#in my defense when i leave the house its wet and grey

[battle-of-alberta]

My constant experience wintering on the west coast (as portrayed by Ed as per usual)

As always, Victoria belongs to the lovely and talented @orcanadian-blog !

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Cinderquil

Word Count: 4900+ (oneshot)

[AO3]

Genre: Fluff/Friendship

Characters: Cinder Fall, Cinder’s Pokemon

Summary: Pokemon AU. Ever since they were young, Cinder's only Pokemon has been her starter, Ella the Houndoom. She is proud of her position as her Trainer's sole companion and sees no reason for anything to change, thank you very much. So when Cinder brings home a new addition to their team, Ella's world is turned abruptly upside down.

Warnings for implied/reference child abuse and animal abuse

Inspired by this art by @astoria00!

~0~

Ella, like her Trainer, had no concept of downplaying her own importance.

She considered herself the paragon of partner Pokemon. Ever since she was a little Houndour, tripping over her own paws and barely able to cough out a flame, she had always done her best to look after Cinder. The girl she had grown up with was whip-smart and strong, as hotblooded as any Fire-type, and Ella would follow her commands without hesitation. 

That being said, she didn’t always understand what was going on in Cinder’s head. For instance, coming to this unfriendly and unfamiliar region on the orders of that shadowy organization. Sure, the safe house they’d been provided was comfortable, a small and cozy cabin in the woods, but, Ella wondered, at what cost? She had been alone for hours. 

Ella watched the thick forest around her with all the alertness of a hunter, gnawing at the large Grumpig ear she had been given. It was not hard work, guarding the cabin while Cinder was out on her mission, and it was clear that Ella was better suited for the job than Talonflame. The Flying-type had been lent to Cinder by her new leader for easy transportation, and while the supercilious look in his eyes got Ella’s hackles up, she didn’t feel threatened by the new addition. Talonflame was, if not temporary, nothing more than a utility. 

Ella was Cinder’s only Pokemon. As for Ella herself, she disdained the company of both humans and other Pokemon alike. None of them had ever done anything for her: all she needed was her Trainer.

It was growing dark, and she could smell impending rain in the air — not unusual, in this awful cold and wet region — and was glad when she caught Cinder’s scent alongside it, growing steadily closer. She did not move from her spot on the front porch, but her ears perked up and her gaze homed in on the speck of red in the distance. Small as it was, it stood out against the dark greens and cloudy greys that surrounded them. 

Ella didn’t scramble up and run to her as she would have in the past — she had learned professionalism alongside Cinder as well — but her shoulders relaxed and her barbed tail flopped back and forth against the wood. Finally, her Trainer was home and things were the way they were supposed to—

Wait a blasted minute. 

What was that?

“Hello, Ella,” Cinder greeted her as she stepped out of the trees, as if everything were normal. “Did you miss me?”

Ella jumped to her feet with a furious bark, the Grumpig ear clattering down the stairs. Her tail stood straight out and her head reflexively jerked up and down, showing off her horns to the tiny, dirty, squirming thing that Cinder was carrying into their house. 

To the Cyndaquil’s credit, she got the picture immediately. She didn’t even try to flare up her back before emitting a loud squeak and attempting to leap out of Cinder’s arms, presumably to scurry back to whatever hole in the ground she had come from.

Unfortunately, instead of coming to her senses and letting it go, Cinder held Cyndaquil tighter, close and protective. After a few seconds, she curled up timidly against her chest. 

“Shh, relax, it’s okay. Ella’s not going to hurt you.” She narrowed her eyes warningly at Ella as she walked up the stairs and into the cabin. “Ella is going to be a nice girl and hear me out.”

No, Ella damn well would not. Not without standing her ground and making her case. She followed Cinder inside growling and bristling. 

Once the door was shut behind them, the one Pokeball at Cinder’s belt burst open, and Talonflame flapped across the living area to his perch next to the fireplace. His beady black eyes watched them with unusual interest, and Ella resented the sense that she was putting on a show for him.

What’s gotten into you?! she barked at her Trainer, who had begun trying to coax Cyndaquil out of her defensive ball. You said all you needed was me! Why would you do this without even asking me?

True, all Cinder could hear was “Houndoom Houndoom Houndoom Houndoom,” but after all this time, Ella knew she was getting the gist of it. 

“I realize that this is sudden,” Cinder began, her tone deliberately calm and even. “But I couldn’t exactly leave her there and run back to check with you. And we can’t just toss her out now that I’ve brought her here.”

Ella snorted. Very convenient for both of them. And how soon can I expect to be replaced? Was I that shameful of a starter?

With her free hand, Cinder reached over to grab a towel from the kitchenette and started rubbing the dirt from Cyndaquil’s damp fur. She let out a muffled squeak at the sudden touch, but didn’t uncurl.

“I expected to run into some people while I was out, that wasn’t the problem. There’s plenty of towns and cave systems around these mountains to look through. I didn’t plan on actually battling anyone, but apparently somebody on the trails had something to prove. One of those rich boys — you know the type, of course.”

Yes, they had met more than enough of those in their time. One of Cinder’s new teammates even seemed like one all grown up, complete with an equally smug Toxitricity by his side. Ella didn’t relax at all — in fact, her shoulders tensed up more — nor did she soften her accusing glare, but she did cease growling.

“So he won’t take no for an answer, won’t even break eye contact, and I decide that if he insists, I might as well teach him a lesson. He had three other Pokemon, and they were high-level but sloppy. I’d bet money that he didn’t catch them himself, that they were gifts or trades that he had no idea how to actually deal with. Talonflame made short work of them, but then — hm?”

Cyndaquil had been starting to lift her nose tentatively out of her defensive ball, and only now that she wasn’t too frightened to think did she notice the running slow cooker and containers of Pokemon food on the counter. The realization made her pick her head up and squeak loudly, and the smile that broke out on Cinder’s face was of the sort that Ella hadn’t seen in years.

“Are you hungry? I know, you’ve had a long day...” She dug around in the box of PokePuffs — not strictly belonging to Ella, but who else’s would they be? — and pulled out a Basic Spice to offer it. “Here, you can have this, can’t you?”

Cyndaquil sniffed the treat, and gnawed at it a little, but didn’t move to take or actually eat it. Cinder sighed. 

“Well, I had hoped so, but I guess not.” 

She gently pushed the treat into Cyndaquil’s stubby arms until they gripped it, and then knelt to set the tiny Pokemon on the floor. Ella tilted her head as she scowled down at her: what was the matter with her, stumbling around like that? Had she hit her head somehow?

Cinder shot Ella a warning glance that, in Ella’s mind, was completely uncalled for. “Be nice.”

Ella huffed, and stalked deliberately closer. Cyndaquil paused in trying to figure out what the PokePuff she held was, and looked worriedly between the human and Houndoom glaring at each other. Once Cinder was satisfied that Ella would not, in fact, rip the smaller Pokemon’s head off like some kind of feral beast, she turned around and started going through the cabinets and minifridge. 

“I did beat his whole team, as far as I’m concerned,” she went on with her story as she retrieved the big saucepan and a carton of milk. “All the ones who were fit for battle. But when I held out my hand for the money he owed me, he went purple in the face and insisted that we weren’t done. He pulled another Pokeball out of his pocket, and sent her out. And of course she had no idea what was going on, did you, dear?”

Cyndaquil blinked, puzzled, and nearly tripped over her own chubby legs. Ella’s anger was very quickly giving way to confusion of her own; she knew that the average starter Pokemon wasn’t wildly powerful, to match its equally inexperienced Trainer, but surely they started at at least level one?

“No, she didn’t. I don’t know what garbage breeder they got her from, but she was definitely not ready to be separated from her mother. Even Talonflame backed off.”

Something finally clicked in Ella’s head, and her eyes went wide. She lunged forward, claws clacking on the hardwood floor, to sniff vigorously at Cyndaquil, who nearly fell over backwards in surprise. Under the rainwater and dirt, the scent of juvenile pheromones was unmistakable.

From up on his perch, Talonflame chirruped, amused. It really took you this long to notice? Do you usually growl at baby humans, too?

Ella was too stunned to even bark back. True, she didn’t spend any time around other Pokemon, but she should still have known...

“Obviously this spoiled brat had no business keeping her in his care,” Cinder said, stirring vanilla and cinnamon into the simmering pan. “But fortunately, it was very simple to set up an exchange.”

Talonflame chirruped, amused. Your Trainer throws a mean Mach Punch, Ella.

Cinder smirked at the fresh memory. With her free hand, she reached into her hip pouch, pulled out the shards of a shattered Pokeball, and tossed them into the trash can. Ella heard muffled clinks, and caught a glimpse of a coin purse that definitely was not theirs. Or, well, it hadn’t been before.

“I think it’s about time we start expanding our team, anyway. We’re in service to a very powerful leader now. We should be meeting a higher standard.” She glanced at Ella while digging back in the cabinet for the Vespiquen honey, and amended, “An even higher standard. I know this was a shock to you, Ella, and I don’t expect you to babysit her. But I couldn’t imagine a better example for her than you.”

Well. Ella couldn’t argue with that. She considered Cyndaquil for a moment more, watched her twitch her nose curiously up at her, and then ducked her head down to take the smaller Pokemon’s scruff in her mouth. As expected, she was still young enough that she went limp in her teeth.

Cinder blinked, but didn’t move to stop her. “Ella? What are you doing?”

Ella didn’t respond; she was already carrying Cyndaquil over to the living area. She laid down on the rug, deposited Cyndaquil between her front legs, and set about licking her short, downy fur. She wasn’t sure how Typhlosion mothers usually groomed their young — she barely remembered how her own mother had done it — but this felt right. 

Cinder smiled and returned her attention to the pan on the stove. Cyndaquil, for her part, didn’t seem upset, but she was certainly confused.

Who... She was cut off by Ella’s wide tongue sweeping over the top of her head, but tried again. Who are you?

My name is Ella, she informed her, making sure to get the back of her neck. Cinder’s hasty rub with the towel hadn’t done anywhere near enough to rid her of the residue on her fur, and it certainly hadn’t done anything for the scrapes on the skin underneath. I am your teammate now. 

Oh. Cyndaquil squirmed around some more until she could look up at Cinder’s back. That lady’s nice. And warm.

Her name is Cinder. She is your Trainer, and you should do as she tells you.

My Trainer’s sleeping on the ground back there, Cyndaquil said with innocent bluntness. I don’t think he got up yet. 

Talonflame let out a deliberate, throaty laugh, and Ella shot a warning glare over her shoulder before returning to her ministrations. 

You can forget about him, she insisted to Cyndaquil. All you need now is us. 

Perhaps it was only because Cyndaquil was too young to fully grasp the reality of her new situation, but she didn’t question it any further. Instead, she settled down between Ella’s front legs and continued to watch Cinder make her dinner, submitting to a thorough grooming as she did so. 

Talonflame tilted his head back and forth as he stared down at them. You’ve changed your tune quickly, haven’t you, Ella?

Shut up, said Ella curtly, in between licks. You’re not staying.

We’ll see about that, Talonflame replied, too lazily to be threatening, as he tucked his head beneath his wing for a brief nap. Wake me when dinner’s ready, will you? 

Ella made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. She couldn’t find the room to care about that right now. Not when the cabin was steadily filling with sweet and savory scents, when the room was growing warm in the way it only did when the evening chill was falling outside, when there was a sense of comfort settling into her bones that she hadn’t felt in quite a long time. 

Not since...ah.

Ella looked up at Cinder, who gave her a knowing smile back. Of course she remembered too.

~0~

It’s only the adrenaline surging through her veins that’s keeping her moving. She just wants to run, run, run, as far and as fast as she can, because if she stops for an instant they’ll catch her and drag her back, but she can’t feel her paws anymore and it’s very quickly not her decision. 

The driving rain is already making it hard to see what’s in front of her, but then her vision blurs out completely, and she’s dropped right into a puddle before she even realizes her legs have buckled from underneath her. She doesn’t have the strength even to struggle back to her feet. All she can do is shuffle on her stomach through the mud, inch by miserable inch, until the sore tips of her toes brush rock, leaving behind smears of blood that are quickly washed away.

Her eyes flick upward: less of a cave than a hole in the ground, but she’ll take it. It’s a painful squeeze through an opening that’s just barely bigger than her own body. When she finally manages it, she collapses, lying like a wet pile of fur on the rough stone. Even here’s not really dry — cold runoff drips steadily right into her ear — but she couldn’t move to a better spot even if she tried.

She closes her eyes, the sound of her own labored breathing filling her head. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get up again, and right now, she doesn’t much care. All that matters is that she’s not moving, that no one can touch her here.

So it takes her a good minute to register the strange scent wafting into her nostrils, underneath the heavy smells of rain and earth: acrid enough to make her nose twitch and fur raise. With a colossal effort, she lifts her head an inch, and finally notices that she is not alone here.

Barely a few feet away, desperately trying to cram herself into the far corner of the cave, is a human not much bigger than her. A little girl, just as skinny and soaked as she is, her amber eyes huge with terror. She wonders what she’s so afraid of — wonders if there’s anything behind her, if she should be afraid too — before realizing.

Oh. This was your hiding place first.

The girl doesn’t seem to have been here long: she’s out of breath, eyes puffy and red, and none of the mud spattering her once-white shirt and pants has dried. She gapes at her for a long moment, before hesitantly scooting forward and reaching out towards her ears.

What ear she has left pricks straight up. She might have intruded on this human, sure, but that doesn’t mean she gets to touch her.

Her hackles raise, her lips pull back, and she snaps at the offending fingers the second she realizes where they’re going. She misses — the girl gasps and scrambles back again, holding her hand protectively to her chest — and her smooth, flat-topped teeth clack painfully together.

“I-I’m sorry!” the girl yelps. “It’s just...you’re hurt.”

She’s fine. So what if her ears and tail had been cut into this awful shape? So what if she’s been robbed of her fangs, and now her claws? She’s still a Pokemon and not some spoiled brat’s toy. Still strong, strong enough to defend herself against one pathetic human. 

She growls, but it’s weak even to her own ears. She is strong, it’s either tell herself that or lose hope completely, but she’s running on fumes. If she can’t fight back...if she can’t make them stop touching her...

The girl is doing something puzzling now, and it almost makes her let down her guard. She’s pawing at her shirt as if looking for something, but it doesn’t seem to have any pockets or other affectations. Then after a moment, to her shock, she grabs the one part of it that isn’t filthy, tears a long strip away, then tears that in half with a soft snap.

“Here...” She edges closer, slowing but not quite stopping at her growls. “I — I get it if you don’t want me touching your face. But your paws are bleeding, and...”

She narrows her eyes and keeps her teeth bared in warning: with the combustion pouch in her throat snipped or punctured or even pulled out entirely, whatever they had done to it, a cigarette lighter could produce a bigger flame than she can right now. But she doesn’t have to act like it.

The girl bites back a whimper, the smell of fear still coming off her in waves. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise. I just want to help. Please?”

Growls keep bubbling up from her throat, but they’re half-hearted. Against every instinct, she slides her front paws forward. The wounds on her half-amputated toes sting when the scratchy fabric wraps around them, but it’s a small relief to have the bleeding finally staunched.

The girl smiles. “There. Better?”

This close, she can see in the girl’s sunken cheeks and ashen skin how starved she is, spot the jagged outline of a fresh scar around her neck. The faint smell of human blood, not quite covered up by the muck, reaches her nose. Oh. So they really are in the same boat. 

She goes quiet, and tries to relax, and is rewarded with the fear-scent steadily receding.

“My name’s Cinder. Do you have a name?”

She heaves a deep sigh in response; she’s never been called anything but mongrel, dumb mutt, dirty animal, and she’s pretty sure those don’t count as names.

“No? I’ll think of one for you, then. Just give me a little bit, I’ve never named anyone befo—aah!”

Thunder shakes what felt like the whole world around them, and they both jump so badly they hit their heads on the painfully low walls. She lets out a whine despite herself, curling tightly in on herself to keep from shaking. Cinder doesn’t look much happier, but instead of recoiling...

“Here...” Cinder mimics her, getting down and snuggling up next to her back on the floor. “I know I’m not very warm, but I should be better than nothing.”

She makes a soft noise of assent. When Cinder slings an arm over her shoulders, hugging her body close and gently petting her flank, it doesn’t exactly make her feel fuzzy on the inside. But it stirs something deep in her chest that she doesn’t have a name for yet, and it’s a welcome distraction from the cold and wet.

“We can stay here until the storm stops. We could figure out where to go together,” Cinder suggests, in a hesitant murmur. “We could be friends.”

Friends. She’s never heard the word before, and isn’t sure what it means, but she wouldn’t mind finding out. She twists her head around and licks Cinder’s cheek, and the girl giggles like she’s never tried to before.

The rain drives down hard and punishing outside, washing away all traces of them. Freezing droplets fall on them from the roof. They’re hungry, dirty, and shivering, with no idea of what they’re supposed to do next. But tonight they’re huddled together, the world outside this cramped little cave does not exist, and for the first time in their lives, they aren’t alone.

 ~0~

“Dinnertime,” Cinder said, balancing four dishes as she came into the living area. Talonflame stirred and flapped down from his perch to join them as she served the meal: beef stew from the slow cooker for the three of them and warm spiced milk for Cyndaquil.

The baby Pokemon let out her loudest squeak yet and bounced out of Ella’s legs when the dish was set beside her, but stopped short of actually going for it, looking up at them hesitantly.

“Go on. It’s all for you, dear.”

Cinder, sitting cross-legged on the floor with them, smiled as she watched the tiny Pokemon scramble eagerly towards the milk.

“You like it? There’s plenty more where that came from. We’re going to raise you to be big and strong, and one day nobody will dare mistreat you. Right, Ella?”

Ella loyally thumped her tail on the hardwood floor: she knew better than anyone. She knew that she wasn’t the starter Pokemon that every child dreamed about, nor, she conceded, had Cinder begun as the cool and confident Trainer that any Pokemon would want. But still they had fought every day to survive together, to become strong enough that nobody could ever lay a hand on them again. 

She had evolved under Cinder’s command, and with evolution the body parts that had been carved away from her when she was young were restored to her. Most importantly, it had given her her fire back, and she knew in her heart that she would never have been able to reach that point on her own.

It was just like Cinder used to say, in the dead of one of their countless nights huddled up together: It’s all right if nobody else loves us. All we need is each other.

That had held steadfastly true for them, from childhood to adulthood. Ella saw no reason why the same could not apply to Cyndaquil, if she herself were magnanimous enough to allow it.

As she gulped down tender chunks of beef, she watched the tiny Pokemon lapping up the milk so earnestly she seemed in danger of falling headfirst into the dish. It had taken Ella a long time to train herself out of scarfing her food down like that, so fast she didn’t even taste it, to be sure that nobody would snatch it away from her now. 

Though Toxitricity and Drapion still acted as if they would sometimes, just to get a rise out of her. While she was still small, Cyndaquil would be free to take refuge behind her legs or in Cinder’s arms, but soon Ella would have to teach her how to stand up for herself, and to not roll over for them or anyone else. There were a lot of things the two of them — three, if Talonflame decided to make himself useful — would be responsible for teaching their newest member. She ought to start making a list.

Not that there was much room in her head for that right now. Cyndaquil polished off the milk before the rest of them were halfway finished with their meal, and after licking the dish clean, she looked up and glanced uncertainly around at the three of them. 

Now that there was nothing to distract her, it was starting to sink in that she was all by herself, in a strange place surrounded by strange people, with no idea what was going to happen to her next. Ella knew that feeling: the sudden drop in her stomach, the cold spreading like frost over her skin. She remembered. She expected that Cinder did, too. 

Her Trainer was watching Cyndaquil intently, and at the first tiny whimper that might have been the prelude to crying, she set her bowl aside and held out her arms. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Want to come here?”

With only slight reluctance, Cyndaquil allowed Cinder to scoop her into her lap. Smiling, she rubbed the tiny Pokemon’s belly with one hand and scratched the back of her neck, just above the incendiary spots, with the other. Cyndaquil let out a series of high-pitched cheeps and squirmed happily in her lap, clearly unused to such affection.

“There, you see?” Cinder cooed, as Cyndaquil twisted around so she could scratch under her chin. “Nothing to be afraid of. This is your home now, with me and your big sister Ella.”

Ella! Ella! Cyndaquil squeaked, delighted. She says we’re sisters!

Ella swallowed a chunk of potato and tilted her head at them. Sister. Another word she would soon be learning to embody.

~0~

The next morning, Ella found her need to pace militarily when impatient at war with her utter disgust of wetness and mud. They had planned a schedule for Cyndaquil’s first full day with them yesterday evening, and it would not do at all to start slacking so soon.

Last night, Cyndaquil had tried to sleep in the corner of the bedroom at first, clearly too used to being shunted out of the way. She had needed plenty of coaxing from Cinder and a commanding bark from Ella to feel safe climbing up onto the bed and letting herself be tucked in between them.

She had slept restlessly, kicking and yelping in her dreams, needing constant soothing to calm down. In the morning Ella had had to drag her exhausted body out from under her blanket, shaking the sleep out of her head. Even Cinder, who had always been a light sleeper anyway, had been rubbing her eyes as Cyndaquil followed her out of the bedroom, bouncing at her heels. Arceus only knew where the little Pokemon had gotten so much energy from.

Ella lifted a paw and shook excess mud from it, her lip curling. Cinder had said that they would only be a minute, it had now been several, and if they didn’t get out here in the next ten seconds she was going to march in there and drag her Trainer out with her teeth—

“Being patient, Ella?”

Ella turned and fixed Cinder with A Look as she watched her coming down the front steps of the cabin, determined not to return her easy smile just yet. She was supposed to have been introducing Cyndaquil to a new Pokeball, but as it happened...

“Yes, I know,” Cinder said, reaching up to steady Cyndaquil as she sprawled happily on her belly, atop her new Trainer’s head. “She does have a new Pokeball now, but I think she likes it better here with us. Right, dear?”

Cyndaquil chirped assent, grinning and swinging her stubby legs.

“You’ll need a proper name soon, too. But training comes first, so watch your sister carefully, now. Ella, if you would?”

Ella gave a firm nod and stepped back, facing the open space in front of the two of them, so Cyndaquil could get a good view of what she was about to demonstrate. The smaller Pokemon, while still idly playing with Cinder’s bangs, was staring transfixed at her. Ella doubted whether she could even muster up an Ember yet, let alone try Flamethrower. Well, then all the better a show for her.

She would never again take for granted how good it felt to flex the muscles in her throat and get her combustion pouch working. It was like taking a gulp of sweet smoke, sparklers lighting just under her skin, as the heat surged up from within her.

Maybe the need to show off to someone younger, which she had never had the chance to do before, gave her some extra fuel: the flames that burst from her mouth burned hotter and stronger than ever, brightening the overcast morning and sending steam hissing up from the puddles before her. 

Cinder gave her an approving smirk and some soft applause, but Cyndaquil couldn’t contain herself.

Wow! She took a flying leap off of Cinder’s head and scurried to Ella’s side, mimicking her battle pose. My turn, my turn!

She opened her mouth, throat straining and tail sticking straight out, only to cough up the measliest crumb of flame that Ella had ever seen. It extinguished itself almost as soon as it had been ignited.

Oh, Cyndaquil said plaintively, tail drooping. I...

Ella gave her a nudge with her snout that she hoped was uplifting. Will try again, that’s what you’ll do. As long as it takes. Don’t look so downcast.

“Whatever Ella’s saying to you, she’s right, dear,” Cinder chimed in. “We’re going to become the strongest, but not overnight.”

You do have an advantage. I had to figure this all out on my own. Ella re-assumed her attack position. She would go slower this time, explain the physical aspects of combustion that were innate to all Fire-types, so the little one could better lean in to what felt most natural. You have me to look after you. And when you’re finally ready to be in a real battle, you’ll be far more prepared than the others. Understand?

Cyndaquil nodded very seriously, then mirrored her once more, sparks flying already from her arched back. 

Good. Now, watch closely...

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (1/8)

This is the sequel to “Of the Eight Winds,” which began from a small simple prompt from Sunflowerdeedsandscience: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” That prompt took on a life of its own that became ‘Of the Eight Winds.’ This fic immediately follows the events of that piece — I would encourage reading it first if you haven’t.

This is not written in the same Rashomon structure as the original — it is absolutely linear. Hope that doesn’t throw anyone.

I’ll be posting the first two chapters today, and then one chapter a day until next Monday. You can also find it on AO3 here.

PROLOGUE

They say in the heat of the moment, you have five seconds to make a decision. Five seconds between right and wrong. Five seconds between life and death. As Mulder stood watching one gun pointed at his children and another pointed at an immensely pregnant Scully, five seconds seemed an eternity.

XxXxXxXxXxX

6 Months Earlier

She watched the house from the shadows. Occasionally from her car. It was harder to follow the woman as she worked at a secure government facility, but the man was easy. He had a small private psychology practice in a townhouse in Old Town. He usually ate lunch at a Panera near the office or brown bagged it from home.

The kids both attended a private prep school out in McLean. The girl drove herself and her brother most days. The boy would often stay late for sports practice (ice hockey, if the equipment was any indication) and the man would usually pick him up. Their lives were pretty routine.

After two weeks, she finally made an appointment with the man’s scheduling service and waited nervously in the outer office. Right on time, he opened the door.

“Olivia?” Dr. Mulder smiled at her, “come on back.”

She passed him through the doorway and settled into a plush leather couch.

He sat down in a chair across from her and crossed his leg, looking relaxed. Up close, she noticed that his hair was starting to grey at the temples, but he still looked fit, and conveyed an easy manner.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, trying to calm her nerves.

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his notebook, “I see you were referred to me by Dr. Heitz Werber?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself,” he said.

She took a breath.

“I grew up here in DC. After grad school… My father worked for the State Department and I, uh, went into the family business.”

Dr. Mulder nodded, his expression neutral.

“I can imagine that’s pretty stressful work,” he said.

“It was,” she said, “I don’t do it anymore.”

He nodded again, waiting for her to fill the silence. She went on.

“The work I did… it hurt people. And I’m… I’m trying to make amends.”

His expression gave nothing away. She steeled herself, took a deep breath.

“Dr. Mulder, my name is Olivia Kurtzweil. Our fathers knew each other a long time ago. I’m here to warn you. You and your family are in danger. Your wife and her baby…”

His nostrils flared, but he maintained his composure.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out several pictures.

“I can prove it,” she said, “This is me and my father, this is me and your sister Samantha. And this is our fathers together.”

“I think you need to leave,” he said, his voice tight for the first time. He was not looking at the pictures.  

She rose.

“There’s not a lot of time.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number on it, set it next to the pictures, which she left on the office’s small coffee table. “Call me at this number. Soon. I’ll tell you all I can.”

With that she left, her heart hammering in her chest.

CHAPTER ONE

Arlington Cemetery May 2nd, 2018

Mulder descended the stairs quickly, the leather bottoms of his dress shoes scraping loudly on the dusty grit of the steps. The occupants of the underground lair were the perfect people to call when you needed information, but good housekeepers they were not.

