#i’m a firm believer that the ‘bad’ endings and choices of this game were um… watered down in some spots

[ollypopwrites]

this was beautiful and fantastically yet so very gently dark. there’s something about emmrich slowly descending past a sweet devotion to a possessive off-putting hyper fixation in keeping Rook forever even though he knows he can’t or shouldn’t.

i won’t go on tooooo long in your notes, but yeah, no, emmrich talks about the next “new “ thing in some banter about lichdom with lucanis but that’s gonna get old for a guy who has spent most of his life pining for a “flame eternal.” it’s going to be a very harsh and long realization at some point in eternity when he understands that the only “flame eternal” he gets in his undeath is his own longing.

It is no hardship, Emmrich tells himself, to wear his face. It is his, after all. The one he was born with, the one that grew and shifted under his own patient gaze, seen in puddles, in mirrors, in the glass of a carriage window as he smoothed down his hair with the flat of his palm. A face he had stared at for far too long that first time he shaved, and again a few years later when he invited that very pretty boy out for a promenade and wanted, with all the force of a young man’s vanity, to be just as pretty himself—no hair astray, the kohl at his lower lids an almost imperceptible shadow, the perfume at his neck a whisper of carelessness, though in truth, nothing had ever been more deliberate.

For a decade now, they have called him distinguished. Before that, they called him handsome. He knows his face, likes his face. Its summoning should be no trouble at all; especially now, especially like this, stripped down to something more elemental, all ivory angles and nothing more. But Rook is uneasy. She does not say so—she is all sorry, shit, don’t mind me, fuck, fuck, I’ll get used to it, I’ll get used to it—but she is not made for the sight of bone in the dark when she wakes abruptly. He has had years to come to terms with the unmaking of his flesh. She has not.

So he does not miss his face, not really. But Rook does. And for Rook, he will pretend. 

No, he tells himself again, he does not mind. He does not. 

Lichdom, as he had once explained to her, sanded down most of his senses. Blunted them, rubbed them smooth. But in their place, others have surfaced. Senses without names, without proper edges, ones that slip through language like smoke through a cracked door. He cannot smell the perfume she wears, though he knows it is dreadful, some sticky, saccharine thing she bought in Treviso with Lucanis and spilled all over her shirt. But he can see her pleasure when she presses a little figurine into his palm, triumphant and insistent. This one, she affirms, is so much prettier than the first, and most importantly, not haunted. 

He watches her giddiness churn inside her, thick and writhing. It is purple, inexplicably. It loops and knots, wriggling sideways, swelling through her veins, a restless thing. It coils, slippery, around her heart before pouring from her mouth when she speaks. When she presses her lips to what passes for his cheek, he thinks he can taste it. Or something like tasting. As if she had chewed it to a pulp, crushed it between her molars, worked it down to something fibrous and wet and pressed it into him, like carrion slipped between teeth, offered as a gift. 

He swallows it, slow. 

Perhaps this is what purple has always tasted like. 

There are other things. Other feelings. They arrive misshapen, crawling over the edges of his thoughts, curious, pestering, impossible to ignore. They perplex him. They amuse him. And sometimes—sometimes—he wishes he felt nothing at all.

Like when she cuts herself, and he watches the blood spill, a slow, indifferent line along the curve of her arm. But it is not blood, not in the dull, medical sense. Not something as pedestrian as iron and salt. It is a ribbon, impossibly red, and he can see the rest of it coiled inside her, packed neatly away, waiting to be tugged. How much could he pull free before she wavers, before her lips lose their color, before the bright, stubborn thing inside her gutters out? 

He heals her arm. Does not look at her when he does it. Says nothing of consequence. 

But he wants to take that ribbon and wind it around her wrist, knot it, twist it, pull it so tight that it ceases to be a ribbon at all. Flesh yielding to pressure, pressure forcing permanence. A bracelet of skin. A smooth, bloodless seam. A correction. 

Rook thanks him. A glance, a nod—already half-gone as she turns toward Rivain. There are things to be done there for her, and he cannot stray from the Necropolis for long. What things, exactly, she does not say, but he knows their shape well enough: dragons, impulse, the peculiar magnetism of disaster. She has always been like this, drawn to the spectacularly unwise with the certainty of a moth misjudging distance. 

He can no longer follow. 

She will return. He knows this. And yet, if his hands still possessed the capacity for tremor, he suspects they would betray him now. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she sings, a careless, looping refrain, a child’s chant repurposed for a woman who has never quite learned to tread lightly. She chatters as she moves; this and that, something or other, a bad decision or three. She shows him rings, delicate and stolen, lifted from a dragon’s hoard, then tells him of a strange mug found in the same place and promptly lost to someone forgettable in a game of cards. 

"Look, look," she says, because excitement makes her redundant. "I kept these for you." 

The rings slide onto his fingers—bandaged, skeletal, indifferent to the distinction. He flexes them. Smiles, because each one carries an emerald, and green has always pleased him. 

"I was meaning to ask you," Rook says. She is still holding his hand, turning it gently in her own, left, right, right, left, as though testing whether it is truly there. "You are smiling now." 

"I am." 

"Don’t interrupt me." 

"My deepest apologies." 

"It was a joke," she says, but absently, without weight. Then, again, softer: "You are smiling now. But is it real? Or do I see a smile only because I expect to? Because I believe it should be there?" 

"It is quite real," he reassures her, lifting his free hand, brushing two fingers against her cheek. "The glamour does not fabricate emotions. It is a projection, not an invention. A polished pane of glass through which I am seen, rather than a mask obscuring what lies beneath. It filters nothing. It simply allows you to perceive what is still there, as it was." 

She exhales. He watches it unfurl from her mouth, a slip of breath that curls, dissipates, wrapped in green. Relief, perhaps. 

"Good," she murmurs. "That is good." 

There are things he misses more than others. Some he had not expected to mourn, believing that lichdom would cauterize the want before it could take shape. And perhaps it would have, if not for Rook. But she exists, unavoidably, and so the loss takes shape, outlines itself, defines itself against the hollow places she touches. 

The intimacy of the body: its mechanics, its heat, its crude and glorious simplicity. He misses the way skin clings, damp and sticky, the tack of sweat drying between them. The way lips grow chapped from too much kissing, saliva sapped away until the skin cracks, until the next kiss stings. He misses the raw and graceless rhythm of it, the press of her thighs around him, the slow loss of self in the churn of it all. He misses the way he could press his palm to her stomach, still sheathed within her, and feel himself there, caged by her. 

And afterward, in the languid sprawl of spent nerves and loose limbs, the way his mind would wander, taking him by the hand, showing him its little fantasies, its secreted-away indulgences—let us get married, Rook, I will buy you so much gold, let’s get married, yes, and then let’s have a child, but not immediately, not at once, let’s linger here a while, let’s lose ourselves in this, let’s glut ourselves on one another until we are utterly ruined by it, and then, yes, then, we will have that little thing.

Now, he feels her differently. Not through skin but through something more fundamental, a closeness that eclipses anything flesh ever allowed. It is fuller, sharper, deeper than anything he could have imagined. 

But it is not the same. 

And he does not yet know if he prefers it. 

Time, as always, will decide. 

Pleasure has not abandoned him. It has only changed its nature, its source, its means of arrival. Now, it exists solely through her. He sees, now, how men dissolve into drink, into smoke, into whatever tincture delivers them to sensation. The body remembers its peaks; the body conspires to reach them again. 

"Will you come for me, darling girl?" he murmurs against her ear, his fingers curling inside her as they have done so many times before—when his hands were warm, when they ceased to be. 

And she does what she always does: she writhes, she gasps, she laughs, she moves against him with the helpless, thoughtless grace of something yielding to gravity. Her hips chase the friction, her mouth parts, her breath hitches, her lashes lower, heavy with pleasure. And he—he is there inside her, feeling it as she feels it, tasting it in a way that has nothing to do with taste, swallowing it down, letting it course through him. It is vast. It is staggering. Pleasure enough for two, for more than two, enough to fill the space where he no longer exists. 

Afterward, she is breathless, boneless, staring up at the ceiling and laughing that strange, impossible laugh. He no longer tries to make sense of it. Some things cannot be translated. She has a laugh for anger, a laugh for excitement, a laugh for surprise. He thinks he knows this one well enough by now, the one that trickles out of her in the aftermath. 

A trick, an echo, the imitation of a thing once real. He kisses her where he would have kissed her once—her mouth, the sharp ridge of her collarbone, the small curve of her breast, except now there is no heat, no wet drag of a tongue, no parted lips. Only the careful architecture of a spell, a memory sculpted into sensation, something just close enough to pass for real. He trails lower, following the old pathways, the ones his hands remember even if they are no longer the same. 

She sighs. Again. Again. Another time. 

He lingers where she yields the most, where she is all pulse and warmth, where her thighs, slick and trembling, part for him before he even touches her. Where breath quickens and thought slips away. And through it, he drinks. Draws from her as he always does, as he must, in ways he does not fully understand, or perhaps does, but has decided against understanding. He takes until she is weightless, drifting, until her voice emerges in that low, drowsy enough, enough, until she exhales, unconscious of herself, shifting, turning into him, her cheek settling against his shoulder, her body already gone to sleep.

And he wonders—if he did not stop, could he empty her? 

What is it that they share, exactly? What does she give? What does he take? Is it taking at all? Perhaps she is feeding from him just as he feeds from her.

He could ask. He could go looking for the answer. It is what he has done his entire life. 

But he does not. Because the answer, whatever it may be, does not matter. Because, at his core, he knows this much to be true: 

He is an empty thing now. 

And all empty things must be filled. 

It is a dreadful experience, watching her get hurt. Dreadful in its predictability, in the casual inevitability of it. Rook, as he has come to understand, is the sort of person who leaps from a cliff first and wonders, mid-air, whether there was perhaps a gentler way down.  

He saw it in Hossberg—how she, in some fit of blind fury over a slight he can no longer remember, kicked a blight boil with all the grace of a petulant child, only for the thing to rupture, spraying its filth over her boots, her legs, her hands, her face. Later, when he spat out his anger—you could have infected yourself, and then what? Where would the Veilguard be without their leader?—she had, without hesitation, lifted her middle finger and held it aloft, like a banner, like a flag planted firmly into the dirt, a gesture so profoundly Rook that it settled the argument before it could begin.

She returns from Rivain with a sprained wrist and, predictably, does not acknowledge it until he gestures toward it, a quiet inquiry rather than an accusation. 

So he buys her things. Things with weight, with shimmer, with the ability to distract. A bottle of wine she favors, a dress the precise shade of blue that once made her pause in front of a shop window, jewelry that catches light and throws it back in a thousand fractured directions. Loud things, bright things, expensive things. The kind of things a magpie would die over. Because Rook���misnamed, mislabeled—is no rook at all, no solemn, shrewd thing perching in the rafters. She is a magpie, ever in pursuit of the next gleaming fragment, the brightest piece of a broken world. That is why she is away, isn’t it? Always away. Always chasing.

But Nevarra has more gold than the Rivaini coast. 

He wants to say—won’t you stay? Won’t you, at last, stay longer? But there is something perilous in the asking. The wrong phrasing, the wrong weight to his voice, and she will fold up like a map, unreadable, distant, already turning toward the door.

She lifts a necklace, lets it spill through her fingers, a thin chain pooling in her palm. "Ooooh," she hums. "What’s the occasion?" 

"I have missed you terribly," he says. "You were away too long." 

"I missed you too." 

"Then stay. My townhouse is yours, of course. It is in the heart of the city—" 

"But you won’t be there," she interrupts, without sharpness, without accusation. A simple statement of fact. "You’ll be in the Necropolis."

"Then stay with me in the Necropolis," he says, more softly. 

She looks at him. Long enough for him to grow aware of the silence. Long enough for him to think he ought to say something more, to fill the space with some innocuous remark, something to break the weight of it—a comment on the weather, the slow drip of rain against the windowpanes, the scent of damp stone, the candlelight shifting across her cheek, the peeling corner of the wallpaper he has been meaning to mend but never does. 

Then, at last, in a whisper, as if she is considering each word before releasing it: 

"I'm trying." 

A breath. 

"I'm really, really trying. I love you so much. This frightens me, but I love you, and I'll stay longer, I promise, and you needn’t hide your face, no, no, you can stop hiding it now, but it is so terribly cold here, and I can smell the bones, Emmrich, did you know one can smell bones?" 

Senseless, rambling little words, leaving her mouth with no regard for order, no real expectation of being understood. He listens anyway. He nods as if these words, specifically, are the ones he has been waiting to hear. He holds her hands, pressing his fingers lightly over hers, as though reacquainting himself with the shape of them, the bones beneath the skin. And this time—this time—she stays.

He does not move. Does not speak. Instead, he lets the moment settle around him, lets it press in from all sides, cautious and weightless, as if sudden motion might send it scattering. A trick of the mind, surely, nothing more than habit, the vestigial longing of a body that no longer exists. And yet—something, something faint and absurd and wholly impossible—something like warmth uncoils in the vacant spaces of him, and for the first time in too long, he allows himself to believe in the illusion. 

And he is happy, so terribly, foolishly happy, until she steps where a step should have been, onto stone that no longer exists, because the Necropolis, fickle and treacherous as ever, decides to shift beneath her. One moment she is there, cursing the cold, flicking dust from her sleeve, and the next she is gone, swallowed into the dark, falling before he can reach for her. Then—impact, the sound of something snapping, something that should not snap. 

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," she spits, voice sharp with pain, her frustration seething through clenched teeth. "I hate this fucking place. This miserable, shifting, plague-ridden, necrophiliac fucking mausoleum. This—" she swallows, gasps, rage momentarily overtaken by the white-hot shock of agony, then forces the words out, savage and breathless—"this godsdamned, dusty, corpse-stinking labyrinth of a tomb. Fuck this place. Fuck you for living in it. Fuck this floor for moving. Fuck my fucking leg." 

She hisses even as she cries, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to will the hurt out of her body. He sees, at last, what has happened. A break, and not a clean one: bone slick and white against torn skin, jutting through muscle, her blood already thickening where it pools on the stone. 

And then—something strange. A pull, an unraveling, something unwinding before him, leading away. The ribbon again, unspooling, slipping from her, stretching outward, as though guiding him somewhere he does not wish to go. His vision narrows. He follows it. He follows it because he cannot help but follow it. 

"Emmrich?" Her voice has changed. The heat is gone, as is the anger. She sounds uncertain now. She sounds concerned. "Emmrich, are you—?" 

But he is looking at the ribbon. Watching where it leads. Watching where it ends. 

And he would weep if he could. 

He has spent his life in a state of want, always reaching, always grasping, always aching to be something necessary to someone. And now—now, at last—he has what he has longed for. Rook, quick and wild and untouchable. Rook, who was born lovely and careless and beautiful, who could have wrapped herself around anyone she pleased but chose, instead, him—old and grey, and then, simply, bone. Rook, with her hands always outstretched, her eyes always searching, who once told him, so offhandedly he almost believed she didn’t mean it, that she would have given him a child.

Now—now, she sits before him, cursing under her breath, her leg twisted, her blood sliding across the stone, and he understands, too suddenly, too clearly, that he cannot keep her. 

One day, that ribbon will slip from her entirely. 

And he will be wanting again, except this time, there will be no remedy, no second chance, no indulgence to dull the ache. 

Because she—she—the only thing that has ever fit the hollow inside him, will be gone.

A year. Ten. Twenty. Perhaps less. Perhaps more. 

She will be gone. 

Gone, gone, gone. 

"It will not break again," he tells her.

"Really?" she asks, pale from hurt.

"Truly."

He stands, glances over the chamber, and selects a sconce, its veilfire guttering weakly within its iron frame. He snuffs it out with a flick of his wrist, wrenches the metal free from the wall, and lets it sag into liquid in his palm. The Necropolis will not miss it. It devours offerings every day; what is one more? The molten iron shifts, pulses, rolls like living mercury as he shapes it between his fingers. She watches, suspicious, wary, but when he takes the pain from her, she sighs, slackens, her body a thing that yields, a thing that trusts. 

Bone is simple. A structure, a framework. Break it, mend it, break it again. He has done this before, he will do it again, and the body always obeys in the end. With a slow push, he sets her leg back into place. Crack, crack, crack—shattered edges realign, splinters withdraw, raw ends fuse like wax pressed to wax. He sees the place where the bone has chewed its way free, white and wet against the torn meat of her calf. 

He presses his fingers into the wound, past the sealing skin. The iron above them stirs at his will, stretching like a cat in the air before obeying, flowing down, clinging to the surface of the bone. Not inside it, no. That would be crude, inelegant. Instead, it forms a layer, thin but solid, a second skeleton over the first. It cools as it settles, solidifies, binds itself to her as if it had always belonged there. He guides it lower, shaping it over her tibia, letting it follow the curve of her ankle, turning his wrist slightly to direct it sideways, until the fibula is covered as well, safe beneath its new armor. There.

The final shreds of her wound pull themselves shut, sealing over his work, concealing what has been done. 

She shifts her foot, tilting her head, considering. "Oh," she says. "I suppose I'll be heavier now." 

He kisses her cheek and feels the faint shift of muscle beneath his lips, the small, secret curve of her smile. This time, for once, her happiness has no color. Not gold, not red, not that strange, shimmering violet he sometimes sees curling from her ribs. Just happiness, unembellished, undisturbed. And because she feels it, he believes it, and because he believes it, he takes it for himself, drawing her close.

"I am so, so happy that you are safe," he hears himself say, a confession with no real shape, a drunken speech without the mercy of intoxication. "I worry when you are gone, and I worry when you are here. It seems that no matter what I do, something always finds you first." 

She hums, arms looping around him, her fingers idly mapping the planes of his back, tracing aimless patterns into the fabric of his robes. "I don’t know what to say to that," she admits, her voice softened by exhaustion, by the slow retreat of pain. "But I am so, so happy with you too. And it’s all right, it’s all right. Every time I break, you can repair me." She pauses, then adds, utterly deadpan, "Guess that makes you my skele-tonic."

It is an objectively terrible pun. 

"Until you stop breaking altogether," he murmurs. 

Another hum, vague, thoughtless. 

He draws from her as he always does: pleasure, warmth, something deeper, something without a name, though it must have one, must have been cataloged somewhere, written down by some scholar who spent his life studying things that could not be grasped. He has never fully understood what it is he takes, only that it belongs to her, and that, by some quiet, unspoken permission, it is his as well. He wants to love her forever. But more than that, he wants to ensure that forever remains within reach, that it does not remain, as so many things have, just outside his grasp, dissolving the moment he closes his fist. 

He has spent too long watching what he yearned for unravel before he could fasten it down. This, he will not allow. It will take gold, it will take iron, it will take something far stronger, something absolute. Until she ceases to break. Until breaking is no longer a possibility, a concept, a word that has anything to do with her. 

He does not yet know how. But he has time—too much of it. More than she does. And he has always been a man of precision, of hypothesis and proof, of elegant solutions to insufferable problems. He will find a way. Through metal or magic, through that ribbon of red that keeps slipping from her, unspooling itself in slow increments, always trying to get away. He will take it, force it back into place, stitch it to the marrow, fix it with something incorruptible, something permanent, something that cannot be unwound without unmaking her in the process. 

