probably read it half a dozen times by now. Either she loves it or she’s hate-memorizing it so she can destroy anyone who tries to defend it with terrifying accuracy and painstaking detail. He’s not dumb enough to ask which one.

Peter might have yesterday at lunch if the bewildered expression Ned clocked from across the cafeteria is any indication. He took one look at Peter’s alarmed posture and MJ’s intense expression as she delivered her sermon and wisely chose to sit with Betty, Cindy, and Abe with his back to their ordeal. Yes, Peter is his best friend and yes, MJ is his other best friend but there’s nothing wrong with a little change of pace every now and again. Besides, if Peter can’t handle his girlfriend’s interests then they’ve got more problems than Ned’s presence can fix.

“You’ve been asleep forever,” MJ complains, marking her page with the same receipt she’s been using as a bookmark since Peter took her on a date to the new book café in Brooklyn two months ago, the paper long since worn soft and the ink faded to near illegibility.

“Time is it?” he mumbles, scrubbing the grit out of his eyes.

“Almost noon. May’s been in a few times but she didn’t want to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

Peter is passed out between them, sprawled on his belly, jaw hanging open, and snoring lightly as drool soaks into the pizza box under his cheek. They all have an unspoken agreement to never wake Peter if they can help it. The idiot never takes care of himself.

He sits up and chip crumbs fall from his shirt into the folds of blanket that was tossed over him and Peter sometime during the night, or rather, the wee hours of the morning. He brushes them away absently and pats around for his phone.

“Have you eaten?”

“Only the last of the gummy bears.”

He shoots her a betrayed look and she smiles, thin-lipped and sarcastic.

“Any pizza left?”

She snorts and casts a pointed look at Peter. “With the bottomless pit around? Doubtful.”

“Point. Cereal? I can show you the changes me and Peter made to our island.”

“More changes?” She rolls her eyes as she rises to her feet, all long limbs and sharp angles. “I swear every time I come over here it’s like a brand new island.” She steps over Peter, careful of his hidden limbs under the blanket and sticks out a hand to help him up. “You guys didn’t get rid of Sherb, right?”

“Of course not,” he says as she hauls him up. “We know he’s your boy. We did put in a waterfall though.”

“Another one? You have an obsession.”

“They’re classy!”

An hour later, empty cereal bowls added to the collection of detritus littering the Parker living room, Peter finally wakes up in the middle of their argument about whether they should invite the creepy rat to live on their island.

“He freaks me out!”

“He’s interesting,” MJ counters. “This place needs some livening up. Where’s the drama? It’s not realistic.”

“It’s not supposed to be!”

“Your idealistic fantasy island is boring, Nedward. Invite the rat or I’ll tell Betty you still have feelings for her.”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

“Okay, fine. I wouldn’t,” she admits. “We need a tie breaker.”

They look down at Peter in unison and he feigns sleep a moment too late.

“Tell him to invite the rat, Peter. Everyone here is too nice.”

“The rat is sus! Look at his creepy clown make up!”

“Uhhh…” Peter glances between them and then leaps to his feet. “Gotta pee!”

MJ hurls an empty soda can at his retreating form.

“Coward!” Ned shouts.

The bathroom door slams. They look at each other.

“Invite the rat and I’ll tell you my secret strategy in Among Us.”

“Deal.” He invites the rat.

[mandy23bwrites]

I Don’t Wanna Be Your Friend (I Wanna Kiss Your Lips)

It came to my attention recently that there are no Iden Versio x Reader fics. So here’s my little attempt to rectify that because as cute as she is with Del, sometimes I want this badass lady all to myself.

Fandom: Star Wars, Battlefront II

Character/Pairing: Iden Versio (Imperial) x Reader

Tags/Warnings: Gender Neutral Reader, Swooning, Kissing

Disclaimer: 1) Title is lyrics from the song “i wanna be your girlfriend” by girl in red. 2) I have not read “Battlefront II: Inferno Squad” yet. This is based solely on the campaign of “Star Wars: Battlefront II”

Word Count: 1551

Summary: No one can get you to melt like Iden Versio. Being around her in the presence of others is hard enough but alone? It’s even worse. And then she does something unexpected...

Readable on AO3 here

“Officer!”

You look up to see a black helmet hurtling at you. You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, your arms instinctually flying up to lessen the blow. There’s a ‘thump’ but no impact and after a moment, you peer around your hands to find the helmet has stopped mere inches from hitting you. Your stomach drops to see that it was caught by none other than Commander Iden Versio, the very woman you’ve been crushing on for months now. She’s glaring in the direction of Agent Hask who pays no notice to what he’s done, quickly stripping off his armor and throwing it on your work table.

“I’ll be back to pick these up later,” he says offhandedly, not even bothering to look in your direction. You reach out and take the helmet from Iden’s hand as you both watch Hask retreat.

“Thank you, Commander,” you murmur, glancing at her. 

She gives you a curt nod. “You’re welcome.” Turning away, she walks over to one of your cabinets and pulls out your polishing equipment as Agent Meeko joins you.

Occupying a small room off the ship's armory, you’re part of the uniform and armor division, tasked with making sure the officers are presentable and the troopers are ready for battle. However, your acute attention to detail meant you had been promoted to the status of a specialist, focusing on the uniforms and armor of the elite. And some of those elite are the Inferno Squad. 

Troopers almost always polished their own armor, very particular about how it was done. Unfortunately, when you had offered to polish Iden’s armor after a particularly brutal mission where she had broken her arm, Agent Hask had been in earshot and decided it was a generalized, long term offer. Now, every time they returned from a mission, Hask dumped his armor on you to repair and polish, not to be bothered to do it himself. So what had started as trying to do a favor for the woman you liked had turned into an unnecessary chore. 