He entered the code on the security box at the door at the bottom of the staircase, and the door swung open.

“Guys?” he called into the cavernous space once the door sealed shut behind him.

“In here!” he heard a muffled call from near the back.

He stepped around gunmetal shelves awash in circuitry and computer parts and turned right into the sanctum sanctorum of the place: the desktop on which sat the AMD Threadripper 3000. Two men were hunched over the screen, one sitting, one standing just behind him.

Grease-stained napkins were wadded up next to the keyboard and crinkled butcher paper sat nearby, sporting the red-splotched remains of marinara sauce and a few errant banana peppers.

“You want a meatball sub, Mulder?” came the nasally voice of the man standing, “We got extra.”

“I don’t relish the thought of being up all night with heartburn, Langly, but thanks,” Mulder said, and Frohike turned from the chair, his wispy hair now more white than grey.

“They’re from Gino’s,” he said around a mouthful, “you’re missing out.”

“Tell that to Gino,” Mulder said, “didn’t he die of a heart attack in ‘04?”

“His wife is still running the place, bursting with health,” Frohike said, and reached for a styrofoam cup.

“But she doesn’t eat the subs,” said Mulder, and swung into a nearby chair. “Where’s Byers?”

“Staying with Suzanne for the weekend,” Langly said, like he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that safe?” Mulder asked. The Gunmen had been hiding out in a government-built safehouse under their own graves in Arlington Cemetery for more than a decade.

Langly shrugged.

The three men looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Mulder spoke again.

“What did you find?”

“Enough,” said Frohike, turning back to the screen. Mulder stood and walked up behind him.

Frohike tapped a picture on the screen.

“Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, “born December 4th, 1963, daughter of Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil and Ruth O’Brien Kurtzweil. Graduated from Sidwell Friends School in Washington DC in 1981, got a PhD in both Biology and Virology from Boston University in 1987. Employment records get kind of muddled after that, but it would make sense if she worked for the State Department, though what a Biologist/Virologist would be doing for State is troubling.”

Mulder leaned back. It was the same woman who’d been in his office earlier that day.

“And the pictures?” he asked, “of our fathers together? Of her and Samantha?”

“The real McCoy,” Langly said, “they don’t appear to be altered in any way. Sent them to Chuck Burks, too. He concurs.”

Mulder sighed heavily.

“What’s going on, Mulder?” Frohike asked, his tone serious.

“She came to my office today, Olivia Kurtzweil,” he said, nodding at the screen, “she told me that Scully is in danger.”

“In danger?” Langly said, puzzled, “how?”

“Scully is…” Mulder paused, “she’s pregnant,” he said, and he saw both men’s eyebrows go up. “This woman told me that our family... that Scully and the baby are in danger.”

Frohike and Langly traded looks.

“We haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy,” Mulder went on, “and Scully’s OB is an old friend from med school that she trusts implicitly. This Kurtzweil woman knows about the baby and insists it’s in danger. I need to know what’s going on.”

“Firstly,” said Frohike, who stood and put a hand on Mulder’s shoulder, “Mazel tov.” Mulder smiled at him. “Secondly,” he went on, “it appears as though this woman is telling the truth -- at least about who she is -- I would talk to her. See what you can find out.”

“How’s Scully taking this?” Langly asked.

“I haven’t told her yet,” Mulder said, and the boys traded another look. “I didn’t want to scare her without knowing more.”

Frohike squeezed his shoulder again and then let his arm fall.

“Let us know, huh?” he said, “However we can help.”

Mulder nodded and drifted back toward the door, a ball of worry sitting heavy in his gut.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Where are the kids?” he asked as soon as he walked in the kitchen. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“I had a good day, thanks for asking,” said Scully with a grin. She was loading the dishwasher and turned to look at him. Her face fell, turning serious. “The kids are upstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I had a patient come in today…” he started, and her features softened. She probably thought it was just empathy for one of his patients, a tough case. “Scully, she showed me a picture of herself as a kid. With Samantha.”

“What?” Scully said, standing up straight, “how?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and moved past her and into the living room, making for the bookshelf that held old family photo albums. He pulled one out and skimmed through it. Pulled out another. Halfway through, something caught his eye and he flipped back a couple of pages until he saw it. A picture from the same 70’s-era party at his childhood home on the Vineyard that Olivia had shown him. There was his father standing next to Alvin Kurtzweil, and down in the corner, both wearing swimsuits and gap-toothed smiles, pigtails frizzy and wet, sat Samantha and a 7 year-old Olivia Kurtzweil.

He felt his breath leave him.

Scully had come up quietly behind him, put her hand on his arm.

“Mulder?” she said.

“I need to make a call,” he said.

He pulled the note Olivia had left with him out of his pocket. She picked up on the first ring.

“Olivia, this is Dr. Mulder,” he said. “We need to talk.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next morning at 9:00am, they found themselves sitting across their kitchen table from Olivia Kurtzweil, Special Agent Monica Reyes, ASAC John Doggett and Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Scully was sitting, arms crossed in front of her defensively, at the head of the table. Reyes sat next to her, looking at Kurtzweil with an equal amount of curiosity and distrust. Doggett was too amped up to sit and paced through their kitchen. Skinner sat, quiet and still, looking as menacing as ever at the far end of the table.

Mulder felt a certain odd protectiveness toward Olivia, and couldn’t help but treat her a bit like a patient.

“Olivia,” he said calmly, “why don’t you start at the beginning.”

The tale she spun was as fantastic as anything they’d ever heard in their years on the X-Files. Olivia had been groomed from childhood to work on what she called “The Project.” When Samantha Mulder had been abducted, The Project had used her DNA to create alien-human hybrids. Throughout the years, these hybrids had been used by different factions of The Project to further their agendas in relation to a colonization project that Olivia said once threatened the world. She had fought with others to bring it down and now, The Project’s last ditch effort to resurrect itself lay in the cells of the child Scully was carrying.

“How was my father involved?” Mulder said, his voice like ice.

“Your father did everything he could to protect you and your sister,” Olivia said after a pause. “He was the person I initially approached when I became disenchanted. He and I worked together for years dismantling everything we could.”

Mulder narrowed his eyes at her.

“You were at my father’s funeral a couple years ago,” he said, recognition dawning on him, “I saw you at his wake.”

Olivia nodded.

“He couldn’t save your sister,” she said, “but he saved you. And in the end, he saved me.”

“My sister,” Mulder said, his stomach feeling as though it were in his feet, “is she alive?”

“No,” Olivia said, “I’m so sorry. And that’s the problem. Your sister’s DNA was the only one that was able to create viable hybrids. Her DNA was the key. And the last living hybrid sacrificed herself before a rogue faction could get her. That rogue faction is after Scully and your baby for the DNA markers particular to your family.”

“Then why aren’t they after me?”

“The particular markers they’re looking for are rendered dormant after a baby is born. The genetic material they can use is only found in--”

Scully spoke for the first time, finishing Olivia’s explanation. “Embryonic stem cells from our baby.”

Olivia looked pained and nodded. “It’s their last, best hope for restarting the program,” she said.

“How do they even know about the pregnancy? We haven’t told a soul.”

“A hack on your medical records is my guess. HIPAA means nothing to these people.”

“I’m less concerned with the how and more concerned with the why,” Mulder said. “You say embryonic cells. That means they’re on a clock, right? Once the baby is born...”

“Destroy the umbilical cord. The placenta. Those cells are only found in a few places. Destroy anything they might be able to use. After that… you and your baby will be safe.”

“So no one else in our family is in danger?” Scully asked. Her eyes darted unconsciously to a family picture that was framed on the wall above Olivia. It was a candid photo, taken the year before when they had hired a photographer to take Lily’s senior portraits. In it, Mulder and Scully were holding hands, looking at their two kids who were laughing about something Will had said. They were all smiling and carefree. In the moment, it felt like a world away.

“I know the technology and the biology it draws from,” Olivia said, “I helped design it. Their only hope is getting their hands on the embryonic stem cells from your baby. If you were planning on getting an amniocentesis test -- don’t.”

“Why not?” Skinner asked, “why not just give them what they want?”

“Because they’ll never stop,” Reyes said.

Olivia shook her head sadly. “She’s right. They take and they take, and they don’t care who gets hurt or what is lost.” She looked to Mulder. “Your father and I worked for years to shut it down. Finish it. Hide your wife. Protect your baby. Once it’s born, you should all be out of danger.”

“Tell me about this rogue faction,” Doggett’s voice coming from the corner of the kitchen startled everyone.

“Mercs for hire,” Olivia said, “Only one of them that I know of is familiar with the working pieces of The Project. I don’t know him well. I only ever saw him in the periphery.”

“Do you have a name?” Doggett asked.

“I doubt it’s his real one,” Olivia said.

“We’ll take whatever you can give us,” said Reyes, who shot a look to Doggett.

“I only ever heard him called ‘Krycek,’” she said.

Mulder felt his gut drop.

XxX

“What do you think?” Mulder asked Scully, as they sat together around their empty dining room table. Doggett, Reyes and Skinner had left and it was nearly noon, the sun bright outside their windows. Nevertheless, the room felt cold. Mulder could feel anxiety press on him from all sides as though he were under water.

“I don’t know what to think,” Scully said, a hand resting unconsciously on her stomach, which had just started to push out. “Mulder, for almost fifteen years our lives have been ordinary, calm. After all this time…? It strains credulity.”

“Scully I would agree with you. But… some of the things we saw when we were on the X-Files… We know credible threats. This feels like a credible threat.”

“Do you really believe everything she said? About your sister?” He could see her skeptical reserve crumbling.

Mulder let that question sit in the air for several long moments. “Just tell me if the science checks out,” he finally said.

Scully huffed an almost amused sigh. “I couldn’t even begin to-” she started.

“Scully, you yourself were filling in the blanks of Olivia’s story. If what she says is true, does the science check out?”

Scully gave him a long look. “Yes,” she finally said.

He held her gaze, a feeling of overwhelming affection coming over him. “Scully,” he said quietly, “we have to get you somewhere safe.”

She looked down, added another hand to her abdomen so she was cradling it with both. On the countertop, there was a half drunk bottle of Deer Park and a single yellowing banana. Someone had left their iPhone headphones sitting in a semi-coiled loop, and there were crumbs in front of the toaster, dishes in the sink. They sat in the middle of a half-lived life.

“I won’t leave without you,” she finally said, “without you and the kids. We all do this together. If the threat is really what Kurtzweil says it is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them trying to use you or the kids to get to me.”

Mulder nodded curtly.

“I’ll go to the guys,” he said, “see what they can do for us. Skinner and Doggett and Reyes will do what they can to protect us, but I think given everything we’ve heard, it’s best to avoid… governmental oversight.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Scully said.

“We need to leave soon. We can’t wait.”

Apgar jumped on the table then, looking for affection. Scully, who normally wouldn’t tolerate a cat on any eating surface, reached out and pet the cat absently, her eyes far away.

“Where are we even going to go?” she asked.

[soullesscoffee]

eyes wide open.

{ david the lost boys x reader }

rating: pg-13

word count: 1922

summary: the reader finds themselves in this picture perfect morning. yet with one simple phrase they questions their whole reality. what is really happening with them?

warnings: afab!reader, mind manipulation, false reality, picture perfect family, death, slight gore, pure sadness, soft!david, sad!david, afab reader, some sad sad shit, not proofread bc i wrote this so late at night.

a/n: i had major inspiration to write something for david. i have been watching a lot of wandavision. this show really inspired the plot and the general story of this fic. i hope you do enjoy! i broke my own heart writing this. and no there are no wandavision spoilers in this. 

A yelp leaves your lips as two tiny humans graze past you causing you to jolt almost spilling your scalding coffee. “Boys! No running in the kitchen!” You yell to the rambunctious twins as they run around giggling as they chase each other before making their way into the living room. A sigh leaves your lips in relief before the tired smile turns into a warm loving smile as a hand is placed on your waist and a stubbled kiss is placed on your neck. “Good morning,” you greet your husband after putting a hand on the back of his head to which he chuckles. David slowly makes his way to the front of you. “Good morning, I see you didn’t spill your coffee this time.” David’s sly comment causes you to roll your eyes as you set yourself at the kitchen island where a breakfast was waiting for you. “Yes, luckily. You know we need to take Marko and Bruce out more. Get all of that energy out. I don’t know where they get it from.” You state before taking a sip of your warm coffee, the warmth causes you to shiver with satisfaction. An airy laugh bursts through the kitchen, “Ah yes, to be young again.” David teases once again before leaning himself on the kitchen island admiring you from afar with his striking bright eyes . These moments of sweetness weren’t rare but it was rare for you to catch him admiring you and giving you the soft look that reminded you of how much he truly loves you.

A soft smile creeps its way to your lips and you flop your head to the side, feeling the rollers in your hair to catch your head from going any further on your shoulder. “You can say that again.” Another sip of the sweet coffee trails over your tongue and you hear him sight as he also grabs his coffee. “I miss it. Sleeping all day, partying all night…” David trails off as he fills his mouth with coffee, his face being partially blocked by the family portrait mug. You blink at the statement. Why did that strike a cord in your chest? Why did it feel like you’ve heard that before? It was as if your consciousness did a full turn about. You blink a few more times and you can see David notice your sudden distraught state. Subconsciously you look down at your ring finger where two dainty gold rings lay, one with a perfect circle diamond and the other a simple band, symbolizing your marriage to the man of your dreams. Yet you don’t remember anything about the wedding. Why couldn’t you remember your own wedding? Also you couldn’t remember moving into the house. You couldn’t remember giving birth to your own sons.

“Darling?” David asks as he carefully sets down his mug, his expression feigning concern. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” He questions putting a hand on your back and rubbing low slow circles. Almost as if he was trying to ground you and bring you back to this reality. You shake your head, “What you just said-” you start but David only chuckles, “What? Being young again? I mean I’m sorry babe but we aren’t as young as we used to be.” You shake your head and stand pushing his hand away. “No, the other thing,” you start and look around the house carefully, looking at the family portraits from when the boys were newborns to the most recent Halloween photo that was framed perfectly adjacent to the fridge before focusing on your husband, “sleeping all day. Partying all night.” Then suddenly you hear his voice echo in your head and it hits you like a truck. “Never grow old… Never die.” Your words leave your lips in whispers. Suddenly your breathing picks up and your head starts to spin. Your chest heaves with each breath as anxiety and fear starts to fill your senses.

“What are you talking about, honey?” David asks with a seemingly worried and confused expression as he approaches you slowly. “Babe, you need to calm down. Take deep breaths, you’re starting to worry the boys.” he notes as the twins stand at the entrance of the open concept kitchen from the living room.

“No, no, no, don’t tell me to calm down David!” Your voice raises as you put a hand out to signal for him to keep his distance. The boys looked worried as well, almost as if you were scaring them. Were they even your kids? Are they a part of you? “Mom? Are you okay?” Marko, a little blonde boy asks you with wide eyes while his darker haired counterpart hid quietly behind him. “Go play outside sweetie, please.” You choke out as the boys hesitantly leave the kitchen hand in hand. David sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose starting to give up but he doesn’t want to give you that satisfaction. As the boys leave you point towards them with a shaking hand. You didn’t notice your whole body was trembling as memories flush to your mind overwhelming you. “David, wha- why- why can’t I remember anything?”

“Jesus, Y/N, don’t start this. It’s too early in the morning for this.” David complains as he rests a hand on his hip of his neat chinos and white pristine button up shirt. He was dress as if he was ready for his 9-5 office job. Then the memories started to clash before your eyes. The bleached mullet, the gloves, the black trench coat. Yet here he was in front of you wearing a neat button up shirt with slacks and a brown belt. His hair was short and moving freely, no longer constricted by gel. “The boys? You can’t- I mean I can’t- We can’t do that!” You say in a loud tone and David tenses, his eyes slowly getting darker with each word you talk. “I don’t remember us getting married David! I don’t remember the birth of our boys! What are you doing? What is this David?” Your stance starts to get defensive as you keep your distance. David didn’t budge or say a thing. “David what the hell is going on?!” You yell, finally snapping. David blinks at your state, surprised as he looks at your long hair in distressed curlers, your robe hanging off your shoulder and your body trembling in fear and confusion.

“Y/N…” David starts trying to hold onto your hands but you rip them away on instinct. You know he had the ability to play mind tricks but this was on a different level. There are faint memories of you talking about wanting a family and kids before you made your choice. You chose to be with him forever, you chose to sacrifice all of those things to be with him. Why was he doing this? Your brows furrow in hurt and disbelief. “What are you doing to me?” You choke out as tears brim your eyes blurring the fine line between the realities you were in. You could see half of him with the striking bright blond hair and donned all in black. Yet the other half was a natural blonde, with clean shave and neat clothes on. “Y/N, I can’t let you go like this.” David whispers, he was now cornering you. Yet you didn’t feel in danger, you felt concerned but not threatened by his nature. “Please, don’t do this right now.” Was he begging you to stop? David never did that. Not the David you knew. That David always got his way and did everything he could. He would never resort to requesting for someone to stop doing something.

“Don’t do what right now? David, what is happening to me?” You ask and this time you close the gap between the two of you. Your hands cupping his cheeks as you search grey-speckled blue eyes. “What do you mean you can’t let me go like this?” You questions again holding his face searching for answers in his deadpan expression. David only sighs and shakes his head, not knowing what to say or do. “Please David, I don’t want to be in a lie anymore…” You beg in a hushed tone pressing your forehead against his and holding him close. As you held his warm body it soon turned cool, no longer as if there was any body heat radiating off of him. Then you were numb. Your eyes were shut close as you felt his forehead touch yours but they slowly opened when he pulled away. It revealed a house you weren’t too familiar with. There was pressure in your chest as if the whole world was crashing down on it. David was kneeling in front of you. The only thing keeping you two apart was the large steak driven into a part in your chest inches away from your heart.

A soft whimper leaves your lips as they tremble in the crushing weight of the reality. He was doing this to send you off one last time. To give you the lasting memory of the thing he thought you deserved the most. A normal life. “Shhh,” he hushes you and pets your head trying to calm you. You were wet and sticky with an oozing dark liquid. You were cold. Yet you were still awake. “I didn’t want to send you off like this,” David starts his eyes boring into yours in almost a hypnotic way. You could see his eyes gloss over, he too was in pain. You could only shake your head for it was too hard to talk with all the pressure. Your hand grasps his and presses it against your cheek. It was his bare hand, something so rare to hold and feel. Even the action of kissing his palm made your body tense and seize from the pain. “Thank you,” you whisper into his palm holding it close. David gives a sigh of defeat and brings his forehead close to yours once again, pressing them together in unison. One hand held your face while the other held your waist. How badly he wanted to close the gap between the two of you.

Suddenly with the blink of an eye you were back in the reality you now know as false. David pulls away from you and the boys come to his side. Your two beautiful boys wrap their arms around you. Tears fall from your eyes and trail off your cheek. You hiccup from a quiet sob as you hold them close. Kissing both of their foreheads you pull away gently. You look at David and approach him wrapping your arms around his neck. You press a loving kiss to his lips. Your grip on him was deadly. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips. David can only smirk and press another chaste kiss and hug you once more. He admired your scent one last time before he knew it was time. “I love you too,” he replies before pressing his forehead into yours. Then your world faded to black, nothingness, stillness, almost deafening.

David pulls away from your lifeless body that was slumped against the wall. A single tear falls from his eye and he is quick to wipe it away. “I will see you again soon,” he whispers into the air before stepping back where his boys were waiting for him. All of their faces distraught with sadness and fear for their brother.

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Easter Holiday Break” || YEAR 3 – Ch.31 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

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Day posted: 11/10/2020

Word count: 3, 260

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather was deep asleep early morning when her whole bed started shaking violently. Someone was banging on the girl’s dormitory door yelling her name. She sat up and groaned, remembering what Draco had said the night before. She leapt out of bed and dug in her trunk for her Quidditch uniform, hugging everything to her chest ready to run to the bathroom when she saw her stolen library books had become dislodged and fallen to the floor.

She picked them up quickly and shoved them in her trunk, locking it closed. No one else was awake, the violently shaking bed hardly made nose thumping around in its spot, and so she figured it was safe to continue getting dressed. Ten minutes later she was out in the common room with half the team waiting with Marcus as everyone else slowly came out.

“Hurry up! This is practice time you’re cutting into!” Marcus yelled into the boy’s dormitories and slammed the door.

Heather had never seen him so unraveled. He was pacing the common room, shoving furniture and pillows out of his way as his pacing circle widened. Finally, Draco and the Keeper, Miles Bletchley, came out with messy hair and half-lidded eyes, ready to leave.

They walked down to the Quidditch pitch and Heather and Draco broke off from the rest to get their brooms out of the shed. By the time they walked in, Marcus, the Keeper, and the two beaters were doing pull ups on their brooms which stayed suspended in the air, unmoving, as they raised themselves.

“What is this?” Draco motioned at the sweaty faces of Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. “I’m a Seeker. I don’t need to do this, do I?”

Marcus jumped down from his perfect pull up and pointed at the empty spot next to him. “Both of you.”

“B-b-but – ”

Heather groaned and pulled a stuttering Draco along beside her. She placed her broom on the ground and held up her hand. “Up.” The broom lifted, following the motion of her hand and let her guide it up above her head until her outstretched arm could no longer guide it and it froze in place. She jumped and grabbed onto the broom, dangling from it and looked over at Draco who had done the same.

“One.” She nodded at Draco and together they heaved up. She closed her eyes and groaned, willing her tired arms to pull her up as high as they could. She felt the top of her head hit her broom and opened her eyes. “Just a bit more!” she whispered, trying to get her chin over the handle. Her arms shook and she glanced over at Draco, who was still dangling, arms fully extended, with a face as red as a tomato. She dropped down and covered her smile so Draco wouldn’t see in case he ever stopped squeezing his eyes so hard.

The cold blue morning turned warmer and pink as the sun started to rise just beyond the trees. Her arms were pounding and sore and her uniform was already soaked with sweat when Marcus started drills. They hopped on their brooms and practiced double the amounts they normally did. They went through play after play and every possible situation they could get into.

Heather was rolling, flipping, twirling, and diving all over the place until Marcus was assured she wouldn’t mess up any moves with the Quaffle under her arm. Peregrine and Lucian, whose drills normally consisted of aiming the Bludgers at apples and oranges that Marcus got from the kitchens, was now them aiming the Bludgers at each other and occasionally at Heather and Graham.

After Marcus blew the whistle, Heather touched down hard on the ground and fell off her broom landing on the wet grass like a dead fly swatted out of the sky. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t even feel her arms. At one point her braids had gone loose, probably during the diving roll where she dodged Lucian’s Bludger and almost lost her head and joined Nearly Headless nick.

“Careful!” She screamed as Draco fell down beside her and almost smacked her head with his broom.

“If it weren’t for your brother, we’d still be asleep!” He winced and groaned as he sat up. “You should have taken the broom and thrown it into the fire.” His hair dangled over his eyes as he glared at her. Whatever slicking gel he used for his hair had come off completely with his sweat.

“Practice tonight after Gryffindor’s. After dinner meet in the locker room and DON’T be late.” Marcus looked at everyone, making sure they all heard, and headed out.

Heather sat up now that she could feel her arms again and stretched as best she could. “So how’re you going to even up with Harry? The drills you were doing only help you fly steady and cut corners faster… You have to anticipate where he goes – ”

“Flint and I have it under control.” Draco pushed his hair back and looked up at Peregrine who had made his way over.

“I heard McGonagall suspended one of her Prefects from competing in the National Gobstone Championship last year for getting into a fight over what color the nose plugs should be.” Peregrine stared at Draco and raised his brow. “It’d be a shame if… Potter ended up not playing this match.”

“A real shame.” A wicked grin spread across Draco’s face. He turned to her and raised his brow. “Wouldn’t it, Potter?”

Heather looked at Peregrine to Draco and nodded reluctantly. She stood and left the Quidditch pitch, put away her broom and headed to breakfast. Her spoon shook, spilling half its contents of milk and granola oats before reaching her mouth. It took twice as long to eat and by the time she was done, Harry, Ron, and for a brief second Hermione, had arrived for breakfast.

“We’ll be at the Library,” Ron told her as she left the great hall.

She peeled off her uniform and threw it in her dorm room’s assigned hamper and took as fast a shower as possible, remembering all the essays they had been assigned over Easter break. She had one from Divination, one from Care of Magical creatures – about dragons even though all term they’d only been caring for Salamanders; two half ones from Herbology about two different sentient carnivorous plants, one long one from Transfigurations with tie-ins to Charms – Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick had decided to team up to ruin their break this time; three four-inch ones from History of Magic about the three most controversial laws the Ministry had threatened to pass should the Puddlemere United Quidditch team not change their colors from moss green to mud brown in the late eighteen-hundreds, and one from Potions. The only teacher who hadn’t assigned anything was Professor Lupin.

She should be glad that she didn’t have an essay on cursed socks or hexed pet collars to complete on top of all the other assignments, but now that she had decided Defense Against the Dark Arts was her favorite class and that Professor Lupin was her new favorite teacher, she really wished he’d give out more work than just ‘read the next chapter if you’d like’. How could she improve if all that was normally required was reading ahead and writing short essays on creatures they should be learning about in Care of Magical Creatures?

She picked up her bag and headed down the main corridor towards the library when Neville came running down at full speed towards her.

“It’s happening!” he yelled, his arms flailing behind him as he pointed and ran. “H-hurry!”

“Already? But it’s only been two months!” Heather stopped Neville in his tracks by bracing herself as best she could for Neville to knock into her. She caught his shoulders and steadied him.

“Thanks. I thought I’d keep running until I tripped or something.” Neville’s eyes brightened and he pulled out a green leaf that was slowly turning purple in his hands. “Professor Sprout says it must have been a good batch!”

“Let’s go!” Heather took Neville arm and forced him back into a run towards the third green house.

As they ran they were joined by five other students of different years who had all also heard the great news. Two months ago Professor Sprout had let several eager students help plant several chilled seeds of various living death plants from the same family. They didn’t know which seeds they had gotten to plant, but Heather guessed she had gotten the Freezing Shudder plant by the feint spidery grey veins it had. If she guessed correctly, she’d earn five more points for Slytherin, putting them one-hundred and sixty points in the lead above Gryffindors for the House Cup.

They arrived at the green house and entered to see ten different large plants ready to bloom all lined up against the windows. At the center, sitting at the tables, were twenty or so other students. She stopped Neville from sitting at the first table and pulled him along to the last where Fred and George sat whispering to themselves.

“Why are you two here?” Heather sat across from them, suspicious and amused.

Fred and George smiled at her and crossed their arms.

“We like Herbology like everyone else here.” Fred poked at the table with his finger several times, “and you can’t prove otherwise.”

George leaned in. “And we especially love that plant right there.”

Heather turned to see the one she had planted. “The Frozen Shudder?”

