#let it boil until everything is cooked through to your satisfaction (could be a few minutes could be a half hour. depends on ingredience)

[harlequinfrog]

one of my friends is trying to learn how to cook so i'm teaching him my favorite recipes and today we made sundubu jjigae together. it was a bit of a mess because i hadn't made it in a while but my god!!! stews that could make you forgive your father

[paperpocalypse]

interlude.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 43. Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,304 words

Warning: Swearing

You step out of the car, the bottoms of your loafers scraping against the asphalt, and gaze up at the plain brown building silhouetted against the darkening sky.

The sight hits you with a bout of homesickness. How long has it been since you’ve shopped at a grocery store, really – sometime before the Commission recruited you out of 1949? It must have been. After all, you hadn’t exactly had the time or place to buy food and cook something up. Most of the meals you’d eaten for the past twenty-eight years were from cafés or restaurants.

“[Y/n].” Five snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Oh. Right,” you murmur, walking with him to the entrance. You feel his eyes on you as you push the door open.

As soon as you enter, you soak in the smell of paper bags and fresh fruit. Lands alive. You suddenly remember grocery shopping with your grandmother when you were – well, just a little younger than your physical age right now. Oh, now those were the days. She would take you to the candy store afterwards if you didn’t knock any of the displays over while she shopped.

(Everything was an adventure back then. You’ve been trying to regain that sense of wonder.)

Five lays claim to an abandoned cart and heads straight to the tea and coffee aisle.

You shake yourself out of your nostalgia to catch up with him. “Glad to see your priorities are in order,” you tease, sidestepping another customer.

“They’re always in order.”

“Of course.”

You watch his determined expression, amused, as he examines the shelves of coffee cans and bags like they’re suspects in a lineup. The two of you get halfway through the aisle before coming across a particular brand you remember him liking; he reaches up to grab one can of their 100% Colombian and plunks it into the cart.

Just a few feet away, a man around your age chuckles. “Don’t drink it all at once,” he says when you and Five look over at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Five gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Try me,” he says.

You manage to hide your snort under the guise of clearing your throat. Shooting the stranger what hopefully looks like an apologetic smile, you quickly usher Five out of the coffee aisle before you get a lecture on manners.

“One day I’ll bust a gut and we’ll both get in trouble,” you mock-admonish, smacking him lightly on the arm as you push the cart towards the fresh produce section. “How are we supposed to lay low if you don’t act your age?”

He seems to hunch over further, still displeased by the previous interaction. “In case you’ve forgotten,” he mutters, “I’m fifty-eight years old. I am acting my age.”

The crossness of his posture causes you to sober up a bit. Ah. Knitting your brow, you stop in front of the apple stand, facing him fully.

From the moment that Five and you fell into 2019, it’s been apparent that the whole de-aging thing is hitting him a lot harder than it’s been hitting you. You know that part of it is because he’s the one who actually did the time travel; you know that in between your work to prevent the apocalypse, he’s been combing through his equations, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. You also know that the other part of it is a matter of pride. And you get it. Despite enjoying your recovered youth a little more than Five, you don’t like reliving the experience of being talked down to either. Every time Five gets patronized, you can practically feel his blood boil – age was the only thing of societal value that he had gained from the apocalypse, and now that he’s physically thirteen again, that advantage is gone.

“Five, I didn’t forget,” you reply easily, softly. “But we both know that’s not how either of us look. So we gotta adapt. Like always.”

Five shakes his head, chuckling dryly. “I’ve spent my whole damn life adapting to bullshit.”

“I know.”

He inhales slowly, then exhales through his nose as you put a hand on his back. After glancing at you, he looks away stiffly.

“Sorry for screwing it up.”

“Hey. We got here in one piece and I don’t have back problems anymore. I should be thanking you.” You grin at him, and he scoffs.

There we go.

Dropping your hand to brush your fingers against his, you turn around to inspect the apples. “Now,” you announce, “I know I always complain about inflation, but explain to me why the hell these things are a dollar fifteen per pound.”

You still have some cash that the Commission had given the two of you for meal expenses, and since Five and you have literally nothing else, you spend the next hour perusing all that the grocery store has to offer. It’s quite … normal, really, tossing this or that into the cart and chatting with Five about the kinds of meals you would eat when you were kids, and you like it very much. You haven’t felt this domestic in decades.

After paying for your things, Klaus’s requested chocolate pudding, and Five’s coffee (it was the only thing he had wanted from the store), you take your turn driving back to the Hargreeves mansion.

Five blinks out of the car as you cut the engine, opening the trunk and taking all of the bags before you even open the door to get out.

“We need to start our surveillance of Meritech early tomorrow morning,” he tells you once you join him. “Whoever the eye belongs to is going to walk in there sometime between then and doomsday.”

You nod, closing the trunk and locking the car. “Right.”

The taillights flash in the darkness as you press the button again, just to make sure, and Five waits until you’re satisfied before starting toward the back entrance. With all of the groceries.

How many times do you have to tell him that he doesn’t have to do everything himself? “Fives,” you croon, reaching over to tap his fist. (The answer is as many times as it takes.)

In return, you get a brief glance. Five slows down just a hair, wordlessly shifting the bags to his other hand, and takes your hand.

You can’t help but snort.

“What?” he snips defensively. The two of you stop in the middle of the alley.

“Five, I –” you smile at him, somewhat flustered and absolutely charmed, and gesture to the groceries – “I was going to take some of the bags so you didn’t have to carry all of them.”

He blinks, face blank.

“I see,” he says. You fail to hold in another chuckle, and at the sound of it, Five attempts to let go of your hand.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You tighten your hold, moving to take half of the groceries. “I have two hands.”

With that, you resume walking, both hands full and quite sure that you’ve never adored your partner more than at this moment. Who knew he could be such a romantic?

Said partner walks beside you, silent and avoiding your gaze. You nudge him to break the tension. “I never thought you could be so smooth, dear.”

“You’ve done it before,” he grumbles, and you can hear an undertone of – dare you say it? – embarrassment in his voice. His gaze darts down to the bags. “I assumed wrong.”

“Five. You can always assume that I want to hold your hand.”

Even though you’re being incredibly corny on purpose, Five doesn’t dole out any snark. The two of you enter the house, and when you turn on the lights, you notice, with infinite satisfaction, that his face is flushed.

[arhvste]

next stop iwa-chan!

“i traded a thousands nights, for just one with you, i been catching feelings over you and i hope you catch them too, i been going crazy over you and i hope you’re crazy too”

CHAPTER CONTINUES UNDER THE CUT

the boy was good in the kitchen to y/n’s surprise as he helped expertly cut vegetables and help cook them off while y/n boiled the noodles and fried the meat.

even though it was something that should've been a normal thing to do, both y/n and iwaizumi couldn't help but feel butterflies inside at the thought of doing something domestic together in the comfort of one of their own homes. the idea of what it would be like to be married even entered iwaizumi’s head for a brief 5 minutes before he shook it off and reminded himself that they were taking things slow.

y/n on the other hand knew that iwaizumi had wanted to take things slow because of a previous bad relationship. she didn't know the ins and outs of what had happened and she didn't want to pressure him to tell her, but she too was beginning to struggle with suppressing her feelings. she would tell herself it was nothing more than a crush but she knew she’d be lying. she genuinely liked the boy and she was in deep, not that she’d ever admit it out loud though.

40 minutes later and the cooking was done as the two admired their work.

y/n laughed as she brought the crockery over to the dining table.

“this was a team effort, if it tastes bad that's all on you.”

“this was a team effort, if it tastes bad that's all on you.”

they sat down and said their thanks before beginning to eat.

iwaizumi was warm on the inside. eating something they had made together only made his heart pick up the pace a little.

he stopped to glance at the girl in front of him who looked as if she was enjoying her meal.

he’d called her pretty before just as a general compliment as form of teasing but she really was beautiful. the fact that he began to like her even before he had a clue of what she looked like fuelled his fondness of her.

it wasn't even just her appearance that had him hooked, y/n wasn't like any other girl he’d met before. he was an attractive guy, he knew this, he had girls approach him in the past but none of them really took his interest and iwaizumi found himself having to consciously speak politely to them. it wasn't like that with y/n though. she could take his banter and give it back just as quick, she wasn't judgemental and didn't push him to talk to her about things he didn't want to.

“i know you said you wanted something pretty to look at but now you’re just straight up staring.”

iwaizumi snapped out of his gaze and locked eyes with a smirking y/n.

“can’t help it when you look the way you do.”

y/n let out an airy laugh as she began to clear up the table and leave everything in the kitchen as they finished, iwaizumi following behind carrying other pieces to bring back to the kitchen.

“we can just chat on the couch or something, i don't know what’s on tv right now, netflix won't work cause the wi fi’s down.”

“so no netflix and chill then?”

y/n turned to the boy and gave him a serious look.

“best behaviour remember?”

“yes ma’am.”

the two sat on the spacious couch and relaxed into the soft furniture.

a casual conversation picked up between the two and they found themselves laughing and chatting carelessly as the hours drained away. time would fly past whenever the pair were together, both of them secretly wishing the hours were longer.

it was now 11:48pm and the atmosphere was nowhere near empty between the two. without even realising, they’d inched closer and closer as they spoke until y/n found her knees touching iwaizumi’s. she smiled as she noticed. she naturally gravitated towards his personality and now it seemed she naturally gravitated towards him physically too.

“what are you smiling about?”

“you.”

“me?”

“yeah you. you make me smile.”

iwaizumi blushed slightly at the girl’s blunt words.

even though they hadn't even known each other for even a month, iwaizumi felt like he knew the girl, like he’d been with her for years, she was so easy to be around and let his guard drop a little.

“hey thanks.”

y/n raised an eyebrow and looked up.

“for what?”

iwaizumi sighed quietly and took y/n’s hands into his own.

“for being patient. i know i said i wanted to take things slow but you really do make me happy. my last relationship was... difficult. it didn't end well and it was toxic from the start i should've seen it coming. you make me want to give relationships a second chance.”

the girl gently squeezed iwaizumi’s hands as he looked into her pretty eyes.

“again, i won't ask you what happened, i’ll let you tell me in your own time, but for what its worth, i will never make things difficult for you.”

to this, iwaizumi laughed.

“it’s a little late for that y/n.”

“how?”

the boy looked away before edging towards y/n a little closer.

“because, all these emotions you make me feel, they’re almost foreign to me, it’s difficult for me to understand them.”

so that was it.

“if i’m the one making it difficult, then let me help make things easier.”

y/n pulled herself into iwaizumi’s lap and cupped his face while staring into his wide eyes softly. she ghosted her fingers over his cheek bones and hummed in satisfaction at his defined features. Iwaizumi’s hands hand snaked around her waist securing her in her position.

y/n sighed lightly before leaning in and grazing her lips over iwaizumi’s tickling his slightly. sick of holding back iwaizumi couldn't take the anticipation any longer. swiftly removing one arm from around her waist, he cupped one hand on y/n’s cheek and pulled her down on to him pressing a firm and desperate kiss to her. she gasped in surprise and iwaizumi took this opportunity to deepen the kiss with nothing but a need for y/n to feel the emotions he had been holding back from her.

y/n moved her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss turned lazy but still full of emotion. a soft, pure love was translated through the kiss as y/n began to pull away to catch her breath only to press soft and delicate butterfly kisses to the boys face.

“did that make things any easier?”

“i was trying to be on my best behaviour and you ruined it.”

y/n hummed as she pressed one last kiss to him before resting her head into his chest.

“you’re glad i did really.”

iwaizumi wrapped his arms around y/n pulling her closer into him.

“that did make things a little easier though.”

y/n looked up and smiled.

“good. sometimes i’m not sure if i’m always getting what i’m feeling across to you properly, that seemed like a good way to do it.”

“if that’s your way of telling me your emotions i may have to act even more insensitive.”

the girl laughed and playfully slapped the boy’s arm before cuddling back into his broad chest.

“minus 2 y/n points.”

“i like you. and not even just a little bit anymore.”

yeah, the two wanted to take things slow but maybe bokuto and the other’s were right. if it was meant to be then things just couldn't be forced to slow down. y/n and iwaizumi had crossed paths in such a spontaneous way, neither could even think to prepare for what emotions would flood when they had started to get involved with one another.

“i won't ask you to be my girlfriend, not just yet, there's still things i want to learn about you, for you to learn about me, but believe when i say i want to be serious about you, i want to try with you, i want you. just give me a bit more time but i promise some day soon, you’ll be my girl but i want to be the best i can for you and right now i’m still figuring things out. i want you when i’m happy with myself.”

y/n couldn't help but let the glowing smile on her face break out.

“a little selfish aren't we?”

“yeah i am, only for you though.”

y/n loosely wrapped her arms around iwaizumi’s neck before looking into his sincere and genuine eyes.

“well, when you’re happy with yourself and have things figured out, i’m yours for the taking, until then, let’s figure this all out together at our own pace. it’s clear neither of us want to force things to go at a slow pace but naturally i agree it’s best we learn a little more about each other before making anything official. i like you and i know you like me, we have all the time in the world to stick a label with commitments on us so i don't mind taking things as they come.”

iwaizumi let out a sigh of relief as he pulled y/n into his chest as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“you know, maybe i am glad shittykawa decided to bother you at the train station that day.”

“yeah? i’m glad too.”

enough had been said between the pair. they weren't ready for an actual relationship just yet, but iwaizumi felt excited about the idea of eventually getting to call y/n his officially. all he had to do was get rid of his insecurities and doubts from his last relationship so he could be the best version of himself for the girl who makes him want to do that. he had spent hours wondering if y/n felt the same unexplainable emotions as he did and tonight he knew he could rest easy knowing that she was in just as deep as him.

he was catching feelings over her and he’d hoped she’d caught them too.

whatever stars had heard his wishes, he said a silent thanks as the two drifted off to sleep there on y/n’s couch limbs tangled together.

this was only the start, but both of them slept with a few butterflies in their stomachs as they dreamt about what was yet to come, pulled in close together as they slept under the clear twinkling stars above the skylight in y/n’s apartment.

-

next stop iwa-chan!

iwaizumi haijime x reader

masterlist

an - both y/n and iwa are in deep

akaashi’s playgroup || two pretty setters and co

part 17 - admit it

part 18 - i hope u catch them too

part 19 - whatever we are

PLEASE SEND AN ASK TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST

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[peter-pan-on-neverland]

Opposites Attract

Request: hey may I request a one shot for your Peter Pan story if yes can you, use my real name (Zai) instead of Y/N if you please and can you have me pans total opposite like sweet, shy everything he would hate but in the end he falls for her and becomes really protective

Pairing: Pan x Zai

Warning: None

Part 2 >

It was so surreal, everything around me seemed to move in slow motion as if I were a character stuck inside of a movie, high pitched ringing pierced through my ears and stung my brain like a thousand tiny knives pricking it. An uncontrollable tremble grabbed a hold of my body refusing to let go, toying with my muscles as though I were nothing but a puppet on a string dancing for the demon that now had possession of my tiny frame.

The air was cold, so very cold, nipping and scratching at my fare skin as I silently sat on the leaf-covered floor. So many questions ran through my mind, too many to count, too many to keep ahold of. What was this dark place I had found myself in?

Dirt and pinecones filled my nostrils as I took heavy, deep breaths in and out, in and out, in and out.

A pair of eye's shot daggers at the back of my head, sending shivers to travel up and down my spine. The knotting in my stomach became apparent, growing tighter and higher by the second. I tried my hardest to fight off the fear which coursed through my veins and stole my heart, but I couldn't. There was no power in the world, no bribe was big enough, and no prize was worthy enough to get me to turn around and meet the eyes staring at me.

As time passed I felt more and more eyes creep up behind me, taking their place and just silently watching. That's when I heard them, footsteps, shuffling, whispers in the night running through to cold air from person to person, or perhaps from monster to monster.

"What have we got here boys?" A jovial voice sounded, too old to be a child's but it held the power and wisdom of a thousand lifetimes.

"We-we think it's a girl, Pan." Another said.

Pan, so that was the creature's name. In any normal circumstance, someone might jump for joy at the sign of another person, but this was no normal circumstance and the confirmation of other people only made my skin crawl. Every red flag was waving and alarm bell ringing, I was not safe, not one bit.

"She might be dead, or unconscious," Someone sounded, "she hasn't moved in a while."

Whoever this Pan was leant down close to me, so close I could feel his breath travel down the nape of my neck. He placed two gentle fingers on my pulse, paying for a second.

"She's not dead," He confirmed, "James and Dan set up a tent for her, Felix see if she has any wounds and take care f them if she does."

It was Clear Pan had authority over everyone else there as if he were some kind of mayor or leader, the boys named did nothing to displease him as their footsteps grew quieter and quieter.

"Where are you going, Pan?" A rather deep, husky voice spoke, curiosity dripping off every word yet he was confident in his ways. Maybe he was somewhere higher up on the food chain in this strange land that he had to power to question and possibly even disobey.

"To ask the shadows why they bought a bloody girl to the island." His tone had changed, sounding more aggravated than intrigued.

There were no other words exchanged between the two and I could feel myself being lifted off the cold ground, I felt weightless in the arms of this stranger that I was too afraid to look at.

Perhaps I would become a burden to the boy, but I had no energy left to think about that, I had no energy left to think about anything. I wanted nothing more than to drift off into a peaceful sleep but my body would not allow it for the danger had not yet passed, it kept trying to fight and fight but finally lost the battle and sleep had won out.

I woke up, my head pounding like there was no tomorrow. I found myself in a white tent, laying upon a mattress, only a thin blanket keeping the cold from consuming me. Swinging my legs over the side of the make-shift bed I walked towards the fabric flaps, sunlight poured into the room as I pulled them back, almost blinding me.

A tall figure hovered over me, blocking out the sun. For a split second, he looked like a dark, black giant but once my eyes adjusted I took a closer look at his face. Is pale blue eyes stared at mine for what seemed like a few minutes, becoming familiar with my brown ones. I noted down the scar that ran down his cheek, how did he get it?

"Pan," He called, "she's awake."

My eyes averted to the boy, who looked no older than seventeen, quickly stalking towards us. Panic flashed through my body enduring my paralyzed, there was nothing I could do but watch as they got closer and closer despite the urge of wanting to run and flee.

His eyes stood out to me the most, the vibrant green colour seemed to radiate off him, capturing and gaze and holding it there. This boy had power, that much was obvious, what scared me was how he used it. There's no doubt in my mind that he could mortally wound or even kill me if I looked at him the wrong way, the safest route is to be obedient otherwise I could end up dead.

"Follow me." He said sternly, I didn't dare speak, I didn't dare to even breathe I just nodded my head in his direction before silently following after him like a little lost puppy.

One step after another I felt more and more eyes scanning over my body, however, I would never meet anyone's gaze. I wouldn't dare give any of these people the satisfaction, after all, they still need to tell me how I got here in the first place. I felt like an animal caged up in the zoo, just a pretty and unusual thing for them to stare and gawk at, all the meanwhile missing my home.

A pain shot through my chest, a deep aching at the thought of my family and friends, at the thought of everything I had left behind.

"Sit." The leader spoke, snapping me from my thoughts.

I complied without any issues, placing myself onto the wooden stump poking its head out of the ground to say hello to the golden, glowing sun beaming down on everything below it. I hadn't noticed just how beautiful this place was in the day time, the lush green trees, the birds tweeting, the odd deer walking by before scattering and running off from the wild people whom they shared the land with.

I felt his strange green eyes watching me, finally, I had worked up enough courage to look into them. They were filled with wonder and amazement, much like a child seeing snow for the first time.

"You can start by telling me your name," The boy's thick British accent becoming prominent.

"Zai," I whispered, nearly audible but he heard it and so did the forest.

"Zai," He repeated as if he were testing out how my name sounded on his tongue, "Cute. Now, what are you doing on my island?"

Oh, so it was his island.

"I don't know," I said, my tone sickly sweet but the boy in front of me could tell I was being genuine.

"You're a strange one aren't you?" He claimed, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear an act that made my cheeks turn a deep shade of red as I desperately tried to hide my face from his view.

I should be afraid, I should be terrified, running for the hills and never looking back. There was danger behind those vibrant green orbs, so much danged but for some reason that only drew me in more. The very thing that should make me leave is the same exact thing compelling me to stay, how can that be?

I had never been one for diving into the deep end or taking risks, I liked to be in control of my fate and how everything played out, I know this boy could never give me security so why am I being pulled closer and closer t him?

He's attractive yes, as if he were chiseled by the God's themselves, but it's more than that, it's deeper than that. The risk, the excitement of it all is what drew me in and managed to hold me there. Maybe staying here wasn't as big of a heartache as I previously thought.

"Well I guess that's irrelevant, I'll be sending you home now." He announced.

"What makes you think I want to go home?" I asked, standing up defensively.

He raised a single eyebrow at me, the expression on his face caused me to shiver, "So you want to stay little one?"

I could feel a smile creeping its way onto my face at his words, "Perhaps to do, I could be of use to you,"

I desperately tried to come up with a list of jobs I could do just so he could let me stay, although I was still scared I had this feeling deep inside on me. Way down in my bones as if I were meant to be here as if my soul belonged here.

"I can cook." I blurted out.

Only to be met with a smirk, "My boys can cook too."

"I can clean," I said.

"So can my boys." The leader retaliated.

"Can they?" I asked, raising my eyebrow to him, mimicking his previous actions, he gave a low husky chuckle to my somewhat sassy comment.

"Oh, I'm sorry princess, is it not up to your standard?" The boy smirked in return, toying with me a little. He could sense when I was on edge, I knew he could, maybe a skill he had picked up in the years that he had been alive.

"Please, I'll do anything, anything you ask of me!" I pleaded, hoping and praying that he would allow me to reside here with him.

"It doesn't matter what you want." His demeanor suddenly turning nasty at the flip of a switch, the green eyed boy stalked closer and closer to me until my back had been pressed against a tree, leaning down he whispered, "I don't have girls on my island, you're weak I have no need for your kind."

I felt my blood being to boil, this misogynistic-

I held myself back from doing something that I regret, out of the fear that I could possibly end up dead at any second.

"Maybe they are where you're from," I said in a low yet innocent tone, my words sounding like a smooth lullaby slipping into his mind, "But I am different."

"Fine, I'll be interested to see how long you last around here." He stated, "I'll get Felix to show you around."

He took a few steps back, giving me the space that I craved. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding in until now. Pan's comment not only sprinkled fear and dread into me once more but also seemed to excite me as if I had something to prove to these people. One thing was apparent, they were not people I wanted to play with or tourment. I was better off just seeing how this plays out and trying not to end up dead in the process.

Within the day I had circled around the island twice seeing all the beautiful sights and scenery as Felix, who is the second in command around here, told me what was what. His explanations were only met with a nod as I was far too shy and nervous to open my mouth around him or any of the boys for that matter. Luckily for me, Felix wasn't much of a talker either, we spent most of our little adventure in awkward silence.

The more I explored the more I wanted, no longed to stay here. The crystal blue seas, the majestic waterfalls, the tall towering trees, and the white sandy beaches. This place seemed like paradise, shame the people who inhabited it didn't radiate the same energy.

The once pale blue sky turn to a dark navy as tiny, white sparkling dots hang high in the sky, a roaring fire was situated in the middle of the camp the boys all sat around eating, laughing, and having a good time. They all seemed so happy, yet the damage behind their eyes was apparent, they all had the same look behind them.

I felt a presence sit down beside me, "Zai," they spoke, to which I said nothing. I didn't turn my head to look at the person whose voice I had heard not hours before.

Before I knew what was happening a hand was placed under my chin, forcing me to look in their direction, "It's not a wise idea to ignore me, little one."

"Sorry," I whispered, I knew he heard my faint words but I wasn't entirely sure they made that much of a difference.

"Funny, just hours ago we were having a perfectly fluent conversation and now you seem so shaken up you're hardly getting your words out, tell me, why is that?" He knew what he was doing, it was apparent, he knew he had the upper hand, he knew I was still scared.

I shrugged at their so-called king, not giving him the satisfaction he craved, he wanted me to squirm, but I wouldn't allow that to happen.

As the days went by my shyness didn't disappear or get easier, in fact, it seemed to get worse. I was on edge, especially around Pan, it wasn't hard to tell that the boy was ruthless.

It was hot, the sun beaming down on the island. We all slowly walk deeper and deeper into the forest the boys not only thankful for the shade but excited for the activities ahead. Pan had promised us a game of target practice, something that I had learned I was terrible at.

Silently, I watched from afar as the boys took turns shooting apples off one another head. Of course, there were many injuries but they loved the thrill of it. I got many stares, none of which I paid any attention to, but what riled me up the most were to comments.

"What's she even doing here?"

"Why would Pan allow a girl into the camp?"

"Look at her she wouldn't even hurt a fly."

"She doesn't have what it takes to be one of us, she's too sweet."

"I wish she would just go back to where she came from."

Biting my tongue, I tried not to let their words get to me. Sometimes I fantasize about those boys tied to a tree, no means of escape or survival, I would pull the arrow back tight, stretching the string of the bow before letting go. The arrow would soar through the air before landing deep into their skulls with a satisfying think, bullseye.

I could feel the wicked smile on my face grow as my heart became that little bit darker. What was wrong with me? I had never wished ill will upon anyone before, so why was I starting to know. Maybe it was the island, supplying me with anger as if it were some kind of git, some means for survival if in a wretched yet beautiful place.

Suddenly, everything stopped and silence grabbed hold of everyone around. My interest was peaked, I rose from my makeshift seat to see what was going on. There the leader of the lost boys had one of his very own pinned to a tree by an invisible force, choking and spluttering as his legs kicked and kicked.

I wasn't sure what had brought this on, but my gaze was held hostage by the scene unfolding before me, the boy begged and begged apologizing relentlessly, but none of that mattered to Pan. We all stood there and watched, some boys with tears in their eyes as their friend asked for mercy and was not given it, I almost felt bad for the boy until I had realized who it was.

Adam, the little ring leader of the group of boys who liked to push my buttons.

We all looked on as the light slowly left his eyes, his cold body slumped to the floor, no one dared to move.