He presses a kiss to her temple, then to her forehead, and speaks of flowers. The new blooms in the Memorial Gardens. Hideous, by all accounts. She will adore them. She appreciates beauty, certainly, but she loves foolishness even more. He kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her small, stubborn chin, and feels it again—that bright, quiet thing. Happiness. 

And, miraculously, when he takes a piece for himself, it does not feel stolen. 

"Enough, enough," she murmurs at last, the same word twice, as she always does when she needs a break from him, when she has given too much, when she feels him pulling, drinking, taking in excess without meaning to. Laughter ghosts beneath the words, thin but present, a reminder that she is still here, still whole. She taps his wrist with two fingers, light, quick, final—a gesture that, for all its carelessness, feels uncannily like closing a book. 

[senacal]

Dr. Charles Xavier (Pt. 2)

Request: Requested by @saltysebastianstan​

Pairing: Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Continuation of this post. (Part 1 , Part 3)

Warnings: Drinking, cursing

Abbreviations: Your Name- (Y/N); Friend’s Name- (F/N); University of your choice- (U/N)

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the love on the first part! It was so much more than I had anticipated. I hope you love this part just as much and thank you to @saltysebastianstan​ for helping me expand it so it wouldn’t be so short Xx.

(Gif Not Mine)

While (Y/N) had attended the lecture hosted by Dr. Xavier, she couldn’t wrap her head around her interaction with the man. He wasn’t rude by any means, which had relieved her, but he seemed rather forward compared to the professional persona she was used to seeing. ‘Beautiful face to match the beautiful voice,’ It wasn’t completely off-putting, but it wasn’t seductive either. She wouldn’t doubt that he used lines like that to pick up women wherever he went. But enough about that, (Y/N) had to force him from her mind during her classes so she could concentrate. It worked for the most part, but he was still lingering in the back of her mind. 

After a long day of classes and Dr. Xavier’s lecture, (Y/N) was now exhausted. Unfortunately, she couldn’t go back to her dorm room like she desperately wanted. Instead, her best friend, (F/N), dragged her to a party. (Y/N) could have easily stayed home to work on her thesis, or watch some TV instead of attending. She had a successful day, so she deserved to rest at home. Too bad her friend thought that it would be better for her to socialize at some wild party. 

While (Y/N) wasn’t opposed to parties, she’s been to quite a few since attending (U/N). There were days she’d rather stay in bed, like tonight. So here she was, standing alone in the corner of the living room of one of the many frats that frequented her university. (F/N) had wandered off to find the restroom an hour ago, so there was a likely chance (Y/N) wouldn’t see her again that night. Of course, that meant she could probably leave without being hassled by her friend. 

(Y/N) finished the drink in her hand and left her spot to dispose of the cup. All because she was at a party where no one cared about cleanliness, didn’t mean she would add to the chaos. Who knows, maybe she’ll run into (F/N) on the way to the garbage and let her know that she wanted to leave. 

(Y/N) pushed her way through the crowd that was blocking the kitchen. One more reason for her to avoid parties, the crowds were a little much for her. She hated being caught in the masses of people so she tried to avoid crowds at any cost. There were shouts of praises and cheering nearby that led (Y/N) to assume someone was doing something idiotic. That was a frat party for you, though. 

“Excuse me” (Y/N) mumbled under her breath every so often.

“(Y/N)! There you are” (F/N) grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, “here, I grabbed you another drink.”

“I didn’t want another drink.” With (F/N)’s attention drawn elsewhere, (Y/N)’s protests fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) begrudgingly accepted the new cup and put her empty one under it. 

“You have to see this! It’s possibly the most impressive thing I’ve seen at one of these keggers,” (F/N) pointed at a man drinking beer from a “yard of ale” without breaking off to take a breath. 

“I’m afraid at what you’d say about people drinking from funnels in the kitchen if you find that impressive,” (Y/N) laughed. 

“You can’t tell me that that isn’t amazing,” (F/N) cheered when the man finished the beer.

He whooped loudly, turning in a half-circle.

“Oh my god, That’s Dr. Xavier,” (Y/N) said in disbelief. What the hell was he doing there?

“You mean that one guy you were telling me about? That mutation professor?” (F/N) asked baffled. 

“Yeah, him,” (Y/N) turned around so he wouldn’t see her. She couldn’t say why, but she didn’t want him to see her. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he flirted with her. Or it’s because she actually kind of liked it. Whatever the case, (Y/N) wasn’t ready to see him just yet. 

“Hey! You’re that girl!” A blonde exclaimed from in front of her.

“I’m sorry?” (Y/N) furrowed her brows. Had she met this girl before?

“Yeah, the one that saved Charles from the conversation about Paris. I’m Raven! We didn’t get the chance to meet because you had already run off,” Raven held her hand out to (Y/N) with a bright smile.

“Oh, uh, I had a class to get ready for…” (Y/N) glanced at her friend, but (F/N) was busy talking to some guy near them. “Are you a friend of Dr. Xavier’s?” She slowly shook Raven’s hand.

“Practically his sister actually,” Raven shrugged, “don’t hold it against me though,” Raven rolled her eyes but laughed. It was clear they were close from the way she spoke about him.

“Raven, who’s your- oh, hello again, Ms. (Y/N), fancy seeing you here,” Charles smiled.

“Right, fancy seeing me, a college student here at (U/N) attending one of the frat parties” (Y/N) raised her brows, “I’m just as surprised to see you here, Professor.”

“Please, call me Charles. I see no reason to hold formalities when we’re at a party,” Charles fiddled with the yard of ale in his hands.

“Right, um,” (Y/N) looked back at her friend and in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation off herself, she yanked her to her side, “This is my friend, I’m sure you’ll both get along just fine. In the meantime, I’m gonna go get another drink,” (Y/N) excused herself as quickly as possible. It didn’t escape anyone’s attention that she still had a full cup of beer. 

(F/N) looked at her friend in confusion, “Sorry about her, I’m (F/N).”

“Charles Xavier,” Charles smiled politely, though he felt disappointed once more now that (Y/N) had made her escape, “I’m going to see if she needs any help.” He handed Raven the yard of ale and followed (Y/N) into the masses.

“(Y/N), excuse me,” Charles apologized to someone, he wasn’t sure who, that he had bumped. “(Y/N), Can we talk?”

(Y/N) sighed heavily and stopped her hasty retreat. She spun around and looked at Charles in question. 

“I know you said you aren’t interested in anything more than the knowledge I have about mutation. But I have a proposal of sorts,” Charles pulled out a crumpled napkin and pen from his pants pocket, “You may call me with any questions you have, and I’ll answer them all. I promise.” He wrote his number down and held the napkin out to her.

“Why? What’s in it for you?” (Y/N) frowned slightly. She took the wrinkled napkin Charles held out to her.

“The pleasure of your company and the mere fact that I’ll be assisting you with your work,” Charles ran his hand through his hair. What he wanted was to see (Y/N) again, but he doubted she’d take to kindly to that; so, he kept that to himself instead. 

“You don’t know anything about my work. What if I were a psycho who wanted to use this knowledge for evil? What if I was lying about knowing anything, and this was all a ruse to take advantage of you?”

“I know none of that is true because someone so invested and passionate like you wouldn’t use this information to harm anyone. I believe I can trust you, I allowed you to see who I was, didn’t I? Let me help you.” Charles spoke just loud enough to hear over the music and chatter of the people around them.

(Y/N) looked around them, she’d be an idiot to turn down his offer. He was the expert on mutants and mutations. He was her ticket to learning more and achieving her goals. Who could it hurt? It wasn’t like (Y/N) had any other opportunities lined up. Plus, it was strictly business. Charles had said so, and why shouldn’t she believe him. He trusted her enough to disclose that he was a mutant to her. The least she could do was take him on his word.

“Okay, fine. I’ll call you with any questions I have. But this is only because I want to learn more and because I trust you to keep this professional, okay?”

Charles nodded and held his hand out, “It’s a deal, then.”

(Y/N) grasped his firm yet soft hand in hers, “It’s a deal.” 

“Wonderful, now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get you that drink,” Charles smiled satisfied and easily maneuvered them around the drunken crowd.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but think that he might have used his telepathy to move them out of the way. “I actually didn’t want another drink, I was kinda trying to avoid you,” She mumbled sheepishly.

“I know, love. It was clear as day, but I forgive you,” Charles looked back at her and winked.

“But we’re still getting drinks,” (Y/N) stated.

“Of course, we’re at a party after all. Might as well enjoy ourselves, right?” Charles held his hand out to (Y/N). 

“Why are you?” She reached for his hand confused.

“Your cup, love,” He laughed.

“Oh, right,” (Y/N) flushed in embarrassment and shoved her now half-empty cup into his awaiting hand. I can’t believe I almost did that.

“There you go,” Charles handed the cup to her and then filled one for himself. “Right, let’s go find your friend and Raven. Knowing Raven, she’s likely stirring up some trouble.”

“If she’s anything like my friend, then they’re probably already in trouble,” (Y/N) couldn’t even imagine the possible mischief her friend could have caused. (Y/N) was usually reserved in herself but her friend always managed to convince her to do something crazy every once in a while. She remembered a time when she went to the bars with her friend, and in the end, (Y/N) had gotten too drunk that she got lost trying to find her way home. Thankfully her friend was more functional than she was and in the end (Y/N) crashed at her place. But she promised herself not to drink that much ever again.

“There they are,” Charles pointed to their two friends, who were invested in a game of beer pong.

“Okay, not as bad as I thought,” (Y/N) sipped at the beer in her hand.

“Would you like to play?” Charles offered. He wanted to see if she’d allow herself to relax in his presence, maybe they could be friends at the very least.

“Uh,” (Y/N) hesitated, “sure, why not?” She shrugged. Like Charles had said, they were at a party, why not enjoy themselves?

Raven and (F/N) had won the last game with two cups left on their end. Raven was clearly excited and (F/N) was looking pretty cocky. (F/N) wasn’t expecting for (Y/N) to join the game least of all with Charles. 

“You sure you wanna play?” She asked cautiously.

“Yeah, how hard can it be?” (Y/N) shrugged.

“Alright,” (F/N) filled the cups with beer and set them up in their triangle formation, “I’ll let you go first then.”

(Y/N) picked up the ping pong ball closest to her and aimed. A little well-known fact about her, she had a horrible aim. It was almost sad seeing her play beer pong but Charles hadn’t made any snide comment about her inability to make a single shot. He even offered to drink the beer for her when it was noticeably affecting her. (Y/N) found herself leaning on him now that she knew she could depend on him, at least for now. Any other time she’d have been as stiff as a board.

In her inebriated state, (Y/N) couldn’t see why she had rejected Charles. He was handsome, extremely handsome. His smile was infectious and his hair looked so fluffy. She kind of wanted to touch it. Hell, what was holding her back? She reached her hand up and pat the fluffiest part she could easily reach. ‘It’s so soft.’

Charles looked over at her, an amused smile gracing his features, “Can I help you?”

“Your hair is soft,” (Y/N) murmured. She pulled her hand away and finished off the rest of her beer. “I think I want another,” She shuffled slightly, her balance thrown off for just a moment.

Charles moved to steady her, his brows raised, “You sure?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Yes, Charles.” She waved him off and made her way back to the kitchen.

“I guess that’s game, I’m gonna go check on her,” (F/N) grabbed her cup in an attempt to chase after her friend.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” Charles assured. Before (F/N) could respond, Charles was already going after (Y/N). He found her in the kitchen trying to figure out the tap on the keg. “Here, let me help you,” Charles swooped in beside her and poured her a small amount of beer in his attempt to limit her drink now that she was tipsy.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) drank the beer in one go, making a face at the end, “I’ve never realized how disgusting this stuff is until today.”

Charles laughed, “Yes, it’s honestly pretty disgusting, but it’s also not that bad.”

“Says you,” She threw her cup on top of the overflowing trash can. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” 

“Did you want me to get your friend, then?” Charles looked up in search of her.

“Nah, She’ll want to stay a little longer,” (Y/N) waved her hand in dismissal. “I can find my way home.”

“I’ll take you home, it’s probably best that you don’t go walking home alone at night,” Charles held his hand up to his temple, his expression turning to one of pure concentration. His brows were furrowed and his eyes looked stern. 

(Y/N) raised her brows, wondering what he could have been doing. “You okay?”

Charles’s eyes shifted to her, “hmm? Oh, yes,” He chuckled, “I was just letting Raven know that we were leaving.”

“Oh, right. The whole telepathy thing,” She nodded, “Okay, let’s go then.”

Charles guided her through the throngs of people until they were safely outside. The cool air was a welcome embrace compared to the humidity from the party. He ran his fingers through his hair and then across his forehead, wiping the excess sweat away. 

“So, where is it that you live?” He asked.

“Like two blocks down. I live in the dorms,” She started her trek home, not waiting for Charles. She could take care of herself. Or so she thought. It was clear that her balance was off because she kept swerving into the bushes next to her.

Charles guided her away from them in case she were to accidentally scratch herself on the twigs or thorns, he didn’t know what type of bushes they were exactly, but he knew he didn’t want her to get hurt by them. “Easy there,” Charles murmured.

(Y/N) grumbled something about being able to walk without his help, but in the end, she was leaning on him, allowing him to hold her close as they walked to her dorms. It was quiet now that they were a good distance away from the party, the sound of crickets and the breeze blowing through the trees the only noise surrounding them. (Y/N) found herself enjoying the proximity of Charles and the peacefulness of the night. 

“Charles?” She asked softly.

“Yes, (Y/N)?” 

“Thank you for taking me home,” She patted the arm that was holding her. 

“It’s no problem, really,” He smiled slightly.

“Well, here’s my dorm,” (Y/N) straightened up and pulled away from Charles’s arms, “Thanks, again.”

Charles nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, “You’re welcome, I’ll see you around I guess.” 

(Y/N) nodded and bit her lip, she wondered if she should offer to hang out again. She had fun tonight despite wanting to go home from the start of the party. Charles made the party bearable to her, “Charles, are you free tomorrow?”

“I suppose so, I hadn’t planned on doing anything. Why?” His heart skipped a beat in anticipation. 

Okay, good response, now all she had to do was ask, “Can we meet up to talk about my thesis?” Fuck, that’s not what she wanted to say damn it.

“Oh, of course. We can meet at the library or something,” Charles seemed to deflate where he stood. How could he forget their arrangement was strictly professional?

“Right, uh, the coffee shop is probably best,” (Y/N) smiled, “I’ll see you at twelve.” She waved to him sheepishly and made a hasty retreat into her dorm building. 

Charles watched her retreating figure, ensuring that she got inside safely. He sighed and kicked at the ground. Professional, he could be professional.

______________________________________________________________________

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[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

the inexhaustible variety of life

summary: Cyrus Goodman has isolated himself from the rest of his prep school, but will an easygoing transfer student manage to crack his shell?

pairing: tyrus

word count of chapter: 1,514

first chapter, previous chapter, next chapter

—————————

chapter 6: connections

After clinging on to someone for so long, it was hard to get used to talking to no one again.

In reality, it hadn’t even been that long, but Cyrus felt as though TJ truly understood him better than anyone else. He didn’t believe all of the shitty rumors against him, and wanted to be his friend regardless.

But now, Cyrus has shoved him out, and he would probably never talk to him again. He just proved all of the rumors right.

Luckily enough, he would be leaving within the next month to visit his parents at home for a week, so he decided to get a jumpstart on packing to get his mind off things. Off TJ.

(Although, it seemed to be practically impossible.)

Cyrus began yanking his suitcase off the top shelf of his closet in order to put a bit of his things in there, but with his luck, the suitcase wouldn’t budge. “Come on, little fucker, there’s only room for one thing stuck in the closet,” he muttered angrily.

He pulled harder, which succeeded in getting the suitcase down, but also succeeded in knocking the shelf over and making the suitcase fly at his face. “Shit!” he exclaimed, falling on his ass.

Three seconds later, he heard a knock on his door. He sauntered over to open it, expecting to see Reed taunting him again, but was instead surprised to see the curly haired girl and the pixie cut girl from the basketball game that seemed to be forever ago now.

“We heard a loud noise while going to visit our friend, are you good in here?” the curly haired one asked.

Cyrus gave them a tight lipped smile. “Yep, I’m good, just trying to pack some stuff up. My suitcase, though, is not a fan.”

“Oh! Do you need help?” the pixie cut girl volunteered excitedly.

“Andi, what about Amber?” the other one mumbled to her.

“She can wait, Buffy,” she— Andi— mumbled back, turning to face Cyrus again. “Really, we’ve got nothing going on for a while, and could use something to occupy our time. We don’t want anymore falling suitcases, do we?” she joked.

Cyrus shrugged. “I guess I could use the help. Come in,” he said, widening the door for them to pass.

After they were in, he added, “Oh, and I’m Cyrus, by the way.”

Buffy hesitated. “As in Cyrus Goodman?”

Cyrus scoffed, quirking an eyebrow. “So you’ve heard about me.”

•••

For someone who used to talk to no one, it was surprisingly difficult to avoid Cyrus Goodman.

Don’t get him wrong, there was nothing TJ wanted more than to spend time with the boy, but he figured that after the outburst on Saturday, Cyrus would want to be left alone for a while. So, TJ tried his best to give him space.

That is, until he realized how many classes they actually had together.

(Nearly all of them.)

He had to practically pry himself away from Cyrus, trying to not ask him for help with math notes or make sarcastic comments in their literature class. Which, granted, was easier to manage, considering they sat further away from one another. The worst part of it all was that in their history class, Cyrus’ assigned seat was directly in front of his. AKA, the ultimate test of TJ’s patience.

He succeeded, though. For a whole week. But then, it was Saturday again.

Cyrus wouldn’t want him there yet, would he?

Not even trying to go up and ask him, TJ made his way to the library, picked up the school’s copy of The Glass Menagerie which he needed for his next assignment, and plopped down into a seat. He flicked through it for a few minutes, making his way through the pages. He was just getting invested when he heard a voice behind him, one he expected never to speak to him again.

“Time is the longest distance between two places.”

TJ jumped slightly, turning to face a mildly disheveled and obviously tired Cyrus who leaned his weight on the shitty library chair with his hand. “Oh, hey. Nice quote,” TJ replied, feigning nonchalance but missing by a long shot.

“Nice choice of play,” Cyrus gestured toward the book, playing along.

“It’s for class.”

“Right.”

A beat of almost unbearable awkward silence fell over the two boys, and TJ was almost prepared to get up and leave when Cyrus finally spoke.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that, I’ve just... I had a lot going on.”

TJ leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, concern apparent in his face. “It’s okay, do you need to talk about it?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” Cyrus mumbled in reply, pulling over a plastic desk chair to sit in across from him. “I, uh...” he started, cutting himself off with a deep breath.

“Take your time, Cyrus, it’s okay,” TJ reassured him, placing his hand on his knee.

Cyrus gave him a small smile. “Thanks, I just don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you need to.”

Cyrus breathed heavily, then began, “I used to have this one best friend. Granted, it probably wasn’t healthy, considering he’s the one that got me the rep I have now, but we were practically inseparable. We talked about everyone together, and we did a bunch of stupid shit that I guess was fun at the time, but I kinda regret it now. I trusted him with my life, though. So, when I wanted to tell him one of my deeper secrets, it was only natural that I would end up doing that.” Cyrus’ eyes were misty at that point, and TJ rubbed circles with his thumb to try and comfort him in anyway he could. “He didn’t take it so well, and he cut ties with me at the end of the school year last year.”

