#like i would take pots over an actual serious heart condition any day

[freebooter4ever]

in hindsight wearing lethy's 'what you looking cat?' shirt with my heart monitor visible while grocery shopping was maybe not the most subtle choice

[stevesharrlngtons]

just a little downhill.

mickey x reader

summary: after a hard day of work, mickey comes home to a very unwelcome and unexpected guest: his little brother.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: mickey and his brother goodness! as briefly discussed, kevin’s face claim is pete davidson (: and if you’re curious, here is another discussion of mickey’s parents. i hope you enjoy and if you do, i’d love to hear it (:

Although Mickey had been out from under his parents order for years now, he never seemed to shake the responsibilities they had assigned him. 

When Mickey was old enough, with a high school diploma under his belt and not much else, he escaped two towns over to flee his parents and their needs. To, at the time, do his best to escape their overbearing asks and assumptions of him. He took very little when he fled in the night; a few articles of well worn clothing; his box of drugs and corresponding paraphernalia; an envelope of mementos of his relationship with you; and you, as well. You both escaped your grim situations with wild eyes and hearts, between flurried kisses and giggles, you made your way to your new lives. 

Now, all these years later, you both were still shacked up in your cozy ground floor apartment, with it’s warped tiles and shag carpets, and Mickey had never been happier. Sure, he worked a demanding manual labor job and he had few future prospects, but he was on his own and living with the woman he loved. To Mickey, there truly wasn’t anything better than that. He suspected he could be forsaken to any living conditions, demands or labor, but as long as he had you by his side, he would be happy as a clam. 

You were the one who kept him sane. The one who taught him how to float instead of thrashing in the water. The one who taught him the gentle caress of love. The one who was the only salve for any and all problems that were thrown his way. 

And when it came to his chaotic life, he needed your healing touch more often than he would like to admit. 

Because while the distance between him and his turbulent family offered excuses for why he couldn’t invariably swoop in and save the day, the milage didn’t often deter his parents from calling on Mickey whenever they needed something. Their expectations still held true no matter the separation.

Mickey was expected to come over and soothe tensions when their fights reached a volume to where the neighbors got involved. 

Mickey was expected to drop everything, no matter the circumstance, to help wrangle their old mutt whenever he escaped and began to terrorize the neighborhood kids.

Mickey was expected to drive the hour to their trailer whenever there was an appliance that needed fixing. Usually after his father had stormed off in frustration when he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mickey was also expected to fix a litany of other things that his parents refused to call in an expert about, but had no problem pawning it off on their son (even if he was no more qualified to fix things then they were).  

But above all, Mickey was expected to look out for his little brother. To watch out for him, and to take care of him when he couldn’t take care of himself. This had always been his most fervently requested task, and possibly the one he resented the most. 

And when he came home to find his fuck to of a little brother with his back against the brick siding of Mickey’s apartment building, a joint between his lips and his head angled toward the sun, he knew his everlasting duty to care for the kid was about to rear its ugly head once more. 

Today was just an exceptionally bad day for this to happen. 

Because before he even saw Kevin’s face, it had been a day where he had just wanted to come home, lay his head on your lap as you pressed delicate kisses to his skin. He needed to be enveloped in your soothing smell and coaxed into relaxation by your voice. He just needed you, because today had been awful. The last thing he needed was to deal with any member of his fucking family.

The day started off with the buddy he carpooled with burning a hole in his brand new seat cover on the way to work. Then it was announced that OSHA would be monitoring their site they were at for the morning, which meant nothing got done and the crew was way behind schedule. When lunch rolled around, Mickey dropped his sandwich on the ground, which caused his coworkers to start an uproar of teasing and laughter whenever he was around. And, of course, after he was already in their crosshairs, his drill decided to stop working, which only fueled the other mens mocking. 

And to make it all worse, his mother had been calling on a loop since noon. He refused to answer, not wanting to deal with her drunk ramblings or vicious criticisms, which just meant that the calls kept coming. Now that he thought of it, he was sure the sudden vibration in his pocket had been the reason he had dropped his sandwich in the first place.

Thanks mom. Fuck you.

“The fuck are you doing here, Kev?” Mickey grunted from around his cigarette as he approached his front door. 

“Didn't Ma call?” 

“I don’t answer her calls sober,” he shoved his key into the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder.

As the door opened, Mickey cringed as Kevin quickly sprang to his feet and pushed past him into his home. He had expected it, but it still made his stomach drop as it happened. When Kevin planted himself somewhere, he was often hard to peel back up. Last time Kevin had come over to beg for money, he didn’t leave for four days, leaving a permanent lanky body print in Mickey’s couch. 

“Can’t really blame you for that,” Kevin chuckled as he collapsed onto the living room couch in a huff, “we didn’t invent The Scale for nothin’.” 

The Scale referred to the made up increment system the two invented in middle school on how high they had to be to pleasantly deal with their parents. Their mother was usually a Bill and Ted and their father was always at very least Cheech and Chong. The brothers sometimes would still refer to The Scale when they were going through a spurt of getting along. But this was not one of those times. 

Mickey hadn’t seen Kevin on an unencumbered social call in over two years. Kevin used to visit every weekend; to party, play video games or just spend time with his older brother; but now it was only under the guise of extorting money (that Mickey really didn’t have to give) or in a search of a place to crash while he was on the outs with their parents or whatever girl he was currently seeing. 

Because of his mother’s incessant calls and Kevin’s mention of her, he assumed it was the latter this time. 

“Yeah, well clearly you’ve already started,” Mickey grouched, as he tilted his head to the blunt that was still between his brother’s lips. 

Mickey was anything but a prude, but when his deadbeat brother came swaggering into his home with no humility or shame, smoking pot and bogarting his couch, Mickey suddenly turned into a stuffy Christian mother, sticking his nose up and huffing at the mention of any illicit substance. 