"Fun's over boys," His powerful voice boomed, echoing all over the forest, "Get back to work."

One by one the boys went back to camp, they were shaken up, but not as bad as I was. I still felt a sense of remorse for the poor boy, but the more I reminded myself of all the things he said the sad about it I felt. I still wasn't able to take my eyes off his lifeless body until there was no one else around apart from Pan.

I looked up at him, but no words left my mouth, they were all choked up in my throat. The smirk on his face let me know he was proud of what he had accomplished a minute ago, what kind of a monster was he?

He left, leaving a wink as his parting gift to me.

A cold shiver ran down my spine, I didn't like what he had done and worst of all I didn't like how he had just made me feel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you guys like part 1!!

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch.5 of Creepepastas x fem!reader

A/N: This is ch5 of a long-running series. The next chapter is going to dive deeper into other characters so I hope you'll like them. The chapter is very long so enjoy<3

TW: blood, organs injuries.

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Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, and by the end of the excruciating training, the girl had travel back to the cabin covered in cuts and bruises barely able to stand. As for Jack, he was fine and dandy, not caring that she kept panting and groaning in pain while walking. Though, after tripping for the third time because her knees couldn't hold the weight of her barely moving body, Jack got considerably aggravated. "Can you hurry up," He spat, contempt undoubtedly evident from the way he was standing and continued on his way not even bothering to wait for her. She glared daggers at his back and slowly stood with the help of a nearby tree. Supporting herself on anything she could find in her surroundings, slowly but surely she was finally able to walk to the cabin.

Before entering enter. She noticed Jack had already arrived and was reading. Rage tainted the girl's mind, ' That scum-bag, how could he not wait for me?' Storming in with a limp she didn't even look in his direction, instead, immediately going to the stairs to go to her room. But as she was about to leave, Jack spoke up out of nowhere. "There's a medkit in the bathroom, which is across the hall from your bedroom. You should stop the bleeding and take care of all the cuts," What he said made the girl even more hostile," Why do you even care?" She spoke sneeringly, not paying him any mind, carrying on her way. "Well, we will be training again in a few hours so you should fix everything up and get some rest." He stated again with a sigh and continue reading. The girl loudly forced out a breath in reasonable frustration while attempting to go to the bathroom, not carrying to answer.

Solace washed over her as she reached the final step of the long narrow wooden staircase, and slowly approached the bathroom door. Grabbing the circular handle and gently twisting it, she entered. It was a considerably small rectangle-shaped room although perfect for single-person use. Located inside by the far right corner was a small walk-in shower with sliding plastic doors that seemed to have a foggy design. Right next to it, a white basket meant for storing dirty clothes, and a boiler connected to the walk-in shower, and the was toilet positioned opposite the shower. Near it was the sink with cupboards above and a dirty mirror and next to the sink, a washer and a drier placed one on top of the other. There was also a long vertical mirror across the doors

Looking at the wall she noticed that bark brown marble tyles covered the lower half of the wall while the upper half was painted in a dull shade of white. Nearing the sink, she opened one of the cupboard doors that were lazily covered, in cheap grey paint. Glancing inside, she noticed the medkit Jack informed her about, it was covered in cobwebs and had dust all over it, slowly reaching within she grabbed it and instantly pulled it out. Causing all of the trinkets inside to vigorously rattle. Turning around and putting it down on the clothes basket, she looked at herself in the mirror. Suffice to say she was surprised that the coveralls she was wearing didn't have any tears, just a bit dirty.

Taking them off, she tossed them in the washer and turned it on. " So it'll only take ten minutes to wash, that good." She said to herself, relieved. Scowling, when she looked at her wounds. There was a rather large bruise on the lower part of her leg, though it wasn't as bad as she thought it would still get infected if she let it be. There were also many deep cuts sprawled all around her body. ' I should take care of this.'

Reaching for the kit and opening it up, she looked to see what exactly the red metal box contained. Inside were many items, most of them she could name. There were different sized band-aids and sterile gauze pads, adhesive tapes, elastic bandaids, antiseptic solution, and much more. She first grabbed the antiseptic solution and dabbed some on the gauze pads, slowly cleaning the deep cuts she had. And then after finishing she swiftly started bandaging up the wound she had on her leg.

Though feeling great pain, she still soldiered through and cleaned all of the injuries. After finishing, she grabbed the clothes in the washer and put them in the dryer. "Guess I should wait another 10 minutes. What should I do now?" Walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body she ran to her room.

Opening the door she noticed her old clothes were gone and one of the closet doors was slightly open, feeling a little uneasy she went to check it. She could feel her stomach turn the moment she opened the closet doors but was soon taken aback by the area of the same blue jumpsuits Jack gave her this morning. They were all the same size, odourless and finely ironed. Not bothering to question why and how they were there, she sighed in relief that she had something to wear. Instantly changed and limping to her bed to lay down for some rest.

Slamming her head in her pillow she looked up at the ceiling, 'What's happening? Is this just some sick dream?...No,...it can't be, if it was I should have woken up by now. But never the less, there has to be a way out and I'm going to find it. I just need to gain their trust first and work out my plan as time passes.' Reassuring herself, she fell into a slumber.

After a few hours, she woke up. Getting up in a tired daze she looked around the room confused but soon remember why she was there and let out a loud grunt of frustration. Slowly limping out of her room she went downstairs not bothering to see if Jack was still there. Peering into the kitchen she saw the silhouette of a hunched man leaning over the refrigerator. Uncertainty washed over her as she was not sure who that was but soon assumed it was Jack. Though, as she was about to enter she was stopped in her tracks as the hunched man tore himself away from the fridge giving the girl the chance to take a good look at him.

Her face turned pale when she did as she saw Jack's mask lifted to the half of his face revealing his hark-like teeth covered in some kind of tinted red liquid. She assumed he had put something back inside the fridge. The man had a crooked smile on his face as he slowly put his mask back down his face. ' How didn't I notice it earlier when I was eating? Was it even there? No, it couldn't have been I would've noticed. Right? Yeah, yeah I would've definitely noticed!' Her mind was in a panicked frenzy as she was zoning out while looking at the ground not noticing that Jack was approaching her until he spoke up. "You're able to walk I see?" He remarked sarcastically as he towered over her. She gulped, but her throat was dry so it felt like sandpaper was going down her throat walls.

"Yeah..." She murmured turning her head away from him, even though she couldn't see his face anymore she could still feel his eyes piercing into her soul as she entered the kitchen. Slowly approaching the fridge she tried to act unfazed. Couthesly opening its doors her stomach started spinning, though getting a better look she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, all until she looked deeper inside. In the back, blocked by all the other food, there was a jar slathered in red liquid with some kind of bean-shaped meat, it almost resembled a kidney.

All of the worst possibilities passed her mind as her face turned pale and her mind went static. Jack seemed to notice and suddenly slammed the refrigerator doors shut as he stood in front of the girl. The sudden action made her look at him as she gulped. "What are you looking at?" He spoke up, crossing his arms, he seemed more amused than anything else as he looked down at her. "I was just getting something to eat." She quickly replied and backed away anxiously. "You sure? I mean you were looking in there for a while, did you see something you didn't enjoy." He darkly expressed as he approached, but she stood her ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her withdrawal even if she was shit-scared.

"No...I should make myself something to eat now." Blanckly retorting she moves past him, in an attempt to get herself out of the uncomfortable situation she was in. Reaching the kitchen counter she avoided getting near the refrigerator at all costs as she searched the cabinets for something else to eat. That morning she noticed that all the food in the cabin was very nutritious, there was nothing that could be deemed unhealthy. Inside she could see some cereals and bars of what she assumed was granola, but also different varieties of pasta. Taking in a deep breath she took ahold of it and got ready to cook.

Placing the pot filled with water on the stove for it to boil she searched for salt. With every step she took Jacks eyes didn't leave the back of her head. He seemed intrigued by what she was doing almost as if he had never seen anything like it before. After a while, she was finally done and put all of the food on a plate. Glancing back she noticed that Jack had sat down on the table with his head resting on his right hand, looking at her. Carefully approaching the table, she sat across from him. Starting to eat, she didn't look at him, choosing to stare at her food instead.

"You have ten minutes to eat before we go back to training." He vocalized as he calmly waited for a response. "Ok." She muttered still not looking up at him. "I know you saw me eating. That's why you've been so quiet." His whole demeanour was calm as his words piercing her stomach like knives. Her eyes widened for a second as her face contorted in surprise. "Well, I didn't see anything so...it doesn't matter." She promptly addressed, ultimately peering up at him. "Oh c'mon now. Don't lie. I mean do you think that I didn't notice you gawking at me as I ate. That's rather rude don't you think?"

She kept her mouth shut as her gaze wandered around the room. At that moment Jack got up from his seat getting closer to the girl's direction, her body went tense. "Tell me, do you want to see what I eat? Arent you even the slightest bit curious." He mused as he inched closer and closer. She again refused to look at him so he took ahold of her face, making her. "Answer me." He demanded. Taking in a sharp breath she just said "No." Jack then straightened his back as he neared the fridge calmly opening it up and searching inside. After a while, he finally found what he was looking for and quickly pulled it out.

It was the red jar, Jack then placed it in front of her. Opening it up a foul stanched advanced through the room. Her face scrunched up and she felt as if she was going to throw up just by the smell itself. "Wanna give it a guess to what it is?" He asked as he got another plate putting it in front of the girl. He took the substance out of the jar, red dripping down his hand as he placed it on the plate. She froze as her eyes widened, she was sure of what it was. "It's...it's a kidney." She said squeezing her eyes shut, pushing the plate away.

Jack darkly chuckled, "Lucky guess." He said amused by her reaction. He was forbidden from physically hurting her but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. "Wanna try it?" He spoke as he grabbed the organ shoving it in her face taunting her with it. She shook her head trying to get up from her seat. "Oh well, too bad." Jack grabbed his mask and put it halfway up his face, his shark-like teeth were perfectly visible again, they were extremely sharp and had a silver tint to them. He took a big bite from the organ, a sickening ripping and mushing sound was heard from jack as he ate it. The girl watched in absolute horror and quickly got up and running to puke in the sink.

Jack could be heard laughing at her as he chewed. "Well get cleaned up, were going to train again in a bit." He spoke with delight as he put the kidney back in its place and in the fridge. She could hardly stand as she saw him walking out of the kitchen. Gaining her composure after a while she finally went to find him. The training was as gruelling as the last time and at the end of it, she was extremely tyred.

Going to her room she lied on the bed and eventually, she fell into another dreamless slumber.

[jubilantwriter]

Heart Shaped like Sea Glass

(Part 1) (Part 2)  (Next)

Part 3 - Comfort Feeding

Summary:  Jasper forgets what it’s like to hunger, but a certain siren refuses to leave him alone until his very basic need is satisfied.

i hope this came out as funny as i had it imagined in my brainspace

// // // // //

It was all a dream.  That's what he finds himself thinking when he wakes up, once again, to the sun shining in through his window.  It was all a dream - how else would he explain away the disappointment that seeps into his chest at the thought of David?  That vision he had, where he heard and felt and held David in his arms, it was all but a dream.

Because David is dead.

No matter how much he wishes it isn't so.

He rolls onto his side and stares at the wall.  The shack remains quiet as the world continues to bustle around him.  Sounds of the ocean are distant, despite it being right outside.  He should get up, get something to eat, but he finds himself unable to move.  It's not like he's hungry, and even if he was, he'd have no food to eat.  Granted, all it would take is a quick trip into the nearby town, but the thought of having to fake pleasantries and wave off concerns from people he doesn't know is... a bit too much for him at the moment.

And anyways, he can go on without food for a little bit longer.  If he's desperate, he can seek out the local fisherman.  The old man would always hand him a fish or two, but once he insists on cooking it for Jasper, whatever energy the brunette has left is sapped, and he simply shakes his head and leaves the old man behind.

The fish then gets left in a pot that boils over, and whatever flavor the fish had is lost to the fire.  Not like he could taste anything anyways.  Everything tastes dull, flat, like parchment, and the thought of tasting anything sweet again leaves a roiling in his stomach that never seems to go away.

He's about to curl back up to sleep his day away when a loud slam gets his attention.

"Hello!"  A voice from his dream has him sitting up in confusion.  There, standing in the doorway with a smirk is... a siren?  His head throbs as blonde hair and blue eyes triggers something in his memories.  That... that wasn't a dream?  Then, did he really-?

Ah.

No.

Of course not.

He clenches his shirt as he looks at the siren with a tired gaze.

"Oh."

"I said I'd be back.  Good to see that my meal is still alive!"  The siren cocks his head to the side, smile still in place as he studies Jasper.  "Although, still not thriving I see."

"What are you talking about."

"I meant what I said, you know."  The siren stalks close to Jasper, talons clicking against the wooden floor as he folds his arms behind him.  "I am going to make you a meal to simply die for."

Jasper rubs his eyes as the dreamlike memories become more and more... vivid.  He was tricked, lured by the siren's song last night.  That would explain his hazy memories, his throbbing head, and the siren standing before him.  He should be dead - why isn't he dead?

And then.  A promise.  A deal.  

Right, of course.  Of course he would agree to that.  It's not like he had much to live for anyways.

"I believe you."

The siren's smirk falters a bit.  Jasper's probably the most boring prey the blonde has ever encountered.  He would apologize except, he really doesn't care.

"Hm.  Well, I can see that you're still resting in your... nest.  Have you not eaten yet?"

"No."  And he doesn't really plan to.  The siren frowns, looking around the near empty shack with distaste.  

"I see.  I've heard that you humans tend to keep food stocked up somewhere.  Where is your food storage?"

"Don't have one."  

The siren's frown deepens, talons clicking against the floorboards loudly.  "...No food storage?  So you have no food then."

"Yeah."

"Well, go out and get some!"

Jasper curls back under his thin blanket.  "Not hungry."  An irritated growl answers him as the clicking talons move away from him and towards the door.  He closes his eyes with a sigh.  Good.  Now he can be left alone.

The sounds of the ocean are a little clearer now as waves crash against the sandy beach.  A distant splash mingles with the call of the gulls, but he ignores it in favor of going back to sleep.  Maybe if he's lucky, the siren will feel hungry instead-

The only warning he gets is the heavy flap of wings before something wet slaps against his face.  He jolts upright with a yelp, and a fish falls into his lap.

"Gods!"  A dead eyed fish stares up at him as a soft rumble comes from the siren.

"Food."  The siren looks much too proud about a single fish.  "Eat it now."  Jasper looks down at the fish as its glassy stare stares back at him.  At least it's dead.  

...Still.  

"I can't eat this."  The satisfied smile on the siren's face drops as he glares at Jasper.

"And why's that?"

"I... I just can't."  He gingerly picks up the dead fish.  Five deep gouge marks are embedded in the fish's sides.  Jasper takes a peek down the siren's feet.  What looks like blood decorates the talons of one foot.  Oh.  Neat.

"Oh you've- give that to me."  The siren snatches the fish back from Jasper with a look of disgust.  "I thought you humans eat fish all the time!  Don't tell me you don't know how to eat this."

Uh.  "What?"  

The siren rolls his eyes.  "Look at me."

He really doesn't want to.

But he isn't given much of a choice as the siren tilts his head back and opens his maw.  The fish is dropped head first into his gaping mouth, much to Jasper's horror.  He shrieks as the siren looks to be choking on the fish- can't sirens chew??  They chew right??  The siren has teeth- look, he has teeth!  Why is he- 

"Why are you swallowing that whole?!"  Jasper jumps out of his bed and smacks the siren's back roughly.  The siren makes a startled gagging noise as the fish comes flying out of his mouth, only to be caught haphazardly by the siren's taloned hands.  Feathers fluff up in a rage as the siren shakes the fish in Jasper's face.

"Why did you do that for?!"

"You were gonna choke-!"

"No you idiot, I was showing you how to eat fish because apparently, you don't know how-"

"I know how to eat fish!"

"Then eat it!"  The fish gets shoved against Jasper's mouth as he recoils.

"Ugh!  Gross!"

"Wha-"  The siren pulls back, insulted as he looks between the fish and Jasper.  "Excuse me, but this is mackerel, and it is a delicious fucking fish, so apologize!"

"No- I- what??"  Jasper looks at the silver fish flopping sadly around in the siren's talons.  He blinks at the dead thing before muttering softly, "I... I'm sorry?"

"Good."  The fish is thrust back into his face.  "Now eat."

"I can't!"  He pushes the siren's hand away from him.  "It's raw!"

"It's... what?"  The siren looks back at the fish, scrutinizing it closer before looking back at Jasper, completely baffled.  "No, I told you, it's mackerel."

"No, I mean-"  Jasper runs his hand through his thick hair.  Of course the siren has no concept of raw or cooked food.  He just eats whatever he wants as is.  But Jasper can't do that!  He'll get sick and maybe die, and if he is to die, he refuses to go out by the means of a dead, slimy fish disagreeing with his stomach.  "I can't... eat the fish like this.  The flesh, as it is, will hurt my stomach and make me sick!"  The siren once again looks between the poor fish and Jasper before a look of exasperated understanding crosses his features.

"I understand now."  Jasper slumps his shoulders in relief as the siren nods.  "Humans have the stomach of a chick.  No wonder you creatures never live long."

"...What?"

"You need chick food."  The siren slaps the fish down on Jasper's table and quickly turns around.  "Wait here."

"No, wait-"  But the siren is already dashing out of his shack before Jasper can stop him.  He looks towards the dead fish with a sense of unease.  Chick... food?  Jasper trudges out of his shack and looks around the beach.  

No siren.

He looks up into the sky and shades his eyes.  Squinting, he sees a flying figure circling above him before flying off towards... the town?  Quickly, Jasper dashes after the siren, following his shadow as the siren heads towards the more wooded areas of the town.  The siren lands not too far from where Jasper skids to a stop, slumping over and panting as he watches the siren eye the grassy ground.  Before the brunette can process another thought, the siren begins to stomp on the ground, moving this way and that as he focuses on the task at hand.

...Whatever the task may be.  

The siren continues to stomp as Jasper watches with a tired mind.  The blonde stops for a moment, peers at the ground, before bending down to pluck something out.  He continues in this manner as Jasper idly watches, not really understanding this strange ritual the siren is doing, but also refusing to have the energy to try and decipher it.  After a few moments pass, the siren huffs in satisfaction and turns around.  His hands are carefully cupped around something as he stumbles back in surprise, his wings spreading slightly as he catches sight of Jasper.  He huffs again, but with a more irritated edge to it as he stomps over to Jasper.

“I told you to wait.”

Jasper shrugs as the siren comes to a halt in front of him.  “Got worried.”

"You’re impossible, but at least this will save me the trouble of having to travel back with live grub.”  He nods towards Jasper impatiently.  “Open your mouth."

Oh.  Oh no.  The words “live grub” makes Jasper take a step back.

"No."

"Human," he growls, "stop being difficult and let me feed you."

"What..."  He looks over the siren's shoulder to where he had been standing previously.  Whatever it was that he plucked from the ground, it can't possibly be for human consumption.  "What did you-"

The siren's eyes brighten as he quickly shoves something wet and squirming and alive into Jasper's open mouth.  He spits it out immediately and starts scraping his tongue.

"AUGH!"  He looks at what he had spit out onto the siren's fuming face and shrieks again.  Worms!  He was trying to feed Jasper living worms!  "AAGH!"

"What is your problem?!"  The siren shrieks at him as he carefully collects the worm off his face and adds it to his pile.  "I found you chick food!"

"Humans don't eat WORMS!"  Jasper spits some dirt onto the ground and groans loudly.  "Humans aren't like sirens at all!"

"Oh for fucks sake-"  The siren nearly trembles with fury as he keeps the worms carefully cupped in his hands.  "This wouldn't be a fucking problem if you'd just eat something!" 

"Okay!  Okay!  Gods, if I ate something, would you leave me alone?!"

"Yes!"  

"Fine!  Fuck!"  Jasper stomps off towards the beach.  The ruffling of feathers alerts him to the siren's following as he leads them back to his shack.  The door is still open as they trudge through, Jasper sitting on his bed as the siren dumps the squirming worms onto his table.  Jasper looks between the worms and the dead fish and contemplates his choices.  The siren crosses his arms at Jasper's delayed eating.

"Well?"

Jasper stares at the fish covered in the siren's slobber.  "...Can you get me a new fish?"

"You're so damn picky."

"You can eat that one!  You already started to!"

"Fine!  Whatever!"  The siren tosses his hands up in the air as he stomps out.  "I do all this work, and for what?!"

"You can have the worms too!"  Jasper yells to the retreating figure as the siren squawks back in irritation.  With the siren gone, Jasper gets to work stoking his fireplace.  The hanging pot is removed as he considers his choices.

Boiled fish is quick and easy.  He can just descale, gut, and chop up whatever fish the siren gets him and eat that.  But...

He looks back at the slimy fish that the worms are starting to crawl all over.  Turning back to the fireplace, he thinks that maybe the texture of boiled fish might not feel so great in his mouth.  What other choices does he have?  As he looks around the fireplace, he finds a stack of sharpened sticks that the fisherman had given to him.

For roasting fish, if he recalls correctly.  He picks up a stick and turns it between his fingers idly.

It wouldn't be too much work, he thinks.  Sure, he still needs to descale and gut the fish, but after that, he can just jab the stick in and roast it.  Easier than chopping, and it won't have the potential to feel slimy.

...Yeah.  This could work.

"I'm back."  The siren stomps into the shack, thrusting a new but similar fish into Jasper's face.  "And you had better eat this one."

"I will."  He takes the fish carefully and heads to his table, grabbing a knife as he does so.

"Really?"  The siren creeps towards him in surprise as Jasper sits down.  "No more protests?"

"As long as I get to eat it normally like a human, then yes."  The brunette begins to remove the scales with his knife, scraping it methodically as the siren begins plucking the worms off and slurping them into his mouth.  As the last worm is eaten, Jasper begins to gut the fish, removing its insides as the siren sighs.

"You're wasting food."

"Then you can eat it."  A taloned hand swipes the guts up as the siren shoves the intestines into his mouth.  Jasper watches curiously as the creature actually chews.  So they do use their fangs and teeth for something.  Quietly, he jabs the stick through the head of the fish and into its stomach.  He heads over to his crackling fire with the siren trailing behind him.

"What are you doing?"  Jasper sticks the stick in front of the fire as he turns back to the siren.  The fish from before is clutched tight in the siren's hand as he brings it up to his mouth and chomps off the head.  Confusion rings loudly in Jasper's head as he tries to reason why the siren switched from swallowing the fish whole to just eating chunks of it, before shaking his head and refusing to think any further.

"I'm cooking it."

"Cooking?"

"Yeah."  He settles down on the floor and watches the fish roast.  "I'm making it edible for my chick stomach to handle."

The siren snorts as he sits down next to Jasper, loud schmacking noises included.  "You humans have such weak stomachs."

"Can't help it."

The two of them watch as the fish slowly roasts.  A nice, pleasant smell wafts through the air as Jasper's stomach growls.

...Oh.

He's.

He's hungry.

The siren sniffs and makes an interested hum.  "That smells good."

"Yeah, cooking does that."  Carefully, he reaches forward and plucks the roasted fish from the fire.  The siren leans in close to the cooked fish, raw one already devoured, and sniffs it again.

"It's hot."

"Yeah."  Jasper carefully breaks off a piece and offers it to the siren.  "You wanna try it?"

"Food is food."  Despite his blasé tone, the siren eagerly takes the offering from Jasper.  "Mmm..."  He watches as the siren's eyes brighten happily as he savors the taste.  "It's good."

"Better than raw fish?"

"I wouldn't say better," the siren sniffs, "but it is good."

"Right."  Jasper rolls his eyes and begins to eat.  Every once in a while, he offers the siren a piece, to which the siren happily accepts.  They eat together in a peaceful quiet until the bones are licked clean and Jasper finds himself feeling surprisingly full.  He blinks as he stares at the fish's skeleton.

"Well, that's one meal done."  The siren gets up and stretches, looking over Jasper with a smirk.  "Once I'm done with you, perhaps I should try this cooking thing to make your flesh taste even more superb."

Jasper shrugs as he lays down on the floor.  The siren clicks his tongue with annoyance as he nudges Jasper's head off the ground.  "Sure," he says with a shrug.  "Whatever you say."

"I'll be back later to make sure you have another fish to eat."  Jasper closes his eyes as he listens to the tap of talons against wood.  "You'd have better moved from this spot when I get back."

"No promises."  A distant huff is the only response he gets before he hears the heavy flap of wings.  All that's left is the sound of the fire crackling before him, and soft crashing of the waves behind him.

And for the first time in what feels like forever.

He feels... kind of warm.

[fatecantstopme]

The Serpent Queen (FP Jones x Reader)

Summary: The reader in this story is named ‘Piper’, but feel free to insert your name when reading! Simple FP Jones One Shot. Don’t worry, she’s 26 (perfectly legal!)

Warnings: Smut, cursing

(GIF Credit to @mona-stay)

**************************

You were exhausted as you opened the door to your trailer and stumbled inside. It had been a horrendously long day and all you wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed. You peeled your leather jacket off and tossed it onto the couch. You continued removing articles of clothing while walking toward the bathroom, leaving the clothes where they fell. You were about to step into the shower when your phone buzzed. You walked out to the kitchen and picked it up to see who was calling. The name on the screen made your stomach do summersaults. You knew you couldn’t ignore it no matter how tired you were. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Pipes. I need you to come in.”

You sighed. “I’m exhausted, boss. Could it wait until the morning?”

The man’s voice was gentle, but firm. “It’s important. I need you to come in. I called in Mustang and Tall Boy too.”

You knew that meant that something big was going down...and you couldn’t say no to the King. “Alright. I’ll be there in 15.”

You hung up and sighed. You loved your life, but sometimes being the best really sucked. You decided to take a quick shower before getting dressed and heading down to the Wyrm.