TJ furrowed his brows, concern, bewilderment, and a dozen other emotions running through his brain. “How bad could that secret have possibly been to make someone cut ties with you? That’s ridiculous. Whoever this guy is, he’s an idiot, because you’re one of the best people I’ve met and I know for a fact that some secret isn’t gonna change that.”

Cyrus flushed a bit and looked down at his shoes, but TJ just chalked it up to lots of emotions and deep conversation at once. “Thanks, it means a lot, but that doesn’t change the fact that he still isn’t okay with it, and recently he’s been bugging me more about it, teasing me and implying he’s gonna tell people.” Cyrus looked up, directly into TJ’s eyes, and whispered. “I’m just so scared, TJ.”

TJ removed his hand from Cyrus’ knee and placed it on his shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. “Hey. That’s completely valid, okay? But we can make it stop. We can go to the principal, make sure he doesn’t bug you again, alright?”

Cyrus nods, then shakes his head. “But if we go to the principal, he wins, doesn’t he?”

“What?”

“Then I’m the wimp.”

TJ pulled his arm back to his side. “Getting help to get out of an uncomfortable and potentially dangerous situation doesn’t make you a wimp, Cyrus. It makes you brave,” he said, instilling a sureness in Cyrus that he hadn’t had for a long time, and unfortunately reinforcing his crush on the blonde.

“Okay. Okay, let’s do it. Now,” Cyrus said, standing up, TJ following a second after.

“There is one thing, though,” TJ added as they began walking towards the office.

“What?”

TJ sighed. “There’s a chance Metcalf might not budge if he doesn’t know what your ex-friend is threatening to tell everyone, so you might have to tell him your secret. Do you think you would be comfortable with that?”

“I’m going to have to start telling people at some point, anyway, so might as well,” Cyrus replied with a sad shrug.

“What do you mean?”

“Actually, it might be best if I start with telling you, since you already know me better than most people,” Cyrus reasoned, mostly to himself, leaving TJ standing confused next to him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Cyrus,” TJ replied.

Cyrus stopped walking as he responded, “No, I want to, I think.” He took a quick yet stabilizing breath and looked directly into TJ’s green eyes, noticing the golden flecks for another countless time. “TJ, I’m gay.”

The contact was sudden, but certainly not unwelcome. TJ’s arms wrapped around him quickly became one of his favorite feelings as his heart began to speed up and his arms slowly rose up to reciprocate the hug. TJ murmured into his ear, “I’m so proud of you for telling me, Cy. I know how hard it is. And your ex-friend is a total asshole, by the way.”

Cyrus chuckled. “Yeah, he is.”

They pulled away after another beat and continued making their way towards the principal’s office, while TJ tried not to overthink the way he’d never wanted to let Cyrus out of his arms.

[bubblyani]

No Apologies Pt. 2

(Billy x Reader)

Part 2 of the Billy Delaney (Me and Mrs. Jones) Two Shot

Rating: Mature (18+)

Author’s Note: We need more Billy content so I’m back with Part 2. Hope you all really enjooooy this. Cause I certainly did imagining it 😍.

Read Part 1 HERE

(One month ago)

You tapped your fingers rhythmically on the pub table, yet it was annoyingly loud enough that the bartender shot you a look of disapproval.

“Sorry...” you muttered. You couldn’t help it, Alfie had finally come back home after his time abroad, and you’ve finally arranged to meet.

Being close friends since childhood, others may have teased the both of you,  claiming you’ll eventually end up falling for each other, like most do. But you knew, Alfie was clearly the brother that you never had. And contrary to the fact he already had sisters, he felt the same about you.

“Lovely people, your boy Alfie’s back!”

That familiar voice made you shriek in joy, turning to see Alfie Jones at the door.

“Oh my goooood ALFIE!” Your shrieks continued as you jumped out of your barstool, running over in a comical fashion, to be swooped up and spun by your old friend.

You noticed another young man stood next to him, who seemed quite cute. Cute enough to certainly get your attention.

But also cute enough that you were suddenly worried of your embarrassing behavior. However, that didn’t matter to you right now, for your friend was back. And that man was merely a stranger that you won’t see again. You were ecstatic enough, you didn’t care. All was normal again.

“How’s my girl??” Alfie asked, as he put you down finally.

“Joyous beyond words now that my friend is back..I just can’t believe you’re back!” You replied with much enthusiasm.

“Oh...before I forget...I brought a friend with me ” Alfie said. And your jaw couldn’t do anything else but drop. For the cute stranger stood next to him with a friendly smile. The cute one who you were sure to forget.

Shit

And there you were, acting like an idiot, free of all worries.

“Y/N...This is Billy. Billy....Y/N”

Looking straight at him, you realized how handsome he was, with eyes that stood out instantly. Embarrassed by your behavior, you had no other choice but to continue on with your bubbly behavior.

“Hi Billy! Very nice to meet you!” You said out loud, extending your hand dramatically. The firm grip and the cool smile that he gave you as he shook your hand, made it even harder for you to get over.

“Anyways, drinks are in order...what do ya both fancy?” 

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

You were glad you volunteered to get drinks, for that was the only way to get away and recover from this feeling of awkwardness your mind has developed.

Surprisingly, Rachel the bartender was busy with other customers you had to wait longer than expected. But you didn’t mind that at all. 

“Alfie changed his mind”

Startled, you found Billy suddenly appearing  right next to you.

“Oh...really?” You asked, “alright then-”

“No...let me” Billy offered, raising his hand politely.

Like a gentleman, Billy ordered drinks for all three of you. And you watched him with surprising admiration.

“Thank you...” you said. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“You’re very welcome” he replied. The drinks seemed to be taking quite longer than it should. And Billy didn’t leave your side either, which was unexpected. Out of the blue, you were suddenly tempted to just, talk.

“I uh...I hope I didn’t scare you earlier. You know...me being all silly and loud seeing Alfie and acting all gahhhh...” you said, chuckling , “I’m sorry about that”

Frankly, you didn’t know why you were trying to defend your actions.

“No I get it” Billy nodded understandingly. You sighed in relief.

“But...” he began, “Why do you feel like you have to apologize?”

You froze. He was right. Why?

“Um...” you murmured, “I don’t know...” You laughed nervously, thankful when  drinks were all ready.

Liar. You knew. You knew at that moment why. Cause you were beginning to fall for Alfie’s friend, Billy. 

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

(Present)

Half an hour went pass, and nothing. Why did you feel this way? Were you expecting something ?

Though the lights were turned off, the city lights still managed to filter through the window. It was beautiful. You loved the way it did. Especially in Mrs. jones’ room.

Replacing with new sheets, you made sure to not make a mess of her room as Alfie generously offered it to you for tonight. Sitting on the bed in just your oversized night tee, your hands kept busy, brushing your hair with the comb.

You felt relaxed every time the teeth of the comb touched your scalp. But not relaxed enough, especially after what happened tonight.

What made Billy do that?

Could it be that he felt the same as you felt about him?

Or was it just spur of the moment?

A quiet knock on the door made you turn with much focus. You wondered if it was Billy. Or maybe it was Alfie. You were sure to go mad with curiosity.

Getting off the bed, you tip toed towards the door, the anticipation growing stronger. Maybe it was Alfie, tired from all the gaming, asking for a completely random favor. Or maybe you were just hearing things. Shaking your head, you took a deep breath, before opening the door slowly.

The breath you took left your lips immediately. For it was Billy.

Wearing a grey t-shirt along with a pair of boxers, his hair was dry and was bed ready. The way he smiled softly, made you smile with him. Moving to the side, you let him enter the room, whilst you slowly closed the door behind you. His gaze remained on your face, and it never left. And you had a hard time looking away.

Looking down, you held on to your fingers shyly, as if you suddenly found yourself occupied with them.

“I’m sorry about earlier...” you said softly. Still looking down. Billy scoffed in subtle disbelief.

“Y/N...” he began, “Would you stop apologizing?”

You nodded in agreement. He was right.  The moments where you’ve apologized to him were endless. Bad habit indeed.

You heard Billy sigh,

“I wish I could kiss your Sorry away”

“Heheh...I wish you could”

You found yourself replying, finally looking up to him as you both broke into chuckles. But that was when you realized. You realized that he actually could. And you would let him in a heartbeat.

Just like that, you felt your heartbeat increase at that very moment. The intensity of his sentence started to sink in your skin. Breathing in sync, he held your hand. Small sparks went  through your body as his thumb ran over your hand.

Hypnotized by those eyes that didn’t need any light to shine, you leaned forward, acting like a magnet as he bent down, grabbing onto your lips with his. The kiss was gentle, akin to flower petals brushing against one another. And you very much felt as if sweetness was being fed to you.

But suddenly that gentleness disappeared, as both of you felt those petals cause friction, creating heat leading to passion. Lips melting into one another, you involuntarily opened yours, easily permitting Billy’s tongue to wrap around your own, deepening this act of affection. 

An unexpectedly loud moan escaped you, forcing Billy to put his fingers on your lips, silencing you. He shook his head, indicating how Alfie might actually hear them. Nodding obediently, you took his hand, leading him over to the bed. 

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

(One week ago)

“Ah...That one...over there. She seems interested”

“Oh?...you think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely ... the way she’s making eyes at you. She means business, Alfie”

Locking his gaze at the pretty young woman across the bar, Alfie slid off from his chair smoothly as per your encourage. It was one of those nights at the bar. Alfie needed some fun, and he needed assistance to get around to that. And you were his ever so dependable wing-woman.

“Just uh...be careful not to spook her off with them...” whistling, you pointed your fingers at his chest. To which Alfie laughed.

“Oh...you know I have very prominent nipples” he said proudly.

“Indeed you do...” you replied, raising your bottle, “...and they do look amazing” “Really?”

“Of course...” you said, “You’ll say anything to make your child happy” you teased.

“Ha-Ha-Ha” Alfie remarked.

Pointing your nose in guilt, you watched him walk over to the girl. Which led you  to the pub table. 

“Any luck?” Billy asked, as he wiped the table.

“So far so good...” you said, sipping on your beer, “You know what I just realized...” getting Billy to look at you with curiosity, “It must be so interesting to work at a bar. I mean...imagine all the crazy things that happen here” you laughed, “Truth be told, most crazy things actually do happen here”

“Well...” Billy said, “It’s never boring” 

“I bet ...” you said, alcohol fueling you up with enthusiasm, “...with all the beautiful ladies coming here...”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Billy!” You said, “surely you must be having your fun here...a handsome bartender like you...who’d resist?”

He merely chuckled, which you were surprised by. “Well then...” he began, leaning forward “Could you kindly spot me a beautiful lady tonight then?”

“Hmmmm...” you said, resting your chin on your hand, “Honestly...” you looked around, “Tonight’s picking is a bit...” you blew a raspberry, forcing both of you to laugh.

“Is that so?” He asked. You kept laughing, covering your mouth.

“I’m sorry...I...” you continued in mid laughter, “I was so rude...all these girls here are all really beautiful...truthfully. I don’t know why I said that”

“There you go ...apologizing again” Billy sighed, shaking your head. You exhaled.

“Do you know wha? If I ever... find a good enough girl for you...” you said, “I’ll pat you on the shoulder...” you continued, as you lightly patted his wide shoulder with a playful vibe , “...and point you to her...without any hesitation. But until then...you’re stuck with me”

Billy smiled, “Doesn’t sound so bad”

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

(Present)

Your hands never left each others as you sat side by side on the bed. Suddenly, all forms of conversation were quieter, and even more intimate. As if this should not be shared by anyone else but the both of you.

“Since...” Billy began, “when did y-“

“The first time...” You replied, alarmingly fast.

Clearing  your throat, “the first time we met...” you said, blushing.

“Oh...”

You heard him reply, his eyes turning warm just like his sudden smile.

“What?” You asked, “What’s wrong?”

“No...just” he paused, “I thought ...I was the only one”

Your eyes widened, “You too?” You asked, “Really?”

“Yes”

“Oh my god” you breathed.

Suddenly you came to the realization that Billy couldn’t stop staring at your lips. Thus bringing heat to your face. Moving back, you felt him tug your hand inviting you to move back on the bed with him.

The moment was yours to savor and there was no Alfie to storm and ruin it. And you certainly surprised Billy by slowly straddling him against the headboard of the bed.

Surprised he may be, but disappointed he was not.

Taking the initiative, you took his hands, gingerly placing them on your waist, which he willfully held on to now with your permission. You felt his fingers settling on you slow, familiarizing themselves, simultaneously relaxing and arousing you.

You felt feathers tickle your fingers when you let them run through his locks. His hair always was tempting to be touched. And tonight you let the temptation take you, and his eyes fluttered with comfort as a response.

Slow. This was slow. Yet it was sweet. And indulging.

Foreheads finally resting on each other, you found balance as your hands moved down to his chest. You relished pleasing Billy with this slow torturous act for it was the only way you could think of to appreciate him. Words were moot when silence needed observing behind closed doors. Feeling the comfortable material of his tee, Yours hands explored his torso, running over his shirt painfully slow. Finally reaching to the end of it, You suddenly dipped your hands inside, fingertips gently making contact with his skin. Billy inhaled and exhaled sharply as you made your presence known over every inch of his torso. And he certainly didn’t hesitate to tighten his grip on your waist as you did.

“Looks like you’re still stuck with me” You whispered, noses brushing against one another. Billy’s lips formed a smile.

“Doesn’t sound so bad”

Joyous, you kissed him with much passion, to which he responded with much desperation, for you had him at the palm of your hand. Pulling his shirt off, you were fueled with impatience. Hands returning to his hair, you couldn’t believe that this was the man you’ve loved from the first sight. And you were more than happy that he was.

You felt yourself involuntarily roll your hips against him once. And you liked how it felt. Repeating the process, you began to roll them continuously, causing  little moans to come out of his lips as well, forcing him to hold on to you even tighter.

Apparently the fuel you bore may have transferred to Billy, for you felt him explore your topography as well. You felt your cheeks heat up the moment his face pressed against your chest over your shirt. Inhaling, he savored in your warmth, and your body began to send you urgent whispers, begging to show him the world existed behind the cotton. He could be learning to be telepathic or eavesdropping, for he hurriedly pulled your t-shirt up, making you chuckle in reply. Without any sense of objection, you assisted him, discreetly pulling it off of you, until it left your skin completely.

It was all so easy, until you finally realized, how naked you were before him.

Cupping your neck, you swiftly allowed your arms to hide your breasts in sudden embarrassment. Suddenly you felt not pretty to show yourself off. Suddenly you were concerned unnecessarily.

“Y/N...” Billy breathed, eyes filled with longing, “...not now...”

Before you could explain yourself with your own eyes, Billy's kisses landed on your elbows, then over to your arms traveling upward. Moving to your neck, you felt him kiss each and every finger, setting them free one by one till his lips were successfully able to reach that sweet spot of your neck. You felt vulnerable, for he was studying you well enough. Hands parting free, you were reminded of your confidence you possessed a while ago, deeply inhaling as you revealed yourself to him finally.

Hands securely gripping on your back, Billy proceeded to show his affection, leaving no inch unattended with his lips as he moved down. Their lightest touch over the soft skin of your breasts, gave life to your nipples. They felt noticed, and instantly begged for a direct connection. Finally, his mouth enclosed on the hardened buds, each given such care, you could only moan in whispers. You felt chills yet you felt heat, and the only way to balance both was to roll your hips against his now very evident erection, which made your eyes flutter. Pulling his face to yours, you kissed him hard, reflecting the intensity of your emotions.

He held you tight, he lifted you with strength, laying you on the bed effortlessly despite his lean frame. His aura exuded Protector, and you felt like a princess. Fresh bed sheets against your bare back, even the air you breathed tickled your body for it felt noticed all over. 

“Are you sure?” Billy whispered.

Yes

You heard yourself say instantly. At least in your head you did. Resting on your elbows, you held his face.

“Billy...” you breathed, “with you ...I always am...”

You said, inching closer as you softly kissed his eyes then his temples.

Under the city lights, Billy looked beautiful as you watched him slowly pull his boxers down. Your hands extended involuntarily the moment you saw his shaft spring out, urging you to gently stroke it. And by the way he exhaled sharply you knew you did well. But it did not distract him from slipping the panties off you.

As you wrapped yourself around him, you realized how your innermost desire certainly became a reality tonight in many ways. Resting his lips on yours lovingly, Billy entered you, hoping to make his declarations of affection in this night of new discoveries and celebration. 

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

You didn’t need any blankets, especially when it was Billy who cradled you in his arms with such softness.

You wished this moment could last longer. But the look he suddenly gave you, proved otherwise.

“I have to go...” he said, his soft Irish accent caressing your heart while his hands caressed your face.

“I know...” Sitting up, you watched him get out of bed and get into his boxers, turning around swiftly, as he was looking for something.

“Ah ...found it” you whispered, leaning over to grab his t-shirt.

Billy suddenly sighed. “What?” You asked, as you walked over to him. “You’re...so beautiful” he breathed. With the city lights washing over you through the darkness, he gazed at your naked frame standing there confusingly.

And that’s when you realized it. Shyly, you bit your lower lip. And that was the only shyness you could have. You didn’t want to hide. Walking closer, you handed him his shirt.

The mere action of him putting it on appeared to look mesmerizing. And as you stood there breathing heavily, you began to grow more infatuated. As if to console, he kissed you. But as he did, it felt far from mere consolation.

Especially when those kisses lit something up in both of you once again.

Holding you by the waist, he surprised you when he suddenly picked you up, your naked skin brushing against his clothed figure. Breaking away, he looked at you with sheer desperation, which you empathized. If you both had another chance, you would have in a heartbeat. But again, the time and place was clearly not right.

Slowly dropping down to the ground from his arms, you hurriedly grabbed your own clothes in order to get decent. Watching you with adoration, Billy quickly held your face.

“Drop me a text when you get home tomorrow...” he said, “In fact...you can send one...any time. You can call me...” his eyes twinkled, “You can come see my flat...just you” he added.

You nodded, sharing his twinkle.

“I hoped you’d say that...” you breathed, smiling, “Thank you...”

He chuckled, “...as long as it’s not another ‘Sorry’ ”

You giggled softly, hitting him on the chest.

“Shut up” ___________________________________________

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[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 5 - Up the Ante

Catch Perfect by George deValier

CHAPTER FIVE

UP THE ANTE: To increase the stakes in a game.

"You're what?"

Denmark stared at Berwald incredulously, his brow furrowed in outrage, his hands on his hips, attempting to stand imposingly over him. Berwald just stared back evenly, his impassive expression the result of years of poker table training. "Movin' rooms," he said calmly. If he was staying in this house, he could not stay in the same room as Tino. It was far too distracting. "There's one empty upstairs. I'm takin' it."

Denmark took a step closer until his face was mere inches from Berwald's. "No, you're not."

"Yes. I am."

The room thrummed with the tension of those watching. Greenland reached for a handful of Faeroe's popcorn. Tino stood watching in the kitchen doorway; Iceland leant on the wall next to him, filing his nails. Even Norway, sitting at the front table, looked up occasionally from his Dostoevsky novel. No one said a word.