It wasn’t too bad though. Agent Meeko had been around a couple of times when Hask dropped his armor off and began sticking around to polish his armor while you worked on his squadmate’s. You hadn’t realized how lonely your work could be until you befriended Del. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Whether it was venting, joking, or gossiping, you and Del had spent several hours bonding over swapped stories. And then Iden began to join you. Apparently, Del had mentioned you enough times that she was curious to see who he was spending time with.

Now you were almost never alone when tasked with after-mission polishing and repairs. Del was a comforting presence but Iden… she could put your stomach in knots with the mere sound of her voice. She wasn’t much to talk but when she did, you hung onto every word. Her tone deep and rich, sending shivers down your spine. You may have been captured by her attractiveness at first but learning how persistent, brave, and intelligent she was had you swooning even harder. 

You were absolutely certain that the entire damn Empire knew about your crush, especially the commander herself (which was mortifying in itself), due to the way you frequently stumbled over your words or blushed vibrant red in her presence. It got even worse when it was just the two of you, and it looked like that’s how today was going to be.

Del is somber as he enters, barely able to meet your eyes; it’s a sure sign that he needs to process the latest mission alone. You give him a gentle smile that he tries to return. He trudges over to where Iden is, grabs a couple of things, and gives a small wave as he too exits.

And so you’re left alone with Iden. You watch as she finishes grabbing equipment. It’s hard to decipher what’s going on in her head; her stoicism made her hard to read but something seems off about her too. You know you aren’t going to get much conversation out of her today.

She settles on the opposite side of your work table and you both begin to work in silence. Awkwardness hangs in the air like a thick smog but you didn’t know what to say without embarrassing yourself. When you’re wiping down the helmet’s visor, Iden sets her own helmet down with a ‘thud’ and looks up at you. Your stomach twists as you meet her piercing gaze. She looks almost... vulnerable... as you take her in up close.

“Can you talk about something? Anything.”

You nod and after a fair bit of stuttering, you decide to tell her how Ensign Roe had completely mixed up an order of rank insignia plaques and now you have the painstaking job of trying to sort it out. And how you need to make Director Krennic a new cape because he insisted he couldn’t go another rotation in a cape that was beginning to fray. After that, you catch her up on the newest gossip circulating, especially the latest scandal where Lieutenant Inji’s two girlfriends had not only found out about each other and dumped him but then started dating each other.

All the while she listens intently; buffing, painting, sealing her armor. Then you tell her how some of the officers thought it would be funny to send a poor new transfer down a garbage chute and you’re seriously considering just launching the uniform out of an airlock if you aren’t able to get the smell out. 

She rewards you with a laugh and you beam. By then you’re both finished and Iden doesn’t look as wary as she had before. You simultaneously push back your chairs and begin to pack up the kits in a silence that’s much more comfortable than it was before. It’s a routine you’re both familiar with, taking only a couple moments to clear the table. When a couple bottles remain on the table, you break the quiet air.

“I can handle the rest from here, Commander; why don’t you go rest while you have some time off? I’m sure they’ll be assigning you to a new mission soon enough.” She gives you a half-smile and nods, turning back to her armor. Grabbing the last few polish bottles, you walk over to the cabinets and tuck them into their spots. You hear shuffling behind you and assume Iden’s grabbed her gear and snuck out. But when you turn around, she’s right there, inches away.

You gasp and take a step back, directly into the cabinets. You back presses into cool metal, heart pounding. Before you get a chance to wonder if she’s a threat to you, she takes a slow step into your space and places her hands on either side of your head. 

“C-commander?” She leans in close, a smirk playing across her lips. Her eyes are locked with yours until they slowly drift downwards. She tilts her head and it feels like your fantasies are becoming reality as Iden Versio kisses you.

You’re shocked, unable to move as a deep blush sets in. She pulls away, brown eyes gauging your reaction.

“Iden…” you breathe her name and surge forward, capturing her lips with yours. 

She hesitates, as if to collect herself, then quickly regains control over you (which you’re more than happy to allow). She moves her hands to grip your waist and pulls your body into hers as your kisses grow in enthusiasm. You grab fistfuls of her flight suit sleeves, trying not to shake under her touch. 

You had often wondered what kissing Iden would be like; would she be aggressive or gentle? Every stroke of her tongue erases the word ‘gentle’ from your mind. Forcing her knee between your thighs, you gasp and she takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw, pulling an involuntary whimper from you. 

It’s when she moves her attention to your neck that you hear the steady thump of approaching boots and you tear yourselves apart. She bolts towards her armor and you whip open a cabinet behind you to try and look busy.

Agent Hask walks in, oblivious to what he’s just interrupted.

“These good to go?” He asks, gesturing to his armor. You’re doing your best to hide behind the cabinet door so you’re mostly obscured, quite sure you’re once again completely red in the face. 

“Yep, it’s all ready!” You manage to choke out. He raises an eyebrow at your strained response but says nothing as he collects his things and begins to walk away. Stopping in the doorway, he turns back momentarily.

“Oh, Iden; the Admiral wants to do a mission recap with you ASAP.”

“Understood.” She begins to gather her own armor and you’re left watching them leave, still reeling from what just happened. How can she be so composed after that?! You suppose that’s why she’s special forces and you’re not, especially since your legs now feel like they’re made of gelatin.

Before she leaves your sight, Iden looks over her shoulder and flashes you with a smirk, leaving you to wonder what the hell the future is going to hold the next time she pays you a visit...

[nellievances]

bursting at the seams

part two to this fic

When Steve enters the hospital’s physical therapy ward the next week, he asks the receptionist for Nora. The woman gives him a hard time and Steve finds himself longing for Billy’s charm, always able to swoon even the most stubborn of women, when, like a miracle, Nora walks out from the back, eyes scanning the reception area. Her eyes widen when she sees Steve.

“Did you leave Billy on the sidewalk?” She asks, standing on the tops of her toes to peer over Steve’s shoulder. Steve rolls his eyes as Nora’s gaze returns to him.