After your shower, you threw on a pair of distressed black jeans, a white v-neck, and combat boots. You threw your leather jacket on as you headed out the door. You hopped on your bike, started the engine, and sped off in the direction of the White Wyrm. The trip only took about 5 minutes, but when you arrived, you noticed that Mustang’s and Tall Boy’s bikes were already parked out front. You parked and headed inside, your thoughts evenly split between wondering what this was about and focusing on keeping your shit together. The King always had a certain effect on you and with the events of the last few months, this was even more true. The last thing you needed was for Mustang or Tall Boy to realize how you felt about your leader. You took a deep breath and walked through the door.

“There she is!” A voice boomed.

You grinned. “Hey, Tall Boy.” You fist bumped the giant man and did the same to Mustang.

“Hey, Piper. Thanks for joining us.” You turned around to face the owner of the voice and felt your heart skip a beat. The man standing in front of you was absurdly attractive. The epitome of ‘tall, dark, and handsome’. His dark hair was tousled slightly, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his brown eyes were tired, but you could see the spark in them when he looked at you. He was wearing his typical uniform: fitted jeans, t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel, combat boots, and of course, his Serpent jacket. It was the one thing that all of you had in common. Despite the layers, you could see the lean muscles of his strong body and you felt an intense desire to run your hands over his chest. You managed to keep your cool and shot your leader a smirk. “Anything for you, FP,” you said with a dramatic curtsey.

The other two men snickered and FP rolled his eyes. “Alright, people. We’ve got important business to discuss.” FP’s tone sobered the room. The three of you waited to hear what he had to say. 

“We’ve got a problem that needs to be taken care of...and the three of you are the best I’ve got.”

“What kind of problem, boss?” Tall Boy asked.

“The Snake Charmer kind.”

You flinched. It was no secret that you and Penny Peabody hated each other. Even hearing her nickname made your blood boil. “What’d the bitch do now?” you asked through gritted teeth.

FP raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t admonish you. “She’s blackmailing us. Either we run drugs for her, or she takes it out on my son.”

Your breath caught in your chest. The Serpent kids were your purview. You were only 26, so the teens related to you. You protected them and mentored them. As far as you were concerned, a threat against one of your kids was a threat against you personally. 

FP noticed your anger flaring. “Easy, Pipes,” he said gently.

“She threatened one of my kids. How did you think I was going to react?” You snapped.

“I know. He’s my son. How do you think I feel?” He snapped back.

You pursed your lips and stayed silent. After all, he had a point.

“So what are we gonna do?” Mustang asked, trying to ease the tension.

“Until further notice, the Serpents will be drug mules.”

Your face drained of color and you could sense the unease in the two men beside you. None of you said a word though, because FP’s voice had a tone of finality to it. When the King made a decree, there was no arguing it.

“So what do you need us to do?” You asked.

“The four of us are going to take the lead on this. I need you, Piper, to pick four kids to team up with us.”

You gasp audibly. “FP, you can’t put kids into this. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s less suspicious to have an adult and a kid team than having two adult men.”

“But they’re just kids,” you protested.

His expression hardened. “They’re Serpents. Pair four kids with the four of us. That’s an order.”

You could feel the anger bubbling under your skin and it took all of your self-control to not fight back. What he just ordered you to do went against everything you believed in...and who you were as a person. 

Mustang could see your anger and he put a hand on your back. “Take a deep breath, P.” He gently rubbed your back as you took a couple deep breaths. You noticed FP’s entire body tense up as he watched you. His breathing was shaky and you knew he was struggling to keep his cool. You felt some satisfaction at seeing his discomfort, but you didn’t need him to flip out in front of witnesses. “Thanks, Mustang,” you said with a smile. He returned it and stepped back. 

You turned your attention back to FP. “I’ll ask for volunteers tomorrow. You’ll get your teams. Sir.” You added the ‘sir’ with a little more venom than was necessary.

He nodded, ignoring your attitude. “Good. Then you’re all dismissed.”

You glared at him before turning toward the exit. 

“Aww, come on, Pipes. You’re not gonna stay for a drink?” Tall Boy called after you.

“Sorry boys, not tonight. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow, then.”

You left with a wave and climbed onto your bike. The ride home was quick and you couldn’t wait to crawl into your bed. You were hurt and angry, which had pushed your exhaustion to the side. You changed into comfy clothes and sat on your bed. You were thinking about what had transpired tonight, as well as the events that had occurred over the past year. 

It had been about 10 months ago when everything blew the hell up. FP Jones had gone to prison for the murder of Jason Blossom. When you’d heard the news, you’d been shocked. There was no way that FP would hurt a kid, let alone murder one. You got the sense that Tall Boy knew more than he was letting on, but he wouldn’t tell you anything. So you went directly to the source. Seeing FP shuffle in in an orange jumpsuit and cuffs broke your heart. His face lit up in surprise when he saw you sitting on the other side of the glass. From that moment on, something had changed between the two of you. You visited him every week and worked with Jughead to try and get him free. 

The day that FP got out of prison was one of the happiest you’d ever experienced. That night, he’d knocked on your door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep. You sat on the couch and he laid down with his head in your lap. The two of you had talked for hours and you’d gently run your fingers through his hair. Eventually, you both fell asleep and when you woke up, you were surprised to see him still there...cooking you breakfast. That day began a growing relationship between you and the Serpent King. You’d been together for the past four months, but no one knew. Not because FP wanted to keep it a secret, but because you did. You didn’t want other Serpents to think you were sleeping with the boss to get special treatment or some bullshit. And you certainly didn’t want to upset Jughead in any way. So you asked him to keep it a secret and he agreed. He’d asked you just last week if he could officially announce it, but you were too nervous. He respected you enough to honor your wishes. 

You sighed audibly. The memories of the past few months normally made you happy...but right now, all you could think about was how foolish you’d been to get involved with the older man. You’d developed real feelings for him and you thought he’d felt the same. Tonight’s events, however, made you question that. His orders showed a lack of respect for your morals...a lack of respect for you. Maybe it shouldn't bother you so much, after all those kids had voluntarily joined a gang. But they were still kids. And the Serpents weren’t that kind of gang. They looked out for their own; protected them. Now they were going to run drugs and force the kids to participate. It was just wrong.

You were jostled from your thoughts by a knock at your door. When you opened the door, you were surprised to find a solemn-faced FP standing on the steps. “FP, I don’t really want to see you right now.”

His frown deepened. “Pipes, can we please just talk?”

You looked him over and noticed that he looked older and more weary. This whole thing was clearly weighing on him, and it lowered your resolve. You simply stood back, allowing him to enter. He sat on the end of the couch and you sat on the other, pulling your legs up and turning to face him. You sat in silence for a few minutes before he finally spoke. “You’re upset with me.”

“Perceptive.”

He looked over at you. “It had to be this way, Piper. It’s the safest option for all of us.”

You just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. When he remained silent, you spoke up, “So that’s it? You’re not here to apologize?”

He furrowed his brow. “No offense, Piper, but I’m the King. I have nothing to apologize for.”

Your eyes widened in hurt and surprise. You blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “Then you can leave.” You stood up and gestured towards the door.

He looked up at you in confusion. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“FP, if you don’t understand why I’m upset, then this conversation is over. Now, please leave.” So I can cry in peace, you added silently. 

He stood up and looked at you sadly. “Did I just screw this up?”

“Honestly, FP, I don’t know.”

He winced as if you’d slapped him and he turned and walked out without another word. 

You collapsed onto the floor with your back against the couch and let the tears fall.

***FP’s POV***

I stomped into my trailer and slammed the door. What the hell have I done? I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. I sit down on the couch with a thud. I am such an idiot. I finally have a great relationship with an amazing woman and I let my ego fuck it up. I put my face in my hands and shake my head. I tell myself that it had to be done, that this was a good plan, but the words feel hollow.

“Dad? Are you okay?” Jughead tentatively steps out of his room. I can see the worry on his face and I want to reassure him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. 

“Not really, Jug.”

He came into the living room and sat in the chair across from me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not something I should be discussing with my son.”

“Come on, Dad. Who else are you going to talk to?” He gestured around to the empty room.

The kid had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. “I messed up. I made a decision and I hurt someone that I care about.”

“One of the guys?”

I shook my head. “I, uh, haven’t been completely honest with you, Jughead. I’ve been seeing someone. She wanted to keep it a secret--”

“Piper?” he asked with a small smile.

I looked up at him in surprise. “You know?”

He laughed. “Of course I know! I’m not an idiot, Dad. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I can feel my face heat up. I’d tried to keep it professional around her, but she made me feel things that I never thought I’d feel again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I get it. Some people might judge.”

I simply nodded.

“So what did you do?

I sigh and fill him in on the events of the evening. Jughead was quiet for a few minutes after I’d finished. I knew he had a lot to work through...especially since this whole business with Penny started with him. “This is my fault,” he began.

“No, Jug, it’s not, okay? I’m taking care of it, so don’t worry about that part.”

“By turning the Serpents into drug mules? Dad, that’s not who we are.”

“You think I don’t know that, kid? I hate this as much as you do, but it’s the only option.”

“But sending kids to do it? Come on, Dad. You’re telling me that you can’t see why Piper is upset?”

“It’s a good plan,” I say defensively.

“That may be true, but think about it from her perspective. Piper loves us like we’re her younger siblings. She would die to protect a Serpent kid without a second thought. But you’re forcing her to do something that puts those very kids in danger. It goes against who she is a person. Hell, you ordered her to do it. Imagine how that would feel.”

I hung my head, realizing that my son was right. “Shit,” I mumbled. 

“Dad?”

I looked up at him.

“Do you love her?”

I froze. The word ‘love’ always made me nervous. I hated using it and I hated hearing it. But Piper was different...everything about her was different. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine living the rest of my life without Piper. I realized with a pang that I couldn’t do it. Losing her might very well be the death of me. I made eye contact with my son and said softly, “With all my heart.”

He smiled. “Then you have to get her back. You might want to start with an apology.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. “When the hell did you get to be so wise?”

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I was born this way.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up. “Go back to bed, oh wise one.”

Jughead smiled and headed back to his room.

“Hey, Jug.” He turned back around to look at me. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “Anytime, Dad.”

I changed my clothes and collapsed on my bed. The weight of the day exhausted me. My heart ached, but I knew that Piper would need time before she’d see me again. I hoped that I could see her before tomorrow’s meeting so we could clear the air. I fell asleep thinking about what I was going to say to get my girl back.

***Your POV***

You’d fallen asleep after crying it out for a little while. You felt no better today and your eyes were red and puffy. You knew you’d need to try and remedy that before heading to the Wyrm. You didn’t want people to know that you’d been crying, least of all FP. You took a long, hot shower, then put a face mask on and some under eye masks too. You laid on your bed, naked, and tried to relax your mind. After 20 minutes, you got up and washed your face. You smiled when you saw that your skin wasn’t blotchy and your eyes weren’t puffy. They were still a little red, but that was as good as it was gonna get. You took your time getting ready...you were in no hurry to see FP. Hell, if you were a different person, you would have made up some excuse to not go today. But you weren’t a quitter, so you pulled yourself together and headed to the Wyrm. 

When you walked into the bar, you were surprised by how crowded it was. It was only 9:30am on a Saturday. One of your kids was the first to notice you enter. “Hey, Piper!”

“Hey, Sweet Pea,” you said with a smile. “What are y'all doing here here so early on a Saturday?”

Sweet Pea shrugged. “The boss texted us to come in.”

You hadn’t gotten that message, but maybe it was because you were already planning on coming in. You perched yourself on the barstool between Sweet Pea and Fangs. “I wonder what this is about,” you muttered.

“No one seems to have any idea,” Fangs replied.

A loud wolf whistle brought everyone’s attention to the other side of the room. FP was standing up on the stage so that everyone could see and hear him. Seeing him sent a shockwave of emotions through your body...not all of them good. You couldn’t believe that he’d called a meeting without including you. You were wondering what the hell he was gonna say when he began to speak.

“Sorry for calling you all in so early on a Saturday.” Laughter and boos spilled out around the room. “But what I have to say is so important that it couldn’t wait.” He took a deep breath. “The Serpents are going to have to do something that I’m really not happy about, but it has to be done in order to protect our youngest members. I met with three of our best yesterday to discuss our next moves. I made a decision during that meeting that I have now come to regret. I neglected to take other people’s opinions into account and for that, I am truly sorry. So today, I am announcing my new decision. A few of us will have to risk everything for the good of this family. So, as of today, myself, Tall Boy, Mustang, and Levi will become drug runners for Penny Peabody.”

His voice was drowned out by angry shouts from almost every person in the room. You simply sat in stunned silence, unable to form a single coherent thought. FP raised his voice, fighting for dominance. Finally, he whistled again and everyone fell silent. “I know you’re angry and so am I, but we don’t have a choice. She threatened some of our youngest Serpents and I will not stand for that. So we’re going to do what she wants, even if it costs us.” 

FP scanned the room until his eyes found you. “There’s a person here that means the world to me...and I hurt her in ways I didn’t truly understand until now. And for that, I am incredibly sorry. I’m going to do everything I can to make it right...no matter how long it takes.” The room stood in stunned silence. FP had just admitted that he loved a woman in this room and publicly apologized for hurting her.

Your whole body was frozen. His words hit you deep and spurred something inside of you. You stood up and looked your King in the eyes. “In unity, there is strength,” you said, your voice strong and firm.

Everyone turned to look at you, but your eyes never left FP’s. Seconds passed, then the entire room responded in kind, “In unity, there is strength!”

FP nodded and jumped off the stage, effectively ending the meeting. Everyone started chatting and a voice behind you said, “Holy shit. He was talking about you.” You turned to see Toni Topaz staring at you in shock. You nodded slowly, “Yes...he was.”

The rest of the group that surrounded you gasped audibly and started asking all kinds of questions. A deep voice from behind saved you from having to answer any of them. “Do you kids mind if I steal Piper for a while?” FP asked.

A chorus of “yeahs” and “go aheads” resounded. You rolled your eyes at their expressions and followed the King upstairs to his office. The moment he closed the door, you spoke, “Well that was very public.”

He blushed. “I’m so sorry, Pipes. For all of it. I didn’t realize what I’d done until I talked it over with Jughead.” 

Your eyes widened. “You told Jughead?!”

He shrugged. “He already knew. All I did was confirm it. He said--and I quote-- ‘I’ve seen the way you look at her.’”

You were quiet for a moment. “Was he okay with it?”

“More than okay. He wanted me to fix things with you.”

Now it was your turn to blush. “I can see that that emboldened you.”

“Maybe a little bit.” He smiled. “Which is also why I changed the plan. It’s more dangerous, but you were right. We can’t do that to the kids.”

“I’m glad that you agree, but why take me out of it?”

“To protect you. I realized last night that I can’t bear to lose you.”

You looked at him affectionately. “FP...”

“Let me finish or I’ll never get this out.” You nod and he continues. “You have changed my life, Pipes. You make it better in every possible way...and you make me better. How can I not love you? I meant what I said earlier, you mean the world to me. It scares the shit out of me, but I love you, Piper Coronado. I love you with all my heart.”

You stood there frozen in shock. FP wasn’t a particularly open man when it came to his feelings and it was well known how he felt about the ‘L word’, so his revelation had you reeling. 

“Pipes...please, say something.”

You realized you’d been silent for too long. “I’m sorry. I’m just shocked.”

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I --”

“Shut up,” you say, cutting him off. You close the space between you and pull his face down to yours, your lips crashing together. After a few moments, you pull away breathless. You look up at him and say softly, “I love you, too, FP Jones. I always have.”

His face lit up and he grinned. He grabbed you and pulled you into him, kissing you passionately. He gripped your thighs and pulled you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried you over to the desk and sat you on top of it, clearing everything off with a sweep of his arm. Everything crashed to the ground and you winced. “FP! They’ll hear us downstairs.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s sound-proofed.”

You returned his grin and pulled him closer with your legs. “Well in that case...” You tugged at the bottom hem of his shirt and he got the message and pulled it off over his head. You reached for him and he leaned back in to kiss you. Your body reacted to his touch and you let out a soft moan as he trailed kisses down your neck. “Lose the jacket,” he murmured against your neck. You wiggled your arms out of your jacket and tossed it on the floor. His hands immediately slid up under your shirt and you pulled it off over your head to give him better access. 

You could see the massive bulge through his jeans and you slowly ran your hand across it, sending a shiver up his spine. “Lose the pants, handsome.” He grinned and quickly yanked them off. You licked your lips and murmured, “Boxers too.”

“How is that fair? You’re almost fully dressed!” He protested.

You smiled and slid off the desk as you slowly unclasped your bra and tossed it to the side. FP watched your every move, the hunger in his eyes spurring you on. You turned around so your back was to him and slowly slid your jeans down your legs. You leaned forward, giving him a great view of your lace-covered ass. He let out a low groan and the instant your pants were out of the way, he was right up behind you, pressed against your back. He peppered kisses down your neck and shoulder while his hands explored your breasts. You let out a low moan and leaned back into him.

“Turn around, baby.”

You obliged, turning to face him. He pushes against you until you hit the desk. He gently slipped his hands under your ass and lifted you onto the desk. He immediately drops to his knees and spreads your legs wide. He nuzzles against the lace of your panties, causing you to gasp. He takes his time, gently kissing your inner thighs, sending sweet sensations through your body. The more he teased you, the more you needed him. “FP,” you groaned, “quit teasing me.”

“Do you not like it?” He asked softly.

“You know I do, but it’s cruel.”

He chuckled softly and grabbed your hips. “Lift up.” You did as you were told and he quickly slid the lace bits off your body and discarded them on the floor. He looked you over, his eyes filled with desire. “You’re so gorgeous, Piper.”

You smiled and beckoned him towards you. He leaned over you and planted a soft kiss on your lips before getting down on his knees again. He placed his hands on your inner thighs and slid his tongue between your folds. Your head fell back and you moaned as he began licking and sucking with fervor. You tanged your fingers in his hair and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to his mouth. Waves of pleasure radiated through your body and you felt the familiar knot tightening in your stomach. You lifted your hips to meet him and begged him not to stop. His grip on you tightened and he sped up, sliding two fingers inside of you, gently stroking your g-spot. Within seconds, an intense orgasm racked your body and you cried out in pleasure. FP rode the waves as your body bucked beneath, not stopping until you gently tugged on his hair. He lifted his head and looked at you with a grin. You pulled him up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips.

He pulled away and whispered, “I want you, baby.” You smiled and reached for him. He pulled you close and you wrapped your legs around his waist so that he could pick you up. He carried you to the couch and gently laid you down before crawling on top of you. He kissed you and you ran your hands down his hard body, appreciating the toned muscles. He let out a soft groan against your lips, clearly appreciating your touch. He began moving down your body, kissing your neck, nibbling at your collar bone, and gently licking at your nipples before leaning back and grabbing his cock. You bit your lip and lifted your hips slightly, indicating to him that you wanted him. He slowly rubbed his cock against your entrance and you moaned breathlessly. “I want you, FP,” you said. 

“How badly?”

“More than you can imagine. Give me what I want,” you demanded.

“As you wish, my Queen.” And with that, he slid inside of you, filling you up in ways only he could. 

You were surprised by his choice of words, but all thoughts quickly left your mind as he started to move. You moaned softly and dug your nails into his back. He leaned forward and nipped at your neck as he increased his pace. “Shit, Pipes. You feel so good,” he groaned. 

He shifted your body so that he hit your g-spot with each thrust. You gasped and clung to him as he began to pump faster, slamming into you, pleasuring you as only he could. “Fuck, FP. I’m so close.”

“Not yet, baby. You cum when I tell you to.”

You nod and he continues his glorious assault on your body. His movements become more erratic and his body tenses up. You know that he’s close too. Just when you think that you can’t take it anymore, he murmurs, “Cum for me baby.”

You feel your body completely give in to him and a second orgasm sends you into spasms of pleasure. You feel him spill into you, moaning loudly as your walls milk everything from his cock. Eventually, he slows and collapses on top of you. “That was incredible,” he whispers into your neck.

“You’re incredible,” you say back.

He kisses your neck and pulls himself to his feet. He starts to get dressed and you do the same. It dawns on you that you have something you need to ask him. “FP?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“What did you mean when you called me your Queen?”

He eyed you carefully. “I want you to be my Queen,” he said softly. “But only if that’s what you want.”

You smile at him and pull him in for a kiss. “Of course that’s what I want.”

He grins at you and takes your hand to lead you downstairs...he had another important announcement to share with the rest of the Serpents. 

[wujipianover]

as long as you need it

written for @mdzsnet ‘s 1 year celebration of cql

day 1: favourite character: Wei Wuxian

summary: Again, the word home comes back into his mind. Such a sense of permanence, of settling, the word brings to him. Lotus Pier was a home, Burial Mounds was a home. But they all had the air of something temporary to them. He was a guest at the home. He never really belonged fully. Here, in the jingshi, where just a table way lies scrolls of paper with his messy writing, this feels like belonging. He has put down roots in the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian of a lifetime away would laugh at the thought but he now, he here, has a home.

alternatively titled- a day in the life of wei wuxian

tags: established relationship, post-canon, cooking as healing

read on ao3!

Wei Wuxian wakes up to lips being pressed gently to his own. He’s warm, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets finer than anything he is used to. But he’s used to this. It sends a thrill up his spine, just letting the fact that this is his life, that he has gotten used to this germinate in his mind. He purrs, cat-like. Wei Wuxian is woken up like this everyday. Sometimes the lips are on his eyelids, on his cheeks, on his chin, on his temple. But he likes it best when he is awoken with a kiss on his lips like today. He lies there like that, feeling warmer than he should in the chilly Gusu winters. His husband, his husband’s face is only a breath away when he opens his face. Lan Wangji is smiling at him. Somewhere he started smiling at Wei Wuxian and has not stopped. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him to stop, ever.

“Good morning Lan Zhan,” he murmurs. He’s quieter in the mornings. Lan Wangji presses another kiss to his mouth and then busies himself with setting the table for breakfast. 

The first time Lan Wangji had kissed him in the morning, he had made a face and had said that his breath was too stinky. Lan Wangji had come close to laughing then. But he had firmly kissed him, lips parting barely enough to have his tongue slip past into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. It had lasted for only ten seconds but it had left him breathing heavily. He hasn’t said anything about morning kisses after that. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. 

Wei Wuxian stretches, joints creaking deliciously. His limbs feel heavy, like dipped in sugar syrup. He’s sore from last night and if he presses his hips with his fingers, there will be the remnant of pain from where Lan Wangji’s hands left bruises. He feels sacred.

His eyes follow Lan Wangji as he pours tea in two cups. He’s seated at his usual place with a spot empty next to him, waiting for Wei Wuxian. He lingers in the bed for a few more moments not ready to leave the warmth of it and his eyes settle on Lan Wangji. Like they always do, like they always did even a lifetime ago. He looks at him while Lan Wangji very carefully serves congee onto two bowls. Wei Wuxian knows Lan Wangji spent half an hour in the kitchen making it for him. And it is such a privilege to be on the receiving end of this affection. He has been eating breakfast made by his beloved for six months now. The privilege has not faded, just settled in his bones.

Finally, he gets off the bed to join his husband at the table. Lan Wangji wordlessly dumps chilli oil in his congee. Wei Wuxian doesn’t really need the spice in the morning but he likes this so much. Likes that Lan Wangji anticipates his needs before him and provides everything to him like the opposite is not even in question. 

“Thank you,” he says and Lan Wangji smiles wider.

In return he peels a clementine and puts it in front of Lan Wangji. This little dance, they do this everyday; Have been doing since before they got married, right after the downfall of Jin Guangyao when they were still hesitant around each other, bursting with longing unable to contain it, but unable to express it. The tradition continued on after they got married. It is so simple, Wei Wuxian suspects a lot of married couples do this, but the fact that he, Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Laozu gets to have it, is still surprising. So he cherishes it. 

Someday he doesn’t think twice about the sight of Lan Wangji eating breakfast, without the head piece, soft around the edges. And that is such an honour in itself. To have all of this and not let the thoughts stick to your brain. But some days, like today, he wakes up feeling special. The jingshi is quiet, only the clicking of their chopsticks audible. It is a silence that is akin to warmth that blankets you, not suffocating but tucking you and lulling you to sleep. It’s his home, the jingshi. The sandalwood smell that he so strongly associated with Lan Wangji, comes from his black and red robes too. It’s the smell of the incense that they use at home. 

Again, the word home comes back into his mind. Such a sense of permanence, of settling, the word brings to him. Lotus Pier was a home, Burial Mounds was a home. But they all had the air of something temporary to them. He was a guest at the home. He never really belonged fully. Here, in the jingshi, where just a table way lies scrolls of paper with his messy writing, this feels like belonging. He has put down roots in the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian of a lifetime away would laugh at the thought but he now, he here, has a home.  

They finish breakfast and Wei Wuxian gets up to clear the table. Lan Wangji begins getting ready for the day, putting on the headpiece, putting on even more outer robes, transforming into the Hanguang-jun. Wei Wuxian rattles on about the book he’s writing. Being quiet for too long will only worry his Lan Zhan. And he is actually eager to start working on the new chapter. Talking about everything he has in his mind helps to piece together things better. Lan Wangji is also a very attentive listener and answers all of Wei Wuxian’s questions with his very smart suggestions. Lan Wangji is ready and Wei Wuxian steps to smooth his crinkle-free robes.

And like everyday, Wei Wuxian kisses him in front of the door of the jingshi before he steps out into the world to become the Chief Cultivator. 

“Don’t let the fools bore you to death, okay.” Wei Wuxian says petulantly breaking a sect rule. Only one for a morning, that’s impressive. He’s getting boring. “Or I will have to remind all the old farts that the Chief Cultivator is married to the Yilling Laozu. And even though he has become a bit of an academic, he’s still very scary.”

Lan Wangji dilutes all of his speech by giving a flick to his nose. Wei Wuxian gasps, “You-”

“Yes, me.” Lan Wangji is smug now. “Have a good day, Wei Ying. I will see you tonight,”

And Wei Wuxian presses him to the door and kisses him some more because how dare Lan Wangji make him feel so flustered. He should taste some of his own medicine. He ends up feeling more breathless than when he started. It’s a good morning. 