It had the shortest of all the stems but the thickest by a good one or two inches. The green was slowly draining from its leaves and trunk-y stem as it died, replaced by a dark velvety purple. The buds on the very top looked swollen and ready to explode with all the other buds, like a balloon stretched to the max.

“Yeah. And you’re not the only one with a charmed pot.” George wiggled his eyebrows. “Hermione told us.”

Neville turned to her surprised. “Oh! What d’you have growing! Which charms does it have? I tried making one myself with an old pot from home, but everything I plant in it catches fire or grows a single grape.”

“I haven’t grown anything yet,” she lied. “I’m waiting for something good. What’s the point in growing grass or squirting Astrophytum Asterias if it’d be just as easy in a normal pot?” She avoided looking at Fred and George who were holding back smiles as Neville nodded.

Fred mouthed ‘for shame’ at her. “What a marvelous point you have. Which is why we’re going to grow our very own Frozen Shudder.”

Heather tilted her head at them. She was curious as to why they wanted it. It isn’t deadly, it’s most common as a show plant for winning ribbons and medals, and it wasn’t used for any potions she knew of. In fact, to use it at all, a saw is needed to cut off any part of the stem which is completely frozen.

“Oh my! So many here. Alright, I have the list here of everyone’s guesses. I hope you’re all ready – and cover your eyes when it happens!” Professor Sprout shut the green house door and took her seat, taking out a ceramic plate from under her desk and held it up like a shield.

Almost on cue, a feint whistling noise started from all the buds. They harmonized for about a minute, and just as everyone eagerly looked around at the plants, the buds exploded thick juicy petals, pelting everyone in the face and back. Everyone cheered as the last petals fell off the plants and Fred and George dove under the table to collect as many Freezing Shudder petals as they could. Heather looked down at them as they stuffed them into their robe pockets and took a few extra petals at random.

“There’s nothing to be worried about technically, but I am.” Neville looked around the room again as if double checking that the only plants to have exploded were only the non-deadly ones. “I mean its Fred and George isn’t it?”

Heather laughed and shrugged.

“Well. That seems to be the last of them.” Professor Sprout went by checking the plants and awarded five points to Slytherin for Heather’s correct guess and almost forty to Hufflepuff for all of their correct guesses as well.

Professor Sprout made everyone leave so she could clean up and Heather walked back to the castle with Neville, Fred, and George. Neville guessed why they’d want to grow Frozen Shudders the whole way but he either never guessed correctly or they refused to let them in on it.

Heather yawned as she pulled the library door open and quickly found Harry and Ron at a table in the back talking to a large pile of books. She approached and sat down. “Hello Hermione, how’s the studying?”

“Will everyone PLEASE stop distracting me?”

Ron shook his head. “She’s been like this since we got here. Harry, help me make another pile of books over here, they might be friendlier than this one.”

Heather laughed and took out all her sheets of parchment and her potions book. She stared at it and frowned, shoving it back in her bag and took out her transfigurations and charms ones.

“Oh can we copy!” Ron shuffled his papers around and flattened out his started essay with one sentence on it. He had his quill ready to write as he leaned over to see what she’d already written.

“I HOPE you’re joking, Ron.”

Harry rolled his eyes and moved Heather’s started essay for him and Ron to read.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

Ron groaned. “Oh quiet, ‘Ancient Runes Made Easy’. And tell ‘Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles’ to mind her own business.”

“Humph.”

Heather wiped the smile off her face with the back of her wrist and turned to Harry. “You have practice today, don’t you? You should tell Wood that Derrick and Malfoy are planning to get you kicked off Quidditch.”

“Kicked off?”

“At least for just this match.”

Harry looked to Ron amused. “And how would they?”

“McGonagall would sooner set fire to her office than kick Harry off and lose the Quidditch Cup.” Ron leaned in. “I think she’ll lose her mind this year. Heard Snape mention it’d be seven years of winning and she almost hexed his pants off. He burst out of the staff room with singed robes.”

Heather snorted. “Well then, when we win I hope she does.” There was a pang of uneasiness in her chest but she ignored it. It was weird to hear that kind of talk come from her own lips and not Harry’s. It made it worse that Ron and Harry were looking at her slightly shocked. “Anyways. They think she’ll kick you out if they can get you in a fight. She let the Gobstone club lose their best player over a dumb fight.”

“Yeah but… That’s Gobstones…” Harry drummed his fingers and shrugged. “No one cares about Gobstones.”

Ron nodded. “Not even McGonagall. So you’ll be fine. I’ll be your second and there’s no way you’ll lose whatever fight – ”

Hermione stood over her stack of books and glared down at Ron. “Ronald! The point is for Harry NOT to get into a fight. Not to win it! Harry if you lose to Slytherin I’ll – I’ll – I don’t know WHAT I’ll do! I’ll get expelled for hexing Malfoy’s stupid face so DON’T get in a fight!”

“Alright!” Harry put up his hands. “I never said I would. Can we all go back to studying and not talk about how at any moment between now and the match I could get cornered by a pack of giant Slytherins?”

They all nodded and Hermione sat back down behind her books. They studied and wrote all day – although Ron and Harry left several times to use the ‘bathroom’ and they always came back half an hour later with smeared chocolate on their lips – and ate lunch in the courtyard on a stone bench just to breath in fresh air.

“How’s Hermione doing it? She hasn’t eaten all day since breakfast.” Harry motioned at the empty seat next to them. “I’d be starving but she says she’ll keep this up all break.”

“Maybe I should bring her a muffin or something. If she passes out and messes up her schedule, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Ron stood and left in the direction of the great hall.

Harry pinched off muffin crumbs and popped them into his mouth. “What would you do… If Sirius Black was knocked out on the ground in front of you? Wandless.”

What would she do? She’d tell a teacher of course… But that wasn’t really Harry’s question. “I wouldn’t kill him… If that’s what you’re wondering. He deserves to go back to prison. A more suitable prison for him. One that won’t lose their most dangerous prisoner.”

Harry nodded.

She looked at him, staring at his muffin, and wondered what Harry would do. He’d say he’d kill him… and she wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t.

“He betrayed them,” Harry whispered. “He took them from us. He took our lives from us. We could have lived as wizards. Already known… EVERYTHING. We wouldn’t be staring at our friends dumbly every time they say something we didn’t already know.”

She thought about what it would have been like to live in a village like Hogsmeade somewhere. Already immersed in wizard culture and learning about muggles from their mother… She felt a hole rip open in her heart and fill with sadness. She wasn’t hungry anymore, and yet she felt starved.

“I’d make him pay.” Harry finished his muffin and stood.

Heather nodded and stood with him, punching his shoulder lightly. “And like always, I’ll stop you from doing something stupid.”

They headed back into the library and after several more hours – and at least three finished essays later – Harry left for his Quidditch practice. Ron had copied several of Hermione’s essays that she kept stacking on top of her pile of books and Ron kept sneaking and by the time it was dinner, Ron had finished two more essays.

Heather sat with her team and ate a roasted chicken leg, mashed peas, a bowl of potato soup, and left early to nap in her dorm until it was time for Quidditch practice again. She met everyone by the lockers and noticed Draco whispering to Peregrine. Marcus didn’t make them do anymore pull ups but they had to sit for at least an hour and listen to Marcus go over strategies again – which revolved around brute strength for Peregrine, Lucian, and Graham, and borderline cheating-but-not-quite from Heather and Draco. Miles Bletchley’s younger brother was there too, who had agreed to help signal Draco if he spotted the Snitch since it wasn’t cheating for the crowd to yell if they saw it before the players.

After practice, Heather dragged her feet down to the girl’s bathrooms and got ready for bed, throwing her uniform in the hamper again and didn’t bother showering. In the common room she had seen Marcus get all of Slytherin’s attention about something but she didn’t have the energy to stay and listen. She fell into bed and closed her eyes, ready to open them up soon to start the day practically all over again until Easter break ended.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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[sarcastically-defensive17]

15 Minutes - P. Parker

So I’ve been stuck in a writing funk for so long, and I got inspired and I’ve been writing this for days until I got it just right and it made me sad and I hope y’all like it and I’ll defs get onto my requests more efficiently now!

TW: Death of loved one, torture, degrading language, abuse, sad Peter, grief, all round angst.

Original story by sarcastically-defensive-17

It was routine. Every day, three times a day. 6AM, 12PM and 5PM. He barely had the chance to recover. Psychologically. Emotionally. Physically.

The machine was cold. The dull grey of the sides reminded him of how alone he was. Deserted. Left for dead, he supposed. No word of contact from any outside source, no hope for a rescue mission. He lost count at 3 months in captivity.

Every single day he had to see her. Had to relive it all. He never once thought that he would physically be transmitted through time and space. The worst part, he knew the woman holding him hostage. One of the most intelligent people on the planet. An expert in Thermodynamics and - so he now discovered - a ruthless person fueled by grief.

A bell chimed followed by an alarm and blinding green light. The glass door swung across the machine, trapping him inside as he stood upright with no way out.

“5, 4, 3, 2...” the countdown rang out, and the green light intensified. His stomach spun, eyes clenched shut at the feeling he will never get used to.

He was back in his apartment. Clothes he hadn’t seen in a long time on his person, his hair a few inches shorter and his reflection almost a stranger to him as is stared back at him in the mirror of their bedroom.

The ringing of his phone was foreign, yet expected. Same schedule.

He lifted the device, holding it to his ear in the same way he had at least 100 times before. Including the day it first happened.

“Y/N,” he breathed. The only thing he enjoyed about the event was the chance to hear her voice again. The breath sigh through the receiver as she strolled through the bustling streets of New York, on his way to her.

“Hey, I cant wait to see you!” Her voice held excitement, the same he had heard over and over. It became his own self indulgent nightmare. He longed for her, he had never held her in this, but he could hear her and feel her near. He could see her laid out on the pavement...

“Me too,” he answered, feigning the joy he felt that day at the idea of her return. She had been in England for the past month and a half, working to quell a growing drug import/export ring. How little she knew that the same work she focused on would be her demise.

After all, she was an ex-cop turned badass avenger. She was known for fearing nobody.

“Im about 15 minutes away from home. I can’t wait to see you!” Peter couldn’t stop the tears from falling from his eyes as he rushed to get his shoes on.

In exactly 26 seconds, his signal would ring.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” a voice snarled in the background of the call, followed by a clattering sound and a muffled shriek.

Peter pushed out a breath, putting his phone on loudspeaker and jumping out of his window.

He had no webs, no mask, no care. He had been over this scenario many times and wasting time with the spidey gear left less time to save her. When he tried it, he was met with her body slumped on the ground, blood flowing from her neck as she choked on the crimson liquid. He didn’t even have time to do the same to her attackers before he was pulled back to the present.

The actions must be damaging to the space time continuum, but the doctor had a lethal artifact in her possession, and she was prepared to do anything in her power to change events.

His ankles painlessly cracked as his feet hit the pavement below the window and he was off. He needed a new detour. He had tried many over the months, but a new one was running through his mind.

He cut down a side alley that would lead him around buildings and directly across from the alley she was pulled into. It was broad daylight in Queens yet nobody cared to see a young woman dragged away by three men.

Peter was just thankful that Y/N didn’t have to suffer in the original telling of the story.

He cut corners by vaulting from the walls of the alley way. He jumped over fences, dodged trash cans and even ignored an elderly lady who had dropped her groceries - a mistake he made by helping her in his first run through of attempting the detours.

He reached his destination in the form of a alley way decorated by versions items of graffiti. The bright colors stood out from the grey brick in the shape of various symbols. He and Y/N had often gone to that alley to observe the work of local street artists. She adored it.

As soon as the rubber toes of his shoes hit the mouth of the painted backstreet, a gunshot rang out and Y/N’s body slumped down on the other side of the busy road.

His heart broke once again at the sight.

He barely had time to step onto the road to get to her before the green light erupted in his vision again. His head reconnected with the thin cushioned pillow in the machine as a roar tore from his throat.

“Failure, once again.” The feminine voice snapped. “Always failing!”

Peters throat was sore. He had spent far too long screaming. His head was pounding, evidence of underfeeding and the sheer transference of his body through time.

He never expected to time travel. He knew how damaging it could be to change history, but here he was. Held against his will to save a woman that he loved so desperately. Forced to watch her death over, and over, and over. To hear her voice and feel the construction of his heart with the knowledge that he most likely wouldn’t be able to save her.

The physical pain of being returned to the day it happened and the image of her dead in various way seared into his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her.

The machine slid open, and a boney hand grabbed his face. He was far too weak to fight back, even with his powers.

The eyes of the doctor glared into him, bloodshot and poisoned by grief and ferocity, “Why are you such a failure? We have been doing this for 5 months! There has been no improvement. No chance of saving her, all because you are pathetic!”

“I’m trying,” he mumbled.

The hand left his face, leaving a biting cold in its wake. They always kept him in cold rooms. Part of the torture to encourage him to do better. After all, Peter believed just as the doctor did. He deserved the pain after what happened to Y/N. He should have protected her.

A loud bang echoed through the white room. The fury in the eyes of the Doctor made him almost shrink. He already felt miniature under her gaze, but somehow, he felt worse whenever he came back empty handed.

A hiss left her lips as she cradled the bony hand, Peter assumed she had hit something. “This happened because of you, Parker. You were the one she trusted the most. You were the one who she put her life on the line for countless times on your pathetic missions. You are the reason she is dead.”

“No,” he choked. It was a wet noise, his throat constricting as the mind games took hold again. His hands wove into his hair, tugging harshly. The action had quickly became a coping mechanism of his. He would do anything to distract himself from her words. “No, no, no, no. It wasn’t me. It was them. The gang. Not me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She hissed, the eyes staring down at him incredibly similar to the same glassy ones he saw every time he went back. “You were never good enough for her. You were always four steps behind her. Y/N deserved better than you.” The doctor stood up again, the expression on her face void of any emotion as she kept her steely gaze locked on his brown eyes. Her lips turned up at the corners slightly as she watched the tears fall down his face. Her back was straight, regaining the posture she often adopted when addressing those working for her, “Send him back again. Maybe if he does it right, I won’t need to be stuck looking at him in 15 minutes.”

“Ma’am, he needs time to rest. His body can’t handle such a short recovery time between jumps,” a random man in a lab coat told her. He - like Peter - cowered under her gaze.

“Send him back.” She growled with every word, pushing the door shut across the machine and walking back towards the other room.

The green light erupted again and he soon found himself in the same scene from before, although this time he emptied the contents of his stomach on the floor of their house.

His phone rang like clockwork, and he answered, placing it on loudspeaker and reciting the script he wrote for himself on the original date.

He slipped his web shooters onto his wrists before he left, following the same route as his last trip. Everything was the same, down to the exact way he dropped from his windows and bounded through the alley, although this time, he sent a web across the street, pulling himself forward into the alley way.

He collided into one of the men that had Y/N cornered, sending him crashing into the brick wall of the alley.

“Peter?” Y/N shrieked, doing her best to fight the other men off in the same way he had seen her do so in the past. Or, other pasts.

Two of the other men launched at him, both with blunt weapon and scuffed faces. As one swung high, the other swung low. His mind was centered on Y/N and his reflexes were working in overdrive, burning him out faster than anticipated.

It all came to a halt when the two men were on the ground and the sound of a blade slicing through flesh filled his ears. Y/N gurgled on her blood, eyes full of anguish as she stared at Peter with fear on her face.

He only had time to catch her body as she fell before the light overtook him once again.

The overly sterile room greeted him, sobs wracking his body. The door slid open once again and heels clicked against the tiled floor.

The malicious eyes watched him again.

“Please, no more,” he begged, knowing he would be on his knees if not for his fear of moving out of turn. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s torture.”

The hand returned to his face, a soft touch that lifted his wet face to look at the furious glare fixed on his being.

The doctor tutted, patronizing him. “Oh, honey. You think this is torture? You should see what I’m prepared to do to you if I need to spend another month doing this.” Her smile was pure evil, but her eyes held the depth of a woman mourning. The circles under her eyes and the deepening wrinkles fold of her grief, and despite the recurring pain, he felt for the woman. He wanted to apologize to her, had she not disregarded every apology that fell from his chapped lips.

“Please...” he whispered under his breath, feeling the hand leave his face and close the door once again.

“Send him back,” she announced to the other room before turning her attention back to him. “Save my daughter, Peter. Or you’ll wish it was you that died that day.”

The green light flooded his senses once again.

Tag List: @starshonerose @mantlereid @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @another-lonely-heart

[angstyaches]

Charlie’s Hoodie

Alright, so here’s the first fic where Shayne is living in the Aldridge townhouse with Elliott and Felix (and Nancy and Ryan), which is in a city about three hours away from where Charlie is still living (Mulberry). This is about two days into his stay. It’s a slow-burner and very Angsty. I hope you guys enjoy!

CW; stomach ache from stress, emeto, anxiety, food mention, refusal of food, parental death mention, abusive guardian mention

Swallow the World: Three Boys in a Townhouse

He was supposed to be studying at his brand-new desk in the corner of his brand-new room in the Aldridge townhouse, but Shayne couldn’t recall how long he’d just been sitting there, hands in his lap, nails digging into his palms. It would have been a great time to get some thinking done, if thinking didn’t make his stomach ache.

He’d had a dream that morning, after falling asleep for about twenty minutes between nine and nine-thirty – probably the most sleep he’d had since arriving at the townhouse – and had woken up thinking he was with Charlie, in Charlie’s bed, in the Mulberry house. 

Remembering where he was, how far away he was, felt like a hand reaching down his throat and squeezing everything it could grab. The room had felt cold after that, not that he could do anything about it; it had a radiator, but he’d never learned how to use one. 

He’d pulled on the hoodie Charlie had given him; reluctantly, as the more he wore it, the more it smelled like him and not Charlie.

Thinking about Charlie came with its own stages. The first one was easiest to deal with because it crept in like a warm memory, or a dream. 

A second later would come the rug-pulling moment, as horrible words and disinterested looks would wash through the memory, turning it grey and making the Charlie in his head turn coldly away from him. 

The bargaining stage would come next, and Shayne would wonder if he could fix this still; and then he would remember that Charlie needed Charlie Two more than he needed him, and Shayne was a danger to Charlie Two. Plus, Charlie and his parents would be moving soon anyway.

And he would tell himself this was good, this was the best thing, for him to be here with the Aldridges, but at that point he’d be overwhelmed by the gurgling in his belly and he’d have to stop himself from thinking altogether.

A knock at the door made him jump, and the sound of a particular voice made him wince.

“Hello?”

More time must have passed than Shayne realised though, otherwise Felix wouldn’t be coming into his room to look for him. Shayne gulped and turned his desk chair to the side to see him tiptoe inside.

“Nancy and Ryan are all settled in,” Felix said gently, hanging back, halfway hidden behind the door. “They should be ready for dinner in about ten minutes, if you want to come wait downstairs with us.”

Shayne gulped again. He’d known he’d be meeting with Ryan and Nancy – who were technically his new guardians now – that evening, but he hadn’t thought about the fact that there would be food, and blood, involved. 

He’d managed to fight his nausea until now, but the thought of having to perform and force food down made his stomach feel like it wanted out of him, right there and then.

“Hey.” Felix stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him, leaning back on it with his hands. “You look a bit washed out. Are you feeling okay?”

Shayne frowned, a painful kind of relief flooding his chest as Felix visibly stiffened.

“You know, it’s – it’s normal to not feel like yourself after leaving home,” Felix said, clearing his throat. “It was a long time ago, but I remember my first few days here, when it was all new and I started realising it was my new life.”

Shayne lowered his gaze again, and heard Felix sigh lightly. The mint-haired boy shifted his feet, like he’d been about to come closer, but hesitated. Like he was nervous. Scared. Good, Shayne thought, turning his chair gently. He’d be happier knowing Felix was scared of him; anything was better than being felt sorry for.

Felix gave a low hum. “I felt sick to my stomach all the time, too.”

Shayne hadn’t even realised he’d put a hand on his stomach until he saw Felix’s eyes dart downward. His instinct was to move it away, and he did for a few seconds before he realised it was pointless. He let the hand rest on his belly again, keeping his eyes pinned on the pale wooden floorboards.

“Though for me, it was because of the blood,” Felix chuckled. His voice seemed to get higher in pitch, the more he talked. “It took me a long time to get used to it. Eventually they just had to start slipping it into my tea… Though, I – I guess this isn’t about that.”

Shayne’s stomach took a harsh dive towards the floor, and he had to tense his fingers even more just to keep control of the nausea. If the colour had drained from his face, Felix might not have noticed, or at least didn’t comment on it.

“I was already half-blooded when I got here,” Felix went on, “so I felt like I was bonded to Ryan before I even met her. Not – not that you have to worry about that. You’re practically family already, right?”

Shayne frowned and bit his lip against arguing; Felix was just trying to be nice, and possibly didn’t know anything about the Devines. But paperwork didn’t mean family. Hours clocked under someone’s roof didn’t mean family. Leaving someone in a bad situation didn’t mean family.

“I understand it’s not the same though,” Felix said. “I also had Elli when I came here, so it - it must feel weird, being here without your friend.”

The fact that he’d said ‘friend’ singular, and not ‘friends’ in general, meant that he was talking specifically about Charlie. The name hit as hard as though it had actually been said. Shayne breathed deeply as he felt his stomach churn against his hand.

“You want to talk about it?”

The natural thing for Shayne would have been to make some defensive remark, but he didn’t even want to open his mouth just then. He swallowed thickly and gave a sharp shake of his head. No, he absolutely did not want to talk about anything. How long did he have to sit here in silence before Felix fucked off?

“Buddy, you’re feeling really sick, huh?” Felix’s eyes softened when Shayne looked up at them again. “Hey, I’m positive Nancy and Ryan won’t mind if you take one more evening to rest. They’re reasonable ladies. Most of the time.”

Shayne was suddenly reminded of the heart-lifting relief of being told, as a kid and before his real parents had died, that he could stay home from school if he was feeling too sick. After that, Madelyn and Watson had always decided, on their terms, whether or not he could stay in bed. He felt the admission of weakness burning hot behind his eyes, but decided it would be worth it if he could just go to bed and try to forget the sick feeling in his stomach.

“I’ll say something to them, if you like.”

“You don’t have to,” Shayne mumbled. He cringed at hearing himself automatically try to reject the help that Felix was offering.

But Felix just flashed his little fangs again. “That doesn’t usually stop me. Look – I don’t know. If you’re up for it later, I can come back. We can talk, or – or we can move to my and Elli’s room and just watch T.V. Whatever you feel like.”

Shayne faintly shook his head, barely considering the offer. Guilt clung in the back of his throat, like his words were echoing inside him before he’d even said them. “Just leave me alone, Felix.”

Felix turned his head to stare at the floor too, so silent that he might have stopped breathing altogether. “Sure,” he chirped after a few seconds. “If – if that’s what you want.”

Shayne waited for Felix to leave before lying down on top of the blankets. He spent a few minutes like that, muscles clenched but not quite shivering from the cold, before finally getting into the bed.

He lay on his front and closed his eyes, trying not to let his thoughts wander any further from the four walls surrounding him. It worked, in a way, but then he just found himself wishing Charlie was inside those walls with him, and that was beside the point.

He tried listing the history topics he’d been supposed to revise that afternoon, imagining bullet points in his head until it all spun together and made him feel nauseous again. He told himself thank god he hadn’t had to go to that dinner, told himself to remember to thank Felix later, and apologise for being short with him. He had to be careful, now that he knew how badly it hurt when he messed up his relationships.

Restlessness and queasiness drove him out of bed again, and he dragged himself to the small ensuite bathroom attached to his room. The mirror showed him exactly how awful he looked, and it was no wonder Felix had offered to get him out of going to dinner. 

The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than usual, probably since he’d barely slept since the night at Mulberry, the night with Charlie, the night before the kiss, the night before he’d said those awful things –

No, no, no. 

He ran cold water over his hands at the sink, ignoring how they shook, and took a few sips from his palm. Small sips, barely enough to wet his lips, for fear of how the cold liquid would feel on the way down. 

Oh, but Charlie would make him drink, wouldn’t he? Charlie would be upset if he knew Shayne had barely had anything to eat or drink in so many days, he’d look so sad – if he even cared at all anymore, after hearing what Shayne had said to Elliott about him.

No...

Shayne clutched the edge of the sink in shock as he gagged, keeping his mouth clamped shut and closing his eyes. His legs had turned to mush all of a sudden, and he felt like he might sink through the floor. He shakily eased himself closer to the toilet, only letting go of the sink when he could put his hands on the cistern instead. 

He retched over and over again, until he managed to choke up a pitiful spatter of bile and acid. He lowered himself gradually so that he was kneeling down on the tiles, shaking and quietly sobbing and wishing for his friend.

___

Felix once again knocked before coming in. Shayne was still retching emptily when he found him. His stomach had emptied, and his throat had dried so quickly that it now just felt like fists clamping around his insides.

“Hey,” Felix said with an air of urgency. “Oh, gosh, is – is it alright for me to be here, Shayne? Do you need to be by yourself?”

Shayne’s chin trembled as he gasped to catch his breath. He wanted to speak, but his tongue was too heavy in his mouth, and all he could manage was a low whimper. He laid a hand on the floor next to him, fingers reaching weakly in Felix’s direction.

“Alright, I’m here.”

He felt Felix’s hand rest lightly on his shoulder, almost like he had feathers instead of bones. Shayne shivered at being touched, though he couldn’t tell for sure if it repulsed him or not because his body was too busy fighting the nausea.

“Relax, bud, I don’t think there’s anything for you to bring up,” Felix said softly. “Try to catch your breath, okay?”

When he finally got his breathing under control and the retching slowed, Shayne turned towards Felix, eyes glassy and pinned to the ground. The smaller boy helped him up from the floor and guided him back through to the bed, pulling back the blankets for him with one hand.

“Doing okay?” Felix asked softly as Shayne sat down.

“Mmhmm,” he replied. He didn’t feel overwhelmed with nausea anymore, but his belly was aching horribly, muscles tense from the dry heaving.

Felix slid onto the end of the bed and pulled his legs underneath himself. He sat and watched Shayne carefully from there. Like a puppy. Shayne slowly eased himself under the blankets, careful not to jostle Felix or himself too much. His voice was hoarse from coughing up acid, and he couldn’t bring himself to clear his throat. He leaned his back against the headrest.

“How was – how was the dinner thing?”

“Aw, bud, you probably don’t want to hear me going on about food right now,” Felix said. His eyes brightened. “But Nancy and Ryan weren’t mad, if that’s what you were worried about. They said to tell you not to worry, and they’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

Shayne pulled at the sleeves of Charlie’s hoodie, covering his wrists and the palms of his hands. He felt Felix follow his gaze towards the thick red fabric.

“I was thinking, and – when I mentioned Charlie earlier, I hope I wasn’t overstepping or anything.” Felix was starting to sound nervous again. “I have a tendency to do that, and it can be a tad overwhelming for some people.”

Shayne bit the inside of his lip. He felt a gurgle begin in his stomach before it sounded off, and he let out a little whine alongside it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, realising Felix must have heard it too.