“Seriously. Where is he?” Nora asks, arms folding across her chest.

“Billy has therapy on Fridays. It’s only Tuesday,” Steve defends, looking down at the brunette in front of him.

Nora’s face scrunches in confusion. “Billy has therapy twice a week. Tuesdays and Fridays,” she states slowly, as if this is information Steve already knew.

“Since when?” Steve gapes.

“Since always,” Nora rebuts. “Billy always said you were working; Neil’s brought him every time.”

Steve lets out a huff of air through his nose, clearly upset by the update, and Nora’s brow furrows. “You didn’t know?”

Steve shakes his head as Nora continues. “I - I thought you would know. I thought you knew.”

“He’s only supposed to be here once a week,” Steve seethes through clenched teeth. “His doctor said once a week.”

“If that’s true, Neil’s getting terrifyingly good at forging doctor’s notes,” Nora replies, arms crossing over her chest. “Look, I like it about as much as you do but Billy probably lied to protect you. It’s fucking miserable in there, even without Neil hounding into him.”

“Neil sits in on his sessions?” Steve asks, panic building up under his throat and into his voice. Neil was strict before Billy had taken the Mindflayer on with his bare hands; he can’t imagine how tough he’s being on Billy now, especially if his recovery isn’t progressing as quickly as he wants it to.

“Listen, we both know this isn’t why you came here,” Nora states. “I have an appointment in less than five minutes, so whatever you’re going to ask me about, you better be quick.”

Steve swallows hard. He was here about Billy, wanted to ask about his progression -- his healing -- wanted to know how he could help, but circumstances have changed. This new information has left his head spinning and he scrambles to pull a thought forward. “How was your... meeting with Robin?”

Nora’s eyebrows nearly disappear behind her hairline. “Oh, I know that’s not why you’re here,” she snaps. She’s right, Steve thinks. Robin had called him seconds after Nora dropped her off at home, detailing their entire date and goodbye kiss in the front seat of Nora’s car in painfully explicit detail. He knows just how well it went already.

Before Steve can fumble for another response, the front door bell chimes, alerting them of a new visitor. Steve’s thankful for the interruption for only a split second, before Nora gasps, eyes widening.

Steve turns around to see what she’s seen and feels his stomach plummet into the base of his sneakers. Neil shoves Billy through the doors roughly and Billy staggers at the motion, already unsteady on his feet. He keeps his face to the ground but Steve can see his split lip and the angry purple bruise forming on Billy’s cheekbone. He’s limping, practically dead on his feet, as Neil puts a rough hand on the back of Billy’s neck. He has total control of his son, Steve thinks, as Neil smiles coldly at Nora.

“I thought I put in a request for a replacement nurse,” Neil says, voice just as cold as his stare, and Steve nearly gapes at his audacity. Nora takes it in stride, beaming at him.

“It must not have gone through,” she says sweetly. She turns to Billy now, face morphing into something more gentle. “Billy, you look a little... rough today. What happened?”

“He fell,” Neil says. “Looks like your exercises aren’t doing much.”

“I asked Billy,” Nora says instantly, looking up at Neil and returning his cold gaze. She turns back to Billy, expression gentle once again. “Did you fall, Billy?”

Steve watches Neil’s grip tighten on the back of Billy’s neck as Billy nods quickly. Steve’s fingers curl into fists at his sides; he’d kill Neil right here and now if there weren’t so many authority figures around him. Hopper’s still recovering himself and, until he’s back to the force, Steve has to be careful of the fights he picks. Nora looks over at Steve, expression horrified, and Neil’s eyes follow her, eyes narrowing when he sees Steve.

“Steve Harrington, is it?” He asks.

Billy looks up at his name and Steve can see the relief that floods across his features, eyes glistening with unshed tears, before Neil tightens his grip again. Billy’s face shifts to something unreadable and he stares back at the floor, bowing his head. Steve wants to reach forward and hold him. He wants to take Billy away from Neil’s grip and promise him that he’ll never touch Billy again. Steve’s fingers itch at his sides.

“Steve’s our newest nurse in training!” Nora spouts out quickly and Steve’s insides flood with relief. He knows what she’s doing. “He’s with our program at the community college; he’s been helping me with my patients all day.”

“Nursing is a job for faggots,” Neil says, gaze flickering to Steve.

Steve’s fingers curl in tighter, fingernails pressing into the beds of his palms. Billy’s head bows even further, shame written clear in his posture, and Nora’s jaw clenches.

“Steve’s much stronger than us women,” she says. Each word is painful; Steve can tell. “He’s a real help.”

Neil nods, once, as if her answer is satisfactory in any way, before Nora continues.

“Well, we shouldn’t waste any time,” Nora says, clasping her hands together and stepping towards Billy. “We’ve only got an hour and I’ll need to get some cream on that bruise of his.”

“You should stick to your goddamn job,” Neil hisses, yanking Billy away from her with a forceful pull. Billy groans, low in his chest, and Neil grabs his arm tightly with his other hand. Billy lets out a small gasp of pain and bites the inside of his cheek, hard, to avoid making any more noise.

“I’m a nurse. It is my goddamn job,” Nora snaps. “We don’t allow family members during training sessions. You’ll have to wait out here today, Mr. Hargrove.”

“That’s -!”

“That’s hospital policy,” Nora cuts him off, sending Steve a quick look over her shoulder. Steve steps to be by her side. He’s not even in scrubs like she is -- he doubts Neil believes a word of Nora’s excuse. His heart hammers in his chest; he’s so close to Billy, only an arms’ length away, and yet so far. “If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with our receptionist. She’ll point you to our handbook. You can read it while you wait for your son.”

Neil doesn’t say a word, just tightens his grip on the back of Billy’s neck and Billy sways on his feet. Nora steps forward, taking Neil’s silence as accepted defeat and placing an arm around Billy’s waist for support. Billy leans into her instantly and Nora sends a quick, panicked glance to Steve.