"That room is not empty," said Denmark coolly. "It is the twister room." Berwald had to give him credit. Most men had trouble meeting his eyes this close, but Denmark did not flinch.

"Ye haven't used it since I moved in. Have ye?"

"No, but that's not the point. The point is..." Denmark paused. His eyes flashed as he seemed to search for a point. "The point is, you can't have it."

Berwald smiled ever so slightly, and slowly held up his trump card. A printed copy of Denmark's rules. Denmark gasped when he noticed what it was.

"Where did you get that?"

Berwald gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "Study."

Denmark blinked his shock away. "Well it doesn't matter anyway because there is nothing in there about..."

Berwald easily caught his bluff. "Rule number th'rty-two." He had been quite surprised by the actual length and detail of Denmark's list of rules. He was not sure what the insane Dane was studying at university, but he now had the slightly disturbing feeling it might be law.

Denmark snatched the list from him, perused it, and began reading aloud. "Rule thirty-two. If a bedroom is vacant for any period of time exceeding one week, any member of the household may lay claim to it if..." His words slowed as he reached the end of the sentence.

"If no one objects," Berwald finished. Denmark stared at the paper, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked up furiously. Berwald's expression remained unchanged as he asked, "Well... any objections?"

"No," said Greenland quickly, followed by Faeroe saying "None here," through a mouthful of popcorn.

"No," said Tino. "I mean, if this is what you want, Berwald."

"No," said Iceland. "Keep going, though, this is really hot."

Denmark turned to Norway pleadingly. "Norge!"

"Oh Denmark, honestly," snapped Norway. "The only time you use that twister mat is when you are completely trashed and want an excuse to touch someone up."

"Like that time you groped Fin's ass and Norway wouldn't speak to you for a week," said Iceland.

Denmark, Norway and Tino replied at once. "That never happened."

"Yeah, but it totally did, and Norge got so jealous..."

"Denmark," barked Norway loudly. "Let Sweden have the blasted Twister room."

Denmark took a deep, shaking breath, clutching his chest as though wounded. "I can not believe you would all betray me like this. Not that it matters in the end. You will note, Sweden, that rule thirty-two quite clearly states, 'If no one objects.'" Denmark raised his chin, smiling grimly. "I'm sorry Sweden, but I object to the terms of the agreement."

Berwald had expected that. He allowed himself to smirk as he played his last card. "Rule f'rty-three."

Denmark quickly looked down at the list. "Rule forty-three. In all decisions, disregarding those expressly and explicitly stating otherwise, the majority choice rules." Denmark's smile fell, his fists clenched, and he nodded bitterly. "Well played, Sweden, well played." He crumpled the paper in his hand. "Goddamned Scandinavian democracy. I knew I should have made this a dictatorship."

.

Berwald was still not sure what to make of this street. He had encountered most of its student population the other day at that ridiculous car dragging race, which apparently was not such an odd occurrence here after all. The inhabitants of this street would turn out in droves for any reason at all. The place was like a twenty-four hour street carnival.

Denmark divided the students into groups based on their nationalities and the houses they lived in. He had taken the time to explain it to Berwald one evening, accosting him into taking a seat at the dining room table and standing over him as though delivering a lecture, all while Tino mouthed apologies and the others looked on indifferently. According to Denmark their immediate neighbours consisted of The USSR, the Italo-German Alliance of Across-The-Street, and Those Guys Next Door.

The 'Russians', Berwald had decided, weren't really all that bad. Tino was friends with most of them, and Berwald could not figure out what they were doing living with Ivan.

Those Guys Next Door were worse. Berwald had nearly been assaulted three times by the French guy simply walking to the mailbox. The British guy got incredibly drunk every second night and either ended up bashing on their windows asking if they had any booze or passing out on someone's front lawn until the American rescued him. At least he wasn't usually naked, though, unlike both Feliciano from across the road and the crazy French guy.

Berwald spent the majority of his free time working on the garden. It was the one thing he could control in the insane erratic existence of this house, where day after day things seemed to stay the same and yet be completely unpredictable at the same time. Berwald had yet to see the guys on the couch actually move from it. He had answered the phone three times only to be asked breathily what he was 'into'. He'd had to climb onto the roof one afternoon, in front of a crowd of cheering onlookers, in a bold rescue attempt after Denmark consumed a bottle of tequila mixed with Tabasco sauce and came to the very firm conviction that he was a Mexican gargoyle. And he was still awoken every night by Denmark and Norway's deafening nocturnal activities, even though the next day Norway would swear up, down and sideways that he wouldn't touch the Dane with a sterilised bargepole.

But every morning when Berwald walked into the kitchen, Tino would be waiting, a cup of coffee already made. Every day when he came home Tino would be either sitting at the table in the living room, or at the kitchen bench, or would bump into him in the hallway, every day with those wide, violet eyes and that way he bit his lip and that small, perfect smile. Berwald was convinced he could put up with anything - with Denmark's insanity and Iceland's phone calls and Norway's nightly screaming fits - with absolutely anything, if he could just see that smile every day.

True, Tino was not immune from the insanity of the place. He was, in fact, rather strange, which really only made him more endearing. It was not uncommon to find him staring blankly out the window lost in thought, searching for his sunglasses when they were on his head, or attempting to make any number of strange dessert concoctions containing coffee, rhubarbs, salmiakki, or on one disastrous occasion all three ingredients at once. Berwald had already had to point out twice that Tino was leaving the house with two different shoes on.

But more than anything, Berwald loved early mornings. The household was asleep, the street was quiet for a change, and he could work peacefully in the garden without distractions like that French guy peeking over the fence or random empty cans flying into the yard or that really weird time Denmark had watched from the window all afternoon giving running commentary like he was a presenter on ESPN. Berwald was in the middle of planting a row of Lily of the Valley – the national flower of Finland – when he heard the phone ring. He ignored it - it was probably for Iceland. After the fourteenth ring, he realised no one was going to answer. He tore off his gloves, stomped through the back door, and picked up the kitchen phone. "H'llo?"

"Oh, hi," said a pleasant sounding male voice. "Could I speak to Ice, please?"

"He's not here."

"I'm sorry?"

Berwald sighed. "Not here," he repeated loudly.

"Oh, okay. Look, maybe you can help me out. Ice usually does it but I'm sure you can do it just as well."

Berwald's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the phone. "Um… no… can't help with that sort'f thing," he said, alarmed.

"It won't take long, I'm happy to wait while you get sorted, and of course I'll pay for your time."

Berwald started to panic. "Look, I'm sorry, you've got th'wrong…"

The voice sighed. "Come on buddy, it'll take you like two minutes to fire up the laptop or grab the paper at least - Ice gets it delivered every morning. I just need to know the baseball results."

Berwald's thoughts clicked into place. "Ohh…"

He grabbed that days paper from the bench, read the guy his baseball scores five times until he understood, then finally hung up the phone exhausted. He turned around to find Tino standing in the doorway. Berwald pointed awkwardly at the phone. "He, uh... wanted th'baseball scores."

"There's a guy who calls every day at 6 a.m. for the daily horoscope. Ice just makes it up."

Now Berwald was really confused. "What sort'f phone service does he run?"

"That's kind of hard to say. People call him for anything from sports scores and horoscopes to hacking information to..." Tino blushed and coughed. "Well, um, you know. As long as they deposit the money into his PayPal account, Ice will talk about anything. Which is kind of ironic really because normally he hardly talks at all."

"Thought he was... Ye know. A pr'stit'te." Berwald mumbled.

Tino was usually better than most at understanding Berwald, but this time he looked confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Prostit'te," Berwald repeated, his face burning.

Tino's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, God, no! I mean, he's pretty good at getting stuff out of guys and he'll say some… uh… risqué sort of stuff on certain phone calls. But he's pretty much all talk. Literally." Tino slowly walked forward, spreading his hands thoughtfully on the counter. "It's funny. On the phone, Ice will talk to anyone about anything. He can be someone completely different, and he can also be totally himself. But in reality… he maintains this façade, you know? He doesn't let anyone in. Well, expect for one guy, but we all know how that ended and oh wow, it's really none of my business to be talking about that, did you want a coffee?"

"Thanks," said Berwald as Tino went to turn on the jug. "I guess I just… assumed. Sorry."

"Well, we all make that mistake sometimes, don't we?" Tino smiled kindly. "And I understand that you'd be a bit confused."

"It just seems a bit, er… really odd, though."

Tino laughed softly. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, everyone here is a little odd. But that's because everyone kind of has to be, you know? It's easier to be odd or crazy or insane than to hurt all the time."

That was something Berwald was quickly learning about Tino. He could be talking about something completely random and nonsensical one moment, then say something the next that made perfect sense.

"Did yer parents really kick y'out 'cause ye kissed yer best friend?" Berwald wasn't sure where that question came from. He just knew that he really needed to know.

Tino stared at the coffee mugs as he placed them on the bench. "I… wanted to see what they would do. I guess I wanted to know straight up how they would react. They kicked me out, and I got my answer."

Berwald nodded. "That makes more sense."

His face flushed, Tino focused on preparing the coffee. "I told you we were all a little odd."

Berwald could not imagine Tino without all the weird, wonderful, charming things that made him a 'little odd.' "That's not a bad thing."

Tino blushed deeper. "So, uh, what will you be doing today?" he asked quickly.

"Workin' in th'garden."

"You don't have to worry about escaping Denmark. On Sundays he doesn't get up until evening."

Berwald shrugged. "I like bein' in th'garden."

Tino paused, spoon hovering over the coffee jar. Then he looked up slowly, eyes bright and a tiny, warm smile on his lips. "You're sort of sweet, really, aren't you?"

Berwald's body flooded with warmth. Tino, however, dropped the spoon and took a step backwards, expression turning quickly dismayed.

"Um, I mean, oh gosh, I really didn't… I'm sorry."

"Why?" asked Berwald. That just made Tino more flustered.

"I have to…" Tino paused. Berwald waited. "… go." Then he rushed from the room.

Berwald's heart sunk as he watched him go. Just when he thought Tino was getting used to him. He sighed to himself and finished making the coffee. Tino would probably never get used to him – no one ever did.

.

The next afternoon things came to a crisis. As Berwald went to place his money in the rent jar, the same as he had done last Monday in accordance with House Rule Number One, he found that the jar was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was checking in the cupboards to see if someone had put it away somewhere, a knock came at the door. Berwald went and answered it warily.

"Good afternoon!" The man at the door stood at an equal height to Berwald and had a fake smile plastered on his broad face. His huge arms bulged against the fabric of a cheap black suit and his stare was an obvious attempt at intimidation. Berwald recognised the threatening stance: a debt collector. "Is there a Mr Køhler I can speak to?"

"A Mr… oh." Berwald remembered the name as the one shouted in the cafeteria the other day. He stared back evenly and invoked rule number fourteen. "He's out'f th'country."

"I see." The collector's smile dropped and he flexed his biceps. Berwald tried not to roll his eyes. "Perhaps, then, you could give this to him when he returns?" The man held out an envelope and Berwald took it. "Final notice. I hope I will not have to visit again. Next time, things shall not go quite so…" He paused in what he probably thought was a dramatic manner. "…pleasantly."

"Sure, yeah." Berwald slammed the door before the man turned away. The collector had chosen the wrong guy if he was looking for someone to intimidate. Berwald tore open the letter, read it quickly, and clenched his hand into a fist.

"Problem?" asked Greenland from behind him.

"Where is Denmark?" Berwald asked the question quietly, trying not to let a hot wave of rage overwhelm him.

"Bedroom," replied Greenland quickly. "Get the popcorn, Faeroe, this oughta be good."

"It was only a matter of time," said Faeroe. "'Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.'"

Berwald stormed up the stairs, slammed open Denmark's bedroom door, and turned on the light. Denmark squeaked and fell off the bed; Norway immediately disappeared under the covers. Berwald held up the crumpled letter. "Someone care t'explain this t'me?"

"Who? Huh? How… What's going on? Are we under attack?"

"What's goin' on is I've just received an eviction notice from a debt collector."

"What?"

"I paid ye three weeks in advance!" Berwald couldn't keep his voice down now. "That was th'only money I had! What th'hell did ye do with it?"

Denmark pulled himself to his feet, brushed himself down, and turned to face Berwald with an attempt at looking dignified. With his Danish flag boxers, flattened hair, and sheet around his ankles, he did not manage to pull it off. "Sweden. You sound as though you have some concerns. Would you like to schedule a house meeting?"

"Yes," Berwald growled. "Now."

.

Denmark sat at the head of the table, the eviction notice in front of him, looking for all the world like a supreme court judge who had been called in to a crucial case after an all night bender. He even had a gavel, which he was currently utilising to its full potential. "House meeting!" he shouted. "Come to order! House…"

"Yes, Denmark, for fuck's sake, you've shouted that six times already," growled Norway, leaning on the table with a copy of Kafka's 'The Trial' in his hand. "We're all here. Get on with it."

Berwald, Tino and Iceland all sat around the table, varying degrees of apprehension on their faces. Even Greenland and Faeroe's couch had been turned to face the table, though Berwald had the feeling they would not be contributing much to the conversation.

"So," began Denmark gravely. "We are all quite aware of the problem with the rent."

Berwald was not aware. "Problem?"

"I can't understand you, Sweden. That's why we roped someone in to try and help us get our costs back up."

"Roped? Costs? What are ye talkin' about?"

"Seriously, Sweden, speak up, I can't understand a word you're saying. Now we all know everything has been going well, we've been paying back our debt slowly..."

"Your debt," said Iceland.

Denmark waved a hand. "Let's not quibble about the particulars. Now, due to unseen circumstances, we lost our last weeks rent. Three weeks. Well, you know, about a months worth."

"And by unforeseen circumstances he means he bet it all on a German tied to a car," said Norway.

"We've what? Can someone 'xplain?"

"Sweden, I swear, you really need to see someone about this speech impediment of yours. Now the big problem here being, of course, that we already owe about three months on top of that. You know, from the last time we lost it."

"You lost it," Iceland interrupted.

"LAST time?" Berwald was baffled.

"Look, things happen, wheels set in motion, you know how these things go, and apparently we had a visit this afternoon from our friendly neighbourhood debt collector to inform us that we now have to pay our de..."

"Your de..."

"DEBT, Iceland, in one transaction. Soon. Immediately. Well, in a week. Or we'll be, you know. Evicted."

A resounding silence fell. No one responded. Eventually Norway stood, walked over to Denmark, and slapped him over the back of the head.

Tino put his head in his hands. "Den. How much do we owe?"

"Well," said Denmark, rubbing his head, "Erm, by now it would be... ten grand."

Tino gasped. "Ten grand? Ten thousand dollars? How is that even possible?"

"Ye couldn't've told us 'bout this before?" Berwald was beyond angry. This was beyond a joke. If it were not for Tino he would be desperate to move out; but now the thought of being evicted almost terrified him. He did not know where Tino might end up moving to, but the thought he might go somewhere Berwald would not see him every day was like a punch in the gut.

"Look, I've got us out of trouble like this before, I can do it again," said Denmark.

Norway scoffed loudly. "You're joking, right?"

"Shush. Now first things first." Denmark steepled his hands, looked up thoughtfully, and leant forward. "Does anybody have any money?"

Norway glared. "Well I have twelve dollars fifty in my bank account, how about the rest of you?"

"I don't have much," said Tino quietly. "I should probably get a part time job. Or I could maybe try to explain to my parents that I need more money for school. I mean, they don't pay me all that much." When Berwald looked at him quizzically, Tino explained, "They give me a weekly allowance, as long as I never attempt to contact them. Which probably means I can't ask for more money after all…"

Denmark slammed a hand on the table. "Parents are bullshit," he spat vehemently. The violence of his tone almost startled Berwald. "Don't you dare ask those assholes for a single thing, Tino."

"He shouldn't have to. Ye lost the money. Ye should get it back." Berwald didn't want to make a scene, but Denmark was really starting to piss him off. It was getting to a point where he was simply not going to take it anymore. Denmark turned to him furiously, but Iceland quickly interjected.

"Well, to be fair..." Iceland trailed off.

"T'be fair?" Berwald prompted.

"To be fair," continued Tino, "We kind of all had something to do with losing the first lot of money. Not yours of course," he added quickly. "That was all Denmark."

"Huh? What d'ye do? How d'ye lose it?"

A long silence, before Tino finally whispered a single word. "Poker."

Berwald felt like the room had turned upside down. They could not be serious. Must it always comeback to this? "Poker?"

"Russia has a poker game every month," explained Denmark. "No big deal."

"No big deal?!" Now Berwald was astounded. "You played 'gainst Ivan? Are ye completely stupid?!"

Another very long silence before Norway spoke. "Sweden, this is Denmark. Have you met?"

"I was due for a win!" moaned Denmark.

Berwald had to stop to think. This was so much more than he expected, and frankly, it was a little terrifying. "No one wins 'gainst Ivan." Especially not an amateur like you, he added silently.

"And how, exactly, do you know this?" Norway's face was as blank as ever, but his tone was uncannily perceptive.

Berwald tried to answer carefully. Denmark might be an idiot, but Norway certainly wasn't. "I've played 'gainst him, too. I lost. He's th'best on th'circuit. He plays against players far more... experienced than you. And he always wins."

Norway leant forward and fixed Berwald with a piercing, suspicious stare. "You almost punched him the other day."

"It's nothin'." Berwald spoke firmly. "Like I said, I play poker. So does he. I'm good. He's better. That's it."

Norway's eyes narrowed. "These poker games. They are more than just... games, aren't they? I mean, they are more than the pathetic little diversions Denmark involves himself with."

Berwald did not know how to answer that. "Well..."

"Ivan called you a criminal the other day. What did he mean by that, Berwald?" Norway had heard that? What the hell else had he heard? Berwald shifted uncomfortably as every set of eyes in the room stared at him.

"t'was nothin'. He just wants t'make trouble."

"He's playing with you." Iceland's voice was both bitter and surprisingly understanding. "I don't know what the deal is with you and Ivan, Sweden. But as far as I'm concerned any enemy of Ivan is a friend of ours."

There was a thoughtful silence before Denmark spoke. "Yes, Russia's a bastard, I think we're all aware of that by now. Unless anyone has extortion plans, which by the way I would totally be in favour of, I hardly think he is relevant to this conversation."

For possibly the first time Berwald found himself in agreement with Denmark. "'kay. Let me get this straight. Ye lost three months rent playin' poker."

Denmark nodded. "Yes."

"Now ye've lost another months rent on some stupid car pullin' contest."

"How the hell did that kraut lose?" moaned Denmark.

"And now we've got a week to pay ten grand."

"Sweden, your powers of observation are outstanding," said Norway flatly.

"Don't be such a bitch, Norway," said Tino.

Berwald was rather impressed. "Seems to me," he said finally, "We need t'find a way t'make ten grand."

"Norway could strip," suggested Denmark. Norway flipped him off. "Hey, baby, it was a compliment, I'd pay to see that…"

"You couldn't afford that," Norway shot back.

"Denmark could rob a bank," offered Iceland.

"No one's asking you Icelander, we all know how good your kind is with financial problems."

"Fuck you, Denmark!"

"We could kill the landlord." Everyone stared at Norway.

Denmark nodded, raising a hand thoughtfully. "So far that's actually the best idea."