“Aw, buddy, it’s fine. Look; see if you can drink some of that.”

Shayne spotted the steaming teacup next to the bed. He had a vision of Charlie bringing him tea in bed, and had to suddenly blink back tears as he looked at Felix.

“It’s just ginger tea.” Felix’s eyes widened. He frowned and played with his own hands. “I know I said earlier they used to hide blood in my tea, but it’s not – it’s not spiked or anything.”

“No, I – thank you.” Shayne reached carefully for the tea and hoping his stupid shaky hands weren’t about to spill it all over the sheets. He gulped hard, willing his breath to become steady, his eyes to become dry. “F-for coming back, too. Um, seriously.”

“Hey, it’s nothing,” Felix muttered, averting his gaze as he blushed.

Shayne let the mug rest in one hand for a few seconds, while he pressed the cuff of Charlie’s hoodie against his eyes. The sleeve brushed across his cheeks, and his head spun for a second with that familiar scent. Fuck. He screwed his eyes shut for a second before lifting his face and trying to focus on the tea, on Felix, on things that were warm.

“If you still don’t feel like talking,” Felix said slowly, “I – I thought, maybe, I’d tell you how I became an Aldridge, if Elliott hasn’t already told you.”

“He hasn’t,” Shayne admitted shakily. “I, uh, didn’t, um, didn’t even know your name until you told me yourself.”

“Are you serious?” Felix pressed a hand to his head. “Gosh, I would have made a much grander introduction for myself if I had known that.”

Shayne shook his head; with the state he’d been in when they’d first met, he was relieved Felix hadn’t tried anything more extravagant. He tentatively wrapped both hands around the mug, ignoring the handle, grateful for the warmth.

“I could have had five hot guys jump out and unzip their jackets to reveal t-shirts that spelled out F-E-L-I-X.” Felix bounced a fist against his knee. “Gosh, wasted opportunity is like – is like sashimi without soy sauce, you know what I mean?”

Shayne gave Felix a look over the rim of his mug, a look that hopefully conveyed that he had absolutely no idea what he meant. He took a slow sip, and although it was a little too hot for his tongue, his whole body seemed to thaw a bit as the heat curled down through him.

“Never mind,” Felix laughed. “Okay, well, let’s see – I guess the first thing you should know is that my name wasn’t always Felix. Only Elliott knows my real name, and it’s important that it stays that way. I’m not even sure Ryan and Nancy know I ever changed it.”

“What?” Shayne muttered as he blew gently on his tea. His stomach gave a low growl, though this time it wasn’t voicing nausea, but its anticipation of more of the warm, comforting drink. “Were you running from the law?”

“Not at the start,” Felix said, leaning back a little as he got comfortable. “I was a bit like you, actually. I was running away from home.”

[sargentr]

crisp trepidation

wrote this thinking of the song fine line by harry styles.

read on AO3

"Parrish." the voice said, "Parrish. Wake up."

Adam jolted awake by two hands who shook him slightly. Around him he could only see the dark, pitch black sky, shimmering with stars and constellations that came with the Virginian night, miles away from the cities. He noticed then he was still in a car, seat let back completely and a leather jacket covering his bare arms. He didn’t turn to look at the person who called him; he thought about closing his eyes, hoping what had just happened was all a nightmare.

Adam did not move. Instead, he kept looking at the stars. Altair, Deneb, Vega, Arcturus. He could name half of the sky.

The silence lingered, almost like it made noise to him. "Adam." The voice was softer. Adam turned his head ever so slightly to look up at Ronan Lynch, peering down into the open driver’s door. Blood and black stains still covered his skillfully sketched face, and traced dots and lines down his dark clothes. Like this, Adam could only see his eyes. "Come on." said Ronan, quietly, unlike himself, or, like entirely himself around people he trusted, "You can't sleep in the car." Adam sat up, and just then realized he wasn't at the parking lot of St. Agnes like he was expecting to be. No, Adam found himself staring at a family house, posted in the middle of nowhere, with barns at its outskirts. He sighed, visibly. He wanted to ask Ronan why he had brought him here, ask why he would come back here right after his mother had just passed. Ronan Lynch, he thought, full of surprises. Ronan tapped a finger once on top of the car, then lifted his posture to start walking inside, irritated to a bare minimum because Adam was clearly still out of it, "You staying there, shithead?" and so Adam got out of the car, hesitating. His limbs felt sore, and his eyes felt heavy, but sleep seemed like a million years away from catching up to him.

The Barns, just like Ronan, was not a place to play with. He didn't know what that meant exactly. He didn’t like the feeling it gave him; of belonging, trusting. Those concepts were foreign to him. He was his own home. His body, his mind, his relationships. Home wasn’t a place to Adam, because he had never had a physical home. He didn’t know how it felt.

He had a hunch it felt like this. They marched up the porch in unity. God, that porch. Just to think that merely days before that he was kissing Ronan Lynch to death, a metaphor he then thought was harmless. Now, that moment seemed as distant to Adam as being a child. It had felt like peace in his troubled routine, to be a normal teenager for a night; being able to kiss the boy he liked, to cuddle on the couch and trace fingers across his skin and exchange soft words in Latin until life caught up to Adam like it always it. He should have known it was too good to be true. Too good to last. A wind had blown by, he remembered. Adam had shivered against Ronan's pressed up body as they kissed. A small frown formed on Ronan's face when they parted, and Adam almost lifted his hand to touch were his eyebrows met in worry that he might be cold. He pulled Adam to him even more that he already was, and slipped his arms around his hips, touching the side of their faces together. That was when Ronan's hands traveled upwards, and caressed his arms in hopes of warming him. Adam pressed the side of his face to his collarbone, hands drawn up to their close chests, and sighed. "We should head inside." he had said against Ronan's skin.

He couldn't describe it, and that panicked him. Not knowing what it meant to be that warm, numb and to lose the use of his body completely when his fingers and Ronan's were tangled, being pulled to the couch, and before he could even process what had just happened, Ronan's lips were on his already.

He remembers smiling against them, not even trying to contain it. Happiness felt like a prize Adam wouldn't have expected to receive, and yet this made Adam realize how incredibly euphoric he had been in that moment. And that had been their second kiss. Now, a thing like that seemed impossible. They stepped inside, and just then it hit Adam, "Where's Orphan Girl?"

Adam's voice sounded surreal. It was too quiet, making his already cracked voice sound unbearably unfamiliar. Ronan was by the kitchen counter, walking towards the sink before he opened the tap, "Upstairs already." he said, "You to sleep for another ten minutes in the car. So I let her into Matthew’s room."

He put a hand on the wooden island, sitting down on one of those rich people high chairs, "Why didn’t you just wake me?"

Ronan closed the tap and reached for a piece cloth, turning so he could lean on the counter. He crossed his legs, shrugging.

Adam knew Ronan was either arranging for him to sleep somewhere, or just needed some time to think. Ronan was not good with words; Adam didn’t needed to remind himself of that detail. Adam looked at his nails, bloody, probably from Ronan. He felt physically so incapable of moving he would gladly sleep on that kitchen island and only wake up by sunrise. His eyebrows met, eyes still fixed down, "Can I, uh, shower?" Ronan let out a laugh. Adam looked up, "Knock yourself out." he said, almost like Adam was supposed to, even before he asked, "You can use Declan's." They didn't say anything else. ***

Adam debated wether he should just lay down and sleep or walk downstairs to talk to Ronan.

He exited Declan's bathroom, towel hanging from his hips and paced to the bed. Adam sat down thinking about how his best friend had died and come back, merely hours ago; he didn't know what to think right then. Gansey, he thought, I should be with Gansey. Don't cry, he told himself. Quickly, Adam put on the clothes he had been wearing before; blood-stained shirts and dirty jeans were not exactly new to him. He walked outside, and when he was about to turn the corner and trot down the stairs, he saw Ronan walking up, and stopped. "Where do you think you're going, Parrish?" Ronan frowned a bit, crossing his arms over his chest. Adam said, "I was going to look for you.” Ronan frowned, looking at Adam's body, trailing up and down, "Why are you still in those filthy fucking clothes?" Adam lifted his eyebrows, thinking, "Well, I didn't exactly have time to pack--"

"Wait here." said Ronan, and before Adam could protest, he had sprung past him and into his own room. A moment later, Ronan came back with a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tee.

He took Adam’s hands from his sides and placed them on his palm, "I forgot to put these in Declan's room." Adam inhaled. Something inside him was poking his stomach. He said nothing, he just stared at clothes.

It wasn't the fact that Ronan had thought of something sweet to do --Ronan was, and not surprisingly, someone who cared about others-- it was the thought that Ronan had done it for him. Something as simple and intimate as letting Adam borrow his clothes.

Adam forgot, just for a fraction of a second, what they had just gone through. Instead, he felt giddy with surprise and affection that Ronan was giving him his clothes to wear. He was also dumbfounded to be so emotional over old sweatpants and a plain white shirt. Ronan noticed. Of course he noticed, "Fine. You can sleep in dirt, for all I care." "Wait." Ronan was going to take back the items of clothing before Adam pressed them to his chest, "Sorry. I’m tired, I can't function properly." Ronan's jaw clenched, "Go to sleep, Parrish."

Adam barely nodded, and when Ronan turned to walk back to his room, a wave of panic struck through Adam's body, "Ronan?"

He stopped and looked back. Adam knew Ronan hadn't brought him to the Barns so he could sleep in Declan's room and leave early to work, but he also didn't know what he wanted that exact moment. Kiss me, he thought, do something. In all honesty, Adam felt drained of whatever love he had left in him. It wasn’t fuel to simply run out, he knew that, but he felt empty. Deprived. Lost. Shaken. And God, he just wanted affection, for once in his goddamned life. He inhaled, and realized his eyes were starting to water. He gazed down, trying to control it, but Ronan had already walked to him. He wiped his tears; Ronan was too close, and still did nothing.

Adam let out a watery, breathless short laugh, peeking a look at Ronan's hesitant state. He had never seen Adam cry. He hadn’t ever had to deal with it, so Adam spared him, “You don't have to ask my permission to touch me, you know that, right?"

Ronan's expression changed, defensive, "I know that, asshole." There he is, Adam thought. He nodded, trying to contain a small smile of amusement at Ronan having absolutely no clue on what to do. Ronan just then moved huffed a laugh as well, and left almost no space between him and Adam. And just like that, they weren’t smiling anymore.

Adam didn't dare break eye contact. He hadn't realized being this up close to Ronan would leave him suddenly breathless, lips parted, waiting. Ronan touched the side of his face, fingers grazing his jaw ever so lightly Adam couldn't stop it when his breath hitched at it. His thumb found a still wet spot on Adam's cheekbone and wiped it, before leaning down and touching his lips to Adam's.

It wasn't like their other ones. No, this one was lighter, softer, something Adam was waiting for since their first hurried kiss; Ronan’s unmasked gentleness. His hands were placed involuntarily on Ronan's sides, bringing them closer and deepening the kiss just merely.

Ronan shivered under his touch. It was something Adam found quite exquisite, his effect over him. Ronan’s body was shaking under his hands, making something hot speed through Adam's whole body. Ronan stopped kissing him for a second, and Adam thought he might've done something physically that implied the feeling. "What?" asked Adam, voice rushed, light and sweet. Adam's eyes seemed glued to Ronan's blue ones, "Nothing." he whispered, a smile almost slipping. He exhaled, and let his hands slowly travel down Adam's arms until he had reached his hand, taking them in his own. "C'mon, loser." Adam knew Ronan was trying his hardest to hide a smile. Ronan led them into his room, to his bed, and sat down. Adam stood between his legs, and rested his hands on Ronan's neck, looking down at him. And just like that, it hit him. As Adam's hands rested on Ronan's neck, just above his collarbone, he could feel how swollen it was, how the colors around his fingers didn't match Ronan's skin. Adam dropped his hands almost immediately, and avoided Ronan's eyes, his own glued to the monstrosity he knew was his doing.

"Hey." he said softly, taking one of Adam's hand in his own, trying to stop him from stepping away, "Adam?"

When he looked up to meet Ronan's eyes, he knew his own were displaying how horrified, petrified, he actually was. Ronan, though, only expressed worry. He inhaled, almost nervously, "Adam, no." "I did this-" "You didn't." cut Ronan, taking his other hand and guiding Adam a few steps forward, "You'd never hurt me." Adam shook his head, eyes still fixed at how bad Ronan's neck actually looked and thinking to himself how he did not notice that before, "Ronan, I-" "Hey." he said again, soft as ever, and if Adam wasn't melted by fear that exact moment, he'd be starstruck by it, "It's okay." Ronan lifted both of his hands, and Adam knew where they were going, "Adam. Look at me." He did. Ronan's eyes were as trustworthy as Adam had been to Cabeswater. Slowly, Ronan touched Adam's fingers to his bruised neck. He flinched, "Ronan." his voice broke visibly, "S-stop."

"It's okay." he gave Adam's fingers a light squeeze before setting them. Adam's breath hitched, "It's you. It's okay."

It took him a whole minute to do anything other than just lay them there. After that, one of them slipped to the back of Ronan's neck, and the other to his jaw, "I'm sorry." he whispered. He knew Ronan was looking at him, appreciating whatever he saw in Adam that made him worthy of appreciating. Adam kept his eyes fixed on his hands caressing his jaw, "Why didn't you stop me?" "It wasn't an option." he said, not hesitating, “A guy finally kissed me back, Parrish. If he wants to choke me then that’s fucking fine.”

Adam let out an un-calculated scoff. He silently thanked Ronan for trying to lighten the mood, “Asshole.”

Ronan smirked, "If the situation were to be inverted, you'd do the same.” Adam frowned at that, "God, no." he shook his head, playfully, "You'd kill me twice as fast. Have you seen your size compared to mine?" Ronan's tipped his head back to look up better at Adam when he took a step closer. Ronan face was a centimeter away from his chest now. He smiled up at him, playfully, “You calling me fat, Parrish?" He smiled back. At that, Ronan placed his hands on the small of Adam's back. Adam got the idea and straddled Ronan, unhurried and calmly, letting them both appreciate new grounds. “This is okay.” he said, when they touched their foreheads together, “Right?” Ronan had closed his eyes. He gave Adam’s the softest smile, “Yeah. It’s okay.” Adam kissed him. It started off the same as the last one, though Adam knew it was going to end completely different. Kissing Ronan Lynch was different from making a bargain with Cabeswater, or doing something as crazy as finding a dead Welsh king. No, kissing Ronan Lynch felt like he was playing a game of chess, in which there were no winners, and the only way out was to break the pieces. Adam did not ever want to commit such a crime. They kissed, and kissed and kissed. This or that, Ronan made it feel like it was the first time he'd ever done it. This once, Ronan starting kissing the outline of his lips, then his cheeks, and down his neck, and Adam couldn't help but feel so incredibly comfortable he slowly made Ronan trail back before he ground his hips down. Ronan displayed a type of surprise, though he was violently trying to fight against it. Adam kissed him again, and felt how breathless he already was, "Is this okay too?” Their noses were still touching, too close. Ronan held Adam's waist close, "God." he breathed, "Yeah, asshole. You don’t have to ask every time."

Adam didn't know what he was expecting, or what he wanted for that matter. All he knew was that kissing, straddling and grounding into Ronan like he was that instant felt too good to be true.

It was a medium to calm rhythm. Both of them were exhausted, drained, incapable of wanting more than just each others presence. After what felt like an eternity of panting, of feeling each other fully and completely aroused, pressing together and hearing Ronan’s muffled groans on his neck, both of them came. Clothed, warm, entwined.

They were breathless, panting slightly, mouths touching but not kissing. Adam laughed, just merely, contented and sated. Ronan placed a kiss to his cheek, and pulled him to lay down. He had a feeling they were going to ignore the mess in their boxers, and found he didn’t really care.

Now, sleep was a second away from catching up to him. They faced each other, knees and noses touching, Ronan’s hand traveling up and down his back. He was already trailing away when Ronan's deep voice broke silence, "I'm not sleeping." he said.

Adam wanted to protest, he really wanted to, but he knew how many times Ronan wanted to do that as well when Adam worked and studied himself to death, and still did not dare say a word. Adam had warned him too many times those were not subjects his friends had sayings in, and Ronan would avoid a fight with Adam any day of the week.

"Okay." he whispered back, touching the side of his face just once before letting his hand drop between them, "Wake me up if you need anything." Ronan nodded, patiently. When he realized Ronan wasn't going to say anything else, he exhaled before turning his back to him and turning off the lamps.

Before sleep took him, Adam had the faintest feeling that they were going to be all right.

[heli0s-writes]

V. The damn truth

Summary:  What is the damn truth?? AKA time to get those feelings out and stop being weird y'all. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N:  So I thought this was the last chapter, but it looks like we got one more, kiddos. More Cincy adventures and another further away. And more Steve time.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

In the morning, you brew coffee and pour it into one mug set out next to two others. You’re surprisingly the first up, senses dulled and head lightly rickety with a loosened brain from last night’s whiskey. Venturing to the garden, you sit cross-legged on a chair and watch Buckeye roam across the grass, rubbing his back over the silky blades still damp with morning dew. 

It’s all green and lush under the summer sun as your eyes trail over to the steps leading down, disappearing into the glass sliding door of the lower living room. The tablet tucked under your arm gets propped up on the glass table and you begin to work. Even in summer, it never ends. 

I’m a way, you’re glad for it because it keeps you busy and tethered to something resembling a schedule. Would you rather lie in bed with Buckeye eating pretzels watching Netflix? Yeah. But your therapist keeps telling you its not healthy .. so… 

Your fingers are clicking away, focused on one window, typing notes into another when the rattling doorknob draws your attention to Steve exiting the house with a mug in his hand, blowing gently on the surface. 

“Hey.” He calls, looking up, then greets Buckeye with a scratch on his wet rump. 

You give him a smile because you don’t quite know what to say, choosing instead to watch your dog pad off again, as if him sniffing the same spot in the yard is more interesting. 

Steve sits down in the bench next to your chair, freshly showered in jeans and a grey t-shirt-- too small, as always. You’re fresh, too, changed into a pale blue jersey romper. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Mhm,” You reply, but can’t help the way your eyes return to his chest where you rested your head just five hours before. 

Last night ended on a solemn note. The two of them went back to their room and you and Buckeye upstairs, all heavy-hearted and tired of reality. You remember dancing, and crying, and kissing. You remember feeling so shredded, thinking about them. You remember Steve’s warm lap and Bucky’s beard rubbing against your palm. 

 “C’mere,” Steve calls softly, reaching his hand over and tugging on the waistband of your outfit. You comply, carefully balancing the cup in your hand and sit down in his lap again. Your tummy is flipping, because Steve Rogers nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and wraps his arm around your waist. The denim of his jeans rubs against your thighs as he shifts and sets your coffee cup down. 

Change flutters all around you now, after taking flight last night. It hovers and clings, seeping into your skin like the humidity of morning. You’re not sure where or how to begin talking about this strange relationship, because you’ve never entertained the possibility of its arrival. 

Yes, Captain America is a thicc ass bitch and you’re hot for him, but Steve Rogers is your friend and you care for him more than you want to see if he’s actually a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. You can’t even start to think about Bucky right now, or else you might cry again. 

And certainly, to probe the intricacies of their relationship in order to carve a space for yourself is something so unbearably selfish you would never dream of doing it.  

“What—um, what is—” You pause because the rest of this sentence could push your friendship in any way and you’re fearful of every way. 

“Don’t think about it too much.” Steve comments as you tense inside of his grasp, “We try not to.” Then, he laughs, “I suppose that doesn’t help you feel better, huh.” 

Your arms wrap around yourself and they come to rest on his forearms. “I like what we have. I don’t want to get between what the two of you have. It’s… a massive, wonderful thing-- deep, and—” 

Steve shushes you, “Buck and I really do like you. You’re not intruding on anything.” And then, he turns you so that he’s facing your side and not your back. One hand slides up your face and then his mouth is on yours … and is it too stupid to say that when Captain America kisses you, fireworks pop off in your brain and some patriotic tune   starts blasting itself in the background? 

He tastes like coffee and freedom. Breath warm and sweet like a breeze on the 4th of July— saltwater taffy and the outdoors. There’s an eagle screeching proudly in the distant void of your mind. 

Suddenly, Steve pulls away and you’re sure your face is stuck in some tragically half-frozen mask of sheer dumbstruck. 

“Are you humming America the Beautiful right now?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Huh.” You respond, dazed, “I thought that was just in my head.” 

He tilts back laughing and takes you along with him, your shoulder crashing into his chest and your head knocking into his as you flail, trying to catch yourself. Steve holds on tightly, fingers digging into your arm and thigh—and when the hell did he get fresh and put his hand there? Sly fuck. 

“Wanted to do this for a while now.” He grins as he pulls your face down onto his once more. It is a shock to you that Captain America, the Star-Spangled sunofabitch, can kiss like it’s his damn job. His tongue is in your mouth.  Your heart feels like a gerbil spinning wildly on a wheel and might burst out of your chest any moment until— 

The rattling of the doorknob for a second time this morning catches you off guard. You yank back, fearfully aware that Steve’s spit is glistening on your lips. And goddamn, it is hot. 

Bucky joins with a mug of coffee in hand and slides the door shut. He steps past the doormat and plops down on your old seat, crosses his left ankle on his other knee and stares off into the yard as if he’s there alone. As if you’re not pitched over and crushed against his partner’s chest while one of his hands is so high up your thigh it’s practically on your ass. 

“Morning,” he grunts, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Mornin, Buck.” Steve replies breezily, and you can feel his mouth twist into a smile against your collarbone. “How’s your coffee?” 

Bucky takes another sip impassively, “Pretty good. A little burnt. How’s your lap?” 

You shoot up and nearly knock the whole table over as you brush your clothes off with a nervous laugh, “Well! I’m going to… Jesus. Christ. Uh. Let’s uh. Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes and we can go get breakfast. Or church. Fuck me with a broom.” Your brain is a bag of ferrets thrown into a dumpster fire. 

The door slams shut as you nearly break the entire frame running inside and Steve sends Bucky a shit-eating grin before patting the thigh you were just on top of. 

“You gonna come take her place over here, or what?” 

— 

Breakfast is weird. It’s weird like The Twilight Zone is weird.  

You’ve opted to leave your hair down for today, letting as much of it cover your face as possible because if either one of them looks at you, you think you might just combust. You’re ready to go back to being a bastard at any time now, but your nerves are wringing themselves into knots. Another pancake gets cut into a triangle by your fork. 

And then Steve steals it right off your plate. 

“You candy-ass mother-!” You yelp defensively. 

“There she is!” He replies, stuffing it in his mouth and pointing at you with the prongs. Bucky only raises his eyebrow behind a glass of water. “I thought we were past this.” Steve urges. 

No, making out on the patio is not equivalent to a conversation about joining a relationship as the fucking third partner, you think. Your eyes say as much as you glare at your plate and then up to Bucky, pleading with him to help you. 

“Don’t look at me,” Bucky shrugs, “I wasn’t the one playing tongue hockey with ya.” The fork in your hand clatters as you shove your face in your palms with a groan. Absolute filthy bastard. He’s chomping on hashbrowns open-mouthed as he looks at you expressionlessly. Could anyone be more annoying? Probably not. 

“Well, she did tell you she loved you twice.”  Steve points out, “So maybe I’m not the one who should be playing tongue hockey with her.”  Never mind, apparently Steve can be more annoying. Figures. 

The neckline of your romper is now pulled completely over your face until only your hairline is visible. Inside of your albeit thin, but somewhat safe space, you groan as your entire body rises to sweltering degrees.  

“You guys are bullies.” You complain. 

“What’s that, hon?” Steve asks— and you can just hear him smiling. “Didja say somethin’?” 

“I think she called us bullies, Stevie.” 

“Bullies?! Sweetheart, you made us listen to Sad n Sexy Santa for two hours on the drive here and would not stop screaming until we let you sing along.” 

You’d never imagine Steve Rogers as someone who would so easily distribute pet names like this, but apparently once you cross the bridge of sucking on each other’s face, they don’t stop coming.  

Your stomach is fluttering unbearably, but you snark back anyway, “Sad n Sexy Santa  is a true effort of musical talent,” you proclaim, still glaring at the darkness under your romper. “Christmas songs sung in a minor key changes both the tune and the connotation of their lyrical content. Have you ever thought that “All I Want For Christmas Is You” could be so unsettling? Didn’t think so!” 

A sharp tug is all it takes for your head to return to the world and Bucky’s arm fixes the wide collar so that your bralette isn’t exposed for the entire café to see. “Stop being a baby.” He scolds. 

“You !! Baby !” Nice. 

They both sit back against the opposite booth, arms crossed, smirking, as you pretend to enjoy your meal under their scrutiny. Oh, how the tables have turned, you lament. This is just divine punishment, after two months of being the most infuriating person to them, now they’re giving you a double dose of your own medicine.  

“I love eating breakfast by myself.” You announce out loud, reaching over to take some of Steve’s bacon, “Love getting three plates just for me.” 

Bucky’s laugh makes your ears go bright pink the same time your teeth crush the sliver of meat in your hand. 

-- 

The Cincinnati Zoo returns you to sweeter childhood memories of elementary field trips where the kids went ballistic and the adults spent most of their time counting heads. Your parents never partook in chaperoning, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it. 

Today, the weather is overcast, and upon the first drop of rain, Steve goes inside a merchandise store to buy two umbrellas. He returns just a bit too late and there is already a huge downpour, soaking half of Bucky’s arm who’s standing over you, acting as a shield when the awning of the building across the store isn’t enough.  

“Get over here!” You’re yelling, tugging on Bucky’s sleeve and stomping your foot, “What’s the point of you getting wet just so I don’t get wet? You’re so stupid!”  

Steve watches him relent with a smile as he opens his umbrella and tosses the second one to Bucky. Then, the three of you trek through puddles and make your way to the covered exhibits. 

Fiona the hippo is asleep in a little alcove of her aquarium, head tucked away. You explain to them the majesty of Fiona’s sonogram, birth, and her subsequent celebrity, but they don’t understand her like you do. They can’t even see the damn creature, Bucky scoffs, but you glare at him and he rolls his eyes away. 

You coo and tut, waggling your finger when her tail flops side-to-side and her back legs kick. When she has a bowel movement in her sleep and it disperses into the very water she’s resting in, you back up and gag, pushing Steve and Bucky away. 

“Alright, let’s go look at some other chonkers.” You proclaim as you lead them to the manatees.  

 Three enormous, alabaster, and smooth-skinned sea cows float serenely in the murky blue. Two of them have green heads of lettuce clenched between their flippers and are chomping away, bits of leaves floating around their heads like vegetable halos.  

You press your hand against the glass and sigh. Steve and Bucky step closer, looking down curiously when you wipe at the corner of your eye. “Look at these giant fuckers.” You whisper, “I haven’t known peace like that since I was a fetus.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “God, you’re dramatic.” 