“Steve, could you get the door for us?” Nora asks. Steve can hear the panic in her voice and barely trusts his own, so he just swallows around the lump growing in his throat and nods, already moving towards the door.

“Alright, Mr. Hargrove,” Nora says, calm as she can muster. “We’ll see you in an hour.”

Neil only nods, squeezing the back of Billy’s neck and smacking Billy on the shoulder. Steve thinks it’s supposed to be a sign of encouragement, but he sees the way Billy’s knees buckle. He hears the low groan in Billy’s throat, watches the way Nora tightens her grip on Billy’s side as she guides them to the door. It’s a painstaking process, getting Billy through the doors. Steve is tempted to flip Neil off when he turns to shut the door, seeing Neil still eyeing Billy disapprovingly, but thinks better of it. He doesn’t need any more trouble.

As soon as the door shuts, Billy collapses to the mat below him, nearly taking Nora with him. Nora cries out in surprise, tumbling to her knees next to Billy.

Steve is on the ground next to Billy in the next second, cradling Billy’s head carefully in his lap. Billy whimpers, fingers curling in tight around Steve’s shirt sleeve. He buries his face in Steve’s lap, groaning as Nora places a soft hand on his torso.

“He didn’t fall,” Steve says.

“No shit, Harrington,” Nora huffs, giving him an exasperated look as her fingers curl around the bottom of Billy’s t-shirt. Billy groans, low and frightened, swatting at Nora’s hands. Nora sends Billy a frustrated look that he doesn’t see.

“Billy, I have to see,” Nora says, voice soft. “I can help but only if I know what’s wrong.”

“Let her help,” Steve whispers, hand running through Billy’s curls reassuringly. “I’m right here, baby.” Billy nods softly into Steve’s lap, face still buried in the comfort of Steve’s arms, and Steve nods once at Nora, who carefully lifts Billy’s shirt.

Steve forces himself to look away as Nora lets out a pained exhale. There are angry red welts decorating Billy’s back, most likely from Neil’s own belt, and growing bruises on his torso in the shape of bootprints. One of his injuries is bleeding through the gauze wrapped around it but, thankfully, Nora assesses that none of the stitches have torn themselves open.

“Billy, I’m sorry -- I’m almost done,” Nora says, voice choked up with the tears shining in her eyes. “I need to know if it hurts anywhere else.”

“M’ shoulder,” Billy groans. “Think it’s broken.”

Nora looks at Steve, both expressions horrified, before Nora moves to inspect his shoulder. Billy lets out a strangled cry when Nora examines his left shoulder and Nora sighs, sitting back on her heels.

“It’s not broken. I just need to pop it back into its socket,” Nora says, running a hand over her face. “And I need to re-wrap his torso.” She thinks for a moment, just letting Steve hold Billy and whisper whatever comforting things he can muster. “Can you carry him? We need to get him into an exam room. I don’t want Neil coming in here if he makes any more noise.”

Steve nods wordlessly, adjusting his arms to go under Billy’s back and knees carefully. It takes a bit of effort from Steve, with many murmured apologies when Billy groans in pain, before he gets to steady feet and nods at Nora. Billy turns, burying his face into Steve’s neck, breath warm against Steve’s skin. Steve moves his head just slightly to press a sloppy, quick kiss to Billy’s forehead before Nora swipes her badge through the door in the back, leading them down a beige hallway towards the exam rooms.

They only pass one nurse on the way and she only gives them a sympathetic smile, tutting sympathetically when she sees Billy in Steve’s arms.

Nora opens the heavy wooden door to an exam room and locks it behind her, wasting no time as she yanks a pair of latex gloves from the paper box on the counter. “I need you to set Billy on the bed there. Sit behind him; he’s gonna need somebody.”

Steve nods, setting Billy down gently on the hospital bed in front of him. The replaceable white paper crinkles under Billy’s weight and Billy whines at the lost of contact when Steve pulls away. “I’m here,” Steve whispers, taking Billy’s good hand in his and pressing a quick kiss to the digits, before slotting himself behind Billy.

“Take off your belt,” Nora commands and Steve nods, moving to take it off without a word before Billy blanches, shaking his head furiously as his eyes fill with fear.  “Fuck, Billy, I’m sorry,” Nora immediately scrambles, hands resting on his knee gently. “No one’s gonna hurt you. I’m so sorry.” 

“Please,” Billy begs, eyes wild with terror. “Don’t. Please, don’t -- please.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no one’s gonna hurt you,” Steve whispers, one arm wrapping around Billy’s torso delicately. Billy whips his head around, face panicked until he sees Steve’s face. “It’s okay,” Steve lifts his other hand to brush the curls from Billy’s face, pressing a quick kiss to Billy’s brow. “You’re safe now. I’m here. Nobody’s mad.”

Billy exhales shakily, body going lax against Steve’s hold. Steve presses another kiss to the side of Billy’s head.

Nora hands Billy a wooden tongue depressor, holding it at eye-level to his mouth. “Bite on this,” she says and Billy opens his mouth without a word, obediently biting when Nora places it between his teeth. She bends down to look at him, hands hovering over his shoulder. “I’m gonna pop your shoulder into place, okay? It’s only gonna hurt for a second and Steve is gonna be with you the whole time. Is that okay?”

Billy just nods. Steve wonders how many times he’s done this on his own. His heart sinks with the answer.

Nora places her hands on Billy’s arm and pulls. It takes two seconds. Billy bites clean through the wooden stick.

“All done!” Nora cries, dropping her hands from Billy as Billy swears loudly, spitting the pieces of the disposable decompressor onto the floor. “It’s over; we’re done.”

“No more,” Billy huffs, head lolling back to rest in the crook of Steve’s neck. He sounds exhausted. “I can’t do anymore. Hurts too much.”