"We don't even know who the landlord is," said Tino, frustrated.

"There's always prostitution."

"No one's gonna pay for you, Denmark," said Iceland.

"It's only a few more steps from what you're doing, Ice. We could kick Sweden out of the twister room and set up some sort of pay by the hour boudoir…"

"I hate you so much sometimes."

"But only sometimes, right?"

"Just stop it!" cried Tino. "Don't you understand? If we lose this place, I have nowhere to go. You have nowhere to go. We need to be serious and figure out what we are going to do!"

"Weeell," said Denmark slowly. "At a time like this, there's really only one thing you can do." Berwald braced himself for whatever Denmark would come out with now. Denmark surveyed the table with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Party?"

Norway tapped his chin thoughtfully then slightly inclined his head. "Party."

Iceland closed his eyes and threw up a hand. "Party!"

Berwald knitted his brows in confusion, Tino put his head in his hands, and Denmark stood, stretched, and grinned manically. "Doll yourselves up, boys, and bust out the fake IDs. We're hitting the town, and we are hitting it hard."

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[idkhyuck]

Meeting Tom pt.1/? TOM HOLLAND ONE SHOT

SOOOOO.  This might be a series of one-shots about meeting Tom in different ways. FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED also any advice from other writers to help me make these more ~professional looking~. mostly fluffy goodness. 

Please note this is my first time writing for Tom and i’m still getting a feel for him so bare with me on this journey. This first one will be a little basic but i have many more ideas for more ~creative~ ways of meeting tom. 

*Summary* You have a great day at a con interacting with tom. 

I was standing in line. I couldn’t believe this was finally happening. I’ve been here since 11 exploring all the con had to offer me. As the clock neared 4:30 my heart would do little jumps in my chest, it nearly all out stopped once the line i was in started moving and buzzing towards the front. The line moving at an agonizingly slow pace, The buzz of the con around me becoming increasingly more loud and agitating. now was not the time to freak out, i thought calming myself as best i could. the girls in front of me were excitedly chatting about how handsome tom would look and the poses they wanted to do with him. The little boy behind me playing with his spiderman action figure. i decided i needed to distract myself so i played every game i had on my phone at least twice, i looked up the line was getting shorter I was almost to the front oh shit. What pose did i want to do again? oh yes okay. got it, the girls in front of met went in as a group. i took a few deep breaths, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest. The security motioned for me to move forward, next in line. the anticipation killing me. he slowly opened the curtain, or maybe it just seemed slow because the moment i saw him the world stopped around me. all noise that had been bugging me from before was gone the moment he turned to me with a big smile

“hey! how’s it going?” he said his voice was foreign to my ears, like I’d heard it a thousand times but this was the first time i really heard it.

“Great. you?” i smiled back at him as i walked into the little room surprisingly calm. 

“Not too bad.” He said meeting my eyes. My god, his eyes. They crinkled slightly as his smile met them, The rich colour still showing through despite the florescent lights shining dull above our heads. “What are we doing?” he asks as i approach him. 

“ummm, i want to stare lovingly at each other.” i laughed nervously “you are an actor after all. and i love you soo...” i added “may i?” i asked holding my arms up asking for his embrace

“won’t have to act too hard.” he said with a wink. my pulse quickened i hoped to god he couldn’t hear it because for like a millisecond it was all i could hear. His  arms wrapped around me all too fast. or maybe it was just the fact that he was taking my breath away. All i could feel was his arms around me for a second, strong. firm. a nice hug. i wrapped my arms around him. his waist small. his body firm against mine. i looked up to meet his eyes. i was beginning to regret my choice of pose because it was so hard to look at him in this vicinity and keep a straight enough face so i don’t look like a complete lunatic. his eye contact was so intense, i looked down at his cheekbones for a second and noticed them lifting. i looked down at his smiling lips, then back up at his eyes and that was all it took for a smile to start creeping up on me. There was a flash i blinked.

“All done.” the photographer said in a droll voice. 

we lingered in this position for what felt like forever and it was all over in a matter of seconds as he pulled away from me. i looked up at him

“thank you.” i smiled at him then looked down. 

“it was my pleasure.” he said as i met his eyes one last time and turned to walk out the other side of the curtain. everything all coming back to me, my mind racing at light speed. how long was i in there. everything was still going on around me outside, i looked around lost for a second before i got stopped by an official looking person. 

“wait for you’re printed copy. the digital has been sent.” she said. she handed me a photo envelope. “have a nice day.” She said.

“thanks.” i said my voice sounded small. was i in shock. i walked out of main hall into a smaller hall with food and drinks set up. i found a table at the back of the hall. i was so incredibly thirsty. i spotted a lemonade booth right beside me. i went over and bought some. i sat at the table by myself. i opened the photo envelope. the glossy photo sliding out smoothly. i flipped it over and the first thing i saw was tom. it turned out better than i could have ever imagined. Then the words he said kept playing over in my head. Why was he so charming. Was he like that with everyone? I had my autograph session in an hour. the anticipation of meeting tom again filling me. would he remember me? i took a deep breath, i can’t build this up to be something it’s not. i looked over at me in the picture and i didn’t look absolutely horrible. tom’s arms around me made me look smaller than i am. and i couldn’t get over at how close we were ugh. it was perfect. i took one last lingering look at tom’s face and how sincere it looked and put the picture back in its envelope and back in my bag. i sat there enjoying my lemonade and went back to the main room where people were already lining up for tom’s autograph session. i stood in line and played on my phone again. i took out the spider man poster i wanted him to sign and admired it. my best friend sent me this for my birthday. The crowd started screaming Tom arrived at the table i’m assuming... this line was winding like crazy and i was short so i couldn’t see. i looked around, cosplayers in all directions taking pictures with fans, other celebrities and guests signing autographs. This was a bigger con. it was amazing seeing it all. The line was actually moving pretty fast. people would walk by gushing about Tom. it made me all excited as i neared the front of the line. i saw him sitting there, i just now noticed what he was wearing. a t-shirt and bomber jacket. he was now wearing a baseball cap. He looked so normal, taking that picture, talking with him felt so normal. This man i PAID to meet was finally more than a picture on my phone or a hashtag on twitter. He was real person with strong arms, and soft lips that i so badly wanted to kiss the more i thought about it. shit i can’t be doing this to myself. i was about 5 people away. i held onto my poster and took deep breaths as the people flew by. i only realized i was the last person in line as i was the only one standing there waiting to be seen. 

“Next. one item, no pictures.” The lady said to me as i looked up to see Tom once again. He looked over and a smile crossed his face. 

“Hello.” he said cheerfully 

“hi.” i said 

“how did our picture turn out?” he asked as i approached the table. 

“it’s wonderful thank you.” 

“the pleasure was all mine.” he said “What have you got for me to sign?” he asked 

“this poster.” i said, it was the poster of him napping on set in full costume.

“ah. this.” he said with a chuckle as he took it from me. his dramatic signature glossing the poster in a flash. 

“Hey. uh tag me on instagram.” he said with a smile and maybe a wink... maybe i blinked

“thanks i will.” i said 

“i’ll see you around.”

“i can only hope.” i thought.he laughs behind me,did i say that outloud. i turned to see him being ushered out behind the curtain.i was walking away. 

“UM.” a girl beside me said “Tom Holland winked at you!” she said 

“He did?” i asked, but that just confirmed my suspicions.

“yes!” She said “that’s a nice poster by the way.’ 

“thank you!” i said smiling at her cheerfully but inside i was more than perplexed by my interactions with Tom. I continued my walk around. i was mostly lost in thought and found myself sitting in the food court place again. i took a picture of the poster and posted it. 

“Thanks @ Tomholland2013 for signing this poster. Having so much fun at @ (con’s instagram) 

I bought some food and made my way over to the panel. They let us in and we all got seated. I wasn’t picked to ask a question but that’s fine. a few seats front row frees up so i quickly moved up.Tom came out and worked the crowd easily.it was still so amazing to see him, in person. so many little details camera’s missed. The way he looked at the person talking to him like they were the only person in the room. his little fidgeting as he sat there. He was just so much more real to me.the panel ended. i swear we locked eyes but i don’t want to be on of those people that thinks eye contact with a celebrity means anything. i walked out of the panel room and into the big hall one last time. The sadness of it all coming to and end hitting me. I’d met Tom, i’d flirted with tom. he’d be flying off somewhere probably by tonight if he wasn’t already on his way to the airport. i waited outside for my uber. my phone buzzed as it approached, and buzzed again for good measure. i hopped in and took my phone out of my pocket. 

“Tomholland2013 wants to send you a message.” 

[akapeterman]

craving the past

Peter's down with the flu at the lake house, but his insecurities get the best of him and he doesn't let Tony know. Unfortunately, things get a whole lot more hectic than he intends, and the whole situation spirals out of his control.

link to read on ao3

Peter was really starting to get sick of this headache. 

It was low grade, more annoying than anything else, but the pain was there; scrambling his focus and mildly irritating his enhanced senses. 

He just wanted it gone.

He was staying at the lake house for spring break, and Mr. Stark had warned him that Morgan was recovering from a bug and by result was stir crazy and cranky from being cooped up for so long. Morgan was a force to be reckoned with, sick or not, and listening to her throw a tantrum was not at the top of his bucket list with this headache. Mr. Stark had said they could reschedule if he wanted, but May was going to Mexico for the week with Happy and Peter had decided it would be better for his anxiety if he was keeping busy and around people. 

Standing outside searching for Mr. Stark’s car, squinting against the sunlight, he was wondering if he made the wrong choice. 

He didn’t want to be alone, not really, but he was really tired and didn’t want to worry anyone. And Mr. Stark could always tell when he hadn’t been sleeping enough, so he had no chance with trying to hide it. 

A car pulled up in front of him and the window rolled down to reveal a familiar face, but not the one he was expecting. 

“Hop in, kid,” Happy grumbled. “It’s technically my day off and I have to be on time to meet May after her shift is over.”

Peter buckled himself into the car, glancing curiously at the head of security beside him. 

“Where’s Mr Stark?”

“What, I’m not good enough for you?” Peter rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean. I just thought he was supposed to pick me up today.”

“Pep had to run into the office and Tony didn’t want to bring Morgan all the way down here; I don’t know if he warned you, but she’s pretty cranky right now.”

“Oh. Yeah he did, yeah, that makes sense.” Peter couldn’t explain why his chest tightened at the fact. He shivered and pulled his knees up onto the seat to try and keep warm; when had it gotten so cold?

Happy gave him an odd look that Peter couldn’t quite read before turning his eyes back to the road. He opened his mouth then closed it again. 

“Kid, you’re usually talking my ear off by now. Are you alright?” Happy finally asked, somewhat awkwardly.  

“Sorry, yeah. I’m good. Just had a long day at school.” 

“Okay. Just checking.” 

Peter rested his head on the window, feeling the cool glass ebb away at his ever pounding skull. He zoned out, staring as the roads turned twisty and the city noise faded into the background. 

He didn’t sleep, though he wished he could. In all honesty, Peter kind of assumed this might be where his headache was coming from; he was so tired, but for the past few days, no matter what he just couldn’t seem to sleep. It seemed pointless to even try closing his eyes, so he just watched the trees zoom by in blurs of green.

The hours passed quickly, until finally Peter felt the car pull into the familiar gravel driveway. Happy got out of the car first, grabbing Peter’s backpack out of the trunk. 

Peter was a little slower. His brain took a moment to process that they had stopped, he still felt like he was moving. He opened his door and went to get his bag from Happy, but the moment his feet hit the rocky ground, black and white dots flashed across his vision and he stumbled. 

“Woah…”

A firm hand planted itself on Peter’s upper arm and everything slowly came back into focus. Shit. This was worse than he thought. 

“Peter, eyes on me.” Happy snapped his fingers in front of his face and Peter swatted his hand away. 

“I’m good, I’m good.” Happy gave him a look.

“You almost just took a swan dive into the gravel, try again.” 

“I just need to eat something. I was finishing my Spanish homework at lunch and didn’t really have time to eat, my blood sugars probably low.” Not a total lie, he did skip lunch, but that was more attributed to the vague nausea accompanying his headache than to his Spanish homework. 

Happy looked skeptical but nodded.

“Go get Tony to make you something to eat, I’ll bring your stuff in.” Peter immediately straighted. 

“Wait, no. Please don’t tell Mr Stark about the whole...you know. ‘Victorian lady’ moment,” Peter pleaded. 

“No can do, kid. He’s on a need to know basis when it comes to your health.” 

“Please, Happy.” Peter flashed him his puppy dog eyes and Happy relented.

“Fine. But go eat.” Peter gave him a thumbs up and walked towards the door with Happy not far behind picking up his bags, grumbling under his breath.

“Damn kid, making me soft.” 

-

Inside the house was a disaster. There were open children’s books and various toys strewn across the floor, a couple cushions pulled off the couches and something was boiling over on the stove. 

Still, Peter felt himself relaxing immediately as the familiar, homey environment welcomed him. He wasn’t even aware he was still so cold until the warmth from the fireplace eased up his shaking hands.

Tony walked down the hall at the sound of the door, looking as exhausted as Peter felt, and he held a finger to his lips when he saw Peter. 

“Good to see you, kiddo,” Tony greeted quietly. “Morgan finally fell asleep after the 50th bedtime story today, so no big ragers tonight, you hear?” Peter smiled.

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Tony’s posture changed, eyes more alert as he sized up Peter’s appearance. 

“You only call me that when something’s up, and you’re pale. What happened?” 

Happy chose that moment to chime in from the open doorway.

“Kid’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, his blood sugar is probably tanking right now.” Peter turned to shoot Happy a venomous look and the older man just shrugged back. Luckily Tony didn’t notice the exchange and clasped his hands together.

“Now that I can fix. What’re you feeling like, Pete? We’re getting takeout tonight, but in the meantime we have a little leftover pasta, some soup—oh hell.” Tony’s eyes landed on the pot that was bubbling over and spilling onto the ground and he rushed to turn off the stove.

Peter made a beeline for one of the couches the minute Tony’s attention was off him, fatigue pulling at his body and melting him into the cushions. 

He kind of spaced out again, tuning into the white noise inside his head. He heard Tony invite Happy to stay for dinner and Happy decline, explaining he had to meet May at the airport on time for their flight to Mexico. 

Happy left with a “see ya later” over his shoulder and then it was just Peter and Tony. 

Tony, having cleaned up his mess, came and sat at the end of the couch and threw a protein bar at Peter. 

“Eat up, buttercup. I’m gonna order in dinner soon, what do you feel like?” 

Peter had absolutely no appetite, but he knew he had to eat. Stupid enhanced metabolism. 

“Um...I’m not really sure.”

“Come on, kid. Don’t you have any preference? Pizza, Chinese...Thai?” Peter tried not to show his discomfort as his stomach sloshed warningly at the talk of food. 

“Yeah, um, Thai sounds good. Is Pepper gonna want anything?” 

“Pep is staying overnight at the Compound to oversee some SI stuff, so it’s just us for the night. Kiddo, I hate to say it, but I am exhausted. Morgan is a real handful when she’s sick. Is it alright if we postpone our lab day and turn in after dinner?”

Peter nodded, both relieved and disappointed. That pang in his chest was back, and Peter felt bad. He hated to admit it, but he was a little jealous of Morgan. He kind of missed spending a ton of time with Tony, and he craved being around people right now but didn’t want to intrude and add more to Tony’s plate. Peter internally scolded himself for allowing himself to feel this way at all. He was just overtired, he shouldn’t be thinking he was a priority over Tony’s actual sick actual daughter. 

“Pete?” Peter startled when Tony tapped his arm to get his attention, realizing he had zoned out again. That was happening a lot today. 

“Hm? Sorry, yes. That sounds good.” 

 “You look dead on your feet, bud. When’s the last time you got a full night of sleep?”

“A few nights ago. Junior year is kind of kicking my ass, I’ve had a lot of homework,” Peter lied. Yes, he’s had tons of work, but even when he didn’t, he still couldn’t sleep. No amount of Melatonin or counting sheep seemed to change the fact that he was chronically awake. 

Tony seemed to believe that, but despite the lie, he still looked concerned. 

“An early night will be good for you, then.” Tony concluded, then stood up to start putting the cushions from the floor back in the missing places on the couches. Distantly, Peter wondered when Tony had become so mundane.

- 

Later that night, once Peter had picked at his Thai food and inconspicuously wrapped a good portion of it in his napkin that he threw out as soon as he got the chance, Peter finally worked up the courage to ask to watch a movie with Tony before they headed to bed. He didn’t know why asking made him feel so weird, they had watched movies all the time together before. Before everything had changed, and Peter had arrived back in a world that had seemingly moved on without him; a world where Tony had a kid who was biologically his.

But now, asking for something like this felt like such a big task, no matter how much the rational part of Peter’s brain assured him it wasn’t. When Tony agreed and tossed him the remote to pick out a movie while he went to the kitchen to whip up some popcorn, Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. 

“Get it together, Parker,” he scolded himself, rubbing at his eyes in hopes of dulling the slowly worsening ache in his head, “Tony doesn’t have time for you to start losing it.” 

By the time Tony returned, Peter had dropped his hand from his forehead and the familiar opening credits to The Hunger Games were playing on the TV. 

Tony sat down by Peter on the couch with a bowl of popcorn he set down on the coffee table and Peter allowed himself to stretch his legs over Tony’s, feeling a little touch-starved and unwell. 

Not even twenty minutes into the movie, when Peter was finally starting to relax and his eyes were beginning to droop, a familiar voice came from the top of the steps. 

“Daddy,” Morgan sobbed, “I had a bad dream.” Tony shot Peter an apologetic look in the dull light of the TV as he stood up and headed up to Morgan. 

“Hey, Maguna. It’s okay, I can stay with you until you fall asleep again,” Tony said gently. Clearly overtired and cranky. Morgan stomped her foot, tears and snot running down her face looking overall very distraught.

“I’m not going back to bed. The bad dreams will come back!” Morgan cried even harder, and the way her little voice was rising was amplifying Peter’s headache with vengeance. He covered his ears with his hands but it wasn’t enough to block everything that was going on from his enhanced senses. 

“What if you sleep in my room tonight, sweetheart? I’ll scratch your back if you want, and I’ll be right next to you if the bad dreams come back.” 

Morgan sniffed, pawing tiredly at her eyes with her hands, and nodded slowly. 

“I’ll be back down soon,” Tony said over his shoulder as he picked her up and walked down the hall to his bedroom. 

Peter, now awake as ever due to the unrelenting pain in his head and otherwise crippling insomnia, paused the movie as he waited for Tony to come back down. As the minutes ticked by, Peter grew more skeptical. Surely Tony was at least going to say goodnight before going to bed? Eventually, as fifteen minutes became thirty, and thirty became an hour, Peter realized that Tony wasn’t coming back down. He pressed play on the movie and 

The feeling in his chest burned more intensely than ever as he curled up into a ball and fell into a fitful sleep.

-

Peter woke up on the couch disoriented and overheated. There were vaguely hushed voices coming from the kitchen and there was a blanket over his shoulders that definitely wasn’t there when he fell asleep. It was a nice gesture, no doubtedly from Tony, but he was sweating buckets already and he pushed the blanket to the ground in an attempt to escape the uncomfortable heat . 