It’s quiet in the chamber with only the faint splashing of the rain falling on the water outside and plunking drips from your umbrella onto the concrete floor. Between a family’s departure and before the next one’s arrival, Bucky pushes you up against the glass and kisses you in front of an audience of marine mammals and Steve Rogers’ smirk. 

“How’s that for peace?” He mutters, mouth still pressed against yours. Your heart is thumping in your ears like a battle-drum. Bucky snags your bottom lip with his teeth and licks the sting away.  

“I think you—” you gulp, feeling your bottom lip snap back into place and giving it a slow suck just to see if it’s still there, “maybe need to consult a dictionary. But—you know, good try...” 

-- 

They are relentless. 

In the café while eating greasy cheese and ham sandwiches and cold vegetables, they take turns knocking their knees into yours, grazing your thighs and legs. 

Between the big cats and the painted dogs, Steve squeezes your waist and rests his hand there until you shuffle away.  

Under the shelter of a tree by the elephants, Bucky blows on your ear and laughs when you shriek in surprise. Good God Almighty. There are goosebumps all over your skin even though you are burning. 

-- 

Bucky drives home after deftly fishing the keys out of your bag. He could have thrown a grenade in there and you wouldn’t have noticed, being too distracted by the big and daunting reality of being… whatever it is you are now.  

Currently, Steve rides shotgun, glancing back to you once or twice every few minutes as you gaze out the window. The rain only let up a couple of minutes ago as all three of you exhausted every open exhibit at the zoo. Your feet are blistered from the repeated chafing of your toes against the wet front of your sandals, and the bottom of them hurt like the devil.  

A tiny buzz alerts you to the phone tucked away in your pocket. 

Natasha: So, you guys fucking yet?  

Your heart leaps into your mouth. 

You: What the fuck!!!! Did you plan this? You have cursed me, Natasha. I am broiling in the deepest layer of hell and they are feasting on my bones you asshole!  

Natasha:That’s too kinky even for me. Enjoy being feasted upon. Later.  

Steve twists his head around like a goddamn owl and looks at you, “Everything okay?” 

You refuse to meet his gaze, “Uh-huh.” 

Bucky finds your eyes closed tightly the rear view. “Are you actually shy ?” He ponders, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. When you say nothing, he continues, “I would have never guessed if I hadn’t seen it first-hand. Today.” 

“Be quiet.” You groan. 

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he chides, pulling into the driveway. “You’re a pretty good liar.” 

“You’re a pretty good liar! Heh!” You sneer back, imitating the way his voice might sound if he inhaled a lungful of helium. When the car stops and Bucky shuts off the engine, he turns around through the middle console and sends you a fanged grin, reminiscent of the way he snarled at you the first time he came to your apartment. 

Then he’s out the door, closing it with a quiet bang. Steve whistles lowly and looks over his shoulder, “You’re in for it now.” 

-- 

Bucky throws you into the pool.  

He at least has the decency to take your phone out of your pocket before he chucks you in like a dead fish. Since it’s drizzled all day, the water is cold as all fuck and when it hits your back the shock stifles the scream wrenched from your throat. 

You resurface with a shriek, teeth chattering as you break the water and try to swim to the edge. You can barely get your hair out of your face before an enormous splash creates a wave that slams itself on the top of your head. Another cannonball goes into the blue and by the time your eyes are dry enough to see what the fuck is going on, you’re sandwiched between them and the cold slips right out of your skin. 

Steve’s hands have faithfully returned to your legs where the opening of your romper floats around in the chilling water. The tips of your toes are pointed, and your mouth is barely above the splashes of chlorine licking at your chin. Bucky and Steve are standing flat on their feet, barely wet at their collarbones. 

“Better hold on, ‘less you’re interested in drownin’.” Bucky teases. A mouthful gets spit out onto his neck and for a second you think maybe that point is worth it until Steve picks you up by the waist and dumps you two inches left and the water goes right over your head. 

You scramble and splash, regretting not taking those swimming classes seriously because all you can do is (sort of) float on your back and doggy paddle for about three minutes. Bucky chuckles when you finally relent and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your burning face into his sopping hair. 

“Is this your idea of getting me wet.” You mumble as your cheeks scorch against him. Steve is behind you, kissing your nape until you lean back onto his shoulder too, both inflamed and anxious by their rapt attention. 

“Is it working?” Steve asks, and your silence is enough of an answer all on its own. You feel as if you might be brave enough to look up into Bucky’s eyes, maybe kiss him again, but a third and final cannonball crashes into the tranquil waves and then Buckeye breaks the water with a series of grunts and pants.  

His fat head bobs up and down as he paddles about, tongue hanging limply from his jaw. As he makes his way past the three of you staring blankly at him, Buckeye gives Steve’s face a long, slow lick.  

You swear you can hear Captain America faintly call your dog a “goddamn cockblock”. 

-- 

Steve is in the shower when you snuggle up with Buckeye on the couch. A thick wool blanket covers your bare legs as you lean over, placing your head on your dog’s coiled body. He’s still a little damp from pool water, and the velvet grey of his coat is speckled with dark splotches. From downstairs, Bucky arrives, wet hair behind his ears and quietly lifts your dog up and places him on the sofa couch across from the coffee table. He smells like peppermint body wash.  

The sudden thought of him wearing red and white and kissing you under a mistletoe wriggles into your brain and you could scream. Instead, you steel yourself, scold the fantasy until it leaves.  

Your head lays on Buckeye’s former seat, dampening the leather, staring up into the ceiling.  

Bucky wordlessly smooths the blanket over your legs, sits down on the floor, and props his head up on his arms until he’s looking into your eyes. “Hey,” he says, biting on the tiniest bit of his bottom lip in a way uncharacteristic of him—nervous, careful. “Y’know, if this is too much—say somethin’—I’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.”  

A smirk tugs the corner of your lip and he huffs at the sight of it, waiting for a comment but still, he feels uneasy. You’re not looking at him, not yet, at least. It’s still up in the air if you’ll laugh or cry; your emotions have become overwrought when thinking of them. The quips here and there have been tiny little bandages over the aching wound. 

“C’mon,” Bucky whispers, “Thought you were gonna be bastard about it.”  

“Sorry…” You mutter, turning to face him. A single tear drops out and rolls over your nose bridge, plunking down onto the leather. “I think I am... feeling both overwhelmed and…” You close your eyes, trying to find your words. “I think I’m also feeling inadequate.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows, creating fine creases on his forehead. 

“I guess as a normal person, now faced with something … very serious-- two entire lives that have started  way  before me and will last long after me, I’m just wondering how exactly I will fit? It’s certainly selfish... ” 

“It’s not.”  

A jerk of your mouth catches his gaze, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You laugh, knowing fully well that the statement sounds silly because he’s right in front of you now, as he’s been for the past few days. And your comment makes it seem like he’s leagues away. “I want you to be happy. I think you‘ve spent so long not being, I just want you to be happy.”  

Against your better judgement, you turn until your entire body is facing him and brush your fingers along his chin, then trail up until you are holding onto the side of his neck, thumb under his ear. Bucky smiles that lopsided boyish smile at you, set in the angular, firm face of a man, and closes his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

He opens them, letting the gray-blue dance over your features. You feel brave again, because Bucky Barnes is inches away, looking at you like you could be part of his world. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his softly. He is already a part of  your  world, more ingrained than you ever thought could be in the short time you’ve known him.  

You kiss him again. For good measure. And then again, for luck, maybe. “You know I meant it, last night.” You sigh against his mouth, “I do love you two.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky dismisses it playfully as he lifts himself up just a little more to hover over your face, turning so that his mouth slants on yours just right. “No time to talk now, darlin’.”  

He scrubs his beard against your neck, and you start giggling uncontrollably at the way it tickles. His nose brushes against your ear and his tongue traces your jaw before he peppers kisses up to your mouth. His fingers tap a staccato of morse code up and down your sides as you squeal.  

Who knew The Winter Soldier could be so... cute? 

“I’m ready for a nap!” Steve calls from the hallway, stopping short of interrupting the moment. “Think all of us can fit on the bed?” 

“Steve, man, it’s like evening time.” Your voice is muffled against Bucky’s face once more as he takes the opportunity to kiss you again. 

“I’m trying to find an excuse to lie down,” Steve grumbles. You hear his footsteps stop behind Bucky as he peers over his shoulder and into your upside-down face. “Will ya come to bed or not?” 

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you hide behind Bucky’s hair. “Well, fuckin’ twist my arm...”  

-- 

Steve sleeps like the dead. It’s comical how he sprawls out and snores softly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t, now that he’s retired. 

You and Bucky have moved to one side where he lies with one arm tucked behind his head and the other one under yours. He tells you Steve usually isn’t so ridiculous, sleeping very lightly and wakes up at the slightest noise, but now there’s a conversation being carried centimeters away from his face and he’s not stirred at all.  

Bucky smiles at this, says thank god, he needs it. 

“He’s gonna be up at three bouncing off the walls.” You warn. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. He’ll sprint fifty miles and go to bed.” 

“Jesus, why?” 

“Super serum bullshit, and because he’s a show-offy asshole.” 

“Aren’t you... also serum-ed?”  

“Yeah, but I also love my bed.” 

At that, you whistle, “Man after my own heart.” 

His face lights up as he turns to peer at you resting on the crook of his arm, leaning so that the top of your head is barely on his chest. “Oh yeah?” The silly conversation takes a turn when Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, finding excuse to let his fingers roam along the edge of your eyebrow, trailing down until he’s past your cheek, further down to your shoulder.  

It’s his left hand that’s touching you, the cold metal of the appendage sending shivers down your back. You can’t help but gaze at the way it reflects the setting sun slipping through the cracks of your blinds. 

The hand under your head is shifted until he’s propping himself up on it.  

Your mouth goes drier each time he squeezes your arm, closing your eyes to concentrate on the contradicting sensations—your warm body, his cold hand, quickly losing its chill. He travels down, down, until his palm is on your hip, then your thigh, then, ghosting between your legs. 

Against your back is Steve, sighing softly. 

“I feel like I’m living out the thirst tweet ‘bout your arm.” You mutter, eyes closing with a tremulous shudder. Bucky laughs, fingers diving between your thighs, hand wrapping over one. 

“You got a thing for getting choked, too?” It’s a joke, but he pinches your flesh and when your tummy flutters, you suddenly grow a bit afraid of your own desires.  

Behind you, Steve stirs. “Don’t let him do it.” His gravelly voice pipes up, muffled by the pillow his cheek is pressed against, “He toes the line of erotic asphyxiation too closely.” Then, he turns, spooning you, and falls back asleep. 

Why the fuck does Captain America know anything about erotic asphyxiation. 

Bucky is laughing again, pulling you to his chest before he stills. “I wouldn’t. Unless you really wanted it.”  

“Jesus would you stop.” You mumble, but peek up at him anyway, lips parting in anticipation. He gives it to you, curling his hand around the back of your neck and murmuring nonsense into your mouth. Witticisms that you quickly bite off with a teasing snap of teeth. Bucky pulls away with a sound of surprise. 

“Oh, kitten. You got claws, huh?” 

You show him your canines. “Always had ‘em, bee-itch.” He doesn’t know how a person can make the word  bitch  into two annoying—maybe endearing— syllables, but you’ve done it. 

Bucky laughs joyfully, smothers his face into the pillow like he doesn’t want you to see, because Bucky Barnes’ reputation as a stone-cold motherfucker has been completely ripped to shreds in your hands and he is trying desperately to retain some semblance of it. 

You grab his face, grinning, eager to see that winsome smile of his.  

“Fuck, I like you.” He says with a chuckle. 

“Aw, don’t be a bee-itch, Buck.” Steve calls from your back, apparently not asleep after all. “Tell ‘er the damn truth!” Your spine picks up the humidity of his breath, shivers running all the way up to your neck when he kisses your shoulder blade with sloppy presses of his mouth. 

In the sunset glow, Bucky groans dramatically as you and Steve wait, smirks shared between two utter bastards, he thinks. He groans and groans and when he’s out of one long breath he picks up another. 

“Fine, fine.” He relents finally, letting you bask in the glory of that gorgeous wide mouth, stretched so sweetly. He laughs.  

“I love you too. Twist my fuckin’ arm.”  

Next

[bubmyg]

twice bitten - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: vampire!yoongi, again...so much fluff, blood mention, told mostly from yoongi’s pov, non-chronological and a part of my vampire yoongi drabble series (listed as “midnight angels” on my masterlist!)

word count: 2,455

summary: the one where yoongi, the two hundred year old vampire, thinks of using a bat as a defensive mechanism before anything else or where yoongi is really creative with names. 

One foot on the first stair and Yoongi hesitated, gaze flitting back to the glinting object propped up meticulously behind the giant banner and various figurines littering his desk space. Another rustle beyond the flimsy door at the top of the staircase and his hesitation became action, rushed footsteps carrying him back into the depth of his basement to retrieve the metal bat. 

He was delicate with it at first, turning the barrel in massive palms a few times, pink lips fished as he considered the worn logo on the fattest part of the bat, a company that hadn’t been in business for decades. With a huff, he squared his shoulders, settling the bat over one side of his body as he began to take the stairs two creaking ascends at a time. 

The groan of the door as he peeled it open left the deserted house in an eerie silence, all aside from the refrigerator humming in the kitchen down the hall. Sun spots peaked out from where his blackout curtains didn’t cover, particles of dust flicking through the rays but otherwise, there was no movement except for the gentle rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest as he garnered enough courage to place both feet on the ground level of his house. 

He tried to appear nonchalant even though there was, again, no one around to observe his jumpy actions, bat bumping against his thigh as he strolled down the hall for the kitchen. The pockets of sun made him shiver, but it wasn’t enough to hinder his ability to make it into the kitchen, a room enclosed in the middle of the house, especially not when he flattened the bat to the countertop and pulled something akin to a juice box of blood from within the whirring appliance. He took a delicate sip, lips rested on the edge of the bent straw as his eyes surveyed over into the next set of halls and rooms, again, finding nothing. 

The house was void of what he’d heard in the basement, sounds of the wind curling dead leaves into the brick and glass outside sure, but nothing like the strange crackling rustles he’d heard, something similar to when it stormed and the oak tree in the backyard landscaping craned enough to brush it’s limbs over the bedroom window. 

Yoongi had called for them to be trimmed after the third night of having to calm you down when you woke in a tremor, clinging to him like a wet leaf as the branches cackled outside. 

He finished off the box with a loud slurping noise and puffed cheeks, quickly depositing the trash before daring to curl around the countertop without quick reach to his bat. He relaxed instead when he spotted some tufts of fabric draped over one of the reclining chairs in the adjacent sitting room. Couples costumes for the Halloween party you were going to attend later, jerseys you’d spent hours customizing in typical Space Jam fashion, complete with a headband of grey, fuzzy bunny ears to sit through the stark black of Yoongi’s head. A tiny smile graced his lips as his index finger trailed over the painted lettering on the back, your voice ringing in his head with the threat of wearing a collection of cotton balls on his ass as a tail if he so much as poked you while you were trying to complete the costumes. 

His fingernail had so much as scraped over the paint, making a visible noise, when something, the sound, occurred, louder than before and complete with a soft thump just beside the towering front door of the house. 

Yoongi nearly dove headfirst into the cut edge of the marble countertop to retrieve the bat, barely feeling the nerve endings in his legs as he slunk forward, ignoring the nausea that erupted in his stomach as the sunlight peeking out from the tiny, stained glass windows on either side of door curled goosebumps into his bare arms. 

Shaking fingers fiddled at the lock, managing to fumble it open and the door in the same moment, forcing him to stumble over the lip of the front door. A deep, onset shiver ran through his entire being as the sun fully touched him now but he ignored it, head whipping to the sound of the rustling as it continued. 

A massive holly bush just to the left of the tiny front porch shook violently, its leaves repeatedly scratching into the window just beyond it but periodically tilting so much that the weight of two or three branches catapulted into the glass like snapping a rubber band into a solid surface. Yoongi frowned, catching a stabilizing hand on the railing as socked feet brushed against the mulch, carrying him toward the bush. 

The closer he got, the less it shook, until finally when he was crouched next to it, it ceased any movement, not so much as breathing even as the wind continued to whirl dying blades of grass in the front yard. He swallowed the string of bile rising upward into his throat, making the sting of hunger that struck suddenly ten times worse, as he reached crooked knuckles of his free hand to push aside some of the branches to peer inside. 

Yoongi felt it before he heard it, the swat of something sharp but fuzzy on the end against his hand, but it was the heard part that had him stumbling backward onto his ass, one, loud, continuous mrow! jumping through the spaces in the bush. 

Two, beaded yellow eyes seemed to laugh at his fallen figure, head quirking to the side before another, softer bleat of greeting poured from the bush, followed by the graceful hop of a tiny black kitten into Yoongi’s lap. 

His mouth had barely parted to question the animal that couldn’t answer him anyway when there was another, more distinct meow, deeper and a bit crackly. The kitten already perched on the apex of his knee turned at the sound too, just in time for its counterpart of the orange tabby variety to join it between the part of Yoongi’s splayed out legs. 

They each stared at him, as if anticipating his response, and when neither got one, the black one began to rub it’s cheek against the denim of Yoongi’s jeans while the orange one swiped an indifferent paw over the long fur coating it’s tiny face. 

“It was you two making all that noise?” He chastised weakly, and suddenly he felt overwhelming embarrassed about the bat now rolled up against the side of the front porch. Now he understood the strange hunger in his throat, one not quite the same as what he felt toward you but different, attuned to the different taste that was animal blood, but it was easier to fight when he hadn’t tasted animal in centuries. 

And when they began to search for his hands, meeting him halfway by nudging their tiny heads into the clammy palms he stretched for them. 

The kittens came with Yoongi as he stood, mewls of protest as they were lifted into the air in separate hands as he began to take shaky steps back for the house. He addressed the black one first as he pulled them against his chest, the one who’d ceased making noises of protest first. 

“Not a word about this.”

Yoongi barely blinked at the business logo plastered to the glass of the front door to your building, the only thing reminding him that this was the Bureau of Vampiric Affairs being the small keypad that required him to flash a specially acquired ID card shoved in the front of his wallet. He gripped the over the shoulder bag slung so it was centered to his stomach as he pressed the plastic into the chip reader, foot tapping both in wait and with the exhaustion still bubbling in his being from being in the sun too much, body not recovered from the afternoon excursion let alone from his car ride over and walk through the city to get to your office. 

His usual formality with the front receptionist was forgotten when the door finally allowed him entrance, turning curtly on his heel down the long, carpeted hallway that contained your office. The door was shut and he forgot to knock but he was thankful that you were munching on an apple with your phone in your palm when he stumbled inside, both items you dropped in favor of startling toward him. 

“Yoongi,” You scolded, moving to reach for him first but trading for yanking your curtains shut first, the human layer first and then the blackout layer second you had for client appointments. Then your hands were on his cheeks, stern in tugging upward on the black mask that covered the bottom half of his face to assure as little skin as possible was susceptible to sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t think we can go out tonight,” Yoongi mumbled, muffled in the fabric, “I, uh, don’t feel too great.”

“No kidding, you’re outside during peak sunlight hours,” You kept a hand curled around his elbow as you reached behind him to drag a chair over, weakly pushing until he collapsed into it. “Answer my initial question.”

“I needed to come into town to get food.”

Your features scrunched at the center of your face, hip falling against the outer edge of your desk. “Food? You just went to the bank the other day. You’re not supposed to feed for another—” You glanced at the smart watch on your wrist, “—twelve days—”

“Not for me.”

You stared at each other for several passing seconds, ones that had a smile creeping onto Yoongi’s features underneath his mask, one that only grew when you, in a higher pitch, inquired, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

His fingers fumbled for the zipper on his bag, gradual in drawing open the zipper until one, then two, fuzzy heads appeared, meows full force at both light and the new figure in front of them. You were cooing over his explanation, shooting up off the side of your desk to reach inside to gather both of them into your grasp. “These little girls were causing a ruckus out front earlier,” He reached to scratch behind the orange one’s ears while blinking innocently at you, “They don’t like any of your human food and I certainly can’t feed them yours. We’re we going to go to the market next but...they wanted to come visit you.”

“Oh yeah, did they?” There was still a root of concern at your core but you softened at the way Yoongi was fondly assessing the two kittens in your grasp, entirely gentle in the way he let them rub up against his fingers. “So does this mean we’re keeping them?”

You could only see in the way Yoongi’s cheeks jumped that his mouth was fishing open and closed, and you reached to touch his wrist when he was finally, bashfully, shrugging, “I mean...I thought maybe. We don’t have any neighbors so I bet someone just dropped them off and it’s about to get cold and they’re a little skinny so I’m sure no one has been taking proper care of them anyway and—”

His rambles died off when your lips gently touched his cheek, careful in passing the kittens back to him. “Sounds like we definitely need to keep them,” You smiled, warm all over when dark brown eyes flicked to yours amongst another chaotic round of protesting mewls as they were plopped unceremoniously into his lap. “Take the girls home. I’ll get food and some other things for them after work.”

Yoongi’s gloved hands enveloped yours, nudging his fabric covered nose to your cheek. “Don’t you want to hear their names?”

“Oh?” You crouched in front of the kittens to sate their cries with ear scratches, “Tell me.”

He lifted the orange one first, gentle in working her back into the bag at his tummy. “Abra—” He said shortly, nodding, “Or just Abby.”

The black one came with slightly more protest, trying to dig her claws into his thigh to stay rooted where she was receiving pets but she settled once nestled next to her friend again, “And Cadabra—” He was beaming behind his mask again, shown in the way the bridge of his nose and the corners of his eyes crinkles, “Or Caddy.”

Your forever rooted concern washed away for a second as you leaned forward to hook a finger into the top of his mask, tugging it down to plant your lips on his for a chaste moment, trailing those affections back up his warmed cheeks as you secured his mask back to its original position, speaking to his wide, shiny eyes that inspected you, shellshocked. 

“They’re perfect.”

Also…

You tripped through the front door with the weight of the plastic bags in your hands, bags filled with beds (yes, multiple), toys, and three different varieties of hard and soft foods, ones they could eat now as kittens and ones labeled for young cats, all of which you were sure Yoongi had consulted on his office computer after you’d sent him home. You tossed them all in a sad heap next to the tiny end table as you began to work your shoes off your heels. Furrowed eyebrows paired with your loud call into the house, “Hey, Yoongi?”

He heard you first try this time, an echo down the open door to the staircase of his study and you heard the tell tale signs of his ascend now that the sun had began to curl beyond the treeline, “Yes? What’s wrong?”

You waited until you could see Yoongi’s face, something that peered at you from the top stair of the basement with an expectant eyebrow and two tiny kittens on either side of the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“Why is there a baseball bat in the landscaping?”

Yoongi blanched, not budging from his position. “Uh—”

“Open your mouth for me.”

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

He begrudgingly complied, fangs sliding out from his gums and he glared at your as his cheeks flared a deep set pink. 

You beamed nonetheless, pointing to your mouth where something similar would be if you were of the same, immortal variety. 

“You do know you’re a vampire, right?”

Yoongi plucked the kittens from his pocket, settling them onto the floor to let them scamper off into the house before taking a few, semi-threatening steps toward you with a playful smirk wrinkled to the dimples in his cheeks. 

“I do. Do you need a reminder?”

[theunholygrails]

Very Differently

Summary: This isn’t really new, just something I never got around to posting here. Basically my take on Budapest with an OC added to the mix for fun. 

Masterlist

Zdravstvuyte

The shadows cast from the wastefully clad guests in the soft angles and indecipherable masses were notably more elegant than the calculating frowns of their creators. A gloved hand traced along a freshly polished curling oak banister as Sonja made her was to join the babbling benefactors. Leaflets of conversations rustled not long enough to take root but simply flew past on the careful air of disinterest her fellow hosts held about them. With a sharp nod of her head and a demure curve of her lips, she joined the nearest transaction.

Arms dealing can be tricky business when neither party particularly trusted the other.

Jewels painted the necklines of her most generous buyer and in their pristine surfaces, she could make out the warning flash of the smallest red dot. Sonja shifted with a subtle flip of her hair to block the shot and simultaneously tapped her earpiece.

“Ma’am, I do believe my husband is coming down with something fatal.” she said.

Even if she did not have a husband to speak of, the message was abundantly clear—the event was compromised because Black Widow herself was present.

“Take care of it, Chief. I need this night to be spotless.”

“Got it.”

Security hustled onto the floor at Sonja’s signal to escort each of the dozen or so guests back to their armored vehicles.

With the prompting of her boss in her ear, Sonja slipped out the back door to attempt to uncover any tracks the Widow might have left behind.

The wet asphalt did little to help her heels find traction as she scanned the nearest buildings for the optimal vantage point the spy must have taken to train a snipper on people under her protection. With the rest of her security team busy locking down the premises, she was left to the goose chase even though looking for tracks from this particular prey was about as promising as searching for footprints after a storm.

She tensed when something popped right beside her ear and the sharp slap of metal hit her cheek. She scolded her hammering heart and forced a calm gaze to the arrow that kissed her skin and was now imbedded in the wall. Her hand went to the dual blades tucked against her thighs knowing full well that any assassin after her would not be foolish enough to miss twice.

A test of her ear piece told her its signal had been knocked out somehow. A heavy pair of boots splashed down beside her and she whipped into a defensive pose before the archer could cut her mission short.

The man kneeling across from her had his bow pressed to the ground and his black stealth suit clinging to him like any woman in her proper mind would in a scenario a little less lethal than this. Given a situation where she were allowed to use her real name and wash the blonde dye from her hair, she might have done just that because his looks were wasted on the dark, filthy streets of Samara, Russia.

“Hello, easy, Chief. I’m not here for you. Sonic took out your communications, also I was listening in a little bit, Ma’am is a weird name. Is that like the birth one or did she rename herself that? I’m looking for the Widow. You know anything?”

“Does anyone?” she flicked her blades so they would glint in warning beneath the lazy stars.

“They sent one person out to challenge her? Seems a little under kill. Unless you’re just the bait.”

She advanced a step to show just how much of a danger she truly was. His mouth curved up in amusement when he rose from his crouch. “You’re not going to let me leave,” he said.

“I fear my boss will want to speak with anyone chasing her.”

“Knew better,” he sighed. “Alright, let’s do this before I have to check out of my hotel.”

Her first swipe cut only into nothing as he swiveled around to her back. She feigned left, sweeping her right foot back to catch his ankles.

“Woah, who taught you that?” he demanded, dancing over the attack.

While she paused to process his stunned remark his completely unstunned body cracked his bow against her forehead. She grabbed at his forearm, twisting until it clattered free of his grip. “Quiet, American.”

“Was it Hill?” he carried on. “You with S.H.I.E.L.D?”

Now she faltered and he did not take the opportunity to jam any of his color coordinated arrows into her temple.

“I wasn’t told of another operative here,” he babbled.

She slammed her shoulder into his chest and landed him flat on his ass where she could properly threaten him.

“I’m handling it.”