Nora nods. “I just have to redress your torso. Put some ointment on. Won’t hurt at all. I promise.”

Billy falls asleep against Steve as Nora wraps what Steve measures to be his entire torso, redressing the stitches and rubbing a salve onto the fresh marks Neil’s left on him. Steve waits until Billy’s labored breath has evened out, his face softening as sleep overcomes him, to let the first of the tears building in him to fall. Nora doesn’t say anything, just squeezes his hand gently, and Steve is endlessly thankful for her.

Once she’s done, she tears off the gloves and hands Steve a prescription paper. There’s an address written on it.

“It’s my place. The spare key’s on top of the doorframe; you’ll have to jump to get it. Neil won’t know to look there.”

“But what about...?” Steve begins.

“The receptionist owes me one. I’ll have her say Susan called about some home emergency. You’ll have about twenty minutes to get him out of here. You can park your car in the diner’s lot across the street. He’ll be less likely to spot it in somewhere already crowded.”

Steve thinks he could kiss Nora, right there and then. He doesn’t; just simply thanks her and promises to himself that he’ll owe her for the rest of his life. 

Nora slips out of the exam room a few minutes later, after Steve’s shaken Billy awake and explained their plan and Nora’s hugged Billy for longer than normal. Steve helps Billy to his feet, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, when Billy speaks.

“Thanks, Harrington,” Billy mumbles, sleep still heavy in his voice. “You saved me.”

Steve’s entire heart floods with emotion. “Always, Billy. I love you,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Billy’s lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too, pretty boy.”

[bagels-and-seagulls]

davenzi headcanons + david starting uni

-matteo takes a year off from school, still deciding what he wanted to do with his life, but david goes straight from highschool into uni, knowing that he wanted to do art and film and anything that let his creativity out from under his fingertips where it felt like it was vibrating underneath his hands. he takes the basic classes that everyone has to, and he does okay in them. but he gets a quick reputation in all of his art classes that he’s one to watch out for. 

-david, having gotten over his urge to stay tucked tightly inside his shell during highschool thanks to the constant itching under his ribs caused by a certain boy, becomes involved in a variety of activities at university, and once he becomes involved in them, he becomes involved. he joins a football team and becomes the starring forward. he joins a theater group and somehow manages to director the end of the year production of Waiting for Godot. he starts a group that meets up once a month to talk about their favorite artists while working on some of their own work. it gets so popular that they have to make a waiting list after one of the professor’s pointed out they reach max occupancy like three weeks ago at that point. 

-matteo asks david to move in after they graduate, and david quickly agrees. he says it’s because matteo’s place is a couple blocks closer to school and tries to rein in his thoughts of of course i would shining boy i never want to be away from you just thinking about leaving you for even a minute makes my heart break into giant shards and only you have the right glue to put them back together because saying that feels a little too revealing for 3 in the afternoon in a random coffee shop that they stopped in. matteo didn’t even plan to ask him. he was the one who couldn’t rein in his thoughts that day and blurted out please move in with me, only stopping short of admitting that he counts the minutes until david comes back and thinks about how much of that time they could have spent memorizing each other’s souls. he then quickly tried to cover his quick thoughts up with a diversion about how with mia leaving they need someone else to help with the rent. david shuts him up with a kiss. matteo doesn’t say anything about how their places are actually equal distance from the school, and they both go home smiling so big their checks feel like they’re going to split.

-the first couple of weeks, with david’s quick ability to fit in with whichever room he walks into, matteo admits that it was a little lonely. he thought having his boyfriend share his closet and his fridge and his bed and his life in such close quarters that they would see each other so often that they might get sick of each other. it was never a serious concern for matteo because every time david is around, matteo feels like he can never get enough. david has always been his worst drug. he doesn’t tell david any of this at all though because he’s worried that he might seem too clingy or too needy and that david will think it’s not worth the trouble. hans is the one to ultimately gets it out of him, and hans is the one to try and get matteo to talk about it with david. he doesn’t which irritates hans to no end. but then hans tells him that maybe he should get some hobbies of his own if he was just going to grumble around the whole apartment about how david wasn’t home yet. hans had eyes. he knew that david wasn’t back. 

-matteo starts to accept his co-workers’ at the deli invites to hang out outside of work, and he starts to find that they’re actually kind of cool. he becomes quick friends with a girl named sofia who has the same sense of humor when it comes to memes. they send them back and forth outside of work. he’ll show them to david when david is around, and usually david will snort about it but then remind himself to ask jonas later what the references mean. matteo also joins a board game group, he doesn’t like to say the word club, at this game shop a few blocks away. he’s actually quite good at chess he realizes because no one can ever get a read on him and his strategy. the key is to have no strategy. but he also likes to play clue and risk. he feels a little less lonely while all his friends and david seem to be taking the next step in life while he’s just working to scrap by and pay his bills. 

-the two of them get into an easy flow with each other and their schedules after a month or two. david is easy to get swallowed into his studies and his projects and all the pots he tries to watch boil at once, but he promises himself to not let it go too far after he snapped at matteo when he tried to tell david he should go to bed. he had immediately tried to take it back and apologize to the boy he knew was quick to retreat and hide when people got too loud around him, but at that point, matteo’s eyes had already gone glassy and he just said whatever and went to be by himself, refusing to let david touch him the entire night even though they knew that would make them both feel better. he grovelled a little bit the next morning by cooking matteo breakfast and leaving a post-it with a doodle of david apologizing and holding flowers on matteo’s phone. he did actually get flowers that night, and matteo said it was overkill but he smiled and brought them close to his face when he thought david wasn’t looking. after that when matteo suggested david take a break or give it a rest for the night, david would listen.  