*

His stomach grumbling finally forces him to tear away from the piles of books and messy scrolls. It’s almost noon, he can discern from the way he is hungry now. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly his body adapted to the schedule of GusuLan. It seemed like he was always running previously. Finally at the barest hint of a schedule, his body settled into it. There’s no running now (not permitted in the Cloud Recesses), just very fast walking that makes Lan Qiren’s blood boil.

He gives a cursory glance at all he’s managed to do this morning. He has been distracted today, but the work in front of him looks good. He’s working on a book to compile everything he knows about demonic cultivation into a handy little educational manual. Wei Wuxian had suggested the idea of the book to Lan Wangji over dinner one day. It could barely be called an idea then. All he wanted to do was make sure no one repeated his mistakes. And make cultivation more open-minded, more accessible to those with no golden cores. Talismans and resentful energy, he had reasoned were not just for those on a heretic path, they helped cultivators forced to sheath their spiritual energy too.

The next day he was given access to all of the library at Cloud Recesses, including the Forbidden Section along with a quiet corner to work. Lan Qiren had tried to protest vehemently but Lan Wangji had cited a rule promoting the growth of the mind and furthering education, not very innocently. That had shut up Lan Qiren. Lan Wangji had turned to face Wei Wuxian, so satisfied with himself that Wei Wuxian had to clench his fists so as to not drag him to the jingshi right then.

It’s absurd that he’s in the library all by himself voluntarily. Long ago, a very annoyed Lan Wangji had to supervise him as he begrudgingly poured over books. Now on occasions A-Yuan has to bodily drag Wei Wuxian away from the texts to lunch.

Nobody quite believes that the Yiling Laozu spends a majority of time reading and writing. His name strikes fear and demands respect, it doesn’t make you think of a man sitting on a table checking talismans over and over. Even though that’s what he did at Burial Mounds too. His Demon-Slaughtering Cave was littered with texts full of experiments. It’s a little funny.

Now, he has a clean library and a very eager A-Yuan dragging him to lunch not strictly consisting of turnips. He has access to all the books he wants and more paper than he could ever fill with ink. He likes experimenting, it gives his brain a very simple satisfaction to piece characters together to make something new. But he also likes feeling useful. Knowing that his work could help a struggling kid is all the motivation he needs to trudge through the difficult parts of writing a book on a cultivation path that was unknown and feared years ago.

So he works through the rumble of his stomach until A-Yuan comes in with Lan Jingyi to drag him to the Dining Hall.

They pass a class where Lan Wangji is teaching. Wei Wuxian very animatedly blows a kiss to him. It’s telling how normal this is because none of the students pause and look behind at him when Lan Wangji pauses midway to stare at him. 

*

Jiang Cheng in the Cloud Recesses kitchen is a sight. Wei Wuxian leans on the wall near the fire and watches his brother unpack all the spices he has brought from Yunmeng. It’s very funny how Jiang heng manages to look angry doing that. Their relationship still feels fragile so Wei Wuxian swallows down the laugh threatening to burst. He’s not very successful because Jiang Cheng glowers at him, “What are you laughing about?”

We Wuxian covers his laugh with a cough. “Aah nothing nothing.” He looks at the various spices laid out along with lotus pods. His chest suddenly feels very tight. “Thank you,” he says in a soft voice.

Jiang Cheng visibly softens at that. “What are you thanking me for.” He tries to sound angry but there is no bite to his words. “This lotus pod is not a snack for you. It’s for the soup.”

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng had not talked after the Guanyin Temple. He had been invited to Wei Wuxian’s wedding through a scroll as a sect leader. He was too scared to assume, didn’t want to impose any brotherly duties to him for the wedding.

Jiang Cheng had arrived in the Cloud Recesses three days later, screaming, “So you think you’re too good for Lotus Pier now. You like the Lan clan so much that you’re just going to forget you’re from the Jiang clan huh. You’re gonna forget your brother too.”

Wei Wuxian had come running out. Jiang Cheng was angry but he also looked hurt. Wei Wuxian could not stop smiling. He hadn’t felt this light even when Lan Zhan had asked him to marry him. He had hugged him and despite all the grumbling Jiang Cheng had hugged him back. If Jiang Cheng wanted to dive headfirst into mending their relationship almost violently, Wei Wuxian would simply follow his lead. There were too many things unspoken between them, too many secrets buried under love and pain. It would be a big job to hold all these secrets now laid bare open. It was a job he was more than willing to take on. He had spent too long feeling like a limb was missing, being reunited with Jiang Cheng was almost enough to cover the pain that Jiang Yanli’s gaping absence left.

Since that day, Wei Wuxian has visited Lotus Pier once every month. It didn’t feel like a home, that was Cloud Recesses, but it did feel like a childhood home. He was so proud of all that Jiang Cheng had achieved, only felt the smallest sadness and guilt that he wasn't there with him for everything. He stayed at his old bedroom there, touched to find that Jiang Cheng had still kept it for him. All his things were in place. Despite all the show of scorn and hatred, Jiang Cheng had believed that Wei Wuxian had been alive, prayed for that. Wei Wuxian doesn’t always burst into tears when he remembers that. But he does sometimes.

And Jiang Cheng visits him at Cloud Recesses every month too. They quickly discovered that Jin Ling liked to accompany Jiang Cheng to Cloud Recesses to shirk off his responsibilities as the sect leader and they were not immune to his silent pleas. So Jiang Cheng in his purple robes is a monthly visitor disrupting the quiet. Wei Wuxian likes it so much. They break enough rules that Lan Qiren stays in his room the entirety of Jiang Cheng’s stay.

They are currently in the kitchen to try to recreate Jiang Yanli’s recipes. It’s another one of their rituals. It hurts too much to think about her. So they do this instead. Add more and more chilli powder, burn spices and try to cut the vegetables in a way that matches hers. It’s also for Jin Ling’s sake. The boy has so many responsibilities on his shoulder already. He deserves to be doted over sometimes. And Wei Wuxian will not rest until he admits that he’s his favourite uncle.

“You’re going to set the spices on fire again!” Jiang Cheng says. 

Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out but lowers the heat. Setting the Lotus Pier kitchen on fire is okay, almost like a distant memory. But he can’t burn down Cloud Recesses. It’ll be too painful.

“Remember when…” Wei Wuxian starts but stops suddenly.

Maybe Jiang Cheng takes pity on him but by some miracle he continues, “When A-jie made this for you the first time? I am sorry about the dogs.” He sounds sheepish. “But Princess was a little thing, she would have not hurt you,” he adds indignantly. 

“Aiya I have said sorry about the dogs too many times now. I thought I was the one with the bad memory.”

Jiang Cheng elbows his side and they squabble over the right way to cut the vegetables once again. It’s not the same as healing but it is close. Wei Wuxian takes everything he can get and treasures these moments dearly. He knows that he's not going anywhere. This is his life now. But the more animal part of the brain grasps at everything good and clutches tightly lest this shatters like broken glass.

“Hey! Are you listening to me or not? WEI WUXIAN.”

“Jiang Cheng, screaming is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” 

“Oh so now you’re a model student. Who knew it would take marrying into the sect to turn you into a somewhat human. Wait, we all knew, with how you used to stare at Lan Wangji all day.”

“Jiang Cheng I’m your shidi, have some respect.”

They dissolve into their usual teasing and it’s so good. The smell from the pot is not the same as Jiang Yanli’s but it’s close. They’re getting close.

*

He’s supposed to be taking sword training sessions for the baby Lans that have yet to develop their golden cores. But Jiang Cheng and he talked until it was dark and then Jiang Cheng had left for his inn at Caiyi. He refuses to stay at Cloud Recesses- “This place gives me the creeps.” he always says. 

Giving sword and archery lessons was not intentional. He used to train with a wooden sword at the same time as the training lessons for the juniors. He could not resist going over to them to try and get some giggles out of the little ones. Children should be laughing and playing. No one stopped him. So he started dropping by their lessons more and more often to not only get them to break their Lan composure but also to add to their lessons.

One day he realized he had actually taken over the poor disciple’s job. They were reluctant to say anything to him and he made their life easier. He was good at teaching, to the smug satisfaction of Lan Wangji and the horror of Lan Qiren. Fighting with Lan Wangji had made him acquainted with the style of the Lan and he added the flair of the Jiang clan while teaching. There were no inherent faults with his teaching methods though they were unconventional. There was technically no rule breaking involved. They made the juniors laugh but also try harder. 

Sometimes while training he sees Lan Wangji in the periphery and knows that he’s smiling. Lan Wangji didn’t have the best childhood. There’s no disapproving glare sent a child’s way when they laugh too loudly or joke. Lan Jingyi is a great example of that. There’s encouraging smiles and gentle nods. The children deserve to be treated like children. They deserve to have a carefree upbringing. So Wei Wuxian tries harder to make them laugh and no one stops him.

*

He misses his students as he makes his way to the jingshi. Mornings make him glow but nights are his favourite.

The jingshi is a warm respite from the cold outside. A disciple has burned a few candles for light and warmth. He starts clearing up the mess on the tables, his mess mostly when A-Yuan slides open the door and enters arms full of dinner.

“A-Yuan!” He still blushes at the name. He’s told him to not call him that with other people present but Wei Wuxian is allowed to say his name in the privacy of the jingshi.

“Wei-qianbei, I have dinner!”

“Thank you! How was meeting Jin Ling today? Is he still grouchy from the last meeting?”

A-Yuan clucks and then blushes profusely, hiding his face while serving the dinner onto three plates. “He’s fine. Better now that you and Sect Leader Jiang are not annoying him. His words, not mine.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. He was never truly A-Yuan’s father at Burial Mounds. Grandma spent the most time with him. He liked to consider him his father but there was a lot of naivety in his thoughts then. Lan Wangji truly is A-Yuan’s father. Right from his posture to the soft way he smiles, he is all of Lan Wangji’s good qualities and more. Friendlier. Lan Xichen has a hand in that, he supposes. But he desperately wants to be his father. He technically is, but there is a lot to that title that he has yet to learn. He didn’t have all the firsts with him, so he tries to make up for lost time now. He wasn’t there for the forehead ribbon ceremony or for his first night hunt but he wants to be here for all that is yet to come. He wishes that it’ll be enough.

The door slides open again and Lan Wangji enters. His face is weary, the meetings must have run long. He has half a mind to send extremely long letters threatening the sect leaders to stop troubling Hanguang-jun. 

“Welcome home Lan Zhan!” he says instead adding a brilliant smile.

It must be otherworldly magic because the tiredness slips away from Lan Wangji’s face and is replaced with a smile. Lan Wangji loves hearing Wei Wuxian call the jingshi home. There is a fear that he’ll turn into his father in the name of love so Wei Wuxian greets him like this everyday. Small reminder that this is Wei Wuxian’s home too and he’s not going anywhere.

“Hello Wei Ying, A-Yuan,” he says in the sweetest voice. Wei Wuxian will never tire of it. He goes straight to shed off an outer robe and remove his head piece, becoming Lan Zhan again. A-Yuan talks about his day now that Lan Wangji is here too. He is trying to fit as much story into words as possible before they start eating and he has to be quiet. It’s very amusing to watch.

Lan Wangji settles at the table. “I’m so glad you had fun.” A-Yuan beams. Fun, he’s so glad fun was encouraged for him. Lan Wangji would never let A-Yuan feel as lonely as he did. Wei Wuxian’s glad he’s here with Lan Wangji now.

“How was your day Wei Ying,” he asks sincerely. Because he does everything sincerely.

They start eating and because he has no qualms about talking while eating, he narrates his day. It’s disgustingly domestic. Wei Wuxian adores it. A-Yuan sitting between them, listening intently, his face mirroring Lan Wangji’s. It’s a scene he once imagined at an inn in Yiling once. And now he gets to have it. Everyday. There aren't enough gods to thank for this fortune.

The dinner is done and then A-Yuan is hurrying off. He’s a teenager, embarrassed by his fathers’ presence. Can’t blame him. 

And then Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are alone in the jingshi again. 

Wei Wuxian scoots closer to Lan Wangji, puts his arms across his neck and gathers him closer to his chest. Lan Wangji goes willingly. “I missed you,” he says. And Lan Wangji, because he’s the nicest person in the world doesn’t say something like ‘You just saw me in the morning.’

He replies, “I missed you too.” and means it. Drops a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s neck, “Let’s go to bed.”

Wei Wuxian hums contentedly. If mornings are tranquil, nights are charged. Maybe that’s why they are his favourites. 

Lan Wangji carries him to bed in his arms because he is the best person. Sheds his outer robes while Wei Wuxian mutters, “Lan Zhan, did you have a good day today? You look tired but also really hot. Is anyone troubling you. I’ll beat them up for you you know. Don’t need Chenqing to beat people up. I have very strong arms, not as strong as Hanguang-jun’s though.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Lan Wangji changes into his sleeping robes. Wei Wuxian’s eyes remain trained on Lan Wangji’s body.

Finally, finally, Lan Wangji comes to lie on top of him. “I really don’t want to talk about those fools now, Wei Ying.” His voice is so low.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Lan Wangji kisses him back and they dissolve into each other.

Wei Wuxian lies curled around Lan Wangji, an arm thrown over his chest, legs entangled, head resting on the rising chest of his husband while Lan Wangji clings to him too. He kisses his forehead where the ribbon usually lies and settles comfortably. It seems like affection is seeping out of him. He never knew what safe meant till he found himself in Lan Wangji’s arms.Today was a good day. He can’t wait for tomorrow, to see Lan Wangji again. It’ll not be very different from today. Maybe he’ll work with the dizi tomorrow instead of talismans and practice archery with the students tomorrow instead of sword. 

He had deluded himself into thinking that a life travelling is the one he craves because he never wanted to face his true desire. A home, surrounded by his loved ones. Maybe he will travel one day, when Lan Wangji is free of his responsibilities. Even then he will have a home in his husband. For now, this routine is what he wants. He falls asleep in the arms of his love. 

[sherrybaby14]

The Option X

Summary:  Bucky comes to save you.

Warnings: Violence, death, little bit of sexy time, drugs

A/N:  We’re doing a little bit of a body swap in this chapter. You’re not “Peach”.  

               The drive home went by in a blur, relying solely on muscle memory since he was lost in his thoughts.  Was this a trap?  There were enemies everywhere, it was stupid to get comfortable and let his guard down.

                 When he parked he ran straight to the front door, taking the keys out with a slight tremor in his hand.  He needed to see her.  She would calm him down.  Always did.

                 He walked inside.  She didn’t come to greet him.  His blood pressure flared as he looked around the empty kitchen.

                 “Y/N?”  He walked over by the couch, almost expecting to see her ghost. “Y/N?”  

                 Something was wrong.  Very wrong.  She was gone, a phantom all around him.  His rage started to boil over.  

                 “Steve?”  She poked her head from the stairs.  

                 Relief flooded his veins.  She was here.  She was safe.

                 “Oh God.”  Her smile went to a frown.  “Are you alright?  What happened?”  

                 She ran toward him.  He opened his arms and she flung herself against his chest.  He held her as close as he could while rubbing her back, placing kisses on the top of her head.  

                 “Nothing.”  He shut his eyes, unsure why the panic had come over him.  “I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”  

                 “I’m sorry.”  She lifted her head. “I should have been at the door to greet you.  You didn’t think I…left did you?”

                 Steve frowned, not wanting to lie, but unsure what the truth was.  

                 “You didn’t do anything wrong Doll.”  He turned, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

                 “We’ve been together for over a year.  You don’t need to worry about that anymore.”  She leaned against him as they walked into the kitchen. “It’s been so long since you went into the office.  I was working on something upstairs, I didn’t hear you come in.  I didn’t mean to worry you.”  

                 “It’s not you.”  Steve squeezed her tight one more time before letting his arm slide and getting some water. “Something weird happened today.  It’s kept me on edge, made me feel off.”  

                 “Well, can I help?”  She sat at the table. “You can talk to me about anything.”  

                 “I know Doll.”  Steve stared into her face and a warmth spread through him.  Being near her made him feel better. “Sorry if I scared you, I just love you so much.  I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

                 “Happened to me?” She tilted her head. “In our house? Am I in danger?”  

                 “No.”  Steve moved to the table, he reached in his back pocket before sitting down.  “I got this weird message.  I can’t figure out what it means.  My brain got the better of me.”  

                 He slid the paper over.  

                 “What are the coordinates?”  She didn’t look up as she read.

                 Steve couldn’t stop the smile coming to his face, she was quick.  He was the only one who realized how intelligent she was and the last year Y/N had really blossomed.  

                 “Europe, close to Romania.”  Steve hoped she saw something he was missing.

                 “But not in Romania?”  She glanced over the paper at him.  

                 “No.  It’s the weirdest thing.  Technically it’s not a country.  It’s independent land space.  Which I didn’t even know was a thing.”  Steve leaned forward, studying her face. “Came in over a satellite phone. Coordinates from the transmission are about thirty miles away, same independent space.”

                 “Captain America.  Assistance needed.  Zero hundred hours GMT.  Kept woman.” She read the line over and over again. “Did you do any research?”

                 “Hard to research a country that doesn’t exist.” Steve scratched his head. “But that area, people go missing.  Rumors of human trafficking, that sort of thing. Nothing documented though. Satellite imaging shows those coordinates are a mansion, with armed guards.”  

                 “So what are you thinking?”  She set the message down and looked at him with concern.

                 “I was thinking that it was a threat against you.” That line kept woman bothered him to his core.  

                 “I’m safe.”  She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I don’t think it has anything to do with me. I think there’s a girl in that house someone wants you to rescue.”

                 “Or it’s a ruse to draw me away from you?” Steve pulled up his hand and kissed her fingers.

                 “You sound paranoid.”  She tilted her head as she bit her lip. “Any idea who it’s from? It’s not addressed to the Avengers. It’s straight to you.”

                 “No clue.” Steve sighed. “It might be a joke, but the satellite image, the guns they were carrying.  I’m not sure what to think.”

                 “Are you going to go?”

                 “No. I’d have to leave now to make it there on time. Tony isn’t keen on the Avenger’s playing world police.” Steve set her hand down. “He said if I wanted to he’d give me a jet and a small team since it’s technically not a country. I don’t like the time crunch either.  It feels like a trap. I want recon.”

                 “So, not leaving tonight?”  She stood up from the table.

                 “No Doll.”  Steve walked over to her. “I missed you too much to leave you again.”

                 Steve didn’t want to scare her, but he still had a sinking suspicion she wasn’t safe, that the message was about her.  Kept woman.  That was his lady to a T, literally.  

                 “I’ll look into it though.  On my own terms.”  He brought his hand to her neck and pulled her close as he kissed the top of her head.

                 The plan settled Steve’s nerves.  This way he could keep his girl safe and not have the guilty conscious for ignoring people who wanted his help.  She had to come first.  Always.  

                 “Are you hungry?”  She looked up at him.  

                 “Yes.” He pressed his mouth against hers and reached under her ass, hoisting her in the air as she wrapped her legs around his hips.  “But not for food.”  

                 Her eyes flashed with lust.  Steve set her on the kitchen table.  She bunched the skirt of her dress around her waist as Steve undid his belt and pushed his pants down.  He needed to be inside her.  She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.  He pulled his cock out without pushing his pants down past his thighs and rubbed it down her slit.  She was wet for him, his perfect girl.  

                 A gasp escaped her lips when he pushed inside of her with ease.  Nothing in the entire universe felt as good as her, was as good as her.  Nothing would ever hurt her.  Steve would die the most painful death over and over again if it meant keeping her safe and happy.  

                 She was his everything.  

                 The thoughts mixed with how good she felt made Steve’s cock twitch and grow even harder.  He wasn’t going to last long, but he knew her body better than she did and slammed deep inside her, stilling and rocking his hips in the way that drew the orgasm from her.  

                 It didn’t take long until she was shaking in his arms, eyes shut and lips parted.  A gorgeous mess of desire and satisfaction.  Steve grunted as his cock exploded inside of her, coating her walls in his juices and claiming her as his own once more.  

                  He put his hands on the table on both sides of her as his head fell forward.  Both of them took a minute to steady their breathing before Steve pulled out.  He kissed her forehead as he tucked himself back into his pants and went to get her a towel.

                 Over the past year a few things about their relationship had changed, but she still wore the dresses for him and never any undergarments.  That rule was permanent.  

                 “I think that broke a record,” Y/N called from the kitchen.  “You waited a full ten minutes after you got home.”  

                 “Was someone getting anxious?”  Steve walked back in with a towel and handed it to her, matching her teasing tone.

                 “Maybe.”  She cleaned herself up while Steve went over to the fridge.

                 “Do you want to order delivery for dinner?  I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”  There were some menus on the fridge. “Maybe Chinese? Pizza? I don’t care.”

                 “It looks like some letters in this message have weird ticks on them?  Did you notice that?”  Y/N was holding the paper again.  

                 “What do you mean?”  Steve grabbed two menus and went over to her.  “Maybe we could get an Asian pizza.  That’s a thing right?  Like a Thai pizza?”

                 “At first I thought it was a problem with whatever printed it out, but the ‘P’ in Captain looks off.”  She ignored him.  

                 “I’ve spent all day obsessing over that thing.” Steve started scanning the pizza menu for specialty ones. “I’ll look at it tomorrow with fresh eyes.”  

                 “This is going to sound weird, but does the word ‘punk’ mean anything to you?”  She looked up from the message.