“This is about as under control as a mouse wrestling a snake.”

“You realize I’m pinning you right,” she demanded, dropping her knees to either side of his hips and pressing the flats of her blades against either of his wrists.

“That means nothing. I’m letting you. Just so you know, they asked me to do your job first. Also, the first and last fight I had with the Widow ended with my jaw dislocated. That was back when I cornered her in Milan. That makes me a mouse too.”

“Sadly, I think that just makes more dinner for the snake instead of an overwhelming force.”

He shrugged his eyebrows and glanced down pointedly. With a sigh she crawled to sit beside him as he grunted and rolled onto his stomach. Hands propped under his head as princess worthy blue eyes fluttered up at her. “Feel better? I think you missed bruising one of my ribs if you wanted a clean sweep.”

“I was going to ask why Fury didn’t tell me you were coming, but pretending you don’t exist does seem to be the only way to deal with your bullshit.”

“Supposed to be super top fucking secret but since you kind of outed me, not cool by the way, want to work together to charm a snake?”

“Is she a spider or a snake, man? Make up your damn mind.”

He rocked back, clutching his knees as a laugh barreled through him. “Oh, I like you. You don’t get a say now. We’re working together. Got something more stealthy than that yellow dress?”

***

She did not give one rat’s ass how he got into her apartment only that he could have possibly blown her cover.

“Brought flowers. Told the doorman I wanted to surprise you.”

“Was the surprise that I had a boyfriend?” she deadpanned as she shrugged off her bulky overcoat.

“Fiancé, when he asks but that’s not why I’m here. I need your help bringing her in. She vanished, shook all my tracking abilities. From what I hear, you’re pretty handy with the underworld system.”

“If you hear anything then I’m doing my job wrong. Why would you want her brought in anyway? Isn’t protocol to take out someone that rouge and dangerous?”  

He gave his knees a firm pat before pushing off them to match their heights. “I think she could prove an asset. I made this call. If it goes south, it’s on me. I know I’m asking you to compromise yourself but from what I can tell, the Widow is more involved in mafia’s inner working than the little crew you head. We find her, we get you your hot target too.”

“Ma’am is a pretty cold-hearted bitch from ghost chatter I’ve picked up.”

A tug of his grey hoodie secured it around his face for a safety net just in case anyone was spying in from the dirt smeared window to their right. Sonja was afforded no such luxury because her face was always bared to the world. She was buried way too deep in her world of shit to risk disguises. “Funny. We should work well together.”

“What’s your clearance?” She demanded.

The space of her apartment was deemed worthy of her retailer to host grand parties of up to a dozen people but she already felt stuffy with his confident presence entirely too close to her though he remained clear across the green wallpapered room with his feet twisting into her recently purchased, hand woven rug. It was probably worth three times his ratty boots with its intricate depiction of a fanfare of angels descending the heavens; this man was no angel.

“Alpha.”

“That doesn’t exist. Ten is the highest. I would know, I was the reason they created it.”

A tilt of his head told her he was only amused with her declaration and not in awe like all other inferiors she came across. “Welcome to Alpha then. I’ll fill you in on the plane.”

“I thought you didn’t know where she was.”

“I said she shook me. That doesn’t mean I don’t know her well enough to predict where she would go. Pack light, Budapest can be unforgiving this time of year.”

“Got a name?”

“Got a code, Hawkeye. Yours?”

“Zero.”

***

Being nearly run over three time while crossing a single street was a personal record for Sonja. Hawkeye was weighed down beneath a tan backpack filled with waters, old and clunky laptops, maps, granola bars (as if she could live off of those along), and a very distinct lack of weapons. Hawkeye had insisted on leaving them behind because airport security did not make exceptions for undercover agents and using a private jet would raise too many eyebrows. He had extracted her daggers from her and then held his hand out expectantly for the spares he could not have known she kept tucked neatly between her planner and wallet in her purse. She felt slightly less naked when he tossed his bow as well but still would rather not relying on their combined wit and charm since her partner appeared to be painfully lacking in both and making up for it with 100 proof sarcasm.

The wind buckled with the weight of the dry air it carried and tugged at the ends of Sonja’s hastily dyed and chopped off brunette locks. A sunhat kept the loose waves mashed against her face and even bigger sunglasses kept the prying sun at bay along with Hawkeye’s dancing glances back to make sure she was keeping up with his soundless steps.

“Come on,” he called even though the only closer she could have been to him would be to just piggyback it.

“Where is the safe house again?” she called over the roar of traffic.

He pause while a couple bustled between them, their heads bent in deep conversation then nodded politely to a minister though she doubted his devilish grin could even point out a church. “Next block. You wanna take over bag duty? I’ve got this crick in my neck I haven’t been able to shake since the plane.”

“That’s because you were stupid enough to sleep on the plane. On my shoulder no less. There’s a drool stain.”

The bag was tossed at her chest where her hands caught it without the aid of her gaze leaving his. “If your posture was more slumped we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Excuse me for remaining vigilant.”

“Trust me, your people don’t know you’re missing yet. You’ve probably got until noon.” His eyes skipped between his blank wrist and the sun overhead to judge the time. “And once we get set up with internet, I will clear the airways of anything we might have left behind. Say, do you think you could give me some sort of reaction? The constant dead expression is a bit intimidating.”

“I can see why the Widow dislocated your jaw, you talk too much.”

She spotted the covert insignia for S.H.I.E.L.D. and pushed past him to key in the day’s number sequence for entrance. There was distinct absence of air conditioning when they entered the stale room sitting on the basement level of what appeared to be the back of a tourist ice cream shop. Hawkeye’s bulky jacket hit the floor then his paisley shirt was tossed over the back of a chair that used to be sand colored but appeared to have been recently stained with globs of red. His back hit the ground as he fiddled with the window unit and Sonja set to toeing along the perimeter of their quarters.

She came across the outlet first sitting adjacent to the Ethernet cable in the far right corner. After depositing the backpack for him to fiddle with later on, she peeled off her overcoat and tank top while she stuck her head into the bathroom to check on the water situation. What trickled from the sink was lukewarm at coldest and the pressure in the shower was laughable but at least the toilet flushed and air freshener hung from the doorknob. Its orange tree shape was swinging in the next moment as blessed air filled the cramped space.

Sonja emerged from the bathroom with her sports bra held away from her damp skin. “Guess you are useful.”

“Do me a favor and check the freezer.” He toed off his boots as he walked, adding more of his shit to the mess that made her fingers twitch to clean only slightly.

“Think they left us frozen dinners? Because you’re health nut bars are not going to cut it Hawk.”

“I’ll order pizza for us,” he called with a wink as he tapped away on the booting up monster of a laptop.

She grumbled her response and pried open the rusted closed freezer doors that concealed an inside that somehow felt hotter than the oven of a city. Two metal cases rested inside, one smaller and snugly sitting atop

“You know how to defuse bombs right?” she called, eyes tracing the otherwise empty white cubicle for any wire or trigger.

“That’s a no. They’re presents from Fury.”

She did not move to take his word for it but instead carefully shifted the boxes sideways while sliding her hand where they sat in case it was weight sensitive. When she felt only the sleek, flat bottom, she cautiously picked up the bottom box from either edge with just the tips of her fingers and walked it as far away from Hawkeye as she could manage.

“For Christ’s sake, Z. I special requested those. Look, the code is 1971 on the bigger one and all zeroes on the other because I’m brilliant. If those don’t work then you can pull out your bomb squad suit.” He strode over, task forgotten, and squatted beside her kneeling form. “I’m not sure whether I’m offended you don’t trust me or flattered you’re trying to keep my out of harm's way.”

She flinched when he keyed in the numbers and passed her the first case carelessly before punching in his own and flipping the lid up to reveal and brand-spanking-new carbon fiber and purple streaked bow.

“Stealthy.” Sonja pulled out her own sleek new dagger set. Four blades so sharp just the skimming of her fingers drew their first blood. “Gorgeous.”

“I’m going to assume both of those were for me. Look, since I slept earlier, you take this round and I’ll wake you when night says it's time to move.”

When she made no move to do as such, he groaned and jutted out his hand. “Clint,” he said.

“What,” she snapped.

“That’s my name. Clint Barton. 1971 is the year I was born.”

“Is this supposed to make me trust you?”

“What? You want my social security number? Passport? Birth certificate? To be honest, I have so many of those I probably couldn’t pinpoint the original for you.”

She glanced down to hide the smiled curving up her lips and tucked a single dagger into her calf high sock. After refolding the hem of her khaki shorts, she felt composed enough to meet his impatient blue eyes. His smile was quick and brilliant and caught her so off guard she returned it, still vulnerable from the previous moments.

“There she is. Listen miss bomb technician, that why they call you zero? Because of the countdown? Anyway, if you don’t sleep you risk both our asses tonight and I happen to have a fine ass. As a gentleman I have not checked yours out but I am willing to bet that it’s at least half as good as mine.”

“If I go to sleep will you shut up?”

He touched his scarred knuckles against her cheek and lugged his new toys over to the ancient ones where he set up shop for the next few hours. The flimsy mattress with springs poking out every few inches was tucked away between the window and the front door and Sonja barely got her coat down on it before her head crashed against her arm for her pillow and her eyes tapped out.

***

do svidaniya

Clint’s version of a gentle awakening was a kick to her foot as he passed by. Of course, her leg swept out in defense and he landed face first on the mattress beside her. Her groggy eyes blinked open at him and promptly scowled at the dumbfounded expressions holding even his usual smart ass comment at bay.

“We better be under attack,” she grumbled, failing when she attempted to remove her already asleep arm from beneath his heavy torso.

It took him an alarming number of seconds to compose an answer and she squinted through sleep crust to glare at him. His lips parted then apparently he discovered them too dry to speak because his tongue swept out and at this proximity, so close she would not even have to reach to strangle him, the smell of his lingering bubblegum toothpaste pulled her fully into reality.

The same abrupt force that stilled him froze her from shoving him off the bed. She blamed the dreams still singing to her but the more likely cause was his hand which had by the damnation of some god landed on the dip of her waist, not her ass or her breast, which would be far simpler to explain the skip in her chest.

His recovery was like watching a runner recover from a particularly nasty hurdle “Afraid your mafia is running a little behind schedule, so we have to go out and meet them. Gear up.”

He grunted when her knee sent him rolling to the floor next.

“What time is it, Hawk?”

“2100. Think you bruised my bladder.”

Her change of clothes were swept up and the bathroom door slammed between them and the meager form of water she coaxed from the sink drowned out the breath she heaved from her lungs. The woman staring back at her was faded and spotted where the mirror was tarnished from the years without maintenance.

There was scarcely enough time to worry about saving her own skin let alone playing guess that hormone with an archer she met two days ago. A quick coaching session of her emotions and the addition of a black beanie, matching under armor shirt, and a lightweight bullet proof vest she emerged, undoing the button to her shorts after regretfully noticing the absence of the last bit of her uniform.

Clint lounged in front of the air unit in identical gear, hands folded across his pulled in knees so that the muscles fought against the fabric of his shirt. “Didn’t know pants were optional,” he called as she neatly folded her shorts beside their supply bag and produced the cargo pants that would be hiding her weapons for the evening. “I did appreciate that silky number you wore for me on our first mission,” he continued.

A belt secured the bottoms and after shoving her feet into the boots she stomped one down dangerously close to his most vulnerable bits and offered a sweet smile down at him.

“Think the world has one too many eunuchs as it is. Next time you want me to tie your laces try a nice ‘Clinton, would you be a dear and tie my fucking shoes?’”

“Don’t I feel like Cinderella?”

Deft fingers made quick work of her laces and she was still admiring the knots she could not even begin worrying about how to undo when he stood and shouldered his bow.

“Let’s go catch a spider, Z.”

“Let’s take down the Samarian crew as well while we’re at it.”

The night was their friend, lending its heaviest cloud cover from the stars that dared shine from the moonless sky as they jogged through the still bustling city’s alleys.

They passed a meat truck making a last minute delivery and Clint offered the driver the nod of his head before prodding Sonja’s body to pick up the speed as if they were out for a jog instead of on the tracks of the most dangerous woman on any side of the world. She shifted out of his reach, none too content on having her mind replay its earlier clash with emotions for the rest of the mission.

The building where Clint’s found surveillance footage last picked up her image was tucked between the river and the last wall of structures. A fishing shack where Sonja doubted the lights from the horn riddled bridge now stretching over their heads could penetrate if a paid professional like herself were taking shelter there.

Rounding the last bend on the downward slanting street, Clint caught her belt loop and pulled her against the crumbling brick building that smelled like moss and moldy bread. She bent her knees to keep from slipping down the slope on the loose cobblestones beneath their feet and still managed to subtly maneuver further from him because his aftershave was making repeating the plan like a mantra in her head a thing for the birds.

“Hey, you with me, Zero? You remember what we talked about?”

“Not dying or the not fucking up part?”

“See, I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

“Relax, Hawk. I’ve been doing this since I was toddling.”

“Really? Diapers for me.”

She swatted his arm when his blue eyes danced with humor and closed her own to reel herself back in.

“Seriously, though, you up for this? Because I can go in alone…”

“Like, hell, Hawk. You’re long range, I distract. Stick to it.”

He held out his knuckles wrapped in fingerless gloves that would help his aim. With a laugh disguised as a groan, she knocked hers against his and watched as he began scaling the fire escape to the tops of the connected houses leading to the perfect vantage point.

It took the coaxing of the restless waves to remind her that she too did not have the fortune of sitting still and allowing her already spiraling life to make Budapest its final resting place.

The traps took precious time to pick out--a motion detector from the front porch, a snoring dog with paws running in the air when she slipped around to the side, an electrical ward along the single sealed window, and finally a good old fashioned set of cans on the roof she managed to climb on. Sonja crouched on the narrow ledge of the none-too-secure roofing tiles, still off balance from her misjudged landing.

The cans, a mix of unopened green peas for which Sonja could not blame her and chili whose lids appeared to have been ripped off by bare hands, were stacks to at least twice her height and made a perfect circle around what she had to assume was another vulnerable entrance. From her original distance of spotting from the bridge with Clint, it had appeared merely another level of the shack which she could scale but now was proving to be just a pain in her ass. She circled on feet quieter than death to the side where Clint could see her and held out her hands helplessly.

“No in?” He said over the ear piece.

A shake of her head was the answer she knew his strapped on night goggles could pick up.

“Alright, hold on.”

“Clint!” she hissed out as an idea struck.

“Hell of a time to break out the Christian name.”

“Knock out the electricity on window.”

“I know you remember how these sonic arrows work. Our communication will be cut off and I know you’ll miss this sweet watchful voice, Z.”

“Sonja,” she whispered, hunching down on her knees and throwing a finger down as if he did not know the window she intended.

“No, sonic.”

“That’s my name you moron. You’ve got to trust me. Just shoot it.”

There was that hesitation from him again, she was beginning to understand how his head worked. The job was simple, something he was trained beyond reason for, but she was a variable he had to carefully calculate into the equation.

“Alright. I’m right behind you.”

“I know. Just don’t miss.”

She heard the smile in his response, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

“Are we really resorting to quoting Star Wars right now?”

“Fire in the hole, Sonja.”

The arrow struck home with a muted thwack and Sonja slid down onto the windowsill throwing a thumbs up into the now unresponsive night as she jimmied her dagger around to unlock the window. A second blade joined her free hand when she ducked inside.

The first thing she noticed was the complete lack of interior decoration just like their own safe house and the second unfortunately was that the insides were also void of any inhabitants. Why so much security without anything to protect?

There was a knock at the front door and a moment later Sonja remembered the power surge would also have affected the motion detector. She wearily trudged over before sliding into a defensive position when she flung the door back.

She saw the Black Widow first and her arrogant smirk followed by the prompting of an arrow to her skull.

“Plan B then?” Sonja called as Clint jostled their target into the room.

“I thought we agreed this was the more likely alternative,” he said. “Making it plan A.”

Sonja shrugged and pulled the handcuffs from her calf pocket before moving to snap them securely around the Widow’s ankles. The woman grunted as a green glow filled the room and a shift of her hips proved her unable of even lifting her feet.

When Sonja straightened and reached to tuck a stray strand of hair back into her braid, the woman finally spoke. “Props.” she said.

“Thanks, we’ve been practicing that last bit for hours now. I was really worried about the execution.” Clint strolled around to the front of their captive, pockets bulging with confiscated weapons.

“Not you, Barton. I knew you were on my ass for months. Her I wasn’t even looking for.”

Sonja crossed her arms. “Case. Point. What’s your real name?”

“Natasha Romanov.”

The plain reply jarred both her and her partner equally and Clint took her arm, walking her as far back into the room as he could manage before inclining his forehead to make the whisper easier hear. “She’s going to try to play a game with us. Anyone around her is instantly compromised. I need you to stay with me.”

A sharp nod answered him and his grin danced with mischief as he swung back around to stroll over to Natasha with his bow forgotten and swinging in his left hand. Sonja did not even feign relaxation but rubbed her thumbs over the sweating hilts of her daggers.

“This about the Avengers initiative? I read all about it last week,” Natasha said.

“You know it is. That’s why you let us capture you.”

“Let?” Sonja’s arms slipped from their protective frame.

Clint pushed on, feigning deafness when Sonja knew good and well his hearing aids were in. “You’ve got a nasty ledger and S.H.I.E.L.D. only wants to help you rectify it through the Avengers.”

“Avengers?” Sonja questioned.

“I’m fine where I am,” Natasha retorted giving the glowing shackles weighing down her feet a good tug and only ending up on her knees which, despite the powerless position, she somehow conveyed was right where she wanted to be.

Clint sighed and dropped as well. “You’re fine painting every city you go to with blood for people you don’t even know? The Avengers are going to protect the world and we want you to be a part of that.”

“Cute speech. Did Sonja feed it to you? You’re not bright enough to try the emotion ploy.”

Sonja was too busy puzzling how she knew her name to reply. That’s when the first bullet cut through the air and buried itself clean in Clint’s left calf. When he keeled forward in pain, Natasha swiped the gun tucked into the back of his belt and began firing to cover all their asses.

Lurching forward, Sonja kicked the door shut and pried her pistol from her belt as her back smacked against the wall. “Clint!” she called when he finally lifted himself from the ground.

“You led the Samarians here!” Natasha shouted as bullets pelted the door and walls relentlessly.

“Whoops,” Clint managed.

“Damn right you’re gonna need my help with the Avengers if you can’t even manage to stay off their radar. I assume you at least had an escape route in place.”

Clint wiped his bloody hand off on his shirt and primed an arrow for release should their defenses be breached by the crew. “Boat out back.”

“You’re gonna have to uncuff me.” Natasha called, firing precisely through an already fragile portion of the wall to produce a thunk of dead weight only a few yard away.

The deadly accuracy made Clint hesitate as he added in yet another variable, but Sonja just tossed the keys without a word and returned to keeping her gun aimed at the door.

“Barton go first and we’ll cover you,” Natasha called as she dodged a bullet cutting entirely too close to her brain. When she sat up straight again a line of red across her forehead added to her already flaming hair and scarlet pjs look.

Clint’s gaze snapped to Sonja unwavering in its unspoken question: would she be ok alone?

“Get out of here, Hawkeye,” she added the last bit to help him depersonalize, to remind him this was just a mission and all lives involved were expendable. “I’m right behind you,” she continued when he did not move.

His mouth curved up as he heaved himself onto mostly steady feet and sprinted to the backdoor while Sonja and Natasha laid down cover fire until both were down a clip. “Together?” Natasha called.

“Hell, why not?”

Sonja leapt up first, followed shortly by the much faster woman. The night air was thick with humidity that only pooled more sweat on their skin. On the free side of the house, a man screamed as the now awakened guard dog set to work. The other side was occluded by the closely stacks buildings and on the water just ahead, Clint revved the waiting engine of the speed boat.

Natasha waded into the water and slung her leg over the side, hauling herself on board in one fluid motion. Sonja had time to see her eyes go wide before she heard the other female voice cut through the night, “Chief!”

A sword was leveled at her instead of a gun and Sonja had the absolute pleasure of facing her old boss when she turned around. “Ma’am,” she replied without a trace of emotion.

She heard the cock of Natasha’s gun along with the wiry draw of Clint’s bow and briefly wondered if he could even keep his hands steady at the moment due to the blood loss.

“Or is it Agent Zero now?”

“Whatever you prefer, Ma’am.”

“Shall we settle this like the duals of old or has all your honor gone through the window with the american?”

Sonja heard Natasha grumble about being ignored as she tucked her gun into her pocket and produced a dagger. The other hand reached for her back pocket slower all the while keeping her opponent's gaze fixed on her words. Ma’am’s bulky henchmen fanned out behind her patiently waiting to be allowed to have some fun with the traitor and spy.

“What can I say? He brought presents.”

She waited the appropriate ten seconds for the meaning behind her words to smash into Clint before she pulled the pin. The homemade grenade sailed from her hand while her body was flung in the other direction. Her side slammed into the boat and Natasha just managed to get a drip on her belt before Clint slammed the throttle into its highest gear. He was ducked on the floor by the steering console for safety just as Natasha had thrown herself beneath the low walls at Clint’s advisement.

“When did you even have time to make that?” he demanded, driving blindly down the wide river.

“You’re the one who apparently knows everything,” she snapped.

“Christ, I’m sorry, alright. You weren’t cleared to know.” He paused then turned to her while Natasha huffed and took over driving. “Zero failed missions?”

“Guess again.”

“Zero like you were the original?”

“You’re not cleared, asshole.”

***

Natasha made airports her bitch with the new fresh faced S.H.I.E.L.D recruits scurrying behind her toting her luggage and a flight attendant rushing to retrieve her properly iced water. She shot Sonja a lazy wink but the other woman was too busy scowling away any potential disturbances to do anything other than reshoulder her backpack.

Clint took the lead, his reputation sending the herd of freshmen scattering in his wake of glory. Sonja quickened her steps, determined to talk to him now that the paramedics aboard their evac copter were no longer shooting him full of drugs.

“You’re not careless,” she said once she matched long legs to his abrupt stride.

“Think Nat will make them carry her?” he mused, wincing when he stopped focusing on his uneven gait.

Sonja caught under his arm and he glanced over through sleep deprived blue eyes and the tangles his cropped hair had somehow managed to tie itself into. “You gonna make me carry you?” she countered.

“I’ve got it.”

The usual airport crowd of proud mothers, blubbering fathers, and excitable kids ready to go off and make lives for themselves meandered past them. Sonja wondered what life awaited her back at S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.

“I was born there, you know. S.H.I.E.L.D that is. Born and raised. I don’t exist to our government because S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t. I’m nothing, I’m just zero.”

“I let the Samarians follow us,” he admitted in the breath after she finished her confession.

“I know. You’re not careless. You needed a common enemy for us to get Romanov on our side.”

“I was going to apologize for ruining your original mission, but I think all of earth takes precedence. We wouldn’t have made it out of there if not for you.”

“Taking out Ma’am was my mission Clint. Yesterday was the first time I saw her in person. I spent years working my way up through the ranks only to figure out I would only ever be important to her when I betrayed her.”

“You’re welcome, then.” He leaned in when he sang it and she gave his face a shove away as they exited the building through sliding glass doors and reached a junction in the sidewalk where she would climb into the car that would carry her home and he would get in his rental and drive out to his next mission.

“How long has it been since you’ve been stateside?”

“Just four years. I haven’t been home since I was a teenager, though when I completed my training.”

“You don’t have to face those bastards, you know. I’ve got something involving lightning and a hammer waiting for me. Could use some backup I trust.”

“Sounds alpha level. I’ll leave you to it.”

He nodded, shifting his weight off his bad leg and closing the humming space between their bodies just enough for her to notice it was deliberate. Her hand shifted under the strap of her bag while she toed at some bits of loose gravel beneath her sneakers.

“Guess this is goodbye, then. Keep an eye on Nat for me, will you? She respects you.”

“Only because she was comparing me to you.”

His mouth pulled up in a smile she had grown all too accustomed to seeing regularly and had truthfully taken for granted now that he was leaving. The civil term of closer inspection crossed her mind as she leaned in further still followed by the embarrassing real word she had been searching for--a kiss.

She could not even recall the last time she had kissed someone without an ulterior motive. She expected him to politely return it or to laugh and tell her to collect herself, not for him to bite her lip and slide his lips between hers like the whole damn earth might spin off course if he did not. His hands were soft in her hair and his hand slid down tracing over her cheek so that his fingers replaced his lips when he reluctantly pulled away.

“Put a pin in that, Sonja?”

“You mean like when I pinned you? Or what I pulled the pin on the grenade?”

“No explosions and no more beating me up.” He punctuated his sentence with a rushed kiss to her forehead. “Unless we can twist those into kinky things.”

“Oh, it’s possible,” Natasha called as she strolled past and climbed into the waiting black SUV.

Sonja gave his chest a push and took two controlled steps backwards simply because if she didn’t there was no guarantee either of them would be setting out on their respective journeys today.

“Goodbye,” Sonja said.

With a wink that sent her spiraling higher than the pyres of Moscow’s finest cathedrals Clint Barton was gone.

[archadianskies]

→ on Ao3

They had left it there to die. Simon dropped his basket, nearly tripping over the roots of the tree as he scrambled forward to reach the creature thrashing madly against its chains. A beautiful, otherworldly creature with slightly human features, large black wings and clawed hands and feet. 

The stench of burnt flesh was thick in the air and Simon didn’t need to touch the chains to know they were made of pure iron. The captive creature bled profusely from a bear trap clamped into its leg and a wide collar suffocating, burning , its throat while it clawed at it desperately. Its icy grey eyes were wide with terror, locking onto Simon and letting out a strangled cry. 

“It’s alright! It’s alright stay still!” Simon hushed, soothed it, empty palms held up to show he meant no harm. “Shhhh, everything’s going to be just fine.” He reached out, cupping the creature’s cheek and feeling soft feathers and wet tears against his palm. “Shhhh…”

The creature had its sharp teeth bared in a scowl though it ceased struggling, as if trying to gauge whether Simon was simply bluffing before delivering a killing blow. He stayed that way for a while, hushing it, soothing it, with soft gentle strokes. After a while it closed its eyes and leaned into his palm, and Simon brought up his other hand to pat its beautiful feathered hair. 

“You’re very far from home. Your kind aren’t meant to be out this way.” He murmured, shaking his head. “The hunters would’ve waited for you to either tire yourself out or die from self-inflicted wounds before carving you up. Your claws and teeth are worth a fortune, let alone your blood and feathers. You’re lucky a silly little witch found you instead, hm?”

He left it briefly to fetch his fallen basket, sorting through the freshly picked greenery to select a few before he returned to its side. “Here, chew on these.” He offered a handful of leaves, trying not to stare when the creature opened its mouth and he saw just how terrifying those teeth were up close. It plucked the leaves from his palm with surprising delicacy, scrunching up its nose in displeasure once it began chewing. Simon laughed, giving it an encouraging pat. “It’ll make you feel better and numb the pain. I’m going to begin undoing these chains, but it’ll take some time alright? Iron is impervious to most spells but there’s still a few up my sleeve that will break them.”