-david has a reputation around the school as being cool and suave and slightly mysterious but mostly just on a whole other plane than the rest of us with the way his mind works. his presence is magnetic, and people are always trying to get close to him to pick his brain about this or that. david gets invited to just about every event in every social circle. he’s got an in with the jocks because of football. he’s practically the leader of the theater circle, and he gets an invitation to every gallery or show opening in all of berlin it feels like. he could pencil something in for every night of the week if he really wanted to. he could even double book himself some nights, but david only really goes to like a fourth of the things that people mention because that’s about as much as matteo can handle. 

-matteo tries to go to all the football games, all the plays, all the art shows, but matteo was always a slower pace of a person. and that much activity wears him out pretty quickly. david tries to tell him that it’s okay. he doesn’t have to go to everything. david knows that he’s there in spirit and is always supporting him. matteo holds his tongue about how in spirit isn’t good enough and remembering empty stands throughout his whole childhood to the point where he wouldn’t even mention things anymore to anyone and how he never wants david to feel like that. 

-they’re pretty comfortable with going to separate parties after a while. matteo will go hang with ok.cool. or the gang at a smaller friend thing, and david will go make an appearance at one of his social events. matteo knows that david gets a lot of attention, and he really doesn't blame people that look too long in david’s direction because like he has eyes, too. he knows david is drop dead gorgeous. david just kisses his head and tells him not to worry because everyone knows that david is very off the market. and david is always quick to let people know if they ask, which most people don’t anyways because everyone can recognize what art looks like when it’s made by someone who is totally and completely madly in love. matteo is one of david’s favorite subjects after all. 

-there was this one girl who didn’t seem to know when to take a hint though. she didn’t seem to recognize that all of david’s best art pieces happened to have the same muse achingly present in the forefront with sweeps of messy hair drawn quickly in graphite and with freckles on shoulder blades perfected in painstaking detail with water color. she didn’t seem to get it when david told his actors what love should look like on stage with a deep longing that only someone who has known a true and pure affection could know. she didn’t even get it when david had politely brushed off her offer to go out together to see a new film by saying that he already had a date. it finally sunk in when she saw david at a house party half way through the spring. he was off in the corner with some guy she had never seen before. the guy was casually leaning against the wall with a goofy smile on his face, and david was leaning over him, his elbow up near the guy’s face, bracketing him into the corner, and david’s other hand on his hip. they were whispering to each other with an ease that only a couple with a resolved history and decided future would. it didn’t seem like they even knew they were at a party. they were completely ignoring everything that was happening around them. she backed off after that. the couple making out in the corner for at least an hour during the party didn’t help either. 

send me prompts

[saltnhalo]

Hello you talented fucker you! I'd like to request a mix of #13 and 'paint' as a prompt please. 😚 Thank yooooou!

“Who did this?”

Today is Castiel’s last art class with Professor Winchester.

It’s a relief to almost be done with his whole degree, but at the same time, he’s been dreading this one class for a number of reasons. Firstly, because this may well be the last time he ever sees the cute professor he’s been crushing on since almost the first day of his course, but secondly…

He’s taken a risk today, and it’s not one he’s sure will pay off.

Once he makes it to the art rooms, he carefully uncovers his canvas and sets it on an empty easel—right up the end of the row, where hopefully no-one will see it. No-one but Dean. Then he takes a seat with the rest of his classmates where, thankfully, all the canvases are turned away from them, a row of wood and white but no paint to be seen.

When Professor Winchester walks in, with his wide smile and easygoing saunter and the green eyes that Cas could stare into for hours, his heart begins to beat double-time against his ribcage. His submission for this final assignment is risky, and it has every possibility of blowing up in his face, but he’s hoping against hope that it doesn’t.

“Morning, guys!” Dean says as he drops his bag onto his desk and leans back against it. His jeans are ripped and paint-splattered and when he grins at his students, it feels like his gaze lingers on Castiel for a fraction longer than everyone else. “How are we all today?”

He gets a variety of responses in turn, but Cas stays quiet—he’s not sure that he trusts himself to speak right now. He’s too nervous.

Today’s class is a short one. It’s mostly for everyone to submit their final assignments and ask any last-minute questions about the exam, and for Dean to wrap up the class. Before he dismisses them all for the last time, though, Dean takes a moment to check out all the different canvases that have been submitted.

The directions for this assignment had simply read: paint something beautiful.

Castiel’s breath sticks in his throat as Dean peruses each canvas. The class has fallen to quietly chatting with one another while their teacher takes a moment to look at their work, but not Castiel; his eyes are firmly on Dean.

He watches as Dean’s gaze flicks from one painting, to the next, to the next.

And then he gets to the end of the row, and his gaze falls on Castiel’s canvas.

For a few seconds, Dean just stares.

He stares, and then he reaches out to touch it.

“Who did this?” he asks, and when he lifts his gaze, it lands right on Castiel. There’s no way to discern the emotion in his eyes.

There’s also nowhere to hide.

“I did,” Cas says quietly, half-raising his hand. His classmates turn to look at him, but all he can feel is the burning intensity of Dean’s gaze. He swallows.

Dean looks back down at the canvas, running his fingertips lightly along the edge of it. “Cas, could you stay back for a few minutes?” He doesn’t lift his gaze from the painting. “Everyone else, you guys are free to go.”

His classmates stare at him as they pack their stuff up and leave, talking quietly amongst themselves. Castiel just sits on his chair and stares down at the ground. He feels almost as though he’s going to be sick—there’s no way to know what Dean is going to say to him, how he’s going to react to the painting.

Once the room has emptied out, Dean picks the canvas up off the easel and carries it over to where Castiel is sitting. He pulls up a chair opposite him and sits, the bottom of the canvas resting on his thighs.

For a few long moments, no one speaks. Dean just looks at the painting in his lap, and Cas wonders if it’s possible to have a stress-induced heart attack at the age of 22.

“So this is your ‘something beautiful’, huh?”