                 Steve’s eyes went wide and he dropped both menus, no longer caring about food.

 ~~~

                 It was time.  Bucky was on the ridge, staring down at the complex.  He knew sending for help was a long shot, one that didn’t pay off.

                 The mission was simple:  get the girl, kill anyone who gets in your way.  She didn’t need Bucky, she needed the soldier.  That was who was coming from her.

                 Bucky shut his eyes and pictured her face.  Get the girl.  Kill anyone who gets in your way.  For those seconds his eyes were shut he let his emotions surface.  She wasn’t the girl, she was his girl.  She was in danger.  Those feelings wouldn’t help her though and they would comprise his mission.  So he buried them.

                 “I love you,” he whispered the words to nobody before opening his eyes.

                 Get the girl.  Kill anyone in your way.  

                 He grabbed the remote detonator and set off the first charge.   Fire lit up the sky on the south end of the house.  

                 The first wave of guards ran to the explosion. The soldier stood up and started down the ridge, eyes on the blast.  

                 There were at least ten men in the area.  He hit the second charge.

                 “AHHH!” Shrieks filled the air as the sky went orange again.

                 Sixty-nine enemies remained.  

                 He stalked toward the house in the shadows, the screams of the men who weren’t killed on impact when unanswered.  There were seven men at the back of the house, too scared to offer their fellow’s assistance for fear of another bomb.  

                 Rifle first.  The soldier lined up the shot.  Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.  None of them had a chance to scream before their bodies hit the grass.

                 Sixty-two enemies to go.  

                 “COVER THE PERIMETER!” A man on a headset ran out of the house with a trail of others behind him.

                 These ones seemed smarter than their fallen comrades, actually arming themselves with their weapons.  There were too many to pick off.  He needed a weak point to break inside.  

                 It was time for charge three.  He hit the remote.  BOOM! Another orange blast.  Everyone’s eyes went toward it, but nobody ran this time.  The soldier went to the guard on the end, he slid the knife into his jugular.

                 The one next to him noticed and tried to fire, but Bucky swung the dying man’s body and used it as a shield.  Then he reached out and yanked the gun out of the other man’s hand, blowing him away first before grabbing his body for shield number two.

                 “IT’S ONE MAN!” Someone yelled.  

                 There was lots of yelling, but the Soldier knew how to tune it out.  

                 They were charging him, but none stood a chance. One by one he took them out, going on auto-pilot.  A bullet grazed by him and he ducked, there was strength in numbers.  He imagined more were pouring from outside the house.

                 He head-butted the next man who came at him and a bit of blood dripped over his eyes.  The soldier wasn’t sure who it belonged too.  

                 Then he heard it.  Screaming.  Of the painful variety.  

                 “MORE! MORE!”

                 The group of men seemed to change direction as bullets flew through the air.  Killing the enemy wasn’t the mission.  Getting the girl was.  

                 Now the back door was unguarded and he was no longer the point of attention he walked right inside.  

                 BUZZ!  A bullet whirled by his head.  He reached down to his pants and pulled out one of the pistols. Click.  The interior trigger man hit the floor with a thud.  

                 Another appeared behind him and fired over his dead friend.  The soldier grabbed a knife he had on his other leg and tossed it, the sound of it sliding into the man’s chest was quieter than the gun going off.  

                 A third enemy appeared.  Get the girl.  He raised his weapon, but the soldier jerked forward.  He grabbed the man’s arm and bent it backward, snapping the bone in two above the elbow.

                 “AHHHH!”  The man screamed in pain.  

                 “Where is the girl?” No emotion was in his voice.

                 “Fuck you.” The man was sweating.  

                 The Soldier pushed him to his knees, but not before he swung with heel up, shattering the cap.  

                 “Where is the girl?”  He stood over him.  

                 The man screamed in pain, unable to use his broken arm to hug his broken knee.  

                 The Soldier didn’t have time for this.  He pulled the trigger on the pistol, nailing the man in the gut.  One of the most painful places.   He screamed louder.  

                 The sounds of someone approaching made the soldier turn and fire two shots, killing two more approaching enemies.  

               “The girl?”  He could inflict significantly more pain if needed.  

                 “Upstairs.”  The man cried, red in his teeth.  “They keep them upstairs.  All the way upstairs.”  

                 Click.  The man was put out of his misery.  

                 The sounds of fighting outside were growing louder. Men screaming and running to join the battle.  By the time he reached the staircase, he’d only had to kill one more person.  

                 He climbed, prepared to attack anyone who got in his way.  Certain there would be more guards.  

                 When he neared the top, three floors up the first bullet were fired at him.  The angle made it difficult with the aerial advantage of his opponent.  He took cover, but would never get a clear shot.

                 So he grabbed one of the grenades, pulled the pin and tossed it up the steps.   The five-second delay was followed by another scream, but no more bullets.  

                 He climbed again, jumping through the smoke, hole in the floor, and dead body.   It was silent up here, the fighting still in the distance.  

                 Door number one.  He pushed it open to see a sleeping woman.  Wrong one.  He left the room and went to the second one.  Empty bed.  

                 The hall was lined with doors.  He opened each of them, about half were filled with sleepers, but none the one that was his mission.  Still, he kept cool.  Nothing had changed.  Get the girl, kill anyone in your way.  

                 He opened the next door.  There she was, slumped over in a man’s arm.  He was dressed differently than the others, an expensive suit, grey hair.  A gun was in hand, but it wasn’t pointed at the Soldier.  It was pointed at the girl.  

                 “She’s worth a lot to you.”  He smiled. “But you don’t know who you’re….”

                 CLICK.  Kill anyone in your way.  A tiny red dot was in the man’s forehead as he started to fall to the floor.  The soldier ran forward and caught the falling girl.  

                 Holding her made something snap.  He couldn’t hold back any longer.

                 “Peach, what did they do to you?”  Bucky fell on the floor, cradling her against him as he pulled off the face mask.  

                 She was wearing a small black dress with thin straps. Nothing else.  She was breathing.  He ran his hand down her hand and pressed his lips to her.  Unresponsive.  He turned her arms and saw them.  Track marks by the elbow.  She wasn’t coming to anytime soon.  

                 Tears stung his eyes.  How could he let this happen to her?  It was his job to keep her safe and he failed.  He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her though.  But they weren’t out of danger yet.  

                 The fighting outside had grown quiet.  Bucky assumed the dead body on the floor belonged to the leader of this operation.   It would be easier to sneak out than it was to sneak in.  

                 “Almost free Peach.”  Bucky scooped her up.  

                 Her head fell back since she was dead weight in his arms.  He sidestepped through the doorway into the hall.  Bucky had to stay on guard and holding her this way wasn’t going to cut it.

                 He rolled her so that she was over his shoulder, her head dangling down his back.  He wrapped an arm around her stomach and pulled a gun in his other hand.

                 He started for the stairs when he heard a footstep.  He swung around and raised his gun.  Peach let out a small groan at the movement.

                 “Bucky?” Steve Rogers stood in the middle of the hall, his hands raised.  “It was you.”

                 Seeing him was like staring into the past, a movie long forgotten.  When the attention shifted outside Bucky assumed he arrived, but now he didn’t know what to say.

                 “Come home.”  Steve stepped forward.  “Let me help you.  You don’t have to run and hide any longer.”  

                 “I am home.”  Bucky swallowed.  “If I’m with her.”  

                 The features relaxed on Steve’s face.  Almost like he understood exactly what Bucky meant.  

                 “If you need help again, call.”  Steve nodded.  

                 Bucky returned the response.  His friend was the first to turn around.  It made Bucky’s heart clench, a part of him wanting this reunion.  But too much had happened, they were different people and he wasn’t ready. And his attentions were needed elsewhere.  

                 With a heavy heart Bucky turned and headed down the stairs, toward his future.  

[kbstories]

Etymology

et·y·mol·o·gy (n.) The study of a word's origin.

For Sanji, coming home is easier said than done.

(Or: Let’s talk about the Vinsmoke fiasco, shall we?)

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nakamaship, Childhood Trauma, Miscommunication (!!!), Found Family, Eventual Happy Ending

Set after Whole Cake and before Wano (in the Stampede-esque way that the gang’s all here but canon still happened). Content warning for the aftermath of (past) trauma and PTSD-like symptoms. Read Chapter 2 here.

***

“Monkey D. Luffy!”

With a resounding bang, the door to the galley is kicked open by black dress shoes. Sanji stomps out on Sunny’s lawn to find it utterly deserted: the crew is around, eight distinct presences buzzing at the periphery of his Haki, just out of sight. Above, their flag flutters softly in the wind and–

There! A tuft of black hair peeks from the window of the crow’s nest, two wide eyes glancing down and right at him before vanishing altogether. The monotonous grunting of their resident sword-wielding idiot continues unfazed, “542… 543…”, and Sanji will deal with him later.

“Oh, Captain?”

Sanji’s voice is inviting, sticky-sweet like the candies he makes for Chopper. Luffy reappears like the gullible fool he is, eyes alight with curiosity. “Sanji?”

One swift kick to the main mast – Bro, not cool! echoes from Franky’s workshop below deck – and Luffy’s grip slips. Sanji lights a cigarette and draws just as much satisfaction from the first smoke-filled breath as he does from the sight of Luffy crashing face-first into the grass. A moment later, the remnants of what used to be a Luffy-proof padlock joins its murderer on the floor, teeth marks and warped shackle and all.

“Explain.”

The order is little more than a venomous hiss and Luffy sweats bullets, mouth opening around a long uhhh with nothing to follow it. “It wasn’t me?”

Nothing worthwhile, at least.

Sanji inhales deep for the sake of his nerves, snatches the cig between index and middle finger to point it accusingly at his captain and he lets loose: “I told you lunch is in an hour”, and “It’s the third time this week”, and “An hour, you shitty–” and that’s as far as Sanji gets before his brain catches up to his words and his heart lurches against his ribs–

And why is it that Luffy’s expression goes all hopeful up until that point?

Sanji falls silent and it’s a graceless, clumsy thing, the pause afterwards. His gaze searches for the mangled lock on the ground and he sighs.

“What do you want, Luffy? I can make you another bento if you’re hungry, just… Stop breaking the locks.”

There’s only two of those left, after all, and even if they weren't at high sea and the next island was just over the horizon, there’s no way Sanji will tarnish Nami’s meticulously kept budget with that. Not when he already owes her something he doesn’t know how to repay.

“Okay, Sanji”, Luffy says, hesitates, tells him: “Your bentos are the best!” Sounding so serious, like it’s a matter of life or death for Sanji to understand what Luffy’s saying.

It’s weird is what it is. Just another thing that changed while Sanji wasn’t looking, and it chafes against the scar tissue starting to take shape inside him. What would he give to turn back time and tell Capone Bege to take that invitation and go fuck himself with it instead of–

It’s too late now. For that, and many other things.

Sanji looks anywhere but at Luffy – as if that’s ever helped anybody escape that gaze, that uncanny perceptiveness that strikes like a thief cloaked in shadows – and he scratches at his wrist. Mumbles, “Whatever”, and turns tail like the coward he is, slinking back to the only place things make sense anymore.

Luffy’s somber eyes follow him every step of the way there.

*

Despite everything, Sanji expects Luffy to tell on him.

The Sunny’s swaying pace is familiar from the moment he stepped foot on deck, enough so that Sanji let himself be rocked into tentative relaxation as Big Mom’s fleet turned into insignificant specks in the distance, then disappeared entirely. Luffy had yelled for food – voice raspy from exhaustion and whatever else he’d put himself through to get there in time, and Sanji swore himself he’d think about it later, later – and what kind of chef would Sanji be if he didn’t deliver?

His kitchen had been a right mess, spotted with drops of purple-looking somethings and the traces of a fire made hazy by a thin layer of dust. It had taken everything Sanji had left in him not to burst into tears right then and there.

Home. I’m home.

And so he cooked, and he hugged Chopper tight while the reindeer wailed incomprehensible words into his chest, and he accepted the tender pressure of hands on his back and arms swung around his shoulders and each and every soft-eyed smile gifted to him. Welcome back, some said it outright and some didn’t; Zoro’s gaze had been steady when Sanji had finally met it over the heads of the crew, warm even, and the hairline fractures in Sanji’s soul ached as they started to heal.

Even injured as he was, Luffy’s laugh was loud over it all. Love and light and everything Sanji will ever believe in, all poured into a grin only a rubber body could produce.

For a while, Sanji was fine. Not… over it, not okay by any meaning of the word but getting there, in his own way: Up by the crack of dawn and crawling back into his bunk around midnight, and the scratchiness of his covers and the comforting nothing-scent of his own pillow was enough then. Like the weeks he spent away, not-here, were a part of history so distant and unreachable only Robin would know how to recover it.

Then the new bounties dropped in his lap, quite literally, and one glance at his own shattered the rose-tinted world Sanji had just convinced himself was reality.

It hangs next to the others now, tacked between Strawhat Luffy and _God Usopp _for the first time since they all had bounties to display at all, and Sanji would be touched by being placed center stage if the letters on that poster didn’t haunt every moment he’s spent in the men’s quarters since. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Luffy to take it down, not after his captain had seen his skyrocketing bounty and practically shook out of his skin with excitement.

“A thousand people, I told you guys! About time they realize it, too. Right, Sanji?”

After the month he’s had, Sanji wouldn’t have be above giving up the All Blue itself just to hear his captain sing him praises like that but–

The name Vinsmoke was right _there, _written in ink for all the world to see, and Luffy was looking between it and him like Sanji hadn’t kneeled at his feet a mere week ago, blind with tears and begging to be allowed back home. To return to the place at his side that he had been granted in a different ocean, a different life, and that he’d thrown away.

A decision he made with little to no alternatives yet Sanji regrets it all. He regrets the bandages that persist around Luffy’s waist, spotted with pink from a wound still healing, and the worried looks on his back that wrap themselves like blocks of concrete around his ankles. Dragging him down and under, and it doesn’t matter how powerful his legs are Sanji can’t outrun this. Not this time.

Not the first time, either, but the choice there had been between a cage and a future, and even as a child Sanji knew hope was worth living for, somehow, somewhere.

He let Luffy have the poster, then, stared at the number instead of the name and got a good rise out of the moss-headed swordsman that kept his mind off it all for most of the afternoon. By the time he went to bed that night, Sanji was exhausted enough that getting to his hammock was all he could focus on.

His dreams are not as kind as his body, however.

Sanji wakes with the taste of tears on his tongue and a cacophony of childish giggling in his ears, and for the first time in years he wonders, for all of a split-second, why his head isn’t weighed down by iron.

*

The vegetables are neatly diced and the water near-boiling when–

“Whaaat?!”

–Monkey D. Luffy’s voice echoes across the ship loud enough Sanji starts and almost, almost cuts his finger instead of the entrecôte he’s slicing off a cow’s ribcage in methodical motions. A curse is quick to come to the cook’s lips, cigarette glowing with the sigh he breathes before he washes the blood off his hands, turns off the stove and fridges the meat in the span of a few seconds.

Sanji is not the only one to follow the sound of the primal scream to the upper deck. There, they find Luffy staring open-mouthed between Nami and Robin, all crestfallen like they told him all stag beetles in the world have spontaneously gone extinct. Bleary-eyed from where he was obviously taking a nap, Zoro grumbles, “What the hell, are you serious?”, and it doesn’t sound like he’s protesting the noise but what was said to cause it in the first place.

“Is something the matter?”, inquires Brook with mild-mannered concern in his voice; Franky flicks his sunglasses up to better survey the situation at hand and Chopper is already yelling, “A doctor! We need a–” before Usopp grabs the panicking reindeer and shushes him gently.

Yet it’s Sanji they stare at, four sets of eyes wide with trepidation and Sanji’s heart drops to the soles of his shoes because yeah, it took longer than expected. It’s still happening, though, and in a forgotten corner of his thoughts Sanji wonders which of his nightmares is coming true this time around.

Fear is quick to rise to his throat, a pressure that threatens to cut his very breath short. Sanji swallows it down and asks, “What?”, voice hard and defensive even to his own ears.

And just like that, the bubble bursts and Robin smiles, quiet and sad, and Nami looks away and Luffy waves his hands – “Uh, nothing! Don’t worry about it!” – and Zoro’s expression shutters so fast Sanji can’t gleam anything at all from him.

Sanji opens his mouth to protest, to tell his captain exactly where he can shove that shitty lie of his–

Face after face his gaze touches and he realizes, with an instinct almost as old as himself, that they won’t tell. The others, yes, the meaningful look of later between Nami and Usopp is proof of that – not Sanji, though, she won’t tell him because Nami hasn’t told him much of anything since he came back, and Sanji knows he deserves it. He deserves it all and still it hurts, his battered heart clenching just because it can, because it will always care about this handful of people he calls family in the solitude of his mind no matter if they want him around or not.

There’s alarm in Luffy’s eyes then, a quick burst of “Sanji, wait–” and Sanji might understand why he’s not allowed but he doesn’t have to stick around and beg for a confirmation. He has some pride left, after all.

“Dinner’s in an hour”, he spits around his cigarette and turns away. His back is straight and his pace measured as he forces himself to descend the stairs one at a time and–

“I said wait. Dinner’s on us today, okay?”

“Luffy”, warns Zoro quietly and Sanji neither wants nor needs his pity, either.

Luffy ignores him too, says, “I’m gonna be careful this time, I promise”, voice upbeat and gentle and everything Sanji doesn’t want to hear. Usually Luffy’s promises are the stones that pave the way Sanji walks on but this, it twists in the hollow of his chest like a key turning in a lock.

Sanji’s grip on the reiling is hard enough to make the wood creak. He lowers his head and says, “Aye, Captain”, and only later will he notice he forgot to put any sort of fight into those two words.

>>Chapter 2.

[ithinkthereforiamfandom]

Extra Quarantine

Here is the first bit of my patreon piece. I’m extending it beyond the original parameters because I’m having fun with it. Whoops, its hella long, im gonna have to try and get a cut in here somewhere. 

His head pulsed gently the throbbing timed to his heart beat, lubdub-throbThrob, John grit his teeth carefully and quietly sat up in bed, it had all been worth it. 

…

A bored genius is a dangerous thing, a bored genius trapped in a London flat during a viral pandemic was about the worst. Evidence of this fact consisted of; a pattern of bullet holes in the wall, it was unbalanced! No remains in the fridge, all experiments concluded when John froze everything because nothing could be returned timeously, and finally said genius, laying his curly head on the couch. Stifled into stillness by the tragic circumstances afflicting him. 

John was still working, but his hours had been drastically cut back so he was home far more frequently than he would have liked. Sherlock was spreading his misery is a quiet but uncontainable kind of way. He carried a blood sample home for the genius, having drawn it himself with a plan to let Sherlock have it and hopefully buy an evening’s peace with his own blood. 

The evenings so far had consisted of concerts on the violin and most recently elaborate french dishes. It had surprised John at first but noise and heavy food every evening was beginning to tax him. He didn’t know what to do, so the blood would occupy Sherlock hopefully for a few hours. 

…

“Here, take this.” Sherlock raised his head and took the warm vial. Blood John’s blood! His ears warmed in shock, John had refused all previous requests. “What’s this for?” “Experiments Sherlock, you’ve been nagging for ages. Do some experiments and I’ll cook. Let’s just have a quiet evening okay?” A deduction flashed across his mind. John didn’t like the playing, and the fancy dinners. Sherlock had played for John every night so far and cooked at the limits of his skills to reward his doctor for the hard work and risk he was enduring. And John didn’t like it. 

…

John watched Sherlock’s face fall and felt like a heel. Sherlock had figured out of course that John was tired of his constant efforts. “Lock, no. I love your playing and your cooking is incredible, I just need some quiet, simplicity, some evenings. Let me cook tonight okay?” A quick hug saw some light back in the pale face and John set off into the kitchen. Toast and eggs was not the most elaborate meal but it was filling and just what the doctor ordered. 

…

The next day on his way home John had been thinking about Sherlock’s efforts so far, it really was above and beyond but at the same time a very Sherlock thing to have done. Bombarding John with everything he liked, made John think… what does Sherlock like. 

The answer was Embarrassingly simple: John. Sherlock liked having him to himself and John felt his cheeks flush at the realisation. Giving Sherlock all his attention was relatively easy and his upcoming time off would be ideal. John’s hours were now 1 week on and 1 week off. But how did he entertain his madman when there was no crime scene visiting, or morgue visiting, or Anything he could do! 

He was deep in thought as he ascended to the flat, the smell of hot oil concerned him until the aromas of paprika and beer confirmed that Sherlock was making fish and chips. The mushy pea recipe that John had used once or twice had been such a hit with Mr I Don’t Eat It Slows Me Down that anything served with the peas was suddenly a very good thing. “John! I’ve made Fish so we need some of your" “Peas, yes Lock. I’ll do peas after I shower.” Sea glass eyes tracked him to the bathroom with a grin and John felt a chuckle bubble out of his throat. That would do. 

…

The next Monday he woke beside dark curls, Sherlock didn’t sleep frequently but could burrow in like a badger when the mood took him. He hadn’t told Sherlock he was off all week and quietly got on with his normal morning prep waiting for the inevitable. “Jaaaawn" a baritone whine escaped the cocoon of bedding. “Yes Sherlock?” “I feel very sick, you have to stay home.” John released the fond sigh he would normally suppress. 

… 

Every few days since the Lock down had started they danced the same dance and Sherlock never won. John would sigh, and pet him, and leave anyway. So when the bed dipped behind him and… Tea, John didn’t smell like tea. He spun around as best he could and there was his doctor, clean shaven, dressed, but no tea. “You’ve not had tea John" “No.” “You always have tea before you go to work.” “Yes.” John’s eyes sparkled at him. “You’re not working.” “No. I have a weekly rota. Wanted to surprise you.”

Sherlock wrapped around John’s smaller frame and hastily recovered him in the duvet lest he escape. It was perfect! A week of John to himself. “I like this surprise John.” Strong arms looped around him and squeezed his ribs, before a sandy grey head settled under his chin. They drifted off back to sleep. 

The week had begun with John’s marvellous surprise and it seemed all of London was feeling agreeable. The sun shone warmer when it was seen on John’s skin and the neighbours were less noisy when he could hear John’s voice. A contraption appeared in their lounge one afternoon. “My old printer from Uni, stopped working. I kept meaning to have it fixed but I suppose it’s a museum piece now.” John was giving it to Sherlock to do with as he pleased! A piece of John’s history. 

…

John grinned as Sherlock set to delightedly deducing his old printer. His love of taffy was evidenced by a few sweet wrappers that had left traces on… hell’s John had no idea but Sherlock was smiling. He left cups of tea to grow cold next to the man and dropped kisses onto his dark hair as the printer came apart piece by piece, spreading across the floor. Reminding himself not to scold John stepped around the mess. 

Hours later a grinning lunatic bopped him on the head with a piece of paper. “It works.” Came a proud announcement. “What?” “Your printer works John, I fixed it.” And true to his word the printer stood on their desk with a small pile of still warm printed pages. “It will be very useful for printing the files Lestrade sends.” John was shocked, quickly returning the kiss Sherlock pressed to his lips. “Necromancy" He stated in awe. “But we can’t print out police files Sherlock. It’s no legal.” 

By way of demonstration Sherlock use the page he was holding to light a fire, the evening was turning cool. “I’ve ordered take away Lock, dimsum should be here soon.” A picnic blanket was soon set before the fire, wine was opened to breathe, and John was happy to let Sherlock estimate the ratio of blonde or grey hairs he had. Dinner arrived in good time and the evening went wonderfully, finishing with a very happy Sherlock dragging John down in front of the fire. “Just lie down a bit.” They woke on the floor the next morning. 

John was nowhere to be found! Sherlock was to have John to himself for a week but their night on the lounge floor ended with him alone. Scanning the kitchen from his spot before the now cold fire place there was no John making breakfast and the bathroom failed to yield a soapy wet John in one of his customary boiling hot showers. A thunk drew Sherlock upstairs to where John stood, very dusty, cursing quietly at a very old tent. 

The fucking thing had tangled itself! It had been packed scrupulously into place and now it was bollocksed! A polite throat clearing told him he was busted. Sherlock had risen early from their cozy nest before the fire and was watching him in that annoyingly studying way. “Stop, “Stop deducing me.” “Of course John.” But the reply was far too knowing. “Go put the kettle on.” “yes John.” 

He watched his partner slip like a shadow down the stairs and hefted the whole disaster into his arms to follow a few minutes later. He could fix this after a cup of tea, he knew he could! 

…

Sherlock set the camping kettle on the hook and stand he’d had next to the fire in case the power went out. John was staring at the camp set up like it had grown two heads and was speaking to him. “The camping rig has been next to the fire since winter started, you see but you do not observe. You want to camp out in the lounge, that’s what your old tent is for.” “Yes.” Sherlock grinned because he’d been bothering John to go camping for ages! For science, naturally but mostly to have John to himself. 

Now they could camp in the lounge and there wouldn’t need to be dreary drives into the country side to shag his partner in a tent… for science. 

… 

His ribs creaked as Sherlock hugged him. John returned the squeeze with a slight chuckle. “I know you wanna shag in a tent LovelyLove. Now we don’t have to wait.” The kiss he got in response curled his toes! “We have a week Lockie, we’re gonna do everything you like. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Sherlock likes coffee for breakfast so John presented him with a brand new bag of dark roast arabica beans. The genius was soon weighing and grinding to his heart’s content sighing in satisfaction as he sipped at his perfectly brewed cup. John had placed a grocery order which arrived a few hours later. 

He was planning to cook for Sherlock that afternoon but the MRE package that Murry had stowed in his old gear as a joke was deemed more interesting than actual food. There was no way it was safe to eat but it was gladly handed over for experiment purposes. The cooking itself surprised John as it turned out that his madman actually enjoyed the chemistry and had taken over. 

…

Sherlock didn’t trust John’s cooking skills. His gun hand, his sutures, and his heart were infallible but the man was a doctor, not a chef. It’s not that John couldn’t cook it’s just not his forte. The army had taught John to cook for a hundred men, returning had taught John to cook on a shoestring budget and sometimes it could be tasted through an entire dish. Sherlock had eased him away from the dinner prep to finish dressing the tent that had eventually been set up after John had expended a few feet of extra space and most of the swear words in his vocabulary… some of them in languages Sherlock only knew by name. The lasagne came together easily, the long process of making bechamel and tomato sauces, the careful construction, it was all relaxing. Sliding it into the oven passed John’s happily sniffing nose was pure satisfaction. 

Tuesday saw the pair in their tent. John’s finishing touches had been lilos, bedding, and a small space heater. Not to be deterred Sherlock’s contribution was revealed as an Actual inflatable mattress, John hadn’t known they possessed such a thing, a very old and clearly sentimental quilt, and every ounce of camping gear London has stocked in the last two years. 

Their arm chairs were replaced with camping chairs but this was very quickly changed back when John pointed out that one camping chair won’t support both of their weights. Sherlock chuckled with John’s throaty laugh as they replaced the arm chairs and put one to good use. 

…

Strangely pleased to be allowed to make the breakfast porridge John stirred the pot over the fire. “No microscopes on camping trips Sherlock, you know you’d never take one into the bush right? Sherlock?!” The Sherlock in question didn’t look up from his microscope. “Of course I would John, plenty of things to examine in nature.” “My blood sample?” “Your blood sample of course. You may become ill with some unrecognized symptoms. I would need to run tests!”

His blood sample had become a bit of an obsession since it was handed over. It was flattering as hell but also kinda creepy. “At least stop for breakfast Love.” The fire burned almost constantly now. Porridge this morning then it would be set up to slowly cook Cod au Vin. They had received a case of wine from a client and finally had occasion to drink it. 