More awake now, he noticed he felt decidedly way worse than yesterday. The little bit of sleep he’d gotten hadn’t helped in the slightest, and he felt overall really shitty. Despite being really hot, he was shivering as though he were cold and his senses were dialled up. Damn. This sucked. He took a few deep breaths to try and regulate his temperature, and it worked a little. 

Morgan was standing on a stool and trying to grab a wooden spoon from where it was sitting on the counter behind a few loose pans. 

“Oops!” Morgan giggled as she knocked them off and all the pans clattered around her. 

“Shhhh, Peter is sleeping.” Peter chose that moment to make his presence known. 

“No I’m not,” he mumbled tiredly, finally feeling steady enough to swing his feet around so they hit the ground. 

“Petey!” Morgan yelled, her feet pattering against the floor as she ran over to him. She threw herself into his arms. He stumbled, almost going back down as he swayed but managed to keep his footing.

“You seem to be feeling better, Mo,” Peter noted, putting her down almost immediately and bracing himself on the arm of the couch. If she seemed put out by this, she didn’t show it. 

“My tummy doesn’t even hurt anymore! But Daddy said I couldn’t have pancakes today like you and I was really sad but instead I get oatmeal with apple slices and a juice pop at lunch if I’m good,” Morgan said excitedly. 

“That’s good. Did you sleep well last night?” Peter said, trying to keep his voice light. Tony grimaced despite Peter’s best efforts to avoid the topic.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I meant to come down and finish the movie with you but I ended up passing out alongside Morgan.” “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Peter said, the feeling in his chest coiled tighter than ever. “I conked out on the couch pretty much as soon as you left. You were right, I was pretty tired.” Another lie. Peter really was starting to weave himself into a web of them. 

“Still, I feel bad. Which is why I made you pancakes: just the way you like with triple the amount of chocolate chips than socially acceptable. With strawberries on the side.”

“I helped!” Morgan chimed in. Peter took in the mess of the kitchen, the sugar spilled across the counter, the broken egg on the floor and the flour in Morgan’s hair. 

“I can see that.” Morgan beamed. 

Tony finally looked up from the sizzling pancake on the pan and took in Peter’s disheveled appearance. 

“Woah, kid. You’re looking a little green around the gills there. You alright?” Peter thought about telling the truth, but then he looked down at the excitable little girl currently hanging onto his leg, and he forced a nod instead. 

“Oh yeah, totally. Got a bit of a headache, but that’ll be fixed with some food.” Tony gave him an odd look, before seemingly believing him. 

“Alright, there’s some pancakes there you can get started on before I’m done all these. Go ahead and get started.”

Peter was able to force down a pancake and a half before he felt the nausea return at full force. His mouth filled with saliva and his throat tightened and he knew he was only minutes away from disaster.   

“Hey, I never really got the chance to unpack last night. I think I’m gonna head to my room and take a shower, put away all my stuff, all that.” Peter put all his effort into keeping his voice as steady as possible. 

“Sounds good, bud.” Tony said absently, distracted by the animated story Morgan was currently telling about some of the other kids in her Kindergarten class.  

The minute Peter stepped into his room and closed the door behind him, he headed immediately to the ensuite bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. 

Then, he kneeled in front of the toilet and promptly puked up his breakfast. He heaved hard and tried to be as quiet as possible as tears of exertion ran down his face.

He was undeniably sick. 

Shit. He needed to tell Tony. He wanted his super-kid meds that Bruce had synthesized for him, and honestly, he also just wanted a hug. When he was home, May always cuddled with him when he wasn’t feeling well. He longed for that kind of comfort right now.  

Peter actually did hop in the shower once his stomach settled, and the warm water helped his aching muscles feel better. He changed into a pair of sweats and pulled on an old t-shirt of Ben’s he didn’t even realize he had packed. 

Peter supposed he should have figured out he was sick before now. He didn’t really get sick as often anymore, but when he used to he would always put on Ben’s old clothes.

He practiced saying the words in his head as he walked down the hall on shaky legs, anxious for no real reason. It was his fever, mostly, but also in part a very real insecurity that had planted itself in his head since the Reversal that Tony wouldn’t care about him anymore the moment he became a burden. He had his own daughter now, afterall. Still, he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Um, Mr Stark, I’m not really—” 

“One sec, Pete. Morgan’s throat hurts again, can you grab her a juice pop from the freezer while I get the thermometer from the bathroom?” 

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” “Wait, Petey. Lift me up, I wanna get it out of the box myself but Mommy puts them on the top shelf so I can’t reach them,” Morgan said, tugging on Peter’s sleeve. Peter ran a shaky hand over his face. 

“Sure, Mo,” he said tiredly. He picked her up under the armpits, and Peter wishes he could turn back time and erase what happened next. 

Somehow Morgan’s little foot had gotten tucked partially into his hoodie pocket when he lifted her up, and as he went to put her down, she tried to pull her foot out. The sudden movement knocked him off balance, and Morgan tumbled into the kitchen counter behind them, arm outstretched. 

Her shriek is not one Peter will ever forget.

“Oh my god, Morgan!” Peter knelt down to see what was wrong, but black and white spots in his eyes had him sitting down all the way. Tony ran down in panic at the sound of his daughter’s sobbing.

“What the hell happened?” Tony asked frantically, getting on the floor with them and checking Morgan over from head to toe.

“Peter dropped me!” Morgan bawled.

 “Jesus, Peter! What were you thinking?” Tony’s words stung more than a slap in the face. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Tony’s expression was stony and unreadable as he wrapped Morgan up in a blanket and into his arms, avoiding her arm as she continued to sob. 

“I’m taking her to the hospital. Her arm is already swelling, I don’t want to risk it being broken and us not getting it checked.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said again, trying to keep his voice from trembling. Tony didn’t pay him any attention, focusing solely on trying to calm Morgan down.  

 “Rhodey will be here before I’m back, he’s coming for lunch. Please clean up the kitchen while we’re gone. And for the love of God, Peter. She’s just a little kid. You have to be more careful.” 

Tony was loading Morgan into the car within minutes, and even after they pulled out of the driveway, Morgan’s sobs echoed in his head. She had been crying because of him.

The feeling in his chest was burning now, like a fire spreading to his head and stomach as he watched them pull out of the driveway. He tried to make his way to his room so he could lie down, but he had to stop in the hall when he got too dizzy to move forward. 

Just standing there unable to move, he let his guilt bubble to the surface. 

None of this would’ve happened if he’d just stayed away. He wouldn’t have dropped Morgan, she wouldn’t have even been in danger if he hadn’t come over. Her arm would be fine, she wouldn’t be hurt. God, he couldn’t forget the way she was wailing. That was his fault. His fault. Heat was rolling over him in waves, suffocating heat. He tried to take in a breath, and oh god. He couldn’t breathe. 

His knees hit the ground hard as he tried to heave air into his lungs, embarrassment and guilt and so many other unrecognizable emotions were all bundled up and being amplified by his fever. 

He was so overwhelmed, so dizzy, and everything was dialed to eleven. He tugged his nails across his skin, hoping to get relief from how tight his skin felt against him. He felt so claustrophobic, everything was way too much. How could he be so goddamn stupid. 

Ever since coming back from the Snap, everything was different. Tony had Morgan now. He had the kid he’d always needed. And now Peter was losing Tony, and he had no way of getting him back if that happened. That’s how it always worked, anyone he trusted and loved like a father was taken away from him. 

Ben. 

Oh god. Peter sobbed into his hands, hard, his whole body shaking. He missed him. The way Ben would hold him tight when he was sick, the way he always knew instantly when he wasn’t feeling well. Ben always knew what he needed, often before Peter himself even knew. Peter craved that feeling of love more than anything else right now, and all he could do was cry in its absence. 

In the midst of his panic attack, he hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“Peter?” A soft voice called from the door. Pepper was home from work. “Tony texted me the situation and—oh my god. Peter!” Peter only cried harder as he heard Pepper rushing into the hallway, her every step feeling like it was pounding straight into his skull. 

“Are you bleeding anywhere? Holy shit, Peter, what’s going on?” Pepper kneeled down beside him, hesitant to touch but hovering her hands nearby. 

“I want Ben,” he cried, beginning to feel detached from his body. His head felt fuzzy and he found himself struggling to stay conscious. Pepper made a soft noise.

“Come here, honey,” she said, opening her arms. Peter melted into her embrace, and Pepper gasped a little as his skin made contact. “How long have you had a fever?” 

But Peter was beyond words at this point. Being wrapped in her arms only made him cry harder. He didn’t deserve this; didn’t she know who’s fault it was that his daughter was in the hospital? His breathing picked up again, he was going through the motions but no air was entering his lungs.

“I need you to breathe with me, alright? Inhale for 4, hold for 7, let out for 8. Can you do that with me, sweetheart?” 

Peter managed to keep up with her as she counted, and his breathing slowly began to even out. but the tears didn’t stop falling. Nothing felt real at this point, he was floating and detached and void of all feeling but fear and hurt. 

He could vaguely make out Pepper’s voice talking to someone else, but he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Rhodey, thank god. He’s burning.” There was another hand that moved against his forehead, this one rougher than Pepper’s soft touch, but none less gentle. 

“We need to get him into the tub. I’ll carry him there, can you go ahead and fill the bath? Less than halfway with lukewarm water.” Rhodey was talking seriously, and he sounded scared. Peter was losing a grip on his surroundings. 

“And call Tony. Ask him what symptoms Peter’s had since he’s been here.”

“I will.” A soft kiss was pressed to his hairline before footsteps retreated down the hall. 

That was the last thing he processed before everything went black.

[zecretsanta]

To: @larvaloverlord​

From: @kiichu​

Here’s a small Bonus Round gift for my Zecret Santa, @larvaloverlord! :)

Ao3

—

“This is… a Christmas tree?” The GAULEM’s eyes practically glowed as she studied the frame of the fir towering well above their heads. The needles were a glittering emerald, brushed with the illusion of fresh frost in the form of some simple paint. A large, red contraption hugged itself around the trunk, the holes in the mechanism showing the water that pooled inside, seeping into the tree when it needed to drink like an IV.

The tree probably looked the same as any other in the forest, but Luna concluded that this was the most beautiful one. According to her, at least, this one was the best and most perfect choice for their makeshift family.

Beside her, the other participants of the Ambidex Game stood as firmly as the tree itself, most of their faces showing a bright expression. Sigma assumed the leader position once more, positioned at the front of the group. The soft wrinkles on his face gently shifted as he smiled, eyes twinkling as he nodded.

The details of how they all made it to earth - even Luna, who shouldn’t have been able to function out of Rhizome-9 - were a complete blur. She recalled the Ambidex Game ending, all of the players surviving, and the truth being revealed to most of them. Dr. Klim’s consciousness returned to his body, and she helped him return to his room to rest. The moment she did, she felt her insides shutting down, a familiar buzzing creeping through her mind. This had happened a few times before, for maintenance and other routine reasons, but she remembered feeling quite unsure, terrified that after she was shut off that final time, she wouldn’t wake up again.

However, that couldn’t be further from the truth, as she’d somehow woken up on an earth none of them recognized - an earth that was clean and healthy.

Dr. Klim, Ms. Kurashiki, and all of the Ambidex Game players had ended up SHIFTing to a world where Radical-6 was never released, and Luna had never seen such a wondrous sight. She didn’t even know it was possible to ever see such a world, one that the AB Garden severely paled to in comparison, much less live in it. Somehow, somehow, they had brought her with them when they SHIFTed - and she didn’t ask the details.

She didn’t want to know how those that did not have a consciousness in this timeline, like Quark and K and Dio, were able to arrive here. She didn’t even bother to wonder if she was still hooked up to the same computer system - the details no longer mattered to her. All was well, and she would be a fool to question things.

Some of the consciousness the humans all SHIFTed into did exist in this world, so it was easy for them to jump. Tenmyouji, for example, had a large furnished home - the Tenmyouji from this timeline had been happy and successful, and dissolved away in favor of the newly-SHIFTed consciousness. Regardless, Tenmyouji still had a house, and let everyone stay in it, citing that he’d be “a bitter old man” otherwise.

She had been more than happy just to be here on earth with everyone, but humans always did want more than they had - not that that was a bad thing in the least for this case. Yes, now they wished to bring their happiness to another level - and take Luna with them.

They proposed they celebrate Christmas, albeit a month late.

Quark was positively ecstatic. The child clearly hadn’t celebrated a proper holiday like this before, as he lived a junk collector’s life with Tenmyouji. Luna felt a comforting sort of warmth in her chest at the thought of Quark being so happy - perhaps it was her motherly programming, but she couldn’t help but want to try in any way possible to get that boy to smile just a bit brighter.

In the end, Tenmyouji and Quark decided to dig through the attic, to see if they could find any decorations.

Clover looked rather melancholy, recollecting all the Christmas traditions she’d done as a child with her brother, but decided to help collect a tree with Alice as a way to honor him. K decided to join them, most likely the strength to carry back any tree they found outside.

Ms. Kurashiki decided to make some tea, and Phi dug through some old Christmas CD albums. Dr. Klim sat quietly, keeping an eye on Dio. Their “unwelcome guest” (Dr. Klim���s words, not Luna’s) had his wrists bound for now, looking very wide-eyed and lost in a world he’d never known. Gone was the rage and hatred he showed in the Ambidex Game, in its place a look of desolation and utter confusion. If she had a heart, the sight of him like that would have twisted it.

An hour later, the group of three had returned with a beautiful fir tree, and placed it in the center of the room in a stand filled with water.

“Luna?”

A voice snapped her out of her reminiscing, turning to glance at the others standing nearby. Everyone looked rather pleased at their find, and were looking at her expectantly.

“U-um, yes? I’m sorry, I spaced out…” she murmured, folding her hands in front of her face timidly.

Dr. Klim smiled warmly - a smile she wanted to keep on his face as long as possible - and handed her a glass star-shaped item. She held it up in front of the tree, watching the green of the needles sparkle through the clear shape of the star. The sight dazzled her, sending another spark of warmth through her circuits.

“It’s beautiful…” she whispered, still in awe.

“Isn’t it?!” Quark cried, shoving Tenmyouji aside to stand in the front of the group. “Me and Grandpa found it upstairs in the attic! I think it’s the prettiest ornament he owns!”

Ah, an ornament - that was right, according to the customs she’d read in books, these were hung from the branches of the Christmas tree. But why was she given the honor of holding Quark’s obviously favorite ornament?

“You should put it on, then,” she insisted, attempting to give it back.

“No, no,” Dr. Klim’s voice was kind, but firm - she retracted her hand, giving him a curious look. “We all agreed to let you put on the star of the tree, Luna. We’ll all put up the lights and more ornaments first, but you can place the star on at the very end to complete the look.”

Luna’s eyes glittered, her ‘heart’ thumping against her chest. The blissful, merry feeling completely overwhelmed her; was this what people meant when they talked about Christmas cheer? Was it really the time of year that brought out such sentiments, or just the selfless deeds of others that created a peaceful atmosphere?

Whatever the case, Luna felt it - she’d never felt anything like it before, and she didn’t want to ever not feel like this. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at Dr. Klim, a film of artificial tears pooling under her eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you,” she breathed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around the doctor. He stiffened at her sudden touch, but ultimately relaxed and patted her head like a child. She didn’t care that she was probably staining his shirt - she was just so happy.

When she finally pulled back, she gazed up at the doctor, matching his smile with her own.  

A dry tone sounded from beside her. “Um, wow, Luna, way to thank the rest of us,” Phi muttered, and Dr. Klim shifted and gently grabbed her arm; Phi gave a surprised yelp as she was pulled in beside Luna. The two made the structure of an enclosure around Luna, making her feel like a protected child.

“Oh, oh! I want in!” Clover squealed, her pink curls bouncing as she hopped over to join them.

Alice gave a chuckle and casually strolled up to the group next, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. “I suppose there’s no reason not to. Everything seemed to work out, after all.”

Luna smiled and nodded - yes, this timeline seemed to be perfect for everyone, didn’t it? Her pulse sped up as she could feel two new pairs of arms encircle her, the two young women each giving her a wink.

“C’mon, Grandpa!” Quark cried, pushing his way into the group.

Tenmyouji gave a loud sigh. “My, my, we’re awfully huggy today, aren’t we… well, like Alice said, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I guess.”

Two more bodies joined their circle, Quark’s wide smile enough to brighten everyone else’s expressions just that much more.

A muffled chuckle sounded nearby, K’s analytical tone following it. “Ah, I believe this is called a group hug, yes?”

And Dio’s rough hiss: “No shit. Like fuck I’m getting in on that, though.”

“Don’t be like that, Dio - Christmas is supposed to be about love and joy, or so I’ve heard. Come now,” K said, and dragged Dio by the wrist towards the group.

“H-hey! Let me go!” Dio squirmed, trying to pry the metal fingers off him. Luna softly smiled towards him as they approached, trying to get him to relax a bit more; when the blond noticed her smile, he merely grimaced and broke eye contact, but didn’t protest anymore and let himself be placed in the circle.

K stretched his large, mechanical arms around the group, squishing their bodies together in a tight embrace. He was strong enough to lift everyone off the ground as well, the eyes of his mask lighting up as he merrily chuckled. Everyone else laughed, albeit a bit nervously due to the closeness (except Dio, who grumbled), but the atmosphere felt warm and inviting.

Here were a group of people that probably had never celebrated Christmas, much less together, all hugging one another like they were close.

As they parted, Ms. Kurashiki’s raspy voice sounded from behind Luna. She glanced over her shoulder to see the woman with a gentle smile of her own. “We’ve never celebrated Christmas on the moon, so you have much to learn.”

Luna softly giggled. “Yes, I suppose I do. There are so many interesting traditions around this time of year.”

Ms. Kurashiki nodded to herself, as though she was recalling her own traditions of Christmases past. “Indeed. The tree should be decorated, of course, and the star placed on top at the end. Those are all fairly popular customs, but Luna - what do you think we need to have here?”

Tilting her head, the GAULEM asked, “What do you mean, ma’am?”

Dr. Klim stepped in. “Perhaps I can clarify. I think Akane wants to know if - despite the vast amount of traditions across cultures - there’s anything that needs to be present at Christmas. In other words, if there’s something that we can’t afford to forget, no matter what we’re doing.”

“How about a gallon of eggnog…” Tenmyouji muttered, only to get elbowed by Phi.

Blinking, Luna thought about the answer for a moment, her gaze sweeping across those nearby. Nine sets of eyes stared back at her, each holding their own lifelong story.

Quark’s excitement, Tenmyouji’s joy, Clover’s enthusiasm, Alice’s satisfaction, K’s curiosity, Dio’s reluctance, Phi’s acceptance, Dr. Klim’s warmth, Ms. Kurashiki’s approval… everyone had a distinct piece of their personalities - some mixing together well, others clashing, but every piece adding something unique to the group as a whole. It was honestly amazing that they could get together like this, and choose on their own to spend time together recognizing a holiday that was a month late.

They may not feel the same, but Luna could definitely see for herself: their group had the foundations to become something much greater, much closer.

So Luna answered without hesitation.

“Well, Christmas celebrations would need a family,” she murmured, feeling the smiles of the others warm her like a blanket on a cold winter night. “It’s a good thing we have one right here, isn’t it?”