This time, when Dean looks up, there’s a smile curling his lips. He spins the canvas around on his thighs to face Castiel, who feels his cheeks heat up.

On the canvas, painted in strokes of acrylic with such care that it looks almost perfectly lifelike, is a single green eye.

It’s half-closed and looking away to the side, framed by thick, sweeping lashes. The side of the nose can be seen, painted in less detail, as can the faint dusting of freckles beneath, but the main focus and painstaking care of the painting is that single eye.

To someone who doesn’t know Dean, it would just look like an intricately detailed painting, but for anyone who does know the art professor… The likeness is unmistakable.

“Yes,” Castiel says, softly but clearly. He made this decision three nights ago, and he’s sticking with it now. “Those eyes have been distracting me for four years now. It was all I could think of when you gave us this assignment.”

Dean’s smile widens. “And this was your way of telling me that? Go big or go home?”

“You could say that, yes.” Dean seems to be taking all of this well, and it’s bolstering Cas’s confidence, but… it’s all for nothing if he can’t take this last step. He gathers up all his courage, takes a deep breath, then asks, “Did you want to get a drink with me sometime?”

Time feels like it stands still. Dean’s eyes widen slightly, but then—

Then he grins, slow and easy and warm. “Once all your finals are over and I’m not your teacher any more? I’d fucking love to get a drink with you, Cas.”

Castiel’s answering grin must be even wider than Dean’s. “Alright then, after finals. It’s a date.”

[everlarkchristmasgifts]

Something Suspiciously Like Hope

Written for Day 2 - Secret Santa Exchanges.

Unbeta’d. Rated T for language. Enjoy :)

Peeta takes the slip of paper from his pocket and stares at the name, written in her small, careful cursive. Again. As if the writing changed from the last time he read it.

Katniss Everdeen.

The gods of Random Name Drawing have a sick sense of humour, that’s for sure.

God, what if she drew his name, too? Then what would he do? He fights back a shudder — what are the odds of that happening? — and tosses the paper in a nearby bin. It’s not like he’s ever going to forget it, anyway.

He takes stock of his very limited options as he mixes up another batch of dough for the bakery’s famous Christmas shortbreads. He can’t get her anything too impersonal. That just seems… rude. Not to mention, a gigantic lie. They’ve never been friends — hell, the slip of paper with her name on it is about the entirety of their exchanges over the years — but they’ve been in the same classes since kindergarten, so that should count for something, shouldn’t it?

But on the other hand, he can’t get her anything too… not impersonal, either. Nothing that could out the feelings he’s carried around like a backpack full of bricks for over a decade. That would be… not a gigantic lie. But also, his absolute worst nightmare come true.

He should have asked to redraw his Secret Santa when he had the chance. Knowing Ms. Trinket, though, she never would have allowed it.

There’s a tiny sliver of grey area that he can work with here. What’s the happy middle between a five-dollar café gift-card and a dozen long-stemmed red roses? Is baking her a cake from scratch too heartfelt, or just the right amount of caring and not-caring?

I put together this cake just for you, but I also work in a bakery and make literally thousands of cakes just like this one in a week, so don’t feel too special.

“Why does this have to be so hard?” he mutters to himself.

“Surely not the dough, son? You could make those cookies blindfolded by now.”

Peeta jumps maybe three feet in the air. He’d almost forgotten his father was still in here, too.

“Not the dough,” he says, shaking his head.

“What, then?” his father prods.

Peeta sighs, but there’s never been any point lying. His crush on Katniss Everdeen has been his worst-kept secret since he was five and saw her for the first time, after which he declared to everyone in earshot that he would marry her someday. If Katniss ever heard, she’s been too polite to say anything.

“A Secret Santa exchange at school. I drew Katniss.”

His father goes quiet for a minute, then asks, “Why’s that so hard?”

“What do you mean, why’s that so hard?” Peeta exclaims. “What am I supposed to do?”

His father shrugs. “I guess that depends on the sort of impression you want to make.” He dusts off his flour-covered hands and crosses his arms. “Do you really want to go about your last year at school without ever having been honest with her? Could you live with that?”

“I think I could live with it,” Peeta whispers without hesitation. “But I think I’d regret it every day, too.”

His father smiles. “Then I guess that’s your answer.”

“So, what do I give her?”

The smile spreads into a grin. “Something unforgettable.”

Peeta says nothing. Just furrows his brows and turns back to his dough, rolls it out into a thin sheet.

He has an idea. More like a sapling of an idea, really. A weedy little sapling struggling to break up into the light. It’s a ridiculous idea given that they only have until the end of the week to exchange their gifts, but he thinks he can do it. He’s got everything he needs back home, so the twenty-dollar price limit isn’t going to be an issue (or does that just make him look cheap?) and what’s more… if he plays his cards right, it will be unforgettable.

Peeta finishes his shift with a smile on his face.

XXX

The canvas barely fits inside his beat-up Corolla.

Never mind ‘unforgettable’. She’ll be lucky to ever forget him after this. The guy who made her carry a massive canvas all through the halls with her. Less of a ‘something to remember me by’, and more of a gigantic ‘screw you.’

He parks in his usual spot at school and collapses against the steering wheel. He’s gotten a collective ten hours of sleep this past week working on the damn thing, recreating the woods which border District 12 in wrenching, painstaking detail, but it’s worth it. It has to be.

A fist raps against his window. Peeta jumps high enough to hit his head on the car’s felt ceiling.

“Hey! Is that it?”

Without waiting for a reply, Finnick swings to the other side and settles himself in the passenger seat. He twists towards the back and lets out a low whistle.

“Dude. It’s huge.”

“I couldn’t do it with anything smaller,” Peeta mutters.

“Sure isn’t going to be a secret now.”

Peeta shakes his head and gets out of the car. “I never said it was going to be.”

“So… you’re going for it?” Finnick jumps out and slams the door shut. “You’re actually gonna do it?”