…

Cod au Vin, it was the only dish his father had taught him to cook. Mummy had been vigilant in ensuring both the brothers could cook reasonably well from primary school, when they were both in their early twenties Father had taught him Cod au Vin, it was a Brilliant memory. All three men were huddled in the kitchen for hours. Slicing, browning meat, and drinking almost as much wine as they put in the pot. 

Then Mummy had remarked that at least one of them had been conceived because of it and Sherlock had never made it until tonight. John had relinquished his spot by the fire in the early afternoon and admired the view, Sherlock applied the same focus to dicing onion and browning chicken pieces for John that he did examining John’s blood. A beautiful man in every way by firefight he was breath taking. 

“So I have this dish to thank for your existence right?” Fire lit contrast made Sherlock’s face dark as he turned to the smirking doctor. “That’s the theory Beloved… and I’ll thank you to not repeat it while I’m seducing you with good food by fire light.” “I consider myself seduced my LovelyLove. Please do continue.” John had a fine view of Sherlock’s butt and the breadth of his shoulders, he was thoroughly seduced! It was fantastic! 

Sherlock was delighted, he could feel John’s eyes on his body and felt his face flush over the heat of his gaze. The food would take several hours to cook over a fire and John was being deliciously indulgent. “May I seduce you back?” Sherlock startled having missed John’s approach with his mind in the gutter. “of course" 

...

The room was cold as he towed Sherlock through the door and a quiet gasp released condensation into the air. Their camping set up in the lounge was comfortable but a bit austere This, this was luxury heaped upon itself. John smiled as long fingers flexed and caressed the pulse in his wrist. It was a habit that had developed quickly, a violinist's flexibility allowed his LovelyLove to hold his hand and take his pulse at the same time. 

He had raided his old army locker for every blanket he possessed, even the old furs from his grandmother’s holiday home. Pillows and blankets piled high and looked marvellously inviting in the cold room. Quickly pulling the heating bags he had snuck in earlier John turned from the bed and undressed the most beautiful man alive. Each inch of exposed skin was met with a smile or a tender kiss and he chuckled to himself as he all but poured Sherlock into the bed. “John, John please.” 

…

He needed John Now, the stupid jumper had to go, burrowing under the covers he pulled John with him, the bastard was chuckling having gotten Sherlock so worked up. “I’m coming Lovely, you can have me. Gimme a sec.” There would be so seconds as he pulled and tugged the clothes off his partner. Finally, naked, warm, and wrapped around his Beloved. Sherlock Holmes got Everything he wanted. 

…

“Foods going to burn.” An Incredibly smug voice murmured to his shoulder. John always ended up as the big spoon and Sherlock could never figure out how he did it. “No it won’t, there’s too much wine in the pot.” “It is a nice wine though… Showers first Lovely, come on.” Sherlock was strangely okay with getting up. Thoroughly satisfied, and very much cuddled he felt quite ready to start the evening after a nice hot shower. 

…

John stood by the fire with a naked chicken bone between his fingers. “It just came out.” “It’s Cod au Vin.” Sherlock smirked like that explained everything. The chicken pieces were permitted to fall apart on their plates as a couscous salad and plenty of the pot's other contents joined it. 

John groaned, it was amazing. “I can see how this resulted in kids. It’s fantastic!” Praise always had the same effect on his genius, cheeks flushed and his chin dropped. It was excruciatingly cute. Not wanting to push it, they were neither in their twenties anymore John just smiled and ate. 

…

“You know you’re not gonna be able to tell me food just happens anymore. I know you can cook now.” They were back in their camping bed having agreed to leave the luxurious pile in the bedroom intact for later use. It was actually early Thursday morning already by the time they settled down to sleep. “Yes, I can cook Beloved, doesn’t mean I am going to.” An icy cold hand settled on his belly and he shivered. “Sorry Lovely, Doctor and all.” He didn’t sound sorry at all but John’s arm followed his icy hand and a casual strength pulled Sherlock’s back against a warm chest. “Good Night Lovely.” “Good night John.” 

_______________________________________

Thursday afternoon, John grinned to himself as he quietly got today’s event set up. Their laptops had initially been banned as not camping appropriate but John was busy getting the files set up on his machine. He has requested, not bullied… John did not bully, he had requested cold case files from Greg and after a few days of requesting the good DI had come through. 

The cold cases were not digitised so it took a lot of scanning and sorting to get anything into an email and John knew he was putting a lot on Greg to get it done. Fortunately the lock down had slowed down most crimes and well he owed Greg rounds in the pub until 2022! “What are you up to?” a chocolatey voice asked and John jumped. 

“Just sorting some paperwork Lovely. I know -” “You're the one who banned the laptops John” Elegant fingers wrapped around his computer and lifted it swiftly off his lap. “Here’s your bloody files Watson, you’re getting as bad as he is. Just promise me this will keep himself satisfied for a few more weeks.” Sherlock read under his breath as John’s face pinked. “You got me the cold cases, How?” 

…

John was blushing, he had got Sherlock the cold cases he had been nagging for since the lock down started and was now flushed at having been discovered. “By pointing out to Greg that it would keep you busy but mostly by persistence. I didn’t lope off to pout after the 4th No, or even the 14th. Now Greg has had to scan and sort and email everything… I wanted to surprise you.” 

Sherlock felt his own face heat up. “That’s why you banned the laptops, so I would stop bothering Lestrade and I would not find out what you were up to. John this is amazing! you are fantastic! I can finally fix the stupid mistakes the Yarders have been making!” He pulled John’s laptop into the lounge and settled it on their desk, scrolling with a triumphant laugh through the files that were now his! 

He turned his eyes to his brilliant partner, John leaned against the door frame watching him. It was a proprietary posture but he did not mind at all. He did not mind being John’s to watch and smile at. Another email dinged and he opened the pop up. Emelia Riccoletti and half a dozen dead men, Brilliant! But she was dead before they all died. 

…

John grinned at the frantic clicking from the lounge, he had watched his partner light up at the news of cases to solve and the chance to prove he was indeed smarter than the professionals. He made pasta on the stove for a change, the novelty of cooking over the fire had dulled quickly. 

“She didn’t do it! Not after the first one!” His Sherlock, clearly on a mission, strode into the kitchen still carting his laptop around and nearly destroyed it by putting it down on the stove top. An inarticulate noise of protest redirected the mad man to set it on the counter. “She might have faked her death and killed her husband but the other murders, the other men, they died in their homes or in familiar places. The bride didn’t need to walk through walls if she was already in the house, not the bride but a bride. Any bride could kill now and London has always been full of them. 

John set the meal down on the kitchen table, it would be ignored for a few hours and no doubt moved to the fridge to face the exile of all meals when Sherlock had a case. He finished his own food while Sherlock rambled on and on. He took a minute to just take in the sights. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, body in constant motion. Yes, this was a happy man and John felt proud that he was his. 

_____________________________________

The mad bastard hadn’t slept for the last two days and this was the last day of John’s leave. They had migrated back to their bedroom and John had almost got Sherlock to sleep but there was no winning when the game was on. 

“Come to bed you mad bastard!” John yelled from the blankets but knew the resignation would be clear in his voice. John rolled over to get some rest as Sherlock came in through the door. “John? Why are you sleeping?” “It’s 2am!” Is it?” Yes Lovely, its 2am and I have work tomorrow.” the mattress bounced as Sherlock dove under the covers. “Thank you John, this week has been fantastic.” As he spoke Sherlock’s arms and legs wrapped around the doctor and squeezed. The was an amused huff as John tried to reclaim some lung capacity but there was an octopus in his bed. 

…

Sherlock held onto his Beloved. The week was over! He was tempted to not sleep, if he never slept maybe the morning would not come. It was irrational but at 3am with a snoozing John Watson in his arms anything seemed possible. A warmth seemed to be exuding itself from the sleeping doctor and Sherlock felt his eyes slide shut. 

The next morning Sherlock burrowed stubbornly into the bedding. John had already left for his shift and there was no reason to get up now at all… Apart from all the cold cases he had to solve, and the fact that he needed a shower, and bacon. He could smell bacon. 

…

John grabbed his bag, mask, and mobile. He had left a beautiful man in bed this morning so the day would have to count for something! He grinned all the way to the Tube station, he couldn’t quite stop himself 

He got to work and took a few moments to compose himself but then his phone went off. The picture showed a very happy Sherlock Holmes sitting behind a huge stack of the bacon pancakes John had made that morning. John had slipped out of bed early to prepare the pancakes for breakfast and to make sure the leftover risotto was still okay. 

He had left everything in a low oven to keep warm and left a few notes for Sherlock to find through the day. Breakfast instructions seemed hardly necessary but the “I Love Yous” and “Drink some Tea Lovelylove” post its would be if he wanted to come home to a content and hydrated partner. 

…

 Sherlock heard the street door open and tried to stop himself bounding down the stairs like a puppy. Instead he picked up his violin and started a gentle waltz. He didn’t realise what he was playing until steady warmth on his back started to sing in a low tenor. I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. They swayed together for a while as John hummed and Sherlock played on till. I walked with you once upon a dream. 

“Disney Lovely?” Sherlock smiled and laughed at quizzical blue eyes. “I play plenty of Disney John. You remember that stint we did at the children’s hospital for the Angel of Mercy killer nurse case… well I go back sometimes while you’re at work.” “You play disney for the kids.” “Little people love Disney” Sherlock chirped and moved smoothly to the kitchen before John could process what he had said.

[choices-fam]

Old Ethan & MC Drafts

Hi everyone! So sorry I haven’t updated recently - life’s gotten a bit hectic since I started uni! Good news though! I got into my dream medical school! :D (I essentially got into a program which covers 7 years of both undergrad and med school plus internship!)

Before everything, though, I was able to write up a few drafts for Open Heart fics, but I haven’t finished them. I asked in a previous post if anyone would be up to see them, and people said “yes” (you’re all so sweet ; U ; )!

These drafts range from snippets and bits of dialogue, to headcanons and AUs!

I sincerely apologize that I haven’t completed them, but I hope they’re alright nonetheless!

Enjoy! :D

_____

Snippet: Ethan’s Birthday (Introduction)

Doctor Ethan Ramsey had impeccable memory.

There was no point contesting it; he was one of the brightest minds in medical diagnostics, and a good memory was the unofficial prerequisite. He knew symptoms and diseases like the back of his hand, and could determine treatments and prescriptions at the drop of a hat. He was a genius in the medical field - no two ways about it - and his mind and memory were one of the finest in the industry.

And due to this fact, (Name) couldn't understand how the senior doctor managed to forget his own birthday.

She had been planning a surprise for nearly two weeks now. Doctor Banerji had accidentally let it slip one night when it was just the two of them, and she had been shocked to discover that the date was fast approaching. She hadn't heard of any plans to celebrate the attending physician's birthday, and when she expressed this concern to Naveen, the older man simply laughed it off.

Apparently, Ethan's date of birth was a well-kept secret between him and his mentor. The diagnostician wasn't in the habit of revealing the date to anyone, and whenever his colleagues asked, he only shrugged and said they had far more important matters to concern themselves with than the date of his birth.

"Ethan doesn't really care to celebrate it," Naveen explained. "It's nothing tragic - no painful memories attached to the day - he's just... indifferent to it. He doesn't like making a fuss over something he thinks is trivial, and he always says the time they'd spend celebrating-"

"-Could be used to save his patients instead," (Name) finished with an amused smile. It was an expression Naveen easily mirrored.

"I see you're beginning to understand how he thinks," the old doctor laughed. "If you want to do something for him, you have my full support."

With Doctor Banerji's blessing and his promise of cooperation, (Name) eagerly got to work.

Snippet: Ethan Tries to Cook for His Wife, MC (Introduction)

Doctor Ethan Ramsey was a terrible cook.

It was a fact of life: the sky was blue, the earth was round, and Ethan Ramsey would burn his house down trying to boil water. 

There wasn't really much he could do about the matter. Between his busy schedule, lack of experience, and general inability to cook anything that wasn't gooey, lumpy, or a questionable mix of both, he never saw the importance of developing the trivial skill.

And besides, the meals his personal chef brought over were far more appealing than anything he could ever come up with.

Unfortunately for the good doctor, it was only on a very importantSunday morning that he realized the sheer depth of his ineptitude, and when he finally came to regret not trying to hone his culinary prowess.

In his defense, his heart was truly in the right place. He wanted to surprise his lovely wife, (Name), to celebrate a special occasion, and to start her day off with a homemade breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, he realized - rather belatedly - that acquiring said 'homemade breakfast in bed', involved him cooking the whole thing. Not an easy feat for someone with the cooking ability of a rock garden.

And so here he was - alone in his home's kitchen at five in the morning - staring almost dumbly at the groceries before him. The ingredients were taunting him - he could tell. Especially the bag of flour.

However, he wasn't a world-class doctor for nothing, and he certainlydidn't get his position by giving up. He was never one to back down from a challenge, and this was no different - his wife's happiness was at stake after all.

Shaking his head, Ethan ran over the plans again in his mind: he wanted to make a simple breakfast, and that included pancakes, scrambled eggs, and the sausage links he bought from the deli.

It seemed easy enough. It just involved a bit of mixing and frying, after all.

He took a deep, calming breath. He could do this. For his wife, he could do this.

Reading over the recipe he printed one final time, he cautiously brought out a mixing bowl, opened the bag of flour, and began his work.

To the attending physician's delight, making the pancake batter was far easier than he expected. He just had to select the right ingredients, measure them in the right proportions, and carefully follow the procedure. 

'Just like prepping samples for the centrifuge,' he thought with a healthy dose of self-satisfaction.

His confidence mounting, Ethan then plucked a whisk from the untesil rack, and began to mix the ingredients together. The process was almost fascinating to him - to see the wet and dry components come together, and to see them increasingly resemble actual pancake batter. 

He didn't think he would actually get this far, to be honest.

After another minute of vigorous mixing and whisking, Ethan finally deemed the consistency to be satisfactorily 'not-as-lumpy-as-before', and set the bowl aside for later.

'One down, two to go,' he thought, and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

He could definitely handle this.

(And those were famous last words.)

Dialogue: MC & Naveen

Context: Ethan and MC check-up on Naveen. Upset with their lack of progress, Ethan loses his temper and walks out of the room. Naveen and MC have a conversation, but unbeknown to them, Ethan is listening outside the door.

"Please forgive Ethan for his outburst, (Name). I’m certain he didn’t mean it.”

"It's all right. I understand.” (Name) turned to Naveen. "You know... Ethan cares about you a lot, Naveen - more than he can bring himself to admit. In his mind, he owes you everything - kind of like how Iowe so much to him. And if he were the one sick and no matter what I did I couldn't help him..." (Name) didn't even want to think about it. "Let's just say I can excuse a few outbursts from someone hurting that much."

"You've figured him out, haven't you?"

"I wouldn't say that. I'm not sure I know him all that well, to be honest."

"I think you'll find you understand him more than you know. You certainly understand him more than the majority of the people in this hospital."

"He has trouble, doesn't he? Letting people in?"

Naveen hummed sadly in agreement.

"He does. Some people, he pushes away without meaning to." Naveen's mind flashes to Ethan's outburst."...I certainly hope he hasn't pushed you away. I know his temper is a force to be reckoned with, but I promise, he is a kind and compa-"

(Name) laughs.

"You don't have to worry, Naveen. He can try to push me away all he likes, but I promised to stick with him through this, so I'm not budging."

A pause.  

"Take care of him for me?"

"You'll take care of him yourself, Naveen. You're going to get better."

"For an old man's peace of mind?"

"...All right then. I promise."

Dialogue: Naveen & Ethan

Context: Set after the dialogue above (MC & Naveen). Ethan walks back into the room after MC leaves, and he and Naveen talk about MC and what Ethan just heard.

"I don't deserve it."

"Hm. Maybe not. But she seems to believe that you do, and isn't that what matters most?"

"She's wrong, you know. She's a brilliant doctor in her own right, and I'm sure she'll do excellently under anyone's guidance. She doesn't need me - not really."

"Hm. And you don't need me."

As soon as the words left Naveen's mouth, Ethan glanced at him sharply - as if offended by the insinuation. A heartbeat later, however, the younger doctor finally seemed to register his knee-jerk reaction. Naveen was already smiling at him when Ethan mirrored the expression.

"Touche."

The two sobered.

"It's daunting, sometimes," Ethan admitted quietly. "I'm not always certain how to go about guiding her."

"I understand. You want to do right by her, don't you? I know the feeling well."

Ethan looked up at him and he smiled.

"My advice? Just be her mentor, Ethan. Believe in her. Encourage her. Be there when she needs you. Help her but don't coddle; let her discover things on her own. And everyday-"

Naveen placed a hand on Ethan's knee. His breath shook.

"- be proud of the amazing person your apprentice has become."

Naveen lauged, choked - and he looked at the younger man with the warmest eyes Ethan had ever seen. Ethan's breath caught in his throat, but Naveen just squeezed his knee tighter.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to be blessed with such a wonderful protege. Believe me, Ethan... It's something you will treasure forever."

"I..."

"I know, Ethan. And I'm certain Dr. (Surname) does too."

Ethan squeezed Naveen’s hand gratefully, before standing to walk out of the door. 

"She'll be as good as you one day."

Ethan clicked his tongue, frowning at his old mentor.

"No, she won't."

The sight of Ethan's small smile shocked Naveen, before the younger man continued,

"She'll be far, far better."

Dialogue: Tadpoles (Sequel to “Vulnerable”)

Context: Ethan tries to write a letter to Baby Ethan, and deals with the grief of losing Dolores.

“I wanted to write him something. For when he's older. I wanted to tell him about his mother, and the side of her that he never had the chance to see. Or at least I tried to until-" he gestured to the mess of a letter in front of him with a humorless laugh. "I've made a mess of myself, haven't I?"

He ran a shaking hand through his disheveled hair.

"...I don't know what to do right now."

(Name) smiled sadly.

"You breathe. Until you get there."

Headcanons: MedStudent!Ethan Coffee House AU

Ethan studies at a local coffee house where MC works.

Ethan knows MC’s name without her telling him.

"Oh, I haven't even told you my name! I'm-" "(Name)." "Oh." "It's... It's on your name tag."

MC practices his flashcards with him, but Ethan’s handwriting is horrible.

"Pneuma- pneumeth- pneu- Jeez, how do you even pronounce this thing? Actually, how can you even read this thing?" "It clearly says pneumothorax." "Right. Because everyone knows that word."

MC is the one Ethan talks to about his dreams.

_____

Tags: @emomoustache ​

[honestgrins]

Cutthroat || Klaroline

She’s determined to win, but she’s not above teaming up with a rival to knock out a worse one. (Cutthroat Kitchen AU)

.

“Chef Matt,” Alaric intoned solemnly, “you are dismissed. Please relinquish your remaining funds.”

As the burly blond handed over the cash he never even had a chance to spend, Caroline bristled with the thrill of competition. Unfortunately for her, Damon and Klaus seemed just as energized, and she highly resented the elbow poked into her side. “Quarterback down,” Damon sneered next to her. “Is the cheerleader next? Maybe I’ll sabotage you with pom poms next, though I’ll be honest, the skirt would be better.”

She scowled as he leered down the line of her leg, tired of his needling and the gross stares. But she knew what she’d signed up for when first auditioning for Cutthroat Kitchen, and trash talk was the least of her worries. Working with tiny pans and utensils hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed a decent frittata in the first round, and she definitely enjoyed watching Klaus grimace at the substitute ingredients he’d been forced to use. 

Damon, though, he deserved more than a little hardship for this next round. Glancing over to Klaus, she found him watching her curiously. She arched an eyebrow and nodded to the sleazy chef between them. He smirked, which shouldn’t have left her blushing like it did. It’s just a truce, she reminded herself. Come the final round, he’s toast.

At least, she hoped. Klaus Mikaelson was something of a legend around Chicago, where she’d only just gotten her foot in the door of the industry. While she had full faith in her own abilities, the barbs about her lack of experience and youth weren’t exactly unfounded. All she could do was make up for it with enthusiasm and creativity, which the show usually rewarded. But she’d also survived high school and her sorority house, so psychological warfare was second nature to her. 

With the dark gleam of satisfaction on Klaus’s face as he nodded, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have conspired with Damon to kick him out first.

Steeling herself, Caroline turned to watch Alaric set up for the next challenge. “Alright, chefs,” he greeted with an evil smile. “For this round, you will be expected to make...spaghetti and meatballs! You have sixty seconds to shop for this basic dish. Go.” 

She rushed forward to beat Damon to the produce, eagerly filling her basket with the best tomatoes, onions, and herbs. Luckily, she was paying attention to Klaus, who’d taken to clearing the pasta shelf into his basket. With a quick pinch of the last box of angel hair, she couldn’t help a grin to match his own when she ducked under his arm to grab the crustiest bread she could find.

“Thirty seconds!”

Oil, garlic, ground beef, a few too many spices - she frantically ran through the list in her head, sure that she was missing something important. 

“And time. Chefs, please return to your stations.” Caroline bit her lip, painfully aware of the eggs she completely forgot. Refusing to let on about her mild panic, she fought to hold a blank expression as the others tried to size up her basket. It was pretty basic for most recipes, and they didn’t seem to pick up her hopefully not fatal error. “For the first sabotage, I have for you all a handy little device to hinder your opponents.” He held it up, the cuffs and plexiglas shining under the stage lights. “This is the Salad Bar to accompany your Italian classic,” he teased.

Alaric could call it what he wanted, but that was definitely a spreader bar she’d seen featured in an...adult catalog. Before she could school her reaction, however, she let out an indelicate snort. Only Klaus seemed to notice, his smirk somehow deepening with a far dirtier glint. Oh, she sighed internally, a twinge low in her belly warming her with something other than embarrassment. Interesting.

“Two thousand,” Klaus called out, not taking his eyes from her.

“Three-five,” she countered. Maybe her voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt.

“Ten thousand.” Damon gave her the slimiest look, and it took everything in her not to throw away the rest of her cash to make sure he didn’t get to put her in some BDSM fantasy of his.

Klaus, who had yet to spend any money, glared him down. “Eleven,” he said smoothly. With plenty of money to outbid Damon’s draining budget, he all but dared him to bankrupt himself. 

“Eleven going once, twice,” Alaric watched them all with interest, then smiled. “Sold. Chef Klaus, collect your winnings and crown whomever you’d like.” He collected the money and passed over the bar with a gleeful wink. “Choose wisely.”

Pretending to consider it, Klaus all but tossed the thing at Damon. “You don’t strike me as the type to be comfortable with restraint,” he goaded. 

Gamely strapping himself in, Damon blew him a kiss. “Easy as pie, big bad,  even if it’s too bad Barbie Chef didn’t get a chance to impress us with her...coordination.”

She grit her teeth, waiting to pummel him with the next sabotage. When Alaric brought it forward, though, she nearly jumped for joy.

“Who is going to be the Egghead?” he asked, holding a little headband strapped to an egg cup. “Whoever wears this will have to balance an egg throughout the challenge. If the egg breaks, I’m happy to replace it...for five hundred dollars a plop.”

Provided she got to keep her basket, she could more than afford breaking a couple of eggs - right into her meatball recipe. But first, she had to get one of the boys to ‘gift’ it to her. “Five thousand!”

“Six,” Klaus immediately raised, meeting her eyes with a curious glance. He could really mess with her plan if he wanted to, and she felt a wave of relief when Damon shouted out another ten thousand dollar bid. Klaus luckily backed off, and she could finally breathe. 

Once Damon was announced the winner, she held back a wicked smile until he placed the gadget on her head. Unsettled, he backed away quickly, suspicious to the extreme. Alaric helpfully balanced an egg in the little cup, reminding her of the $500 penalty for each egg broken - but he never said she couldn’t use said broken eggs. Fully justified in her strategy, as soon as the timer started, she made a little bed of ground beef in her mixing bowl and let the first egg fall.  “Whoops!”

Alaric shook his head, clearly amused by her obvious scheming. “Come get your replacement, chef.”

She rushed over to him with her fine and hurried back to start breaking down her bread into crumbs, needing to toss them into the oven to dry out a bit. Chopping onions and tomatoes quickly, she fills the saucepan before Alaric could bring out another sabotage. The more quickly she can get her elements cooking, the more likely she’d get to keep them - she prayed, anyway.

“How’s that egg scramble coming, Blondie?” Damon taunted, though his voice was strained with the effort of mixing meatballs with only one hand bound awkwardly to the other. “It’d be a shame for you to drop another.”

“Actually, it’s been a big help. Hard to bind a meatball without an egg, and would you believe I forgot to grab them from the pantry?” She winked at his dumbfounded expression, primly brushing back her ponytail. “I was a pageant queen, chef. If I can balance a book on my head for an hour in heels, I can handle an egg just fine.”

Klaus laughed at that, though his big hands never stopped their flurry of activity over his station. “A tiara suits you, love, you should have brought it along.”

“The only crown won here is whatever cash you still have at the end of the day,” Alaric pointed out. “That said, who wants to replace their opponents’ stovetop for a camping stove?”

“Eight thousand!” Klaus called, knowing full well he was the only one who could afford such a bid in the second round. 

Caroline immediately moved her half formed meatballs to the sauce; her only hope would be to oven bake them both while using the tiny stove to boil water for her pasta. Though she did lose another egg to her hurried actions, it was more than worth the penalty to see Damon struggle moving his pot of water down from the counter. “Careful!” she called. “You don’t want to spill and have to start over!”

“Shut up, Barbie!”

“And I always thought the trash talk on this show was so witty,” Klaus pouted, whipping some cream into his sauce. “Don’t hold back, Damon, really let yourself loose.”

Muttering from the floor, Damon did let loose a few curse words Caroline hoped the cameras wouldn’t pick up. But she still laughed, happy to see her sauce bubbling softly in the oven. 

Klaus feigned a scandalized horror. “Such language.”

“If you’re looking for the Great British Bake-Off, you’re on the wrong side of the pond, friend,” she teased.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “The baby chef is trying to teach me something, okay.”

“Baby?!”

He shrugged, unconcerned by her offended outburst. “Come chop a few hundred onions a day in my kitchen, sweetheart, then maybe you’ll earn a gold star or two for your mum’s refrigerator.”

Eyes narrowed, she only just held back from pointing her knife in a vaguely threatening direction. “Can’t, it’s too full of awards and news clippings. Like the latest rave review from the Sun-Times. Did you know they named my restaurant as the best dining experience in the city for their editor’s list?”

“I did.” Caroline watched him in shock as he appeared entirely unbothered. “But I believe mine earned the Michelin star this year.” She licked her lips at the smug dimples peeking out from his cheeks; it really was unfair how sexy confidence could be. 

“Two minutes!” 

All the contestants rushed to plate their dishes, and even Caroline felt a little bad for Damon trying to neaten up the mess of his with one hand throwing off his balance. But then she remembered the egg sitting at the top of her forehead, and focused instead on carefully grating some cheese over her mostly passable pasta. Klaus’s, of course, looked like fine cuisine, right down to the twist of his noodles into a birds nest holding three perfectly proportioned meatballs.

To no one’s surprise, the guest judge sent Damon home with more than a few critiques for his ‘lack of polish.’ Alaric called for a fifteen minute break, and Caroline gratefully ran to the craft services table for a bottle of water and some fruit. Klaus followed at a more sedate pace, though he did steal a grape from her plate. “Thanks for teaming up back there,” she said. “I’d hate to be stuck with Damon for more terrible nicknames.”

“I’m sure you would have survived despite our machinations, love. I am impressed with your little egg game, though.”

She blushed. “Well, I’m the one who forgot the stupid eggs in the first place. Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t let me through the doors of your Michelin restaurant with that kind of preparation.”

His smile softened, and she really liked how it looked on his face. “You might be surprised. In fact,” he added nonchalantly, “I’m hoping you might stop in when we’re back in Chicago. I’ve only read about the lobster bisque you made for that glowing review, and I’d be honored to offer you the chance to make it in a real kitchen.”