[avengersohyeah]

Trace

Part 8

Masterlist

Trace Masterlist

A/N : Hai ........ um this part is bad as fuck i know just bare with me i promise the next part would be at least as interesting as the previous ones.

And if you ever confused about something in this series, just ask me okay...

Dean’s POV

 It’s been a week since the first time we had sex, and well.. I just can’t get enough to feel him on my fingers. Kisses, the hot lust filled one and the vanila innocent one, holding eachother bodies tight in naked tangled mess, or the comfortable cuddle enjoying each others company. Never in my life I imagined that there would be a time for me to enjoy this feeling again, to care for someone that is not Sam or Cas, to love someone. It felt right, so right that I’m forgeting about the problems ahead of us. I was still kind of pissed because last week Cas made (Y/N)’s unconciousness deeper rather than helping him to wake up. He said the reason is for (Y/N) to see the buried memories that he never know existed, to help him in figuring out what should be done in this whole Rating Game shits. All he dreamed about is his memories that somehow supressed by his power, I knew everything. I saw every dream he had, because somehow when he did dream, I have the same dream. I never told anyone about this though, I know Sam would freak out and try to find some kind of explaination. While (Y/N)… I don’t know how would he react, because most of those memories he saw in his dreams were not a good ones. If he know I can see it to… But anyway, since I can see his dreams, I’m starting to figured out what he realy capable of. In one of his dream, there was his father turning the reality back to it’s place, because one year old (Y/N) meld the one where his grandpa is still young, with the one that has cars flying everywhere. It was kind of funny to be honest, seeing the panic from this people from the past seeing cars flying around from the year 4000’s. That’s one dream he could never stop to remember it, I know it, because he liked it, I like it too. For different reasons of course, I like it because of it’s silliness, and he liked it because he can see his father. It broke my heart to see him when he’s awake, he could only see his father from the dreams of memories that he never knew he has.

 When Cas told us his reason to come back to earth, we decided to keep it secret from (Y/N). In the other hand, Cas seems not having any problem in socializing with (Y/N) at all. They met exactly twice before and never really had a conversation, but now they seems to have insides jokes already. And I hate it, I hate that (Y/N) shares those kind of interaction with someone other than me, even with Sam too. I don’t know what happened to me, those linked dreams, the urge to be constantly near him, and now this, the posesiveness ? But that means that I care for (Y/N) right ? That I really love him to the point that I know I’m being clingy to him like Sam said once. I tried to brush it off, and continue to help Sam in research of a case we got recently.

“Dean… are you okay ?” (Y/N) asked while he aproached my chair, he put both of his hands on my shoulder and massaging it firm and slowly just the way I like. I’m starting to relax under his touch.

“Now I’m fine..” I said while closing my eyes.

“Means that you were not minutes ago…”

I sighed, (Y/N) always know how to read me. He don’t need his power to know if something is bothering me. “It’s this case you know ?...” I started reluctantly.

“Yeah.. I know..”

“You knew what ?”

“It’s about the ‘Game’ Dean..” he sighed “All this cases that we found, it’s all about the ‘Game’. Since I asked for your help, it’s all happened because of me Dean….That Madison girl..the vampire nest… and this recent slaughter in Kansas… that’s all happened because of me…”

I grabed his wrists, and brought it to my lips, kissing each of them. “No.. it’s not ….” Before I could finish my sentence, the world around us seemed fo fade, and a moment after, we stood in the midle of nowhere. Like literally, no sky no ground, just this weird colors spining around us.

“What the Hell?” Sam asked in confusion.

“Guys… look !” Cas pointed his finger to a woman floating toward us, she’s fucking floating.

“Welcome home nephew…” Her tone full of fake sweetness,

“Cosmos…” (Y/N) whispered, his hands starting to shake.

“Awhh… no need to call me that, just call me aunt….” She smirks “How was life on earth ? and oooh… how about (Y/M/N), is she alright?”

(Y/N)’s posture getting more tense “It’s you…It’s you ! You killed my mother!”

She chuckle darkly, “No.. no honey, it wasn’t me… it’s him..” She snaped her fingers and someone apeared in front of us. Dressed in old britishy mozart kind of suit. Hair slicked back, his eyes fucking red, and he wear a cape. Like who the hell is this dude ? Then Cosmos says something. “I forget, you won’t remember him in this form… Damian..” She looked to the men, then suddenly the men changed into some kind fictional demons you read everywhere. Horns, half goat body, and a tail. Like what the fuck just happened ? I was about to say something, but (Y/N) beat me.

“You… you’re the one if been looking for this whole time..”

“Ta daa…. Impressive isn’t it ? he’s my pawn (Y/N), I bet you’ve figure it out by now..”

“You are fucking warlock…” Upon hearing this, now I know exactly what happened. This guy decieved (Y/N) when he killed (Y/N)’s entire family. And he decieved those vampires to believe that he’s the alpha vampire.

“The strongest among all.. I always knew that you’re a smart kid (Y/N), so have you think about it ?”

“Think about what ?”

“Joining the Game of course…. See, the game can’t be started when the pieces isn’t complete. Your father lost his bishop and pawn on the last game, but he never really looked for replacement. So I decided myself, that I would make someone to be his piece so I can challenge him again…”

“So you killed my family for that reason ? So you can just have fun playing that stupid game ?” (Y/N) said through the gritted teeth.

“Well if you put it like that… it supposed to make me feel bad, but no. And yes… I did that because your father just can’t let me have fun.”

“By destroying the whole universe and start it over ?”

“Indeed you’re smart kid, and I can’t do that because now I rule the fourth dimension with your oldman. So, now would you be a good boy, be your father’s piece, let me start the game, and let me beat your father so I can have my fun ?” Cosmos inching towards (Y/N)

“No!..” (Y/N) said firmly

“You have made your choice..” She snaped her fingers and suddenly Sam and Cas is gone

“Where are did you take them ?” I shouted angrily

“Home..? Anyway it’s such a disapointment you know ? My nephew fell in love with.. I don’t know … men? But I think it wouldn’t be matter after this…” She backed her way and let her pawn lunged at me and choke my throat.

“Stop!” I hear (Y/N) shouted and lunged forward to attack this warlock dude, but he was thrown the other way by some kind of invisible force from Cosmos. “Stop it.. please let him go…” I hear his voice started to waver. I try and try to break free from the choke, but it seems like my whole power is sucked up from my body. “Dean.. No…!” I looked at him, now he’s traped in some kind of magic fields, crying begging for my life. It angered me, how dare someone make him cry like that. How dare someone hurt him bad like that. I’ll punch the way out of their face, but I can do nothing. I feel so useless, again I make someone that I truly cared for cry. The tears welled up in the corner of my eyes, it’s hurt. Not because of I’m being choked, but seeing (Y/N) so broken like that, begging for my life. I want to fight so badly, but I can’t I feel weaker and weaker. The sounds of (Y/N)’s cries is now muffled, everything is muffled, then I feel it, warm liquid filling up my ears, flowing out of it. I feel the same sensation in my nose too, and my eyes, everything is blury right now. This is it, my end. I was dead then back to life more than any other human could possibly do, but I did. But now, it’s not dead that I feared, it’s the thought of leaving (Y/N). I love him so much, it hurts, not because I’m dying. It hurts to imagine how would he mourn for me, he lost too many people in his life. He’s got a new family, we are family now, I love him so much. I love him… I love him… I love him…. I repeat the mantra, till I can’t feel anything, anymore… I love him..

 Y/N’s POV

 There, my love, slumped lifeless, just the way my other family left me. I stoped crying, at least that’s what I thought. But my tears keep flowing out, I can’t move, I can’t hear, it’s all numb. Those pain in losing my family was too much. But this… this… I should’ve done something, instead of crying and begging I should’ve done something. I should’ve fight, like what my grandpa taught me, fight for those you care, fight for those you love. But I can’t do anything, useless. I just watched my love dead in front of me, because of me. I don’t know what to do, I don’t wanna do anything anymore. The magic field traping me is disappeared, and the men that just killed Dean is now gone too. Just me, Cosmos and once my life dorky older hot boyfriend lying lifeless.

“What have you done ?” Said the deep gravely voice behind Cosmos. I looked up and I saw him, someone that I recognize from all those dreams of my memories.

“Helping you in getting your piece…” She said indifferently.

He just walked passing her, to me, kneeling next to me and hug me. I should’ve been happy that I finaly can hug my father. But I can’t, I’m about to cry harder, before I feel him hand me something. A blade, my blade, he chant something and it’s all blindening white.

 Slowly I opened my eyes, seeing there’s no one else exept for me and Dean’s body. Then I heard him “Son, I’m sorry that I’m too late. But you can save him, your power has been unsealed. You can bring him back, but I can’t, I couldn’t, it’s you that he’s connected with. But remember, if you do bring him back… it means that you’re willingly erase yourself from his life. It’s the cost to bring him back.”

“I don’t care…” 

Taggs :  @thegreatficmaster @supernaturalimagine @supernaturaldaily @waywardwinterfics @buckyywiththegoodhair @angryschnauzer @mrgrant9559-blog @kaylzjordan @rawritsmeh @supernaturalfanfiction-com @after-avenging-hours @winchesterenthusiast​ @themerlintrashcan​ @wayward-warriors​ @themorningtrashcan @izzywinchester @avasparks​

[hihiyas]

Exes and Oh’s - Chapter 1/3

[AN: For @poeticbibliophile who prompted me with this reunited AU scenario: “we’re texting for the first time in forever and I told you about some stupid thing I did and sent a sarcastic ‘you must really miss me, huh’ and you just replied ‘yes’ and I think my heart just broke.” I tweaked the scenario a little, hope you don’t mind.

Courfeyrac the social entrepreneur courtesy of @astoryinred . Thanks to her, @kylorenvevo  and @textsfromumbridge for letting me whine to them while I wrote. Big thanks as usual to @lilyismilesaway for picking apart my crappy drafts.]

Read on AO3

It was inevitable that they would run into each other after college. They currently lived in the same city, ran in the same circles, heck, they even hung out in the same bar, after all. It was just, you know, awkward.

Or maybe it was just Eponine who felt like that.

She observed Enjolras, recently back from his stint working abroad, as he talked to Feuilly and Combeferre on the other end of their table. He was sharing some anecdote about a famous judge in The Hague, gesticulating wildly and making his friends laugh. He looked well: his riotous curls cropped into a sensible haircut, blue eyes bright with good cheer, sensuous lips pulled into a heart-stopping smile. Oh, why did Courfeyrac call the rest of the Amis to join their post-work drinking party?

Grantaire, who was sitting beside her, spied who was directly in her line of sight and nudged her. “Wanna say hi?”

“Oh, fuck you, R.”

“Ask ‘Ferre first if he’s okay with that. Also, I’m sure it’s someone else that you’d like to–”

Eponine cut him off, “Not funny.”

“Geez, so touchy!” he raised his hands in surrender. He nudged her shoulder again. “You alright?”

“Fine, never better,” she replied. To deter him from asking again, she downed her mojito and stalked to the bar for a refill.

She spent the next day hungover, which was fine, considering her boss was Courfeyrac and he also looked like death. She pulled out the pain killers stashed in her pedestal cabinet and offered it to him.

“Remind me that drinking on a weekday is a bad idea,” he said before he swallowed the tablets.

“Drinking on a weekday is a bad idea,” she parroted faithfully as she stared at the article she’d been trying to write despite her headache.

“Smartass,” he groaned and took a long sip of water. “But seriously, I think we’re getting too old for drinking on weekdays.”

Eponine shrugged and said, “Then stop yelling ‘Tequila Tuesdays at The Corinthe’ or whatever promo they’re having once a week.”

“But it’s good for company morale for everyone to bond once in awhile outside of work!”

“We’ve been friends since college, dummy. We’re pretty much bonded for life already,” Grantaire retorted as he was fiddling with something on their company website. He looked the same as ever, only the wilder dishevelment of his hair indicating the carousing he had done the night before. “Although I know someone Eppie wants to bond with,” he teased.

“Ooh, interesting!” Courfeyrac perked up. “Is it Enjolras?”

The woman in question looked like she wanted to disappear under her table, as Grantaire laughed out loud. “Shut up, R!”

The other man rolled his chair nearer to Eponine, and asked very sincerely, “So, Enjolras? You guys were sweet together. I never asked you before, but what exactly happened between you two?”

She pointedly ignored his pleading eyes, the same look that got her to quit her first job at a PR firm to work for his social enterprise. “No comment. And back to work, you two. You’re lucky ‘Chetta’s not here to yell at us for wasting daylight when we have a big product launch coming up.”

That got the two to stop pestering her.

Eponine stomped her heel on the tiled floor and groaned when she saw the locked office door. Oh, why did she decide to leave her laptop with all her important files at work last night? Rushing to the office was not the way she wanted to spend her Saturday, but much to her annoyance, she had no choice. She pulled out her phone from her coat and called Courfeyrac.

“Hey, Ep! What’s up?” his jovial voice boomed in greeting.

“You know that nice article I was slaving over the past week to send to our media friends? Apparently, I forgot to attach the press release on my email last night and now the magazine needs it pronto or else they’ll run something else instead of our new bag collection and the scholarship beneficiaries from the profits,” she sheepishly explained.

“Oh crap, that sucks. Well, can’t you send it now?”

“Yes, if I could just get inside our office. Which is locked. Good thing the building guard recognized me or else I wouldn’t even be allowed inside the building.”

“I have a spare key to the door, but it’s at home and I’m on a literal boat with my parents right now.”

“Shit.”

“Wait! Enjolras is crashing at my place until he finds his own flat. Call him up, make him bring it to you?”

“En-Enjolras?”

His voice became a tad quieter, “It’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, of course not! Uh, I don’t have his number though.”

“I’ll send it to you. Okay, my mom’s glaring daggers at me for being rudely on the phone when there are guests. Update me, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eponine replied and hung up. Almost immediately, she received a new contact file from Courfeyrac. She steeled herself and dialed Enjolras’ number.

Two seconds later, he answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, um, it’s Eponine,” she began, “So I did a stupid thing and long story short, can you please go to our office with Courfeyrac’s spare keys?”

–

Twenty minutes later, Enjolras found Eponine sitting on the hallway floor, playing some puzzle game on her phone.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sorry about all this,” she said as she inelegantly scrambled up and dusted the back of her jeans.

“It’s alright. Here,” he replied, handing her the keys.

“Thanks. I’m sure this was not how you thought you’d spend your weekend, huh? I’m sure you missed rescuing me from my own stupidity.”

“You’re not stupid,” he protested.

“Okay, forgetful then,” she shrugged as she swung the door wide open to let him in.

He followed her to her desk, where she quickly booted up her laptop and quickly fired emails with their appropriate attachments. As she typed, she could spy Enjolras staring at the photos on the low divider separating her desk from Courfeyrac’s. They were mostly pictures of her with her siblings or with their friends during various parties and vacations. He seemed to linger at one particular photo. She guessed he finally noticed the one from their university days. She shook her head and concentrated on her task.

Within a few more minutes, Eponine had sent her emails and double-checked that all of them had the missing files attached. She quickly packed up her laptop into her bag and thanked him again for coming.

“It was no big deal, Eponine,” he reiterated as they walked out of the empty office.

“Well, I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’m sure you have a lot to do,” she said as she locked up.

Enjolras shrugged. “I was catching up on TV shows when you called, you weren’t interrupting anything important.”

“TV shows? You?” she joked, handing him back the keys.

“Hey, I do watch them!” he protested as they headed towards the elevator banks.

“Okay, if you say so,” she said, tone hinting that she did not believe him at all.

Enjolras merely smiled at the teasing as they entered the empty elevator. After a while, he spoke again, “And I did, you know.”

“Did what?”

“I did miss you. Not just ‘rescuing you,’ as you said, especially when you were there for me whenever I needed someone too. I missed talking to you. I missed you.”

She froze at the declaration, heart breaking all over again at the sincerity pouring from every word. She wanted to believe him, she really did. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she couldn’t help the hurt to spill over her next words. “You said you’d keep in touch, you know. That we’d still be friends.”

Enjolras reached out to hold her hand but stopped himself when he saw her shrink to herself. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, sighing forlornly. “And I meant to, I swear. I tried to, thousand times, but I just couldn’t find the words. And when you never called or messaged me either, I figured you didn’t want to hear from me.”

“Would you have been able to call the man who broke your heart?” Eponine wondered out loud, still turned away from him.

“I-”

“Forget it,” she shook her head. She silently pleaded for the elevator to hurry down the ground floor so she could leave this conversation forever.

The elevator gods must have heard her plea because the door pinged open a moment later.

Eponine rushed out first, speed walking towards the building door. Enjolras followed, matching her stride, brows drawn together, and struggling for the right words to stop her. “Ep-”

“Thanks again for bringing the keys. I have to go now. Bye!” she cut him off, trying for a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

She left him by the building exit, confused as to why his heart was hurting while he watched her walk away.

[worldcakecakecake]

Office Sweet

In which Ludwig, the boss of a designing firm, falls in love with his newly hired intern.  

Next and last update PERHAPS for Monday the 12th. The coming chapter is a really long one and I have a really busy weekend, plus a busy Monday since I start classes again. There’s a huge probability I won’t have it for Monday, if not, it will surely be up for Friday the 16th. Hope you enjoy this chapter still and please be patient for the next and last.

                                                    Chapter 3

“-all right and- what the hell?” Ludwig did not expect at all to be greeted by Lovino.

Antonio gazed over from the kitchen, with a welcoming smile despite surely the raging fire of anger that was broiling from Lovino.

“You’re here! Come in, come in! I was just finishing the chocolate dip.” He let Ludwig inside, letting him take a seat in one of the sofas before he brought himself back to the kitchen to continue the preparations.

Antonio worked on without a care, although Ludwig just sat awkwardly at the sofa, receiving constant glares from Lovino, who clearly whispered his discontent to Antonio.

“What is he doing here?” He basically growled.

“He has his first date with your brother tomorrow. He’s extremely nervous. I thought Gilbert, Francis and I could help him prepare."

“Wait…they’re coming here two?”

“Yeah.” Antonio didn’t seem to mind, placing the last touches to the snack plate.

“Are you serious?” He angered, clear frustration that Ludwig saw even with his distance and the voices only being hums.

“I thought we were….” he cut himself before he finished.

“We were what?” Of course Antonio would remain oblivious, with such a cute pout and confusion that Lovino was between wanting to punch or kiss him for.

“Nothing, just have your sudden little…drinking, advice party, whatever.” And Antonio thought things were well enough to present plates and drinks on the coffee table, to accept Gilbert and Francis’s entrance, the apartment getting loud with the three of them just laughing about Gilbert’s last endeavor on trying to ask Elizabeta out, emptying their plate of snacks, although Ludwig had only taken a couple of sips from his drink and one single piece of cheese.

“Speaking of troubling Germans. Ludwig, what exactly are your plans for tomorrow?” Francis thought he could ask and start with their guidance.

All gave him sudden attention, with their own smirks and teasing eyes, although Lovino just rolled his own, distracting himself by checking some stuff on his phone.

“Well um…” he turned nervous, letting his hands brush on his thighs as he calmed enough to be able to answer. “I decided to take him to Cape May. We’ll leave early tomorrow and spend the rest of the day there.”