Peeta sucks in a deep, sharply cold breath. “I think I… maybe?”

“Peeta!” Finnick punches his shoulder. “Seriously, man? That’s awesome.”

Peeta snorts. “Yeah. Two guesses how it’ll end, though.”

“You still reckon she’ll say no?”

“I just don’t see why she’d say yes.”

“You know, Annie says she’s real nice.”

“So? I’m not after a pity date, Finn. I just… I know she’ll like this. That’s all.”

“Yeah, she will. You wanna know what I got my Secret Santa? A box of sugar cubes.”

He almost laughs. “Seriously? Why?”

“Well under the twenty-buck limit, and ‘cause Clove Andersen could stand to be a whole lot sweeter, don’t you think?”

Peeta snorts. “When she decks you, and she absolutely will, don’t expect me to step in and save the day.”

“All you’d have to do is flash that smile and she’d be off me and all over you.”

“Yeah, not really the image I’m going for right now.” Peeta pulls in another deep breath, sets a hand on the car’s roof, and nods to himself. “So, you going to help me bring this thing in or what?”

XXX

His own Secret Santa gift — from Madge, mercifully, a pair of thick, silly, reindeer-print socks — had been front and centre at the top of the pile in Ms. Trinket’s room. At the end of class, he grabbed it and bolted, the tips of his ears burning as he caught Katniss out the corner of his eye, approaching her massive gift, propped up at the back and taking up damn near half the wall, with a frown on her face. He considered for all of a nanosecond staying and waiting for her to unwrap it, just to see her face when she saw it. But that same crippling self-doubt that always seemed to afflict him around Katniss squeezed at his chest and he just… couldn’t.

God, he’s such a loser.

He plops down on a damp bench right on the far edge of the school, far enough away that the chatter and laughter from everyone else is little more than a distant echo. The cold air dusting past his face brings his thoughts into more clarity. He should have seen this coming a mile off. It happens every single time. He’s never been able to string more than five words together in Katniss’ presence; why would today be any different? Combine that with a giant, what-the-fuck of a gift, and it’s a damn wonder he was able to walk through the school gates at all this morning.

The phone in his pocket vibrates with texts he’s not sure he wants to see. Probably just Finn asking how it all went. Maybe one from his dad, too. Peeta groans and fists his hair. His own damn fault for telling everybody.

“Peeta?” a soft, smoky voice whispers behind him.

He jumps about ten feet in the air and spins to face his assailant. Katniss Everdeen, her hands tucked into the pockets of her patchy coat, staring at him with eyes as grey as the storm clouds above. An omen or not, he’s not sure.

“Katniss,” he breathes.

She smiles, the barest quirk of her lips. “I wasn’t sure you knew my name. I guess… I guess that was wrong.”

His cheeks flush as he sets himself back down on the bench. “I’ve always known who you are.”

“I’m starting to get that, yeah.” She perches herself on the bench beside him, even though there’s not a whole lot of room for them to share. Even through his thick coat, the warmth Katniss radiates is enough to make him feel like his blood is boiling.

“It’s incredible,” she blurts out before he can say anything. “I mean, I knew you were good — I think you’ve got paintings hanging in every corridor in there — but that painting is… amazing, Peeta. Really.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs.

She sets a warm hand on his forearm. The contact is like lightning beneath his skin, but it anchors him, too; this moment is real. He’s not dreaming it. And it’s fucking amazing.

“I love it,” she tells him, low and deliberate. “Thank you, Peeta.”

He clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

She lets her arm fall from his, and he misses the warmth all at once. “I kinda feel bad about what I got my Secret Santa now, though.”

“Who’d you have?” he asks.

“Delly.”

He barks out a laugh. “What did you get her?”

“A fluffy pom-pom keychain shaped like an owl. Prim picked it out. I had no idea what to get her.”

“I can tell you with absolute certainty that Delly loved it.”

She smirks. “Oh, I know she did. She jumped me right in the hallway as we were leaving and hugged me.”

Peeta smiles. “That sounds about right.”

A couple from the year below them walk by, hand-in-hand. As if by some unspoken agreement, Peeta and Katniss stay silent, their gazes trained on the ground, until the pair pass by.

When he looks up again, their faces are much closer together than they were before — or maybe they were always this close? Katniss’ cheeks are a bright, glowing pink, and she’s looking everywhere but his face.

“We should… uh, meet up, maybe?” she says, all fractured, and he thinks it fractures something in his head, too, because she cannot possibly be saying what he thinks she might be saying. “Some day during the break? I could, um… maybe show you the woods when it’s snowing, and you could paint or something? If that’s even something you wanted to see, I don’t even know if you —”

He cuts her off before she can ramble anymore, because even though it’s completely, utterly adorable, he’ll be damned if he lets her talk herself out of this now. “I’d love to come to the woods with you, Katniss,” he says, leaving no room for anything else.

“Good!” she says, a little too loudly, but Peeta’s not sure anything could beat the pounding of his heart for volume right now. She clears her throat and says, “That’s… good.”

“Yeah… good.” Damn, he’s eloquent.

“How’s Boxing Day for you?”

“Yeah… good,” he says again. Katniss lets out a tiny chuckle, one that he swears makes his heart skip a beat.

A bell goes off somewhere… the school, maybe? He’s got no way of knowing, or caring. All he gives a shit about right now is Katniss Everdeen, right in front of him, so close he could maybe kiss her if he didn’t think that would be kind of weird. Before he can move, Katniss is shouldering her bag and making her way back towards the building.

“Merry Christmas, Peeta,” she whispers, a real smile, however tiny, tipping her lips now as she walks away.

He grins what he’s sure is the dopiest, happiest grin the entire world and calls back, “Merry Christmas, Katniss.” For the first time in forever, the self-doubt doesn’t even enter his head.

In its place now is something suspiciously like hope.