“And give up my recipe to the competition? No way,” she scoffed, chest warm with pride and more than a little flattered.

Smirking at her resistance, he stole another grape. “Shall we make a wager of it, sweetheart? If I win this dessert round, you make that bisque for me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “What do I get when I win?”

Klaus just grinned, wide and knowing. “Whatever you want.“ Oh, that shouldn’t have sent a wonderful shiver down her spine. “May the best chef win,” he challenged.

Caroline shook his proffered hand with her game face on. “Don’t worry, she will.” After all, the stakes had just gotten a lot more interesting.

[singofsolace]

8. Baking together kiss for Zelda and Hilda (familial)

This prompt sparked a whole fic! Thank you! You can also read it on Ao3!

bread and butter

“What is that hell-sent smell?”

Hilda sighed. Zelda tended to have opinions about what she baked, especially if it was something her sister considered “fattening.”

“Bread, sister,” answered Hilda, though Zelda was already making her way to the oven, and could clearly see for herself what was inside.

“It smells divine,” said Zelda, breathing in the aroma with a look of satisfaction on her face.

Hilda stopped mixing the ingredients in her bowl to look up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, sister. There is no smell more glorious than this one.” Zelda’s eyes were closed as she took several deep breaths. Hilda looked at her in curiosity. It was unusual for her sister to express interest in her baking; Zelda had always been finicky about food—in their Academy years, Hilda knew Zelda to go for days without so much as a piece of toast, surviving on cigarettes, alcohol, and sex alone—and whenever she was under any undue stress, she tended to “forget” about food altogether. As it was, ever since Zelda had returned from her honeymoon, it was a daily struggle for Hilda to ensure that her sister wasn’t wasting away.

“I’m afraid it won’t be done for another fifteen minutes,” said Hilda, “but we have some leftover meatloaf from last night if you’re hungry.”

“I’m over three centuries old. I think I can wait fifteen minutes for a piece of bread,” said Zelda, opening her eyes after taking one last deep breath. “Do you need help with that?”

Zelda indicated the bowl in Hilda’s hand, which contained a mixture of eggs, flour, and sugar that she had been stirring before getting distracted. Hilda only barely contained her surprise at the offer.

“Are you sure? I know how busy you are drafting a new manifesto for the Church of Lilith,” said Hilda, stirring the batter once more.

“I could use a break—and a distraction,” said Zelda, her hands coming up to rub at her eyes. Hilda knew that her sister hadn’t been sleeping well—she could hear the screams from down the hall each night, and would sneak back into her old room to make sure Zelda was alright. The nightmares were clearly distressing, but Zelda refused to talk about them, so Hilda just stayed with her until she fell back asleep. Lately, she found herself waking up with her arms still wrapped around Zelda in comfort. It might not be much, but it was the least that Hilda could do. She hoped Ambrose found Blackwood sooner rather than later; she suspected Zelda wouldn’t sleep easily again until Judas and Leticia were returned, and Blackwood executed for his crimes.

“Well, then, I suppose I could use an extra pair of hands,” said Hilda, passing Zelda the bowl, but before she could begin stirring, Hilda stopped her with a chuckle, “—after you’ve washed them, of course.”

“Really, sister?” said Zelda, rolling her eyes, but walking to the sink in obedience, nevertheless.

“Just because we’re witches, doesn’t mean we can’t get sick,” said Hilda, smiling affectionately at the way Zelda tested the water’s temperature a few times before deciding it was warm enough. From this angle, however, Hilda could see the way Zelda’s clothes hung loose around her hips, and the smile faded away.

Finished washing her hands, Zelda turned towards her, holding them up as if to prove they were clean. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” said Hilda, before using magic to retrieve a second apron. “You should put this on, too, so that you don’t get your clothes covered in flour.”

Zelda eyed the apron with disdain. “Kiss the Cook” was written across the breast in bright red stitching. It was old—the color was faded and there were several suspicious stains down the front that resisted both mortal and witch methods of cleaning alike—but it was no less capable of protecting one’s clothes.

“Are there no other aprons?”

“Most of them are in the laundry,” Hilda lied, smoothly, as Zelda took it from her hands. Hilda couldn’t resist this opportunity to tease her sister, so rarely did the chance arise.

“We should have gotten rid of this one years ago,” said Zelda absently as she slipped the apron over her head. She was in the middle of tying it tightly around her shrinking waistline when she realized what she had said and her eyes went wide.

“It was a gift,” said Hilda, all humor gone, though she knew the words were unnecessary from the earnest look of apology on Zelda’s face, “from Diana.”

“I remember,” said Zelda, grabbing the bowl once more and beginning to stir like a woman possessed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Hilda, placing a hand on Zelda’s arm to slow her down. “It’s just an apron—and you’re right: it’s old and filthy.”

“I remember when she gave it to you,” said Zelda, her eyes glazed over as if the memory was playing in her mind’s eye. “It was a birthday gift. I mocked her for thinking that we would celebrate such things when we age so slowly. After three centuries, one hardly feels the need to revel in one’s longevity. I told her as much.”

Hilda busied herself with the tea kettle, thinking it wise not to comment.

“I was so cruel to her. My own sister-in-law. Why?” said Zelda, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Setting the kettle to boil, Hilda turned back to see that Zelda wasn’t stirring anymore—she was just standing there, with the bowl tucked against her stomach and one hand on the spoon, staring vacantly off into space.

“Diana understood,” said Hilda, placing a hand on Zelda’s shoulder and immediately regretting it when the woman nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Did she? Because I don’t understand it myself,” said Zelda, putting the bowl down so that she could wipe angrily at a stray tear.

“Edward risked so much to marry her,” said Hilda, moving closer, but not touching her. “She knew how difficult it was for you to accept that he would risk tearing his family and the Church or Night apart just for her.”

“She thought Sabrina wasn’t going to be loved, Hilda,” said Zelda, the tears flowing freely now. “Her soul remained in limbo for sixteen years because she didn’t trust me to take care of her daughter.”

“Don’t torture yourself like this, love,” said Hilda, slowly taking Zelda’s hands into her own. Zelda’s face was pale and wet with tears.

“She was right not to trust me,” said Zelda, her face twisted with grief. “I couldn’t protect Leticia. That sweet little girl could be dead by now and it’s my fault.”

“Hey,” admonished Hilda, squeezing Zelda’s hands before letting go and reaching up to wipe away her tears, “I’ll have none of that. Blackwood is to blame, not you. You did everything you could for that child.”

“It wasn’t enough,” said Zelda, closing her eyes.

Not knowing what else to do, Hilda stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss against Zelda’s cheek. Her sister’s eyes shot open at the unexpected contact.

“You are enough, Zelda Spellman. You loved Sabrina and Leticia like your own children. You did everything you could to keep them safe and happy. Diana saw that. She’s at peace now because you were such a wonderful mother. Hold onto that, and let go of everything else.”

“Thank you, Hildie,” said Zelda, smiling through her tears.

“Now, that bread ought to be done by now. What do you say we take a break to have some tea and toast, hmm?”

“I’d like that,” said Zelda, nodding.

And so, Hilda retrieved the bread from the oven, Zelda poured the tea, and the two sisters sat at the table, sharing their favorite memories of Sabrina as a child. Slowly, the color returned to Zelda’s face, the tears dried, and Hilda watched in surprise and relief as her sister ate a healthy helping of bread and butter. For a brief time, everything was just as it should be, and Hilda couldn’t have been more grateful.

Send me a “Winter Kisses Prompt” here!

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 27/?, Words: 152.012

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

—

It smells fantastic in the kitchen, throwing Tony back immediately to their college days, Back then, Rhodey’s cooking skills had still been unrefined, but they spent a number of holidays and summer breaks at the Rhodes’ home and it had seemed to be Rhodey’s mother’s single mission in life to fatten her two boys up. And to teach Tony that he is loved. She has had partial success in both those things, but since then Rhodey has taken seamlessly over.

Tony walks up to the counter to glean at what Rhodey is making. A pan is sizzling on the stove with an ungodly amount of garlic, just as they like it. Next to that sits a plate with neatly cut vegetables that Tony is sure cannot have come out of his kitchen.

Before he can say anything, Rhodey turns to look at him, eyes travelling over Tony’s form as if he thinks Tony managed to get himself injured again in the few hours they were apart this morning. Tony knows how he looks. The suit jacket he put on to appear at least somewhat collected for his meeting with Coulson does not hide the bags under his eyes or the fact that he walks with his shoulders slumped, almost bowed as if something is pulling him down to the ground.

That something is Obadiah, of course, and has been for weeks. Ironically enough, Tony thinks he might have preferred dealing with the mental toll of the betrayal alone, instead of adding its inglorious end to the mix. He cannot get the way Obadiah crumpled to the ground out of his head. How he kept sneering until the pain took over. How that last look in his eyes resembled hatred more than anything else.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Rhodey’s voice interrupts his thoughts, cutting right through them and catapulting Tony back to the present.

He is in his kitchen with his best friend. Food is on the stove. Nobody is out to kill him anymore. He is safe. It is over. Obadiah is dead.

Tony killed Obadiah.  

“About?” Tony asks, not bothering to make his tone innocent. This is straight-up denial and they both know it.

Rhodey’s expression does not change much, but Tony is practised in seeing the small signs of disappointment.

“Don’t do that, Tones,” Rhodey says, his voice unbearably calm. “Tell me if you need time, but don’t pretend nothing happened.”

Tony could run. That is what he usually does when things become uncomfortable, when he does not want to answer questions. JARVIS could put the workshop on lockdown and keep everybody out until Tony feels more collected – or until they stop trying.

Instead, Tony sits down on the counter, feet dangling, and stares at the pan. Rhodey must take that as sign enough that Tony is willing to talk because he turns back to the food, cutting with precise strokes, completely in control.

“It’s –” Tony shrugs. Fine. Over. Complicated. A myriad of entirely inaccurate words. “I’m not sure what to say.”

That, at least, is the truth. He is barely able to think about it in an even remotely coherent fashion without landing back in that warehouse, his mind running away from him but the gun steady in his hands.

“Stane is dead,” Rhodey says, echoing the constant choir in the back of Tony’s head. “How about you start with that?”

Heartrate picking up, Tony does not meet Rhodey’s eyes. “I already told you –”

He stops talking when Rhodey huffs. “I don’t exactly consider your feverish rambling from last night telling me anything.” Despite the words, Rhodey’s voice is gentle, as if he could ease Tony into this conversation. “Do you even remember what you said?”

Tony remembers surprisingly much of the night before, mostly in flashes but it is there. Steve brought him home, helped him lie down, and kept his distance while making sure Tony felt protected. He stayed when Tony asked him to. He made sure someone called Rhodey.

After that, things get more blurred. Rhodey had put him into the bathtub when he could not stand long enough for a shower. There was tea, and a mostly one-sided conversation full of mindless, soothing things.

Tony has talked too, in random bursts of information that can probably all be boiled down to two facts: He does not understand why this has happened. And it hurts.

Even now, it is hard to put into words. Years of Tony’s life turned into a lie that he happily believed as long as he was handed what he considered freedom to do as he pleased.  

“Obie killed my parents and now he wanted the company for himself,” Tony says, not reacting when Rhodey winces.

Since he does not look very surprised, this is one of the things he must have let slip the night before. It is the most pressing thing, too, because they already knew that Obadiah wanted Tony dead. They just were not aware that this was not the first time he decided to remove his problems in a permanent manner.

“He told me – everything was a lie, you know.” Tony’s lips turn into a bitter caricature of a smile. “Encouraging me to build, helping me out when Dad got mad, letting me grieve after they died. It was all part of some scheme to make more money. He did not care about me one bit. He – Dad said they were best friends and it was all a lie.”

Rhodey stops cutting for a moment to look at him, a sigh on his lips that Tony does not want to hear.

“It’s just impossible to wrap my head around,” he continues quickly, unwilling to linger on this. “I mean, you and Pep always tell me I’m terrible with people. That I always choose to trust the wrong ones and push away the ones who are good. But how could I have been so blind?”

A multitude of examples come to mind. Ty Stone and Sunset Bain being the most prominent of them. Rhodey had warned him away from them. If he had trusted his best friend more, he might have avoided those heartbreaks. Nobody knew to suspect Obadiah, although that does not help him at all to cope with the aftermath.  

“We never meant it that way, Tones,” Rhodey says quietly, his eyes turning sad. “We all fell for it. Stane – he did not fool you because you are naïve. He’s –”

Tony knows what Rhodey is going to say and he does not want to hear it, so he cuts Rhodey off, his voice a wounded monotone.

“I killed him.”

The knife clatters loudly on the counter as Rhodey stares at him. “What?” He looks like he has understood perfectly well what Tony said but wishes he did not.

Last night, Rhodey had reacted with unconcealed satisfaction at hearing about Obadiah’s death. Now, his expression is dampened by shock.

Unable to stand the scrutiny, Tony looks down at his lap. Rhodey will not judge him, but he still feels the recoil almost ripping the gun out of his hands after the first shot. That would have been enough to keep Obadiah down, and yet he steadied the gun and fired again.

All of the reasons and justifications have fallen away since then, leaving him to feel like nothing more than a murderer.

“He tried to run and we had to decide what to do with him,” Tony explains in a flat tone, flailing to keep calm. “Rhodey, I – I could see it in his eyes that he would never leave me alone. It does not matter that they would have locked him up. He would have somehow managed to make me miserable even from prison.”

He wanted to be left alone, but now he is not so sure anymore it was worth the price. Tired and hurting, with a mind eager to replay all the bad memories from the night before, it is like he has lost a part of his soul without any hope of making up for it.

“So you,” Rhodey beings but trails off. It is not clear whether he does not know what to ask or is simply not sure whether he should. He has by now completely abandoned the food.

The silence between them is, for a moment, only interrupted by the sizzling of the pan.

“I took a gun and shot him. Twice. I –” Tony takes a deep breath, surprised that his lungs allow it despite the weight on his chest. “I watched him die.”

Every long second of it. Every shuddering gasp, every new drop of blood, every twitch, every glare. Tony watched and did nothing. He merely waited until it was over and wished he was anywhere but there.

Obadiah might have betrayed him, but this was a betrayal in return. Not so much the bullets themselves because that night demanded that only one of them would leave the warehouse alive. But Tony pulled the trigger. He asked to do it himself and he did it. Coming back from that is impossible.

Rhodey is saying something, although Tony cannot hear a single word over the rushing in his ears. He sees Rhodey’s mouth moving, his lips turned down in sympathy. It must be something soothing, some kind of promise that Tony will be all right, that he only did what had to be done.

“How do you do it?” Tony asks, talking right over Rhodey. “Kill people?”

He has been wondering that since he was first kidnapped by the Avengers, really. That ready violence between people does not make sense to him. Where does the thrill of hurting or killing strangers come from? They are all human. They are all the same. And yet something primeval allows them to draw each other’s blood.  

“It’s not –” Rhodey starts, but Tony knows his best friend’s expression when he wants to shower him in platitudes.

“I swear I’ll throw you out if you’ll tell me it’s not easy,” Tony counters, rousing himself a bit from his stupor. “Obie deserved it but I can’t get his face out of my head.”

That is what he tells himself, that Obadiah deserved to die. He cannot even believe that, however, much less that he should be allowed to regain some inner peace.

Rhodey picks the knife back up and, without any semblance of a plan, throws everything he has cut into the pan at once, too thrown to stick to whatever recipe he chose.

“I am still seeing the face of the first person I ever killed,” he then says, dragging his eyes back to Tony with some reluctance. To Tony’s surprise, there is shame lingering in Rhodey’s face. “I still sometimes wake up from him asking me why in my dreams. I didn’t even know him. He was just some unlucky sod on the other side of a battlefield. You’re not supposed to shrug this off, no matter whether Stane deserved it or not.”

The thing is, Tony remembers Rhodey coming home on leave after that happened. He never told Tony about the nightmares, about how hard it is. It makes him feel like a bad friend. Like an egocentric, selfish man-child who does not like to take responsibility for anything ever. He should have known about Rhodey’s struggle. Perhaps Rhodey knew that there are no good answers to the questions simmering inside Tony now.

“So what?” Tony asks, still thrown but needing to make some sense of this. “I shouldn’t have done it? Is that what you’re telling me?”

The thought of Obadiah being alive hurts more than reality. He could just now be sitting in a holding cell, planning Tony’s further downfall, or talking in excruciating detail about all the things Tony did over the years that were hushed up. Drunken misadventures, bringing dozens of people into his bed, seemingly not caring for anyone but himself. Between that and the dutiful COO of Stark Industries, who would the police believe?

“I wish I could have been there to do it for you,” Rhodey says, and the sincerity in his voice breaks Tony’s heart further. “But I understand why you had to do it yourself.”

Tony thought it would help. That it would be a mercy. Just another pair of lies.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s over,” Tony admits, wishing Rhodey would give him reassurances, no matter how empty they would be.

“No, I can imagine,” Rhodey says instead. Then, however, he reaches out and puts his hand on top of Tony’s where they lie clenched in his lap. “But I’m proud of you.”

Immediate warmth floods through Tony, but he stamps down on the feeling, trying to expel it from his chest.

“What’s there to be proud of?” he asks, tasting bitterness on his tongue.

Somehow, Rhodey finds the strength to smile. “You’re stronger than you think.”

If this is strength, Tony is not sure he wants it. Someone has to take responsibility for his life and, more often than not, he left that job to others, and this is the reason why. He is feeling brittle, like one wrong word or touch will be enough to shatter him.

“Thank you,” Tony says quietly. Nothing is resolved. He is still raw, but Rhodey’s presence always helps.

“One day I’ll manage to make you believe that I’m not going anywhere,” Rhodey replies, his tone too serious to match the lightness of his smile.

Tony knows what he is saying. He is still working on not doubting it.

 ---

They have just finished their lunch, having turned to easier topics so that they could finish cooking and manage to keep the food down, when JARVIS speaks up.

“Sir, Dr Banner has entered the tower and asks to come up.”

Tony’s mind immediately jumps to new possible problems. Perhaps Thor’s state worsened since they saw each other this morning. Perhaps Coulson lied and brought in the Avengers anyway. Perhaps some more of Obadiah’s men have surfaced to give them more trouble.

“Let him in, J,” Tony says, his mouth dry. He swallows and he tries to convince his shoulders to straighten and his head to stay up to meet whatever is coming head-on.

“Dr Banner?” Rhodey asks. He, too, looks affected, although that might just be because he would prefer to wrap Tony up in a blanket and not let anyone ask something of him for the next seven years.

“He’s a friend,” Tony replies immediately. Whatever else happens, he does not need Rhodey and Bruce to argue. “He’s also the Dr Banner whose papers we’ve been gushing over, so don’t embarrass me.”

Rhodey’s lips twitch, even while his eyes remain serious. He is undoubtedly trying to figure out how Bruce fits into this. How, between all the bad things of the past few weeks, Tony made a new friend.

“Are you telling me you had an actual scientific celebrity in your home before and didn’t invite me?” he asks as he gets up to clear their plates from the table.

Tony takes overly much care as he gathers their cutlery and glasses to avoid looking at Rhodey. He cannot help the small grin, though. “You’re here now, right?”

Huffing, Rhodey replies, “We’re going to talk about that.”

That feels almost normal, the banter between them, the easy way Rhodey lets Tony be himself. If not for Bruce and his likely bad news coming closer, Tony might have even relaxed a little.

They just manage to clean the kitchen enough to let a guest in it before the door opens and Bruce comes in. He looks tired but not like he is in a hurry. His supplies bag is slung over his shoulder.

“Tony,” he greets with a smile that appears unstrained. “And you must be Colonel Rhodes.”

He does not get the change to offer his hand because Rhodey crosses his arms in front of him and asks, “Who are you?”

Tony rolls his eyes, mostly for Bruce’s benefit. Rhodey has a habit of mistrusting everybody Tony meets. He would prefer they skip that here since Bruce has proven himself to be an ally.

“I told you he’s a friend,” Tony says, a warning in his tone that he knows will be ignored. It should be more annoying, but even after years of friendship, Rhodey’s protectiveness soothes him.

“And I’d like to hear it from himself,” Rhodey rebuffs him before turning towards Bruce with a grim expression. “Are you with that mob?”

They have not yet talked about that. Only in fragments the night before.

Bruce takes the glare in stride and nods. “I am, although I’m not here as one of them,” he says as if that could restore Rhodey’s favour. “Now, if you would excuse me. I promise I’ll let you yell at me later.” Completely ignoring Rhodey’s flabbergasted expression, he puts his bag down on the kitchen table and says to Tony. “Did you have anyone look you over?”

“I’m fine,” Tony says before he even fully realizes that Bruce has come here to make sure he is all right. That last night did not leave him with more injuries he refuses to have looked at in a hospital. The thought makes his throat constrict. Although, for once, in a good way.

“We took a while to get to you,” Bruce says. He knows Tony well enough by now to not believe him about his health. “And you were bleeding when we arrived.”

Tony has catalogued his injuries in the shower this morning. Split lip, a cut over his eyebrow, sore ribs, and a multitude of bruises. That is it. It could have been much worse.

“Truly, Bruce,” Tony insists, even though Bruce and Rhodey are now looking at him with obvious doubt. “I’m fine.”

They do not believe him. Tony probably would not either. He has seen his face in the mirror this morning. He knows he takes every movement with exaggerated care, at least when nobody is watching him.

Compared to the weeks before he is fine, however. Nobody is trying to kill him anymore, he can concentrate on the future. If hie ignores the emotional toll of last night, he is doing well. He is free.

“What are your ribs doing?” Bruce asks, skipping the pretence completely.

Tony just barely keeps himself rolling his eyes. “I guess I refractured them again.” That happens when people keep kicking him in the ribcage. By now, he has almost gotten used to being constantly in pain with every breath he takes.

“You guess?” Rhodey pipes in, sharing a look with Bruce as if they have always known each other, always banded together over Tony’s inability to take care of himself.

A small part of Tony feels flattered. Bruce should not be here. He has a soulmate to care for and the Avengers to go back to. Since Obadiah is dead, he does not need to look in on Tony. It would probably be safer for all of them to keep their distance lest Coulson changes his mind about covering up for them. And yet Bruce is here.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been worse,” Tony says. Bruce is too kind to just leave if Tony does not give him an out. “They didn’t torture me. It was just a couple slaps to remind me of who’s in charge. The worst thing was Obie’s monologuing.”

He keeps his tone light but cannot quite hide how the mere memory makes him wince. His mother’s face keeps flashing in front of his eyes, the way she used to smile. how she never gave up on mediating between Tony and his father.

“Take off your shirt.”

Tony is already halfway through nodding his head when the words register. He expected Bruce to accept his rejection of medical care and leave. Or possibly to ask more questions about what transpired between Obadiah and him the night before. People never just stay for his sake, Rhodey being the glorious exception. Even Pepper and Happy had been on his payroll before becoming his friends.

“What?” Tony asks, raising his hands in front of him as if he has to bodily keep Bruce from tearing his shirt off. “No.”

Identical glares meet him from both Rhodey and Bruce. He does not want to show them the new mess of bruises on his chest, even though Rhodey must have noticed them the night before and Bruce has seen him in a worse condition already. This time, it feels more like a personal failure than a violation done to him.

If he keeps the bruises on his skin tucked away and breathes shallowly enough to avoid his ribs hurting, he can almost feel like everything that happened is long behind him. There is no hiding from the scars inside his mind, of course, so perhaps his reluctance is moot anyway.

“I’ll make it quick, but I am going to have a look at you,” Bruce counters, unimpressed by Tony’s refusal. “I can’t believe you’re this stubborn. You were kidnapped.”

Tony knew what he was getting into. Theoretically. Bruce can do nothing for his broken ribs. The bones will heal and so will Tony’s heart. It just needs time.

“And I’m –”

“Lose the shirt, Tones,” Rhodey cuts in, not stern enough to mask the worry on his face. They are all just trying to look out for each other.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Tony mutters and lowers his hands, clenching his fingers around the hem of his shirt without lifting it.

“I am,” Rhodey answers solemnly, not moving even an inch. “And I like this one.”

With great reluctance, Tony takes off his shirt. He does not meet his friends’ eyes as he leans back against the table, preferring to look down at himself. Several big patches of skin are discoloured. Vibrant blues and violet, misshapen or vaguely reminiscent of fists. The pain increases immediately, just from looking at the bruises as if all his brain needed was a confirmation that they are still there.

Next to him, Rhodey stares intently for several long seconds before turning away. He is clenching his hands, muttering curses under his breath. Perhaps he regrets not having been there the night before as Tony is glad that he was not. It would have been impossibly harder to keep himself together with his best friend there.

Bruce’s face does not show what he is thinking, although his jaw twitches with distinct displeasure. He reaches out and palpates each of the bruises. The touch stings but Tony remains where he is, knowing Bruce does this as carefully as possible.

“Despite knowing I’ll be ignored, I’ll tell you now that you should take it easy for the next weeks,” Bruce says as he turns to get the tape out of his bag.

“I’ll make sure he does,” Rhodey says, still sounding like he wants to go out and deal some damage of his own to the people who did this to Tony.

Wisely, Tony keeps his mouth shut. He has no time to rest. Now more than ever, he needs to be present in his company, needs to build and pave the way for the future. If pressed, he can tell them that he will have DUM-E do all the heavy lifting for him in the workshop, but Rhodey knows better than to expect him to stay in bed.

Thankfully, there are no open wounds to clean or stitch up, so Bruce is done very quickly, applying the tape as if he rarely does anything else. It has Tony wondering how often he needs to patch up the Avengers this way. Tony did not register much of the fighting in the warehouse but the entire thing seemed rather headless, swarming in without much of a plan other than attack. That might be Tony’s preferred mode of action, but as professionals, they should surely do things differently.

When Bruce is packing his things back up, he looks up at Tony, lips dipping down for a moment as if he already regrets what is going to say. “I guess you’re not seeking help for your mental health either?”

Tony’s first instinct is to ask What for? He knows. Of course, he knows. He has been kidnapped twice in mere weeks, and has almost been killed three times. His godfather betrayed him. His parents were murdered. He can see how that could warrant seeking help. He is fine, though. Exhausted and still somewhat in shock but fine.

“Don’t tell me you’re offering to do that too,” Tony asks lightly without outright rejecting the idea. He would never hear the end of that. Already, he is afraid that Rhodey will pick it up later.

“Hardly.” Bruce snorts, although he does not sound very amused. His expression is pinched but clears again quickly. “I would just recommend it.”

Bed rest and therapy. Other people might have the luxury of taking care of themselves first, but Tony has found that a few hours – or days – in the workshop do the same job. The art of creation is the most potent medicine he knows.

“It’s over now,” he says dismissively.

Bruce’s eyes linger on Tony’s torso, running over the bruises and the accurate lines of tape. Suddenly self-conscious, Tony reaches for his shirt and pulls it back on.

“Is it?” Bruce asks, no trace of pity in his voice. “Did you sleep tonight?”

“Yes.” Well, he passed out when the exhaustion finally pulled him under. Nobody has to know he woke up mere hours later because he dreamt of Obadiah looming over him. Rhodey might have noticed but did not comment on it.

Bruce does not believe him. To be fair, the bags under Tony’s eyes do not exactly back his answer. With a sigh, Bruce turns towards Rhodey. “Is that something you can talk sense into him about?”

“I will certainly try,” Rhodey promises without missing a beat. It sounds vaguely like a threat.

Straightening, Tony glares at them. “Could you please not conspire against me?”

To himself, he can admit that he is glad for it. Considering the way Rhodey had raged against the Avengers, it is a small miracle that he is now standing in the same room with Bruce and has an entirely amicable conversation with him. Tony has no illusions that the rest of the team would get the same treatment, but this is important to him.  