“Nice choice for a state like New Jersey. Some scenic walking, carnival games and oh take him to Sunset beach, pick quartz crystals, watch the sunset and then, once you’re alone, make love to him as the waves crash with the very stars and moonlight above you,” Francis swayed, finding beauty, uncaring to the rashness of what he last mentioned.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate…” Ludwig commented with a heavy blush.

“You better think so,” Lovino glared, his grip on his glass harshening as he took his drink, Ludwig fearing he would actually throw it at him if he ended up saying something else.

“Well then, Lovino, Feliciano is your brother after all, what would you suggest he does?” Francis was rather insulted that they would push aside that idea.

“If it was up to me I would have told Feliciano to just forget about it and to never mess around with his bosses again,” he said with no hesitation.

“So what if he’s his boss? We don’t have any rules against that in the company. Luddy deserves to have some fun even with a co-worker,” Gilbert tried to convince.

Lovino still groaned, keeping his eyes away from the circle. “I’m not being a part of this.”

“Fine, we don’t need it! Ludwig can do a good job without it. All right, so, you’re going to pick him up. First of all you should dazzle him with all kinds of compliments,” Gilbert continued, leaning in Ludwig’s direction to get him to understand better.

“Wha-what kind of compliments?”

“Anything that you know would get him blushing. Go for his eyes, his hair, his figure, his smile. Lovino likes it when I compliment his cheeks,” Antonio smiled.

“Don’t involve me in this!” Lovino interjected.

“Uh, okay, I’ll… make a list before it."

“Oh please don’t,” Lovino had to put in despite.

“Exactly, just go with the moment,” Antonio added.

“Talk about things, anything. Shows, the news, boats for all I care, but keep a good conversation going, don’t leave it in awkward silence,” Gilbert continued.

“I think I should really write this down…”

“No! Okay, listen, I’m sure you’ll bound to get closer at some point, when the time is just right, when you start brushing, when he starts looking down at your hand, take it, harsh, but not so much, you have to show that you can be gentle and soft, even if something so simple. Keep it unless he starts feeling uncomfortable, which you don’t want,” Francis said, pointing harshly for him to get.

“What if we have to go the bathroom?” That was so stupid the entire room fell into somber silence, not believing that the situation made Ludwig Beilschmidt turn into such a fool.

“You…let go, you go, you wash your hands and…go back to it,” Gilbert said. It was that simple.

“Really, do whatever the surroundings might offer. You two decided to go out to enjoy your time together, don’t be afraid to pull him into anything you’re interested, you both might come out from something that you will not end up forgetting,” Francis smirked.

“Remember, conversation,” Gilbert reminded.

“Over lunch, over snacks, over dinner,” Antonio added.

Ludwig suddenly took out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Francis asked.

“I’m going to check some articles about this,”

“No!” The three of them, even Lovino joined in that shout, standing, pacing exasperated, going as far as to take his phone away as they tried to bring back their calm.

“Look, you’re pitiful,” Lovino suddenly appointed, taking Gilbert’s chair, which had been the closest to Ludwig.

“Um, Lovino, I don’t think you should be saying that to your boss,” Antonio said.

“You dumbasses were the ones who even said that it shouldn’t matter. Besides, were not in the company and I can tell him whatever I want, uptight creep,” Lovino said freely, despite Ludwig’s indignation.

Lovino leaned in his closeness, pointing and with resolve. “I feel so bad for you I’m going to give you something that might as well make him yours already, and that is Feliciano’s dream kiss."

“What?” Francis perked.

“Are you serious?” Gilbert couldn’t believe.

“You actually talked about this with him?” Antonio wondered, with ulterior motives and planning on his head.

“He’s my younger brother, we tell each other a lot of sappy shit. We remember these things to really determine what kind of person we should be with, and potato, if you manage to pull this off, I might not feel so bad about having my boss as my in-law.”

Ludwig was frozen to nothing. At one side, all these insults from Lovino, but then…Feliciano’s dream kiss… with such knowledge, if he planned it well, if he could disappear his nervousness with enough preparation, he could make it happen, it could assure him, make him confident that Feliciano would enjoy it so much he would want another, and another, and then perhaps…

“Would you stop that stupid look on your face and actually pay attention."

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, pleas um,” he coughed, he straightened, hoping he could control his blush enough. “Go ahead.”

Lovino raised an eyebrow skeptically but decided to go on. He was only going to mention this once. If he didn’t capture it, well he missed it.

“Feliciano is really into ocean views at night. Of course…that’s in Italy, but we’re not there right now so you have to deal with whatever second hand beach you’ll have here, he’ll like it still, I’m sure. Bring him close enough to the water, right where the waves touch, let him ease with the cold, talk, make him laugh…which I highly doubt you could do unless you truly make a fool of yourself , but once he’s calm enough, you take him by the waist, you pull him close, soothe your hands on him, soften him, let your eyes linger on each other, come close and then you do it. After, if he liked it, he’ll lean in himself and continue, and then you’ll know you did a good job. Got it?”

With his hesitant expression, Lovino began to doubt he did, but he managed a nod, a dumb expression that spoke countless of his still arraying nervousness.

“And no writing this down, no practicing, just prepare, breathe and let yourself enjoy the moment. I won’t let my brother date somebody who follows useless advice from blog articles. Relax, you’re lucky my brother is so dumb he actually finds you attractive and was willing to accept. Whatever you’ll do, I’m sure he’ll end up liking…and not stop talking about it to me later,” he groaned, standing to have some more wine. “I decree that we’re done, so let’s just get to the heavy drinking as a sort of good luck to this guy.”

And so they did, although Ludwig really didn’t drink as much, he quite preferred just to stay with his sanity and watch his brother and his friends decide to sing Tarzan songs all while crying and reminiscing and how they liked the movie when they were younger. Lovino remained in his sitting as well, just watching while taking pictures and videos to send to some of their group chats, remaining watchful, making sure to eat from some of the snacks the rest seemed to have forgotten about.

By one a.m. Lovino decided for Antonio that it was time that they all headed home, Ludwig offering to take Gilbert and Francis to their own apartment buildings, while Lovino decided to stay for the night at Antonio’s and just watch over him.

Ludwig had to admit that all this last nonsense did well to settle his mind, to take their advice and rest well for the night. Hopefully he would awake the next morning feeling the same.

  His heart was doing well until he had to drive in the direction towards Feliciano’s apartment. He swore it could resonate all across the space, worsening the moment he stopped before the building, having sent his text of arrival.

In the small time he had, he took to breathe, to settle, thinking of all the words he was told last night.

Natural, just be himself. Feliciano liked him enough to agree. He could do this.

Feliciano finally headed out, wearing a simple black buttoned long sleeved shirt, tight jeans, nice shoes, a couple of string bracelets in his wrist, handsome, a charming jewel that approached with a shining smile and posture that left Ludwig blinded, staring, just staring even when he finally boarded, when he greeted with his kiss to the cheek, placing his seat belt, ready to go with jumping excitement. He couldn’t even turn the wheel.

“Ludwig?” Feliciano suddenly questioned as Ludwig didn’t do anything else but stare at him, still paralyzed.

“Um…it’s an hour drive, I think we should really get going,” he reminded, just enough to wake Ludwig from his stupor.

“Oh yes, yes, of course, sorry about that.” He began their drive, out of the city and into the highway, the GPS occasionally breaking Feliciano’s excited chatter about some viral videos from Italy.

At some points it got silent as Feliciano stared off to something that caught his attention, while Ludwig only continued to lay glances on him, taking how well the clothes fitted him, still not believing that he was actually sitting on his car on their way to their first date, so handsome, so alluring. He’d like to think he did it for him.

‘First of all you should dazzle him with all kinds of compliments,’ he heard his brother’s voice in his head. Right, he should, this was a perfect chance. He told himself to just go for the first thing that came to mind.

“You look beautiful,” he suddenly said, breaking the heaviness of the silence, to Ludwig a sort of echo that made him realize that it was too brash, internally groaning and wishing he could hit his head against the wheel. It disappeared once he noticed the blush Feliciano wore, his smile, his giggle.

“Thank you, you look gorgeous yourself,” he in turn admitted.

“Oh, no, this just something…plain,” he shrugged to his brown jacket, his plain shirt underneath, dark brown pants and shoes…made him realize how inadequate he dressed himself for this.

“No, it matches you well. You look handsome but also comfortable.” Feliciano let his hands grab at his arm to feel the good fabric, looking up to him with gleaming eyes that had Ludwig faltering. Somehow he managed to pull a smile, to thank him, to then find themselves in conversation about what shows they used to like when they were little.

Many minutes later, Ludwig parked the car at an elementary school, from which a trolley was working to bring them to the other known spots of the area. They first visited the street mall, where they mostly did some window shopping, Feliciano pointing excitedly to everything that took his interest. They entered a gallery and afterwards Ludwig offered to pay them some fudge treats, a snack that had them both elated and glowing at its sweetness. Feliciano ended up taking more and getting a bag to bring to his brother when they returned. They took walks to the more park areas, through meadows and forests where Feliciano took pictures of different kinds of birds, then daring to climb up a lighthouse and a World War II lookout tower where he loved playing pretend soldier. Ludwig couldn’t believe he joined along, but it earned them incredible laughs.

By the time they reached the boardwalk in the late evening for dinner, Ludwig had his first grasp of Feliciano’s hand when he pulled him to a pizzeria. They kept it as they were attended, as they were given their spots, their hold dearly over the table, natural and confident as if it was meant to be. Ludwig let himself feel elated with his softness, with the assuredness, with their ongoing conversation now on space, telescopes and Galileo. They only let go for when they had their pizza, surely not anything like Feliciano had in Italy, but for something American they enjoyed it while continuing to chatter.

Late evening was coming by the time they headed out, hand in hand walking together down the streets until they reached a carnival park, filled with all kinds of small rides and games. They rode a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster and the spinning cars, even played some games that got them both winning a very cute bunny plush as well as some squeaky toys for their dogs.

They left the abundance of that park and into the sandy shores of the beach, Feliciano having convinced Ludwig to rise up his pants, take off his shoes and let them both feel the soft cool texture of the sand they walked on.

The sky was now fully dark, the lights further the closer they reached the waves, Feliciano slowly being able to dip his feet on the cold coming water. He sometimes picked the pretties quarts to show to Ludwig, before testing his throw and landing it somewhere else. It actually got them a competition to see who could throw the farthest, the beach lonely and giving them the chance to do this without worry about hitting someone.

Feliciano slowly got used to the cold of the water, letting his feet sway however he wanted, Ludwig beginning to wonder if he would start dancing and singing if he let go of the hold of his hand. But it was so warm, nice and soft. He found it harder and harder to depart.

A particular view caught Feliciano, of a broken ship still standing over the line of the water, stars gleaming over it quite mysteriously, a sure story to it that had Feliciano wondering. With Ludwig still being held in the grasp of Feliciano’s hand, he stopped alongside him, letting the cold of the water settle as well, staring along, finding it all quite beautiful. He gazed to Feliciano, who continued his distant view, lips parted nicely, hair dancing along with the wind, the stars, the moon, even whatever shimmered on the sea seeming to alight him the more, his own very ground star that he didn’t mind giving his full attention to instead of the waves, sky and ocean before him.

‘Feliciano is really into ocean views at night’ he heard Lovino’s voice in his head, reminding him that this was the very view, and with Feliciano’s longing stare, it was enough. ‘Bring him close enough to the water, right where the waves touch, let him ease with the cold, talk, make him laugh…’ they were already there, he had to say something, witty, enough for even if just a grin, to connect their gazes in the way he wanted.

“Um…are you wondering what that ship is?” He asked.

“I am…do you know?” Feliciano turned to him.

“Well um…during World War I, there was a shortage of steel, so the government tried to make these ships made of concrete. It wasn’t successful, they made very few, one of the prototypes being this one, which served as a coal steamer for New England. After the war ended, steel was available again and these concrete ones were decommissioned. Later, a ferry company bought it wanting to use it for a route between New Jersey and Delaware. While it was awaiting position, a storm broke out and washed it here. Several times they tried to move it but it proved impossible. So in the end, they just decided to leave it here to rot,” Ludwig explained, somehow not finding the story as wondrous as he had thought it would be. He should have just made up something completely different to really earn that laugh that he wanted from Feliciano.

“Just proves to you, Americans are crazy enough to make concrete ships and expect them to even work as a ferry business, lose it to a storm and just decide to leave it there…and for some reason it’s a hit for tourist like us.” There, Feliciano chuckled, he laughed, joyous, melodic. Darn how easily his cheeks could show their reddening.

“Still, it adds quite a unique touch to the scene, and when you started telling me that…I don’t know, I just imagined this poor little boat with cute little eyes and a bright smile wanting to prove he was the best despite being made of concrete…but it wasn’t enough…and he was thrown to be forgotten, then bought for a chance and still he was blown away from it. Poor little thing,” Feliciano actually pouted and felt sympathy for a childish idea…it was adorable, sweet, making him the more endearing, Ludwig wanting nothing more than to just bring him into his arms and tell him an alternative story where that little boat could have a happy ending.

“At least it makes for quite a view. I believe this…boat would be happy about that,” Ludwig smiled down to him and to Feliciano something was actually competing with the stars above for beauty.

‘Once he’s calm enough, you take him by the waist.’ Feliciano was just in the tranquility that was perfect for him to reach his arms, slowly, an electrifying touch that had Feliciano giving a small gasp of delight.

‘You pull him close.’ He was before his chest now, both their bodies feeling every strength, every softness of their figures.

‘Soothe your hands on him, soften him.’ His hands began that rubbing motion on his hip, lulling him, swaying them into the moment, into their own air.

‘Let your eyes linger on each other.’ It was the only thing that existed to them currently. That glow, that intensity, that pull.

‘And then you do it.’ Ludwig neared, Feliciano as well.

There was nothing more perfect for the moment, as their eyes hushed, as their breaths met, lips only centimeters…centimeters apart.

Ludwig didn’t know how to explain what happened next. Did he feel too nervous? Was the wind blowing too harshly? Too freezing? There was just a certain movement, one his leg made that was not supposed to. It stepped on the sand and it came into contact with one of the many quartz diamonds. The piercing was too much to bare, he wobbled, he lost his balance, and before he knew it, his entire body was meeting cold water, drenching him completely, his ground, his surrounding, being the sand and the waves that crashed on him now.

Feliciano tried hard to hide his laugh under his hands, but it was just so wide that Ludwig spotted the grin nevertheless, could hear it escaping clearly, not mocking, but charming and just the expected reaction when someone fell into the water unprepared like that.

“You look very refreshed now, Luddy,” he dared say.

Ludwig couldn’t hold the rolling of his eyes.

“You should join me, the water is great.” Ludwig splashed him slightly, so Feliciano could feel the chilling coldness as well, which he chuckled at, an idea, a decision being made in his mind.

“I should,” he smirked and…he began to take off his shirt, then his pants, throwing them carelessly to the dryer sand and leaving him with only a pair of tight red boxers. He stretched and showed a body of soft skin to the perfect form and slimness, an angel, leaving Ludwig silent to his full wonder. He felt so inadequate, soaked with still worn clothes, flushed like a fool and fearing to move if…other parts began showing their excitement. Luckily the cold water helped to ease his lower problem somehow.

“Get ready, you’re about to take the full force of my power,” Feliciano joked, flexing only soft and squishy muscle. He then prepared, from a far distance, into a lunge that made Ludwig instantly panic.

“Feliciano, Feliciano, wait, no, no!” Ludwig tried to stop him, but it was already too late, Feliciano made the jump, he gave an excited squeal, he splashed Ludwig into the water, creating a spray that left neither of them safe.

Feliciano let himself swim, to the depths that were the safest, Ludwig joining along, having taken off his own clothing to hopefully dry for the time they had left. They raced, they splashed like little children, laughing, falling and even spinning together in embraces that pulled them into their own whirls. It was fun despite the hour, the coldness, one they shivered to once they headed out, coming to the grim realization that they didn’t have towels or dry clothing and would have to settle with what they threw into the mess of sand. It was incredibly uncomfortable to be with on their ride back to the city, but in the end it was worth it for the wonderful time they had. They distracted the sand, the dampness of their clothes, with conversations about their mothers, the kind of honors they had in school, their common interest in football and in Greek and Roman mythology. No matter the topic, conversing on with Feliciano was quite a comfort he was glad to have outside of his brother and other family members, proud that he had managed the confidence to not let himself stutter and fall anxious with his words the more they spent time together. Lost in their speech he hadn’t even noticed how quickly they arrived back to the city, now stopping before Feliciano’s apartment building, an end to their wonderful day. Feliciano heaved out a sigh of disappointment, but he had to prepare his things for his leave.

“I had a wonderful day, Ludwig, so much that I’m…” he chuckled nervously, taking his hands, wanting his full attention and hold for what he was to ask. “I’m asking you out myself, for next Saturday. How about we do some hiking and have a picnic! I’ll make us some tomato soup, chicken, veggie Panini and meringues. It’ll be delightful, and you can bring that Almond berry torte you were talking about!”

He was so amazingly eager, and Ludwig was himself, and so he shook his hands in approval.

“I would love to,” he still assured vocally, filling the space of the car with the most joyous air.

Feliciano neared for his goodbye kiss on the cheek, but Ludwig dared for something else, and Feliciano had no problem with landing into it. It connected their lips, soft, mending and illuminating even with their silent eyes, closed to the utter feeling of the moment, of how their mouths threaded on each other, elongating, exploding, a pulling that wouldn’t dare let them go from the heat, from the union.

Feliciano departed for a slight break of air, eyes hazed as if he just woke up from a thrilling dream, gazing to the same loss of high up air and dream clouds in Ludwig’s own. Both their lips were still reddened beautifully from the action and once again they were calling, once again Feliciano wanted their touch upon his own, and so he neared to take them again, into the strength of their lips that pushed them for more, that lost them yet again in the rhythm they moved their mouths on each other.

‘If he liked it, he’ll lean in himself and continue, and then you’ll know you did a good job.’

He had indeed done. Sure not in the place Feliciano would have dreamed of, but any moment was enough as long as this was the person he was kissing.

Feliciano could have let himself stay in this for the rest of the night, take his lap and lay himself there, on with this heaven, on with them.

A light from his apartment glowed, surely Lovino coming to check on him. He gave a disappointed groan as he departed from that cushion of Ludwig’s lips, looking up to meet his eyes with Lovino’s olive ones, stabbing question, protectiveness and haste, even from the high distance, even with the guard of the window. Feliciano opened the door and had no choice than to meet with the cold air of the natural night, having to leave, but never halting the smiles he sent to Ludwig.

“I’ll see you during the week, good night,” he wished lastly, throwing a kiss before he turned, shutting the door and heading inside the building.

Even as he took the elevator up, disappearing completely from his view, Ludwig was still too shock to move, the car now silent as he instead dwelled in all his thoughts, of the wonderful date they just had, from playing pretend soldier, holding his hand, winning prizes for him, swimming in the cold of the night at the beach, agreeing to another date that Feliciano asked and…that kiss, oh that kiss, it still swam in his head, spreading its lingering all throughout his body, laying his head back and just imagining having more.

Could he…? No, he should drive back. They still had the week and another date next Saturday. The chance will appear, he shouldn’t be angering Lovino and he should just head to his own apartment. If Gilbert was there he would eagerly tell him about his lovely day.

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