The creature nodded in understanding, shifting a little so Simon could reach its neck properly. There was something incredibly humbling about that gesture alone; a powerful creature offering its neck for aid with the very real possibility of betrayal. Not that Simon would ever do such a cruel, heartless thing. Resting his palms against the collar, he closed his eyes and poured his magic into the unyielding metal, wearing it down until it cracked and crumbled to harmless pieces onto the forest floor. Immediately the creature touched its bare throat gingerly, wincing in pain. 

“I can make a salve for you back at my home, but first let me get the trap from your leg.” Simon pointed at its left leg, and the creature adjusted its posture so it could prop up its leg on one of the larger tree roots. Fae blood shimmered, unlike the rich velvet colour of human blood; it was thinner, slippery and shiny, and also worth a fortune. There were witches out there who practiced blood magic using fae blood, and it was darker than anything Simon would ever be willing to craft. The extraction alone, the process of obtaining fae blood, was already too horrific for Simon to agree to. The hunters would have made enough to last half a lifetime with the spoils of their kill. Would have, if not for a meddling little witch.

Simon hid a smile as the trap crumbled to dust, stepping back so the creature could ease its leg back into a comfortable position. It tried to stand and winced, unable to put any weight on it, and Simon rushed forward to place his hands on its chest, pushing it to lean against the tree.

“No no, don’t. It’s alright. Like I said, I can make a salve for your injuries.” He picked up his basket just as he heard a twig snap somewhere. “The hunters-”

The creature surged forward, wrapping its arms around Simon and kicking off the ground, powerful wings beating as it flew them to safety. Simon clung on for dear life, arms wrapped around its neck though he was mindful not to touch the thick ring of raw burned flesh. When he could finally bear to look down, he scanned the environment below, trying to place himself.

“There!” He pointed at a cottage at the foot of the hills. “That’s my home!” There was no smoke puffing up from the chimney, so his brother would still be in town. Thankfully. Simon wasn’t sure how he would be able to explain a large fae creature in their home to Danny. 

When they landed, he half expected it to dart back up into the sky and flee, but instead it tucked its wings to its back and hobbled after him. Simon ushered it inside and busied himself with lighting a fire and finding his mortar and pestle to make fresh salve. The warmth seemed to soothe it, and it was comical watching it lower its massive form into a hulking curl by the fire. It made a soft pleased hum, and Simon giggled before he could help himself. The air filled with the scent of crushed herbs and the crackle of magic as Simon wove healing spells into the mixture. With careful fingers he spread the paste over its raw skin, conscientious when it hissed in pain. 

“You’re alright, you’re doing so very well.” Simon hushed, setting the bowl aside and patting its hair in a soothing, repetitive gesture. “You’ll feel better in no time.” The last of the adrenaline finally wore itself out, and exhaustion overwhelmed him. The creature tipped its head, icy grey eyes looking over him before it slowly reached out and slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him onto its lap. It unfurled its wings carefully, tucking them around like a set of dark curtains as it cradled Simon close. Shifting, he pressed his ear to its broad feathered chest and found that its heartbeat had a tempo much like his own. Simon slept.

*~*

“I’m uh- I’m just going to sit here, far away, and you’re going to tell me why there is not only a fae creature in our house, but also why you are using it as a bed.” Daniel’s voice roused him from sleep, and his eyes snapped open, locating his brother sitting on a chair pulled to the far end of the room. He looked up, seeing confusion on the creature’s face most likely because he and Daniel were identical.

“I found it in the forest while gathering supplies. The hunters had chained it up to die.” Simon pointed at its throat, at the ring of salve he’d spread over its broken skin. “They used pure iron. It was either going to burn to death or kill itself trying to escape.”

“So you brought it home?” A cocked brow.

“So I brought it home.” Simon echoed stubbornly, and Daniel sighed.  

“You know that’s one of the princes, right?” The stunned look on Simon’s face spoke otherwise, and Daniel sighed again. “That’s the younger one. The Knight. He’s the bigger one with grey eyes. The Crown Prince has garnet eyes.” 

“Why were you out in the forest so far from your kingdom?” Simon tipped his head up, and the prince averted his eyes. “Wait, why do you know what their eyes look like, Danny?”

“...I...may have met the Crown Prince once, when I travelled through the mountain pass as a shortcut back from the mushroom caves.” 

“Oh, so you tell me off for bringing one home when you’ve already gone and befriended the other?” Simon huffed, and Daniel rolled his eyes.

“We just spoke briefly, I don’t think that counts as ‘befriending’.” Daniel avoided his gaze, arms crossed defensively across his chest. “He was just sheltering from the storm because the downpour would’ve made it hard to fly. Anyway the mountain pass is way closer to their kingdom than our forest. Still have no clue as to why the Knight would be snooping around here.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s here and he’s going to stay until he’s well enough to stand again.” Simon rested his head back against his chest, and the prince hummed, curling one wing protectively around him. 

“His uh-” Daniel darted the prince a glance, only managing to hold that stormy grey gaze briefly. “His name is Ronan. The Crown Prince is Connor.” 

“Ronan.” Simon repeated with a smile, touching the soft short feathers at his hairline. Ronan chased the contact, pushing against his hand when Simon tried to draw it back. He laughed, threading his fingers tenderly into his feathered hair, touching the long thin pinions that mixed with the dark locks. 

“I am clearly interrupting something, so I’ll see myself to bed.” Daniel rolled his eyes, shaking his head as Simon squawked in protest. “I’m leaving before first light tomorrow, to make it to Ralph’s fields. He said the elderflowers are best harvested with morning dew drops, before they evaporate with the day’s sun.”

“More potent that way.” Simon added distractedly, scritching along Ronan’s scalp and laughing when the fae closed his eyes blissfully. “Be careful, then.”

“ You be careful. You’re the one with a prince inside our cottage.” Daniel scoffed, putting the chair back to the table and stalking off upstairs. 

“I think we’ll be just fine, hm?” Simon traced the long black talons on the ends of his fingers, and Ronan turned his hand palm side up so Simon could slide his hand into his. He’d get up to make them a late supper, eventually. For now he marvelled at how very soft he felt, and how Ronan’s chest rose and fell with each measured breath. A beautiful, deadly yet gentle creature- why would anyone think to destroy him for monetary gain?

 *~*

Having made good on his word, Daniel was long gone by the time Simon woke with dawn’s light. Ronan stirred at the movement, looking down at him with softness in those cold eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Simon cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing over the sharp jutt of his cheekbone. Ronan touched his throat and made an uncomfortable face. “I’ll make you a nice soothing tea. That should help with the tightness, and then I’ll make a fresh batch of salve.” Briefly, Ronan tightened his arms around Simon’s waist before letting him go, trailing him to the kitchen as if reluctant to let him out of his sight. There was a loaf of berry bread covered with a tea towel and a scribbled note from Daniel reminding him not to skip breakfast before tending to the day’s potion orders. Silly Danny, Simon thought fondly, as if he’d ever pass up an opportunity to eat his baked goods.

Losing himself to the mindless routine of brewing tea, Simon let his thoughts stray to his guest. What was a prince doing so far from home, so close to a town bustling with mortals ready to cut him down? And why was he nothing like the terrible tales told when they were children, of feathered beasts with no humanity, no mercy? Beasts that brave hunters slew to keep the town safe, wearing their feathers as a warning to keep the others at bay. If they were beasts, why did one shelter so harmlessly with Danny, passing hours with him with no violence between them? Why did this one touch him so gently, with hands that were meant to rip and tear and destroy? 

Meticulously pouring out the peppermint and honey tea, he passed Ronan a cup before pouring one for himself. The bread slices toasted crisply on the embers, and the smell of berries filled the kitchen with sweetness. They ate and Simon watched him, that looming creature of feathers and claws, picking up a mug with the greatest of care and sipping it between nibbles of toast. 

“Thank you.” Ronan whispered, voice scratchy and low. 

“You’re very welcome. Here, let me put more salve on your iron burns.” The prince tipped his head up, and Simon smoothed fresh paste over the now pinked skin, pleased that today it looked far less angry than yesterday. His leg looked better too, and he could put some measure of weight on it, though not for long. 

“Your poor brother will be worried, won’t he?” Simon frowned, knowing that if he failed to come home, Daniel would be distraught. “You should probably fly home tonight, after nightfall so the hunters won’t see you.”

Ronan nodded, mouth open to say something before a loud knock interrupted him. Without even thinking, Simon raised his voice. 

“Coming!” He winced, so used to answering the door for customers picking up their orders that he completely forgot he was meant to be harbouring a fae creature from sight. “Quick! Go upstairs, they mustn’t see you!” Shooing him away frantically, Simon waited until he disappeared upstairs before wrapping a shawl around his shoulders and opening the door. Three hunters looked at him with false pleasant smiles.

“Good morning, sir.” They removed their hats, heads inclined slightly in greeting. “Won’t bother you for too long. See, there was a beast we trapped in the forest and it seemed to have escaped.”

“Bound it in iron we did.” One of them added gruffly, eyeing Simon suspiciously. “Only a witch could’ve unmade those shackles.” 

“I am not the only witch who lives in this town.” Simon tried his best to sound like Daniel, to channel his irritated, unimpressed demeanour. 

“No sir, but you are the closest to the forest’s edge.” Another refuted with a cocked brow. “And witches that brew with fae blood craft the most potent, powerful potions.”

“You are sorely mistaken if you think I would ever slay a creature just to bleed it for use.” Simon hissed, the rage very real in his veins. Before anyone could get another word in, an arm slid around his waist from behind, and a very bare body pressed up against his back as a chin came to rest on his shoulder. Simon felt his cheeks burn.

“Who are these people, love?” Ronan growled, voice a rough scrape, face mostly hidden behind Simon’s head as he pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Hunters.” Simon tried his best to keep his voice light though his cheeks were flushed. “Thought I had something to do with freeing a creature they trapped in the woods. But I wasn’t anywhere near the woods yesterday, gentlemen. I had company over, you see.” They averted their eyes, suddenly losing their gruff intimidating behaviour in favour of embarrassed contrition.

“A-ah, sorry sir. We’ll be leavin’ now.”

“Yes, sorry to bother you both.”

“Have a nice day.”

Ronan reached out and shut the door in their face before Simon could reply. He whirled around to find a very large , very unfeathered , very naked man instead of the fae creature he’d been tending to that morning. Quickly looking away, Simon took a few deep breaths.

“Right. Um. Clothes. I will fetch you some clothes.” Simon said aloud mostly for his own benefit as he pointedly looked anywhere else instead of fixating on his not-so-fae-looking guest. Unable to help himself, because he was of course a mortal of flesh and blood, he glanced over only to find Ronan still standing there, an amused quirk on his lips as he regarded Simon coolly. Simon swallowed thickly and headed upstairs. 

 “I didn’t know you could do that.” Simon sat opposite him at the table as Ronan, now fully dressed, sipped on another cup of honey tea. He shrugged, expression mischievous. “At least you threw them off my tail completely. They’ll never suspect it was me now.”

The long workbench was populated with orders written on little slips of paper and bundles of herbs, plants, and flowers as well as rows of labelled bottles. A fat, well loved tome rested right in the middle. 

“The day’s only just beginning and you can’t fly home until it’s dark so how about you lend me a hand, hm?” Simon suggested, reaching over to rest his hand over his. “I could use some help with all these orders.”

The prince, Simon learned, made for an excellent assistant. He was precise and patient, quick to learn and obedient when given a task. The house filled with all sorts of smells, some sweet, some sour, some happy, some bitter. Simon wove his magic into each potion, each balm, each tonic, each salve. They paused for a lunch of garden vegetables and leftover beef pie Daniel had baked yesterday. There was something so easy about it all, something so calm and domestic about working side by side, about  eating across from each other. He wished it could last, but he knew it mustn’t. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Simon steeled himself for the inevitable parting. He packed a small pouch with a tin of salve and a little sachet of herbal tea.

“It’s best you get going now.” Simon offered him the pouch. “Make sure to apply this twice a day, and there’s some herbal tea that you can mix honey into, for your throat.”

Ronan undressed, Simon quickly pivoting for privacy and there was the unmistakable thrum of magic in the air. When he turned back around, the feathered fae prince blinked slowly at him. He followed him outside and slipped the cords of the pouch around his wrist, before curling against his chest briefly.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then.” Simon tried not to let the sadness seep into his voice. Ronan wrapped his arms around him tightly, and Simon embraced him in return. 

“Not goodbye forever.” He whispered, small smile on his handsome face. “Just goodbye for now.” A promise sealed with a kiss pressed to his lips.

Simon stepped back and watched him crouch down before leaping up into the air, wings unfurling for flight. He watched him soar high above, higher and higher until he vanished above the clouds. Heading back inside, Simon touched his lips with a smile, cheeks flushed with delight. Just a goodbye for now.

*~*

(Ronan looks like feathered Howl Jenkins.)

[nad-zeta]

Match up🎇

I’ve been in love with your IkeSen match up, and may I request on match-up as well? 😉 I’m an introverted teacher yet somehow my students didn’t believe it at all, since I can create a lively nuanse in classroom easily, yet I’m also well-known as a strict teacher whose her silent treatment is more infectious than any high-pitched scolding ever 😂. Apart from teaching, I found myself easy to approach others but a bit hard to be approached (or so they said xD). When it comes to romantic relationship, I try not to get involve too deeply again with men unless they’re serious enough to marry me. I love reading, drawing, and spending time inside my house. A thinker and planner but not a good executioner. I hope that’s enough for you. And thank you so much for taking your time to take upon my request! Have a wonderful day! 🍀✨

Hey there, love! Thank you so much for the request!❤ Soooooo sorry for taking forever to get it done! Hope you enjoy it dear 🎀

So I match you with……………….. Mitsuhide 

The first time you arrived in Azuchi, everyone instantly fell in love with you. You have such a soft sweet nature that even Hideyoshi couldn’t help but drop all suspicions against you. You were as friendly and kind as you were naïve, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the resident kitsune. He was instantly taken by you, since the moment his golden orbs first laid eyes on you. There was just something about your sweet introverted nature that he couldn’t ignore. And oooh, he loved to tease you, so he could see all your different facial expressions play across your face. One of his favorite ones, of course, was your small blush that would spread all across your face.

Everyone quickly noticed that you may need some help adjusting in this time period as you were much to naïve and innocent, a perfect target for anyone with ill intentions. Nobunaga proclaimed that his left-hand man would be the one to teach you some life skills to help you survive. You laughed at the irony of it all, the teacher now becoming the student. Its been a while since you’ve been a student. Your first lesson went horribly, in your opinion, you had gotten 0 on the common knowledge test that he had given you. However, he gave you 1 point for creativity for your answer to the question about what Nobunaga’s childhood name was. He laughed for a good 20 minutes at your answers of Nobie. 

He couldn’t help but be impressed with how studious you were; you seemed to grasp concepts quickly, even writing down a summary of everything he was saying for yourself to review later. You lived for moments when you would surprise Mitsuhide. Just when this sneki boi thought he had you figured out bam, you would do or say something to surprise him. When you had revealed that you yourself was a teacher back in your hometown, he was most amused. The two of you decided to teach each other. Mitsuhide would teach you politics, economics, self-defense, and horse riding. And you taught Mitsuhide linguistic and everything you knew about that subject. As the two of you continued spending time with each other and teaching each other different topics, you found that you seemed to levitate towards him. You low key started falling in love with him

Although Mitsuhide wouldn’t admit it, he to had fallen in love with the little mouse who has broadened his horizons so much, long ago! As you were now so well versed in the happenings of Azuchi, Nobunaga decided to give you some more responsibility. He knew from the few conversations the two of you shared that you were an intelligent woman, so he declared that you were to help Mitsuhide with getting his official documents done on time. Mitsuhide was many things, but good at admin was not one of them. He would fall behind in handing in reports as he would be so occupied with gathering information and keeping Azuchi safe from the shadows. You, of course, were overjoyed at this task as your lessons with the man were starting to come to an end. 

The two of you would now sit together in his room writing, he would let you answer and fill out the easier reports while he would do those that were more secretive and critical. One day as you were sitting opposite him at his writing desk, a snow-white fox gracefully walked its way into Mitsu’s room. You hadn’t noticed the fox until the playful critter hopped onto the desk and grabbed the document you were busy with. The little thing then ran into the garden with it. You chased after her trying to get your work back. 

Mitsuhide chucked at the whole scene, he knew the little fox he kept was a playful little thing and would often pull this stunt when she was asking for some attention. The fox hopped around the garden as if teasing you with the papers she held in her mouth. You were so distracted by the little critter that you fell into the pond. The fox looked at you apologetically before scurrying off back to her den. Mitsuhide was now in full-blown laughter, walking towards you. “You look like a drowned little mouse”. You knew Mitsuhide well enough to know he too, like a fox, had a playful spirit, so you decided to splash him. You broke out in laughter as he was now soaking wet. “Takes one to know one, dear.” He gave you his slyest grin and cannonballed into the water. He then started ticking you. The two of you played in the pond the rest of the afternoon, duties long forgotten. 

As the sun started dipping down, the weather started cooling down. Mitsuhide picked you up and carried you back to his room. He called for the maids to draw each of you a nice warm bath. After your bathes, you put on Mitsuhide’s oversized clothes while yours hung to dry. Your hair was still soaking wet. When you walked back into Mitsuhide’s room, he grabbed you by the hand and lead you to sit on the pillow in front of him. He then gently dried your hair for you. You couldn't help but relish in the feeling of his slender fingers gently playing with your now dried hair. Sometime during the small intimate moment, the two of you shared the little fox made its way back into the room, carrying the stolen paper. She placed them down in front of you and looked at you as if to apologize for the trouble she caused. Mitsuhide smiled at the little fox and pet her head as if to say all is forgiving. The little thing then decided to curl up in your lap, she squeaked and barked at you until you pet her silky soft fur.

Somewhere between the relaxing feeling of Mitsuhide playing with your hair and the soft, warm fox sleeping in your lap, you felt yourself drifting off. Mitsuhide couldn’t help but laugh at the sleepy mouse. He gently cradled your head to rest comfortably on his shoulder and then picked you up and carried you to his futon. He tucked you in and gave your forehead a small little kiss. Just when did he fall so madly in love with the little mouse now resting in his bed.

Days passed as the two of you worked together, and with each passing day, you were falling deeper and deeper in love with the sweet kitsune. One day as you were sitting next to him, writing out documents as you had done a thousand times before, when you suddenly put down the brush and looked up at Mitsuhide. Mitsuhide looked up and gave you the softest look and smiled at you “What is it little mouse, would you like a break. I could make the two of us some tea if you’d like”. Mitsuhide is a master at teasing, so you were nervous to confess your feelings. What gave you strength and hope was the conversation you had had with Masamune a few days ago. He had stated that he had never seen Mitsuhide so happy or give anyone such a gentle soft look. Even Ieyasu chimed in saying they had never seen the snek give anyone a genuine smile before, until they saw him with you. You balled your fist and before you could speak Mitsuhide put his long finger over your lips “you know who I am mouse,” “I do,” “You know that I have done terrible things in my life and that I am by no means a good man,” “I know, and I don’t care,” “You know that I cannot change, and will always have to be the man living and working from the shadows.” It was now your turn to place a finger over Mitsuhide’s lips. “I know Mitsu, and I still love you. I know that you are also the sweetest, kindest, gentlest fox that I have ever met. I also know that you are probably going to give me grey hairs from all your teasing. Either way, I love you, Mitsu”. He gave you one of his rare sweet smiles and kissed you, it had been the first time he had kissed you on the lips.

The two of you made the sweetest couple. You would often spend time together in his room. Whenever he would be out and about doing his information gathering, you would stay up reading, waiting for him to come home. He loved playing in the garden with you and the little fox, just letting go of all the worries and cares in the world, to spend time with his two beloved girls. Mitsu loves nothing more than to kiss you and will often drop sweet little kisses on your cheek, forehead, or nose whenever the two of you are together. Before Mitsuhide would leave on a mission that would take an especially long time you would draw him a picture to act as a lucky charm. Mitsuhide would treasure the sketch and gaze at it whenever he was missing you. When he would come home, he would spoil you rotten with the sweetest kisses and caresses.

Other potential matched……………… Mitsunari 

 Thanx so much for the request love I hope you enjoyed it! ❤

[meteora-writes]