Rhodey smiles at him, something predatory in the line of his lips. “That depends on how well you take care of yourself.”

Which means Rhodey will talk JARVIS into throwing Tony out of the workshop at a sensible time, and they will force him to eat three meals a day and limit his coffee intake – all for his own good, of course.

Already feeling the future lack of coffee, Tony pushes himself away from the table to get himself another cup. They are welcome to stop him – and Bruce does, although not with medical advice.

“Thank you, Tony,” he says suddenly, his voice firm. That stops Tony right in his tracks. He has done nothing that warrants gratitude from Bruce. On the contrary, considering he got Thor shot. “I’m not saying it was smart what you did or that you should ever do it again, but thank you for getting Thor out of there.”

Oh. Bruce is thanking him for giving himself up. Which Rhodey and Pepper yelled at him for. And Thor. And Steve too. Compared to that, Bruce’s words should not weigh more, but Tony’s chest fills with unexpected warmth.

Still, Tony is aware of Rhodey in his back, and of how most people think he should not be so lax with his own safety.

“It’s not as if he went to the hospital as he was supposed to,” Tony says, attempting to wave the entire matter off.

“I already yelled at him for that,” Bruce says, his eyes narrowed. That conversation apparently went very well.

“So it’s my turn now?” Tony quips and starts walking to the coffee machine again. He just knows that Rhodey and Bruce are sharing a glance behind his back, but he does not mind. Things worked out well.  

Bruce sighs. The sound is practised, long-suffering. “If I thought for a second that you wouldn’t happily sacrifice yourself the next time the opportunity arises, I might try.

It takes effort not to laugh at that. Howard tried for years to cure Tony of his undesirable character traits and had never any success. His friends will not either, especially not if it is about something that ultimately benefits them.

Once the coffee machine is running, Tony opens the cupboard and turns around, gesturing vaguely in question whether he should get out cups for them too. Rhodey nods with the quiet resignation of someone knowing they will need all the energy they can get to survive Tony’s madness. In turn, Bruce hesitates but declines.

“What are you even doing here, Bruce?” Tony blurts, then immediately scolds himself for it. Bruce looks like he wants to leave but, at the same time, like he is not sure where to go. “I just mean, I thought you wouldn’t leave Thor’s side.”

Tony does not want Bruce to think he is not welcome here. To hide the blood shooting into his cheeks, Tony hides his face in the cupboard as he gets out two cups and arranges them neatly next to the coffee machine.

“He sent me back to the base when Coulson wanted to talk to you two,” Bruce replies, nothing offended in his tone. Quietly, he adds, “He worries.”

Coulson could still be a danger to all of them, especially the Avengers. This story about having worked with Natasha and Barton before sounds too convenient, leaving them with the sudden possibility for a happy ending that none of them could imagine before. There has to be a catch.

“And you didn’t go?” Tony asks instead of opening that can of worms.

He glances over his shoulder and blinks when he finds Bruce’s normally amiable expression twisted into something annoyed. “Oh, I did go,” he bites out, his displeasure tangible in the air. “But my team continues to be full of idiots who take offence to anyone having a private life, so we yelled a bit at each other before I came back here.”

Tony hides a sigh of relief at not being the reason for Bruce’s anger. It also makes him wonder how the Avengers have managed to stay together for years if they are so prone to bickering amongst each other.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says and turns to pour the coffee to escape Bruce’s reaction.

“What for?” Bruce asks, already sounding gentler again. “It’s not your fault.”

In a way, though, it is. He has had no hand in Thor becoming a bodyguard or in Stane deciding to get rid of him in the first place, but Tony is still the axis this entire mess revolves around.

“Without me, they wouldn’t have found out about Thor,” Tony offers. He does not know Bruce’s reasons for keeping his soulmate secret, but it is out now.

He uses the coffee as an excuse to keep his eyes down as he carries the two cups over to the table. Rhodey and Bruce are still standing, making the entire scene look as if they are all ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“I’m not angry about them finding out but about how they handled it,” Bruce says firmly. He does not elaborate, but Tony has an inkling how that conversation went.

“Do you want water, at least?” Tony asks Bruce, unwilling to get deeper into the topic of the Avengers dealing with emotional matters. He could not offer an objective opinion anyway.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Bruce says but trails off, perhaps wondering where else he could go while arguing with his friends.

To Tony, the solution to that is obvious. He does not blurt it out like he almost wants to do, but sits down and pointedly gestures at them to follow suit. There is no reason they cannot have this conversation in a civilized manner.

Rhodey is the first to sit, while Bruce appears conflicted. He must worry about Thor. Finally, he caves and sinks into a chair.

“You’re welcome to stay here, you know?” Tony says. He should perhaps not blurt that out like that, but he is not sure he will get another chance.

This interlude with the Avengers is over. Luckily, of course, because that means he is not in any particular danger anymore to get beaten up again by Barton or Barnes. It means his name is cleared and nobody is attempting to kill him anymore. It means he can distance himself from their little mob and get on with his life.

Regret has no room here. Tony likes Bruce, and he feels safe with Thor. Wanting them to stay close does not mean he is betraying himself or forget his treatment at the hands of the Avengers. He will not allow Steve close without reservations.

Bruce smiles at him, little more than a slight twitch of his lips. “Thor said as much. Thank you, Tony.”

That sounds like a rejection. Not as if Bruce does not want to stay but like he thinks Tony is simply offering him a hiding place for a few days. Tony wants him to stay for good, though. Thor too.

He has learned anew how important it is to surround himself with people he can trust, who are good at heart. If Bruce accepts to stay, Tony could offer him a better life. They could work together. With both their minds applied to a project, they could change the future.

“I mean long-term,” Tony corrects quickly, wondering whether he is out of place. They do not know each other that well, after all. “I don’t presume to tell you what to do with your life, but you’re brilliant and a friend. I could have a lab ready for you in no time. You could – stop running.”

Tony bites his lips and looks down at his coffee. He feels Bruce eyes on him. Worse than that is Rhodey’s staring. All Rhodey knows is that Bruce is part of the Avengers. Whether he patched Tony up or not, he is still the enemy. Bruce might very well think the same about Tony.

“I –” Bruce trails off. He does not look offended but almost embarrassed. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not as easy as that.”

That is not a no, Tony realizes with relief. Bruce is not refusing outright and his reluctance might not have anything to do with Tony at all. No matter that they have spent little time together, Tony knows that Bruce has no qualms to speak his mind. He would not hesitate to tell Tony no if he really does not want to stay here. Which leaves one more, glaring option.

“Because of Ross,” Tony states calmly, fighting to not sound too excited.

He throws a guilty glance at Rhodey who perks up at that, connecting Tony’s manner to the topic at hand.

“General Ross?” Rhodey asks, always able to read Tony – and Tony would not care about Rhodey’s presence if they were talking about a Ross he does not know. Involving Rhodey could make things much easier but also more complicated.

“Nasty business,” Tony replies with forced cheer. There is no going back now anyway. “I hope you don’t like him because I have half a mind of making sure he’ll never set foot on a military base ever again.”

Rhodey has questions, but Bruce looks positively green around the nose, so Tony twitches his head just so that Rhodey notices. They can talk about this in more detail later – Tony would not go against a general of the US military without Rhodey anyway.

“Nobody likes Ross,” Rhodey says, drawing out the words in a way that tells Tony they will have a long conversation about this and why Tony is talking about taking on another powerful person after just escaping the machinations of Stane.

“Great,” Tony says with a careless grin that has to be grating on his two much more sensible friends. “Do you have some dirt on him?”

Rhodey looks at him, rather unimpressed. “That depends –” he starts but cuts himself off when Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably, looking at them like he regrets ever having sat down.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bruce says, his expression closed off. A note of hope is clearly audible in his tone, however, which is certainly involuntary, considering the way Bruce ducks his head the moment the words are over his lips.

Tony looks at Bruce for a long minute, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the way he is hiding his hands under the table where they are surely clenched. He wants Bruce to know that he sees him, that he knows this will not be easy. Stopping to run never is, especially not when it is all one has done for years.

“I know,” Tony says, aiming to sound confident without being dismissive about it. “But you also helped me when you didn’t have to. And I like you.” He shrugs, trying to take the weight out of the words. “It’s just an idea, but I’d like you to think about it.”

Some of the tension drains out of Bruce’s posture, and while he does not appear surprised, he is not entirely convinced this is a good idea. Which is good, Tony supposes, because he is not either. Liking Bruce is one thing, but going to war against Ross for him is another. They have been through an ordeal together, though, and that is a first good step to trusting each other.

“I’ll need to see where Thor is going,” Bruce says after a moment of silence. As far as answers go, this is neither acceptance nor refusal. Of course, he will have to talk this through with his soulmate.

“I will talk to him too,” Tony says before he knows what he is doing. He does not want to put pressure on Bruce. If they do not accept his offer, that is just proof that he might have been wrong to make it in the first place, so he should not dig himself any deeper than he already is.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rhodey moving as if he has to say something to that, but Tony does not look at him, intent on catching Bruce’s reaction. And Bruce leans back in his seat. Tony is smart enough to not read that as a sign of sudden acquiescence, but it is a start.

“Why?” Bruce asks, carefully neutral.

The why, for once, is comically simple. “Because I’ve just been shown that the number of people I can trust is even smaller than I thought,” Tony says, his mouth turned up in an estimate of a wry smile. “And platypus here tells me that I have a habit of pushing people away the moment I risk being vulnerable with them. I think it’s time to change that.”

He is not really ready to change that, of course, but he is willing to make an exception. Bruce has proven himself trustworthy several times, and Thor is steadfast in ways that stabilise Tony.

Bruce smiles, looking wistful for a moment. “You’re a good person, Tony, you know that?” he says, nothing but honesty in his voice. And Tony barely knows what to do with that.

Being a good person never really featured in the plans other people and he himself had for him. He is supposed to be brilliant and innovative, to generate jobs and a lot of money. He has to be good at things. Building, leading the company, socialising. He has no idea how to be good just for the sake of it.

“Nope,” he replies with fake cheer. “But I’m working on it.”

Bruce opens his mouth as if to argue, and Tony just knows that Rhodey will have to say something about it. They both stay silent, though, until Bruce nods.

“All right,” he says, not showing either way whether he thinks about accepting Tony’s offer. That is all right, they have time as long as Bruce and the Avengers do not disappear without a word. “I’ll go and try to wrangle Thor back into bed. I suggest you get some more rest too. If you’re feeling dizzy or are in pain, call me.”

JARVIS is here to keep an eye on Tony, but he appreciates the offer. Even if he knows he is not going to call for Bruce when he is feeling unwell. Thor needs Bruce more and he has done enough to them.

“You should get some sleep too,” Tony says instead of making any promises. The past weeks have been long for all of them.

“Look at that,” Rhodey drawls to the side. “We’re all being adults and taking care of each other. Miracles do happen.”

He looks at them appraisingly and makes his words sound a bit like a threat. In a way it is. After wrangling the mess Tony was at MIT, he knows exactly how to push Tony into compliance to take care of himself. He has never stopped guiding Tony’s hand when necessary.

“Ignore him,” Tony says, shooting a glare of his own in Rhodey’s direction. “He thinks he’s funny.”

Once again, Tony is beyond glad that Rhodey is here, that he has someone at his side whose motives he never has to doubt anymore.

Bruce looks at them, his expression warm. “Well, I see you’re in good hands,” he says and, without further ado, gets to his feet.

It does not feel like a goodbye, but Tony still fears he will never see Bruce again if he lets him just go now. Still, it is not his place to cling to either Bruce or Thor. Heaping his expectations on others does not end well, as Obadiah has shown.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tony says, trying to convey everything he feels in these few words.

And Bruce smiles, softening further. “Any time.”

The answer is the same as Steve’s has been and it appears just as honest. Tony has never doubted Bruce, of course, but it makes him feel better about Steve. He hopes there will not be a next time, but it is good to know that he has people around who will have his back.

They watch Bruce go, his back straight and his steps light. He has barely disappeared out the door when Rhodey says, “Just because I like him doesn’t mean the rest of that mob is off the hook.”  

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. It is not particularly funny, and he does not feel either that the situation with the Avengers is resolved, but life goes on. And Tony does not have to walk that road alone.

[marshmallow-phd]

Sculpted Raven

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: It had been just you and your brother for the longest time and that’s how you liked it. Politics and lies had drove you away from your home five years ago and that has since left a bitter taste in your mouth. While exploring the latest town you’d settled in, you met Chanyeol. He was everything you didn’t want: goofy, happy-go-lucky… a wolf. Mate pull or not, you were going to try everything you could avoid him while keeping the secret from your brother. But how long would you be able to fight? Will Chanyeol be able to pull you back into the world you swore you would never enter again?

Warning: Mention of death

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

Out of respect for your mother, Chanyeol slept out in the living room on the couch while you and Lon took your old rooms for the night. Part of you had hoped that Chanyeol would give into his instincts and come join you, but when you woke up in the morning, the extra space on your bed was still empty. You had to admire that boy’s self control.

Suddenly getting a craving for some good, old fashioned pancakes, you hopped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen.

Fast asleep and snoring away in dream land, Chanyeol was spread out on the couch that was several inches too short. One foot was dangling off the side and planted on the ground while his other knee was bent up at an uncomfortable angle. The blanket was tossed down on the floor like it’d been thrown off sometime in the night.

Smiling to yourself, you picked up the blanket and started to lay it back over Chanyeol. Apparently, he wasn’t as asleep as you thought he was. Or maybe he was just that sensitive to your presence. Either way, his arms lifted up and encased you in his embrace, causing you to lie on top of him until he flipped over to his side, squishing you between his body and the back cushions of the couch.

“Chanyeol,” you grumbled, trying to wiggle out of his ironclad vise. As nice as his warmth was, your stomach was roaring at you to feed it.

At your attempt to get away, Chanyeol growled, pulling you in closer to him.

Fine.

Angling your arm as best as you could, your cold fingers found a little patch of skin under his shirt near his hip bone. Then you pinched down hard. When that didn’t work, you – albeit a little guiltily – added in your nail.

At the sharp pain, Chanyeol yelped, letting you go as he flung himself off the couch. He landed on the floor with a hard crash, vibrating the floor. He looked up at you with pouty lips.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “But I’m hungry and you wouldn’t let me go.”

He perked up at the mention of food.

Shaking your head, you slid off the couch and headed into the kitchen. Everything you needed to make breakfast was stored exactly where it had been when you left all those years ago. Your mother was a creature of habit, meaning you didn’t have to waste time in finding all the ingredients and could get straight to work.

Chanyeol kept his distance, standing a good ways away as he leaned on the counter and watching you work your magic. His manners and over awareness that he was a guest in your mother’s house was a little frustrating. A few times you caught him closing his eyes and sniffing the air. He even hummed in satisfaction. Your own mouth was watering in anticipation.

Lon came shuffling into the kitchen when you were close to being done with the first batch of pancakes and bacon.

“How come you never make this at our place?” he whined.

You rolled your eyes. “Why would I make them just for you?”

Lon grumbled unintelligibly under his breath as he helped himself to a plate of the now semi-warm pancakes. He slicked on the butter and poured more syrup than any one person needed before sitting down at the table. Chanyeol hadn’t moved to make his own plate, still keeping his eyes on you.

“Go ahead,” you pointed towards the food. “Eat it before Lon gobbles it all down.”

Chanyeol shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I can wait for you.”

You glared at him. “Chanyeol, just eat.”

“He’s not going to until you’ve eaten, remember?” Lon butted in through a mouthful of pancake.

Glancing over at your wolf, he stood there sheepishly, keeping his own eyes down at the hardwood floor.

As the assistant chef to your mother and then the head cook once you got older, you were used to being the last one to actually sit down and partake in the meal. It made you feel a little… giddy to finally not be the one scramble for the scraps. When there are wolves in the family, whatever was on the table would only last five minutes or so. Why they needed to eat so damn much was well beyond your scope of knowledge.

Feeling generous, you slipped the last batch of freshly cooked pancakes onto a separate plate before picking up some for yourself. You held the fresher plate out for Chanyeol. “Here.”

To your surprise, he shook his head, instead swiping the colder plate from your hand, leaving you with the hot ones.

“Um, you’re supposed to take these,” you wiggled the plate at him.

“No,” Chanyeol said stubbornly. “You eat those. You made breakfast, you should get the hot ones.”

“Just take them,” you growled, gritting your teeth.

“No.”

“Chanyeol.”

��No.”

“Just do it.”

“No.”

The plate disappeared from your hand, but it was neither Lon nor Chanyeol who stole it away.

You mother, still in her PJs and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, sat next to Lon at the table, acting as if there was nothing strange about the fact that she just took the plate meant for your mate and started eating.

Chanyeol was the one who laughed first. He tried to hold it back, but soon it bubbled up and boiled over. You stared in fascination as he clapped along with his laughter before leaning onto the counter and slappin the surface. His actions were as if the funniness of the situation had taken over his limbs and were just flailing them everywhere to get rid of the extra energy.

It was infectious, his laughter, and soon you, too, were bent over with tears forming in your eyes.

When you finally were able to breath again, you found yourself in Chanyeol’s arms. His chest was still vibrating on a small volume from his laughter. Looking up at him, Chanyeol took the opportunity to kiss you, keeping it PG since you were still in the presence of your family.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Lon mumbled.

Your mother just smiled as she continued to eat.

Making up a plate of the last of the pancakes, you and Chanyeol sat down to join your family.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch how Chanyeol didn’t even pick up his fork until you’d had at least three bites and even then, you had to take two before he would take his next one. It was silly, but mates eating before the wolves was an old tradition reinforced by instincts to protect and take care of their mate. There would be times where your father wouldn’t eat until your mother had had two plates cleaned off. You thought it was a little much, but you would take it in stride as long as you were able to use your own fork and feed yourself.

“So,” your mom sighed, putting her fork down on her empty plate. It made you feel better that she was able to finish what was in front of her. “How did you two meet?”

You choked on the food in your mouth. That was not the conversation you expected her to start.

“At a fair,” Chanyeol answered.

The look you gave him was one of confusion. “No, we didn’t. We met at Kris’ shop.”

Chanyeol shook his head, turning his face to you fully. “No, that’s when we first spoke. I first saw you at the art festival. And you saw me, too. After Tao got scolded for flirting with you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” You’d taken one look at him and ran the other way, knowing exactly what that feeling in your chest was indicating. “I wouldn’t count that as meeting, though.”

He just shrugged. “I do.”

At the gushy way he said it, you rolled your eyes.

“You two are in for an interesting future,” your mom mused. “Opposites are always an unpredictable mix. There’ll be hard times ahead, but you’ll get through them. Just trust each other.”

“Okay, Mom,” you giggled. “When did you become Grandmother Willow?”

She simply shook her head. “Just make sure not to fight in front of the children.”

“Mom!”

You were absolutely horrified. Chanyeol’s entire face had turned red, all the way to his ears. Even Lon looked a little ill at your mom’s sudden comment.

To your mom, though, it was a natural thought process.  “Of course, that won’t be for a while.”

“A very long while,” you insisted. Chanyeol’s mouth was struggling not to split into a large smile. You nudged him hard with your elbow, digging the bone into his arm.

He whined, pouting out his bottom lip. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about it,” you demanded through gritted teeth. “That won’t happen for an extremely long time.”

Shoulders slumped, Chanyeol nodded. You scoffed, mostly to keep yourself from laughing.

“It’s only natural,” your mom reminded you.

Huffing, Lon pushed his plate away from him. “There goes my appetite for a second helping.”

You kicked him under the table, making him hiss.

With a frail hand, your mom patted his shoulder before standing up out of her chair.

“Do you need help with anything, Mom?” you offered.

She smiled at you over her shoulder. “No, I’m fi-”

Before she could convince you with her small, two worded lie, she collapsed to the floor on her knees, clutching her chest where her heart was.

“Mom!”

You ran to her side, pushing the hair away from her face and keeping her steady. Sweat beaded  all over her forehead and her breathing was shallow, raggedy, and uneven.

Lon rushed over and scooped her up into his arms. “Call Markus. I’ll take her to the hospital.”

You couldn’t say anything, just nodding as you watched the two of them disappear out the front door. Moving was impossible. Chanyeol came up behind you and helped you back up to your feet.

“I’ll call Markus,” he volunteered. “What’s his number?”

Your hand was shaking as you pointed to the list of emergency numbers your mom still had on the fridge. Using his own cell, Chanyeol got ahold of Markus and explained to him what had happened. Not even five minutes later, Markus was at the house. It took both of the wolves to coax you out to Markus’ car you were so rigid and disoriented.

In the back seat, Chanyeol held onto you quietly, rubbing your arms up and down and kissing your forehead, anything he could think of that would help comfort you. It didn’t truly work, but you accepted it. Without it, you might have fallen apart completely.

By the time you reached the hospital, Lon was in the waiting room with head hung low. He explained to Markus that they took your mom in for some tests. There was no word on how how long the tests would take or many there would be. Only time would tell.

You settled into a haze sort of state, sitting that chair in the hallway, staring at nothing. There was no reaction when Chanyeol took your hand. Every sound was just a monotone hum in the background.

It was several hours before you were allowed to actually see your mom in her room. After all the tests and every avenue explored, the doctors had no hope. This was it.

You were terrified to walk through that door. Lon and Markus entered with no hesitation. The latter kept his distance, letting your brother take his rightful place by your mom’s beside. Taking that step to cross the threshold from the hallway to the foreboding room was nearly impossible. That would be accepting the truth.

Tubes and wires monitored your mom’s vitals and helped keep her alive. This was not how you wanted to remember her. This was not the imagine you wanted to hold on to. You wanted to remember the woman who had been smiling at the table just this morning, making the typical, inappropriate mother-type comments. That was the truth of her, the real her.

Turning around, you tried to run, but Chanyeol blocked your path.

“You’ll always regret it,” he whispered, even though your refused to look at him. “If you leave now, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

He was right. You wished that he wasn’t, but he was.

With his help, you managed to walk into the room. Markus brought over one of the spare chairs so you could sit next to the bed. Your mom’s hand was cold when you picked it up and pressed it against your cheek. She didn’t move or open her eyes. At least, she seemed at peace.

No one spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in the background. The solemn atmosphere never let up. And you knew… that this was where it would end….

**

It was a perfect day for a funeral.

Yes, it was a very morbid thing to think while you stood there under the umbrella the Chanyeol clutched to as the sky cried along with you. Pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat.

The tears that fell from your eyes weren’t the loud kind. They fell silently, almost invisible thanks to raindrops that hit your face with the slight wind.

Every member from Markus’ pack was there to pay their respects to your mother. She was well loved among them all. Everyone would miss her kind and generous heart. A giant hole would be left in the world, now that your mother was gone.

It still didn’t seem real. Like at any moment, she’d come walking along the grass in between the tombstones, wiping away your tears as she cooed at you that everything would be alright. But she wouldn’t magically appear that way. Even with the lid closed, it couldn't be denied that she was resting inside the casket as the priest spoke over her, offering the final goodbye.

When he finished, he motioned to Lon and you. Stepping forward and out from under the protection of the umbrella, you laid down the yellow dahlia that you’d been holding onto the whole time as the rain soaked your hair, shoulders, and back. Dahlias were your mother’s favorite flowers and it felt right to lay them down with her instead of the traditional roses.

The procession of mourners started, giving you their condolences before they were allowed to leave the depressing area. Chanyeol was by your side the whole time, making sure you knew that he was there for you to lean on the whole time. Even though he’d only met your mother the one time, you found that he, too, had tears to shed for her absence.

Once almost everyone was gone, Lon turned to you with a heavy sigh.

“I’m going to stay for the next few days and help Markus pack up some things in the house. Just some stuff that can be donated. Mom would want that. And then… then I’ll come back to my things from the apartment before settling in the house. I’ve already told Markus that I want to join the pack and the others have agreed.”

You nodded. It was only right. You were just happy that Lon was going to keep the house. Not that you would agree to selling it anyway, but it was better that it didn’t stay empty.

“You can keep the apartment, if you want,” he continued. “I’ll pay the rent. I know you won’t move back up here with me, but that’s okay. Mom wouldn’t want you to leave anyway.”

All you think to answer with was a shrug. You didn’t want to go back to that apartment where you’d be all alone. What was the point of staying there? Your brother was the only reason for that place. But where else could you go?

Markus called Lon over to speak with him about something that you didn’t catch, leaving you alone with Chanyeol.

“Do you want to stay in the apartment?” he asked out of the blue.

You looked up at him, confused. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I mean, besides my parent’s house. But I don’t want to move back here.”

“You could always move into the farmhouse,” he suggested so quietly at first you weren’t sure if that’s what he’d actually said.

“What?”

With his hand that wasn’t holding onto the umbrella, he scratched the back of his head. “We’ve got plenty of room. I mean, there are twelve of us, so it may be too crowded for you, but at least then you wouldn’t be by yourself. I’d get it, though, if you didn’t want to. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

Throwing yourself at Chanyeol, you buried your face into his chest. It was silver lining on this dark, dark day. “Thank you.”

He rubbed your back, resting his cheek on your head. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

You nodded, face still pressed up against him.

Chanyeol pushed you back gently, cupping your jaw with his hands. He pressed his lips against your forehead. You knew that he was elated that you’d be moving in with him, staying in his home and sleeping next to him every night, but he was keeping his own happiness inside, knowing that this was just a side note on today.

In too short of a time, your life had been completely up ended, distorted, and insanely rearranged. Not having your brother right by your side was going to be difficult.  You’d leaned on him as your support your whole life. But now it was time for the two of you to go your separate ways. As siblings, you would always have each other, even with distance in between you. If something major were to happen, you knew that you could run to him and he’d be there.

For now, you had to let him go and head down your own path. Your hand wouldn’t be empty, though. Chanyeol would walk beside you, helping you along when you needed it and stepping back when you needed him to as well.

As you said goodbye to your mother one last time, you reminded yourself to only remember the amazing childhood she gave you. Life was unfair and had it’s up and downs. That’s all your story consisted of. But your mother helped you write your story, guiding your pen and steering you back when you got off track, and for that, you would always be grateful.