We Could Be Perfect One Last Night ch.2

Fandom: Hannibal Pairing: Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter Warnings: Blood, Slight Gore, Description Of Wounds, Minor Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff if you squint Chapter: 2. Settle This Affair Description: Will wakes to find himself in a strange place with a lot to think about. Authors Notes: I almost named this chapter Take My Hand instead. Too many good song lyrics to pick from for titles.  Read on AO3 

~~~~~ Read Chapter 1~~~~~~

Will wakes with a gasp, his whole body momentarily curling in on itself as every nerve fires in pain upon regaining consciousness.

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know he isn’t anywhere even remotely familiar. There’s a hard tile floor beneath him. The sensation of clothes that definitely aren’t his own rubbing against his skin. And a heavy blanket that feels nothing like his or the ones from his hotel or even a hospital covers him from chest to toe. 

His head feels like it’s been split open. Pain radiating out from below the corner of his right eye through his mouth and the rest of his skull. All he can taste and smells is blood. It seeps lazily from his tongue and the roof of his mouth to be absorbed by a thick roll of gauze that takes up half of his mouth. And his shoulder feels like it’s on fire, and he thinks he might have damage to the tendons or nerves. A tremor going down his right arm when he tries to move it, making his hand twitch out of his control.

He feels like he’s been thrown through a plate glass window. Or off a moving train. Either or.

It takes a moment, but the soft sound of breathing beside him finally draws Will’s attention from his overwhelmed senses. Cracking open hazy blue eyes, he turns his head to his left to find Hannibal lying crumpled on the floor beside him. He’s in clothes that don’t look like anything from his own wardrobe, with his body twisted like he fell unconscious rather than laid down of his own volition. One arm pinned beneath him awkwardly and the other outstretched with his hand clutching a corner of the down-filled navy blanket that covers Will tightly in its grasp.

Looking over Hannibal’s face, his confusion clears and he remembers the events leading up to the moment he lost consciousness.

Dolarhyde attacking the police escort. Hannibal taking one of the cruisers and bringing them to his secret home by the sea. Waiting for Dolarhyde to arrive. Hannibal being shot through the back as he poured them both a glass of wine. Dolarhyde attacking Will with a knife. Will and Hannibal both fighting back. Taking him down together. The blood. Holding each other in the moonlight after and marveling at the beauty of it all…

Then the fall.

He’s honestly not sure if it was actually a fall or if he pushed them over the edge in the final moment before he lost consciousness. He just knows they had to get away from that place. Away from the Dragon and out of Jack’s grasp. Even if that meant dying...

With a groan of pain, Will pushes himself up to a sitting position, the heavy blanket falling around his waist to reveal a soft grey t-shirt and blue jeans that are just a bit too big for him. His whole body singing with pain from bruises and scrapes where Dolarhyde threw him around like a rag doll. 

He needs to find out where they are. How they got here.

The most likely explanation is Hannibal. He must have gotten them both to shore. To someplace safe and warm. Tended to their injuries.

He reaches up and carefully brushes his fingers over the bandage on his cheek, feels the stitches beneath it. Then the ones in his shoulder. He has no doubt Hannibal is the one who took care of him. And from the looks of it probably to his own disbenefit.

There’s blood staining the back of Hannibal’s shirt where it’s seeped through the bandages from his gunshot wound. Turning the already dark material from a deep navy blue to an ugly wet black. When he notices it he reaches out and places a hand on the other man’s shoulder and shakes it gently. “Hannibal?”

There’s no response, not even a twitch. A spike of worry hits him, and he checks Hannibal’s pulse, finding it slow but somewhat steady beneath his fingertips. Who knows how long he was conscious after Will passed out. How much more blood he lost getting them here. It’s no wonder he’s out like a light right now.

Looking around, Will spots the sewing and first aid kits Hannibal had been using rest on the lid of the toilet on the opposite side of them. He knows enough from being a cop to at least temporarily close up a bullet wound.

It’s a little awkward, but he gets the older man laying on his stomach, his cheek resting on the towel Will had been using as a pillow as Will rucks his shirt up enough to look at the bloody ace bandage and mock pressure dressing Hannibal had used to tend to his wound.

Both are soaked through, and after a moment’s digging, he finds a small pair of scissors to cut through the bandage so he can remove both. There are some steri-strips at the bottom of the medical supplies. They’re nowhere near as good as stitches. But after he gets enough blood wiped away he manages to get the wound mostly closed with them. Once that’s taken care of he puts the last of the gauze from the kit over them and tapes it in place

Rolling Hannibal onto his back after he’s taken care of is difficult, especially trying to do so without ripping his stitches. But he manages eventually and checks the dressing over the exit wound on his abdomen before pulling the blanket he had covered Will with earlier over him.

Once he’s certain Hannibal is really alright and isn’t going to be waking up for at least a little while. Will forces himself to stand on shaking legs and wanders out of the bathroom.

The house they’re in his small. Barely warm where the bathroom had been near sweltering. And there are very few lights on. Just the one in the hallway the bathroom opens into, a small lamp where it meets the living room, and the hood light above the kitchen stove.

It’s still night time. And when he finds the back door where it resides in the kitchen, he sees the ocean through gaps in the trees beyond the far edge of the yard. The moon is still high enough in the sky that he can surmise it hasn’t been too long since they fell. Maybe an hour at most?

They must have come ashore nearby. Hannibal had to have carried him all the way up from there. Gotten them inside and both warmed and taken care of despite his own blood loss and injuries.

He can see it in his mind from Hannibal’s perspective. Picking him up after making it out of the freezing water and onto the shore, walking along the beach until they reach the clearing in the trees that leads to this house. There’s no sign of broken glass or smashed in doors. A key was found and used. Then he brings him inside before warming them both in the shower. He takes care in getting them both dried off and stitched back together. Hannibal passing out after making sure Will would be warm and safe. “This is my design,” he mutters as he closes his eyes.

The train of thought sends a shiver down his spine. That Hannibal still cared to save him after everything that they’ve been through. Everything they’ve done to each other.

He’s accepted how he feels for Hannibal. That it’s so much stronger than anything he’s ever felt for another person. Even Molly and Wally… He feels a pang of guilt at the thought of them. He does love them. But the pull to Hannibal is so much stronger. The way he makes him feel is so much stronger. He spent so long fighting it and now… Now he doesn’t want to. He’s certain that he couldn’t again even if he tried. 

Swallowing hard, he makes himself turn back from the door and further inspect his surroundings. They likely can’t stay here for very long. Probably too close to Hannibal’s cottage. The FBI could come through at any time searching for them. And he knows there’s no getting out of going to jail or the mental hospital after what he’s done. It was too savage. So far beyond what was necessary to survive.

He could have just stabbed Dolarhyde someplace vital and been done with it. Called it self defense. Could have distracted him in some way while Hannibal ripped his throat out with his teeth unassisted. He chose to participate. To gut the man that tried to kill him. Tried to kill Molly and Wally. To tear into him like the animal he had become. 

Will tries to force the train of thought to end there. He can still see it all. Feel the drag of the knife as it cut through him. The slick, warm sensation of blood on his skin.

The fridge and cupboards still have a few sparse items in them from the owner’s last stay. Only a few of which are expired. And he snags a rather large bottle of juice out of the fridge to sip as he continues his search. He’s a little light-headed from blood loss. Too shaky in his movements for his own comfort. He rationalizes the sugar will help. And the artificially enhanced taste of apple cuts the taste of blood for the moment at least.

There isn’t much left in the house of use from what he can tell. Some clothes in the two bedrooms and an old Remington rifle likely used for duck hunting. There’s a box of bird-shot stored with it in the coat closet and Will eyes them appraisingly a moment before closing the closet door. A small part of him wants to take them, but he doesn’t want to tempt fate given the night they’ve had.

He ends up drinking half of the juice as he picks through clothes in search of ones that will fit both himself and Hannibal better as well as provide additional warmth. Winter is drawing to an end but it’s still fairly cold out. He only manages to pick out a few things before his focus slips too far to regain. The pain in his head is making it too difficult to do anything for long. So he gives up and leaves the half-drunk juice in the bathroom by Hannibal along with a new shirt for when he wakes.

There’s one last door at the end of the hallway, and it leads into a garage. It’s hard to see, the light from the hall not reaching in very far. There’s mostly junk piled up as far as he can tell. Two kayaks, some folding chairs, a stack of life jackets, boxes full of what look like lawn games for children and ... And something large under a trap by the bay door.

Will makes his way over, careful not to knock over any of the other objects he can’t quite make out in the dark. Once he’s close enough he smiles, then winces from the pull of his stitches, as he realizes what’s under the dusty blue material.

The motorcycle is old. Older than Will anyway. Something made in the late ‘60s or early ‘70s if he had to guess from the look of it. Well taken care of and big enough for two to ride easily. For a moment he wonders if it still runs, but then he spots the can of gas nearby and the newer looking helmets and he figures it must. He can give starting it a try once Hannibal is awake.

Almost as if he knew he was being thought of, Will finds Hannibal sitting up when he comes back to the bathroom a few minutes later. He’s resting with his back to the wall, new shirt on and hand holding his side over his bullet wound as he sips from the bottle of juice Will left for him.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal greets in his usual warm way, casual as ever while offering a tired smile.

“How are-” Will starts to ask, everything coming out a bit distorted around the bloody cotton in his mouth. He grimaces. Shifts it around so it’s still pressing against his stab wound, but taking up less space as he pushes it closer to his teeth with his tongue. “How are you feeling?” he tries again, words sounding much clearer now.

“As if I’ve just fallen from a cliff,” Hannibal replies lightly, his smile growing a bit wider. “It’s good to see you up and about so soon, Will. Are you feeling quite alright?”

Will moves to slump against the wall and slid down to sit beside Hannibal with a tired look to the other man. “I’ve been better,” he says with a mirthless chuckle. “That was…”

“Spectacular…?” Hannibal supplies when Will comes up short.

Tilting his head to the side, Will locks eyes with Hannibal, icy blue meeting honey brown. “I was going to say exhausting, but that works too.” The small laugh Hannibal gives at those words makes Will relax considerably, even despite his unease he generally feels when holding eye contact. There’s an understanding in Hannibal’s eyes that he’s never seen from anyone else. It’s part of what makes Will feel so drawn to him. Will doesn’t have to be able to envision things from Hannibal’s perspective to know he feels something similar when Will looks back.

“Were you able to find anything else of use in your exploration?” Hannibal asks after a moment of comfortable silence passes between the two.

Will looks away to glance out the open door. “Some clothes and a box of crackers that aren’t expired yet.” He looks back to Hannibal and smiles despite the spike of pain it brings. “And a motorcycle in the garage.”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at that bit of information. “Our means of escape?”

“Maybe,” he pauses to reach out and takes the bottle of juice from Hannibal’s hand to snag a drink for himself. The taste of blood is grating at his senses, that mixed with the pain in his face and shoulder makes it hard to focus, and talking makes it all the harder to ignore. “I didn’t try to start it yet.”

“And if it doesn’t run?” The question sounds simple enough, but Will gets the faintest sense of concern from it.

“I can probably get it running if it isn’t already. It can’t be too different from fixing a boat engine,” he tries to rationalize, more to himself than to Hannibal. He’s sure he could fix it if needed. Assuming they find the tools and parts needed. And he somehow doubts the owners of the cottage would leave all of those things here unattended. Even if they did leave the bike in the first place.

To Will’s surprise, after eyeing him carefully a moment Hannibal shifts beside him before pushing himself to his feet. He wobbles a moment, bracing himself on the wall before correcting his balance and stepping over to the sink. Once there he opens the medicine cabinet, digging around a bit before he turns and tosses a small bottle to Will.

It’s Tylenol. Nothing special. But it’s better than nothing. “Thanks,” Will says before dumping three in his hand and downing them with another gulp of juice. When he’s done he holds both bottles out to Hannibal, who studies them appraisingly before mirroring Will’s actions and downing three with the last of the sugary beverage.

“We shouldn’t waste time. My summer home is only a mile away by sea, and not much further by the roadways. Jack has no doubt found it by now, along with what remains of our Dragon.” Hannibal holds out a hand for Will in offering then. The expression on his face is one of the most open ones Will has ever seen from him. There’s a question there. Silently asking Will if he’s going to choose him, or try and go back to the life he’s built in the three years he’s stayed away.

He takes Hannibal’s hand and feels a shiver pass through him at Hannibal referring to Dolarhyde as their Dragon. Like he’s a work of art they created together. He truly did look like a dragon when they were finished with him. Laid out in the moonlight surrounded by wings of his own blood... It was a stunning sight.

Pushing past the thought, Will lets his hand slip from Hannibal’s, and the two make their way out of the small bathroom and into the garage. It takes some looking, but they find the light switch and dig around until they come up with two leather jackets and a funnel to gas up the bike with.

It takes a few tries, and Hannibal correcting Will on how to properly start it, but they get it running. Will cuts the engine and climbs off the bike with a small feeling of hope starting to bubble up deep inside his chest. “We should see if there’s anything else worth taking before we leave.”

Hannibal simply nods his agreement before turning to reenter the house first, Will following close behind.

They manage to find a few more articles of clothes to help them fend against the cold. Sweaters and thick socks hidden away deep in a closet. Things the owners likely stored here to use in the fall. And amusingly enough there is a small stash of cash hidden in a Hello Kitty cookie jar that had made Hannibal make a brief face of disdain upon touching it. They throw on the extra clothing, grateful for the extra layers, and pocket the cash.

It’s agreed after some debate that Will should be the one to drive, as Hannibal’s injuries will make it hard for him to maintain the proper balance to control the bike correctly; even though he’s apparently got years of experience doing so where Will has only ever ridden a motorcycle once and that was back in college. 

Will feels an odd mix of emotions as Hannibal climbs onto the bike behind him and wraps his arms tightly around his waist. Anxiety. Worry. Hope. Excitement. He leans into Will. Envelops him from behind in a way that feels so incredibly intimate that it steals Will’s breath and pulls him back into the moment.

Then Hannibal gives him a squeeze to let him know he’s situated on the back of the bike. Will starts the engine and turns his head enough to make sure Hannibal is certain. He more feels than sees the nod he gets in answer. And with that, he kicks off and they ride off into the waiting dark of night.

Read Chapter 3

[gayhousekeeping]

Stocking Your Supply Closet

It’s hard to keep your living space clean if you don’t have the right supplies on hand. Maybe you wandered through your local grocery store’s cleaning aisle and came away empty-handed, unsure what to buy amidst the excessive bounty of choices; maybe you have a few miscellaneous bottles under your sink, but you can’t remember which cleaning agent is for your bathroom and which one is for your kitchen. Either way, you have no idea what you need to jump-start the cleaning process, and you’re tempted to give up before you’ve even started.

Well, worry no more–your resident clean freak has compiled a list of the best tools and cleaners for stocking your supply closet. As a clean freak, my list may seem pretty long to some people, but these are all things that I use frequently and many of them serve multiple purposes. You don’t need to get all of them at once, and may find alternatives to some, but I do recommend building up a stockpile of core items and replenishing your supply whenever it gets low. Having the necessary items on hand will make it that much easier to clean as you go and tackle messes when they pop up.

And so, here’s a glimpse into in my supply closet:

(I’ve included some links to product pages in order to describe certain items better. I’m not affiliated with any of these sites and I don’t make any kind of money for promoting purchases, so please don’t feel compelled to buy things from these stores. Most of these products are fairly ubiquitous and can be found at any major supermarket or store that stocks cleaning supplies.)

The Basics

Baking Soda and Vinegar: Baking soda and white vinegar are at the top of my list because they’re cheap, safe, and extremely effective. Used separately or in tandem, baking soda and vinegar (or, as my girlfriend and I like to call it, BSV) can be used to clean almost anything in your living space–often in ways you’d never imagine. I keep a big bag of baking soda (like this) and a gallon of white vinegar (like this) in my pantry at all times.

Scrubbing Sponges: You probably already have some sort of sponge sitting at the edge of your kitchen sink for cleaning dishes. These sponges, especially the kind with a scrubbing pad on one side, are your fist line of defense against household filth and are useful for almost any task. I’m normally a fan of buying generic-brand products whenever possible, but when it comes to sponges I swear that Scotch-Brite works best–their scrubbing pads seem to last longer than other brands and don’t get all gross after one use. That’s just a matter of preference, though, and any sponge of your choosing will do. I tend to use heavy-duty sponges, but if you’re concerned about leaving marks on your tub or counters, you should probably use a non-scratch scrubbing sponge instead.

Vacuum (one-time purchase): If you don’t already have one, buying a vacuum is a much larger investment than anything else on this list, but a good vacuum is your best friend for cleaning and will last you years and years if you treat it properly. I won’t go into the minutiae of vacuum-buying now, because that warrants its own post, but I recommend any upright corded vacuum with a handheld wand for those hard-to-reach places. My mid-range vacuum of choice is the Hoover WindTunnel, which is powerful, easy to maintain, and extremely reliable, but you can use literally anything as long as it’s a vacuum.

Sweeper Mop (one-time purchase) and Refill Pads: Mopping the “regular” way sucks big time. Nobody wants to deal with a bucket full of dirty chemical water and a dripping mop head that leaves uneven muddles all over the floor. Lucky for you, you don’t have to! That’s why I’m a total shill for the Swiffer Sweeper mop, which makes mopping a downright breeze. (I promise they’re not paying me to say that. But Swiffer, if you’re reading this… let’s talk.) The mop kit itself is a one-time purpose and is super cheap, takes less than a minute to assemble, and weighs basically nothing. Instead of dipping the mop in a bucket, you attach disposable pads to the functional end of the mop and throw them out when you’re done, which eliminates nearly all hassle from the mopping process. The mop pads come in two flavors: dry pads, which let you “sweep up” large particles and are good to use on an area before your mop (although it’s not as effective as simply vacuuming the area), and wet pads, which are pre-moistened with a cleaning agent comparable to that of a regular mop (but less noxious and far less messy). Though the dry pads can be nice, the wet pads are what you really want, and they’re safe to use on almost all kinds of hard flooring.

Personally, I love mopping this way, but there are a few downsides to be aware of. First of all, the mop pads are very effective at cleaning mild to moderately dirty floors, but just by their nature they won’t be as penetrating as diluted bleach or Pine-Sol. If your floors aren’t too dirty and you stay on top of the cleaning, mop pads are perfectly adequate; however, if you go long times without mopping, or you wear shoes in the house and have grimier floors, this may not be the best option for you. Another thing to consider is that it will take multiple mop pads to clean large areas, since each mop pad only holds a limited amount of cleaning liquid. My living space is about 950 square feet, all of it hard flooring, and it takes me about seven or eight mop pads to clean the entire unit. You may not need quite as many, but I personally like to pop a new one on the mop every time my current mop pad starts turning a little grey and losing its wetness. The refill pads aren’t too expensive if you buy them in large quantities, but if you don’t like the idea of shelling out for a new pack of mop pads every month, then a traditional mop may suit your needs better.

Disinfecting Wipes: Plain old disinfecting wipes are good for almost everything. I use these religiously for keeping countertops, door handles, sink faucets, and any other high-traffic surfaces free from germs.

Cleaning Agents

Bar Keepers Friend: I used to be a diehard fan of Comet (or sometimes Ajax in a pinch), but I recently found out that Comet is too abrasive for most surfaces and contains some less-than-optimal chemicals for extended use. Bar Keepers Friend is a better alternative that’s safe to use on surfaces that are prone to scratching (like stainless steel and certain types of quartz and porcelain), but lifts grime as well as other, more abrasive cleaners. When used with those sponges I mentioned earlier, BKF is great for scrubbing sinks, tubs, and countertops. Since it doesn’t contain bleach, BKF is somewhat safer than its alternatives, but you still need to be careful. With any sort of cleaner you should always work in a well-ventilated area to minimize fumes (and take breaks to get fresh air), keep the cleaner away from your skin and face as much as possible, and thoroughly wipe away all traces of the cleaner when you’re finished.

Toilet Wand (one-time purchase) and Refills: Cleaning your toilet is a pretty gross task, especially if you have to keep a gross old toilet brush on hand. Thankfully, there’s a more sanitary option: the Clorox Toilet Wand. The wand attaches to these disposable sponge-like heads that let you clean the inside of your toilet bowl, then toss the soiled head and store the wand for later use. You will have to buy refill heads once you run out, but unless you’re cleaning your toilet every single day, each pack should last you a while.

Multi-Surface Cleaning Spray: The toilet wand is great for cleaning the inside of your toilet bowl, but the best way to clean the rest of your toilet is with an all-purpose disinfectant spray. I like this Clorox spray, which does contain some bleach (and therefore must be used sparingly and with ventilation), but nearly any disinfectant spray of your choice will work just fine. Just spray some of the solution into a paper towel, wipe the area of your choosing, and repeat (with a fresh paper towel on each pass, of course) until you’ve cleaned the whole thing! You can also use the disinfectant wipes that I mentioned above for a less-thorough cleaning, but I recommend using a spray cleaner at least every other time you clean the toilet. 

Glass Cleaner: For windows and mirrors, your multi-surface spray won’t do; you’ll need a streak-free glass cleaner like Windex. The only time I really use Windex is for cleaning mirrors (which get covered in fingerprints and splash marks near the sink), so I like to use these pre-moistened Windex wipes. If you plan on using a lot of glass cleaner, buying a regular spray bottle will be more thorough and cost-effective, but these wipes are a good option if you only anticipate needing them occasionally. A single pack of wipes will last me about three months, and I clean our mirrors fairly often.

Bleach: Used (very) sparingly, straight bleach can be an effective cleaning agent and disinfectant. However, I tend to treat bleach as my last line of defense and only use it when other methods have failed (which is very rare). Mixing bleach with other cleaning agents can be VERY dangerous, and you should never ever mix bleach and ammonia, bleach and vinegar, or bleach and rubbing alcohol. Always use bleach in a well-ventilated area. 

Other Items

Gloves: If you’re concerned about the effects of harsh chemicals on your skin, you might want to buy some gloves for cleaning.

Handi Wipes: I don’t really know how to describe these things, and I’ve never seen anyone else ever use them, but my mom always used Handi Wipes when I was a kid and now I swear by them. They’re basically reusable cleaning rags, almost like a very thin cloth sponge, and I use them for washing dishes and cleaning surfaces. Unlike a regular sponge, which can take lots of squeezing and rinsing to fully wring out, these Handi Wipes don’t require much effort to rinse out, which makes them very useful for wiping down a sudsy countertop. I like to use them in conjunction with a cleaning sponge, where I use the sponge to apply the cleaning agent and the Handi Wipe (rinsed between each use) to wipe it away. I usually toss the Handi Wipe once it starts getting gross (and after a Handi Wipe has been used with harsh chemicals, I never use it for washing dishes, although the reverse is fine), but you can even throw a damp Handi-Wipe in the microwave for fifteen seconds to sanitize it for further use.

Putting It All Together

Take a deep breath--you made it to the end of the list! It may seem like a lot all at once, especially if you don't have most of these items already, but stocking your supply closet goes a long way. Once you have an arsenal of cleaning supplies at your disposal, you'll be ready to clean whenever the need arises.

[lordsister]

Here You Come Again (Levi Ackerman x Reader) College!/Modern!AU

A/N: Because I love Dolly Parton so much, I wrote a Levi fic based off of one of her songs (link below). Enjoy!^^

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jel1HB3j2N0

I do not own Attack on Titan, any of its characters, or the song “Here You Come Again” by the lovely Dolly Parton.

My ko-fi: ko-fi.com/lordsister

Stepping off the train and into the sunlight, you took a moment to simply breath in the clean, sea air, letting a smile grace your face. Closing your eyes, you tipped your head back and felt the sun on your skin. It'd only been a few months since the last time you'd been home, but it felt like too long. Whatever sunlight you felt in the city was weak and sparse compared to this.

Opening your eyes, you continued walking with a new spring in your step, excitement coursing through your veins. Finally, you had the whole summer to spend time with your family, revisit your old stomping grounds, and, most importantly, not have to worry about due dates and mountains of essays. You could barely wait to see your old high school friends and catch up! Social media didn't compare to actual face-to-face at all.

A familiar face appeared in your mind at the thought of the people you loved and missed before you could think better of it and you pushed it away just as quickly.

You'd gotten over him. He and you had gone your separate ways. He didn't matter anymore...

"(Y/N)!!!" You barely had time to turn around before a brown streak slammed into you, knocking you off your feet and sending your suitcase and backpack flying. "(Y/n)!!!" Hanji whined, pressing her face into your chest as you groaned. "I missed you so much!!! What took you so long to get here?!" Taking note of your winded state, the brunette woman gasped. "(Y/n)?! Are you okay?!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right." Moving to sit up, you returned Hanji's choking embrace. Despite the lingering pain in your back and neck, you really were happy to see your old partner in crime.   "I missed you so much, Hanji!" It'd been too long since the two of you had schemed together, having gone to separate universities. Separating, you let her grab your suitcase as you picked up your backpack, following her to an old jeep parked on the side of the road. "How've you been? Zoology treating you well?"

"Are you kidding? Zoology's the love of my life!" A teasing smile stretched her cheeks and she nudged your shoulder with her own. "Just like a certain shorty we both know is yours."

"Hanjiiii!" Sighing, you murmured, "You and I both know that's never going to happen." Trying to give her a bright smile, you said, "Besides! I'm over him now. I've gotten myself together."

She gave you a skeptical look. "That so?"

"Yep!"

"Hmm..." She puffed her cheeks out in a childish pout. "Don't get me wrong, Petra's a nice girl and all, but you were always the better choice for Levi."

You rolled your eyes. "Whatever you say." 'In the end it didn't matter, did it? He still went out with her.' A small sigh of relief passed your lips as she dropped the subject, popping open the trunk and loading your stuff inside. Now that the topic had come up though, you didn't seem to be able to force your mind off of him. Levi Ackerman was still there in your subconscious, in all his cool beauty, as statuesque as the last day you saw him, only one thing was different as you thought of him. Your heart was yours now. Not his.

Slipping your feet out of your sandals, you carried them as you walked, flexing your toes in the wet sand. Brushing your hair behind one ear, you took a moment to admire the ocean at night. The moon always looked so beautiful over the waves, highlighting the churning water and subtle shift of the horizon.

It'd been wonderful to see your family and friends again but you wanted to get away from the excitement for a little while, deciding to take a stroll on the beach not far from your house. The place held so many memories from your childhood and teenage years, both good and bad...

The moon shone high in the sky, nearing its zenith, but you and Levi still sat on the sand, staring across the water in uncomfortable silence.

Hanji had been with the two of you earlier, but had since gone home, saying something about getting up early that was quite obviously an excuse to give the two of you time alone together. At this point, you weren't sure if being alone with Levi was a good thing or a bad thing. Your heart said it was a good thing, seeing as you were in love with him and all, but your head wasn't quite as agreeable, drawing attention to every little thing and making you too anxious to say more than a few words and sneak glances at him out of the corner of your eye.

When had it become so hard for you to hold a normal conversation with him? One day, you were friends, doing normal "just friends" things, and the next, bam! Instant blush whenever you saw him and uncontrollable heart palpitations.

Of course, Hanji knew before you even realized it that you were in love with Levi. When you'd confided your newfound feelings for your mutual friend, she'd jumped right in, asking what your game plan was to win "shorty's heart." You hadn't had one, and still didn't really have one, but any chance she got, Hanji managed to get you and him alone together, urging you to spill your heart to him.

"(Y/n)." You jolted at the sound of your name, head snapping up to look at him even as he kept his gaze on the horizon.

"Y-Yes!" you managed to say a little too enthusiastically.

"I think I'm going to go out with Petra."

Your first reaction was to look away, act like those few words didn't shatter your heart and knock the air from your lungs. "O-Oh."

"What do you think?"

Could he be any more cruel? "I-If that's what you want, go for it!" You smiled at him so widely it masked the tears gathering in your eyes, but you rose before he could see through your facade as Levi undoubtedly would. "Well, it's getting late. I should get going."

"(Y/-"

"I'll see you later, Levi, okay?" Your voice trembled, but you continued to smile through the tears as you walked away, abandoning your plans to confess. Part of you hoped he would call your name, tell you it was a lie, grab you up in his arms and hold you close, anything that would keep you from leaving and having to tear your heart away from that which it longed for so badly.

But he didn't and you resolved yourself against wasting any more time loving him.

That was the last time you saw him before leaving for college, deliberately avoiding him as you tried to piece together the shards of your heart and pick yourself back up again.

Just this once, you allowed yourself the luxury to imagine what it would've been like if you and Levi actually had worked out in high school, if you'd actually gotten together on that summer night so long ago instead of had your heart torn to bits. Such a world was almost too wonderful to imagine.

"(Y/n)?"

Your gaze snapped from the ocean to the man standing only a few feet away, and your heart just about stopped. How fitting, to meet him here again. Levi hadn't changed a bit in the year you hadn't seen him, the same sculpted face, pale skin, dark undercut. He still looked better than a body had a right too. His storm-grey eyes were wide as he looked at you, faint surprise crossing his features.

Deep down, you felt your traitorous heart throb in response to him and you clenched your teeth, trying to calm yourself. Here he came again, just when you were about to get yourself together after his rejection, and just like that ever defense you had built against him began to crumble.

It wasn't fair at all.

Unwilling to let him see what effect he had on you, you pasted a friendly, if a little chilly, smile on your face. "Hi, Levi. It's been a while, hasn't..." The words died on your lips when you saw him smile at you. In all the years you had known Levi, you'd only seen him smile a handful of times but here he was, actually smiling, just by looking at you.

He wasn't fair at all.

The ravenette moved towards you, pale skin seeming to glow in the moonlight, and you panicked as the rest of your defenses fell, completely disarmed by that loving smile he was giving you. "(Y/-"

"NO!" Levi reeled back at your outburst, eyes wide. "You don't get to just waltz right in and wrap my heart around your finger just like you did before!" God, what were you saying? He was messing up your mind.

"(Y/n), what are you-"

"NO!" you shouted again, turning away from him and wrapping your arms around yourself as all the old wounds you'd thought had healed reopened. "I am NOT doing this again!"

Strong hands grasped your shoulders and forcefully spun you back to face him. "Listen to me, brat!"Grasping your chin, he forced you to meet his eyes. "What are you talking about? Does this have to do with how you avoided me before leaving without a word?"

"Just leave me alone, Levi," you ground out, trying to keep the whimper from your voice as you looked at him.

"Like hell. Now tell me what's going on." His tone softened almost imperceptibly with his next words. "Life's been dull without you."

Your anger flared. "What about Petra?"

He blinked and you could have smacked him for the confusion on his face. "What about her?"

"You two are together, aren't you? Why would your life be dull if she's with you?"

"Didn't Hanji tell you?"

You quirked an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

"Petra and I went on all of one date before going our separate ways. We were never really official."

'Goddamnit Hanji!' You sighed and said, "No. She didn't tell me that." Still, you didn't know why he was looking at you so intensely, his hold on your shoulders so tight yet tender. "What do you want from me, Levi?"

He didn't respond for a few seconds, continuing to stare at you, and you wondered if he'd heard you. "(Y/n)...do you love me?"

He said it so quietly, so lovingly, it took your breath away and the truth passed your lips before you could think better of it. "Yes." You'd always known it was the truth, deep down, you just hadn't wanted to accept it for the past year, too raw and vulnerable whenever the thought of still loving him came to mind. "But you don't love me."

Levi snorted at that and you glared at him. "Who the hell told you that?" He sounded amused, but you having known him for so long could detect the serious undertone in his voice.

"You did!"

"I never said that."

"Oh, so when you said 'I think I'm going to go out with Petra' that wasn't you saying you don't love me?"

"No. That was me being a dumbass." You blinked at him as he leaned closer, the heat of his body so close to your own. "That was me not realizing what it was that I felt for you until you left me alone on that beach and never spoke another word to me." Levi's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you against him. "I love you, (y/n), and I'm sorry I hurt you so badly."

You bit your lip as tears welled and streamed down your cheeks, refusing to sob. "H-How can I believe you? How can I believe what your saying isn't just pretty lies?"

"Because I don't think I can handle another year without you talking to me," he chuckled wryly. "I'm strong, but not that strong."

"Levi..." You leaned your head against his shoulder, debating whether you should take this leap of faith or not and give this romance another chance. "I love you," you tried the words, carefully observing his reaction.

He smiled softly, reaching to twine the fingers of one hand with yours. "I love you, too."

"I love you," you repeated.

"And I love you," he said again, and when you raised your head he was suddenly much closer. Half-lidded grey eyes gazed into yours, steadily closing as you and he leaned closer and closer to one another, drawn by some strange magnetism. You teetered between falling again and stepping back, away from him...

"Hey! You two should kiss!"

You froze, Levi froze, and you screamed internally as you spun around to face Hanji, leaning over the metal barrier separating the beach from the road, a wide, foolish smile on her face. Your face felt like it was on fire as you glared at her, a wide, teasing smile stretching her cheeks.

"Hanj-!" You were cut off by hands gripping the collar of your shirt, pulling you back around, and Levi's lips smashed into yours, stealing your breath and making your head spin as your senses filled with him and him alone. You were faintly aware of Hanji screaming behind you, but all you could think of was how hot his lips were, coaxing you to return the kiss as they moved against yours. Throwing your arms around his neck you pulled him closer and closed your eyes, giving in to him, this man that you would never be able to get over no matter how much time you spent away from him. How had you ever doubted how he felt about you?

You had time to think, 'Here we go,' before you fell for him all over again.