“Oh, I’m sorry man, you wanna hit?” Kevin asked, completely oblivious to his brother’s annoyance. 

“What are you doing here, Kev?” 

Kevin’s eyebrows raised at Mickey’s bluntness and whistled low under his breath, before settling back against the couch. 

“Take the stick out of you ass, Jesus Mick,” 

“I’m serious, Kev. What is it? Spit it out, I had a long fucking day. I don’t have the patience to deal with this.” 

“You sound like dad,” Kevin chuckled, smoke billowed from his mouth as he propped long legs onto the coffee table. 

His tolerance for Kevin running thin already, Mickey marched over to the couch and shoved his legs from the coffee table with haste. Kevin’s eyes grew wide with surprise and slight betrayal when he looked at his brother again. 

“I’m not fucking around, Kevin! (Y/N) is gonna be home any minute and I want you gone when she gets here,” Mickey raked a hand through his tousled locks and went in search of his work coat to find a new cigarette. 

“(Y/N) loves me,” 

“Yeah, because you prey on her kindness. Now tell me what it is or I’m calling dad to pick you up.” 

That seemed to scare him enough to reveal the reason for his visit.

“I need a job.” 

And there it was. Mickey let out an encompassing sigh as he turned his back to his baby brother. This wasn’t the first time Kevin had asked for a job, and Mickey doubted it would be the last. 

Others might applaud his brother’s initiative to better himself and search for personal contacts to find him work, but Mickey knew better. He had tried to help him get a job more times than he could count, and Kevin always did something to fuck it up. 

Whether it be never showing up, being high on the clock, failing drug tests or fighting with customers and coworkers, something always went wrong. Mickey had burned many a bridge to defend his brother from these employers, because no matter how insane Kevin made him, he was still his brother and he would be damned if anyone said a bad word about him. Other than him, of course. 

“Yeah? And what the fuck am I supposed to do about that?” Mickey challenged. 

“Talk to Stephen,” Kevin replied simply. 

“Fuck no!” Mickey almost laughed, “Man, I need this job, I can’t have you fucking it up for me.” 

“I won’t! I won’t fuck it up!” 

“Yeah, ok. Whatever you say, Kev.”

“I’m being serious!” 

“No, no way, dude. No, Kev. I can’t lose this job. I got bills and shit, now! Did you know you have to pay for garbage pick up at a place like this? Because I sure as shit didn’t! We can’t even bury it like dad did,” Mickey lectured, “and y’know what? I got a girl, one I’d really like to fucking keep. Which means actually keeping this stupid construction job to keep paying for fucking garbage. I can’t have you gettin’ us both canned.” 

“I’ve changed, Mick. I have!” Kevin reinforced when his brother rolled his eyes, “I’m twenty four now. I got like, perspective on stuff, and shit.” 

“Kev, -“ Mickey started, but didn’t continue as he heard a key in the front lock. 

Seconds later you appeared, hair piled high on your head and still adorning your work uniform. Even with his brother pissing him off and the weight of an awful day on his shoulders, Mickey couldn’t stop the goofy smile that spread over his face when he saw you. Worn from a hard day and in your boxy hotel maid get up, you were still the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. 

“Hey, baby,” Mickey said as he crossed the living room quickly to greet you. 

“Hi, baby,” you looked up at him, a similar lovesick smile on your lips as Mickey wrapped you in a crushing embrace. 

You craned your head back to capture his pouted lips in a kiss. They will tinged with more nicotine than usual, and you knew something was off before you pulled apart. Your hands had begun to inch toward Mickey’s nape when you heard movement on the couch. When you pulled away, you saw him

“Oh, hey, Kev. I didn’t see you there, honey,” you offered him a kind smile as you moved to rest your cheek on Mickey’s chest.

Mickey tried to keep the scowl off his face as his brother grinned at you. 

“How ya been, (Y/N/N)? Man, it feels like it’s been ages!” his brother charmed, pushing up from the couch to come meet you for a hug. 

When you pulled away from Mickey to do so, Mickey swore you were taking a part of his resolve with you.

“It has, you don’t come ‘round like you used to,” you said, parting from Kevin to smoothe your hands over his broad, boney shoulders. As you inspected Mickey’s baby brother, you spied something new, “this a new addition?” 

You poked the ridge of black ink peeking out of his t-shirt, just below his collar bone. 

“Awh, yeah. Yeah it is,” Kevin pulled down the collar of his shirt enough for you to see the tattoo that joined the ranks of his many others, “it’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” 

“Oh,” you said, a little surprised by the choice, but admiried it nonetheless, “I like it. It’s nice linework. Can’t say the same for the rest of ‘em, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, very funny!”

You winked up at him before you removed yourself from his orbit to return to Mickey’s. Though, on your way back to your man, you saw the firm look of displeasure on his face, and that face was directed firmly at his brother. You stopped in your tracks and traded glances between the two boys, one angry and one bashful, before you spoke. 

“Alright, what’s goin’ on?” 

“What do you think is goin’ on?” “Nothin’.” the brothers spoke in unison. 

You turned your gaze hard at Mickey. He let silence hang in the air for a long beat before he spoke.

“Kev is lookin’ for a hand out. But what’s new?” Mickey scoffed. He planted a swift kiss to the crown of your head before he walked past the both of you to the kitchen. 

“Hey, fuck you man! All I was asking for was help!” Kevin shot back, he turned quickly on his heel to face his brother. 

“I can’t give you any fuckin’ help, Kev! Look what I got,” Mickey waved widley, “there ain’t shit here to give!”

“You could give me your contacts, I could start sellin’ the shit you have left from -” 

“You aren’t taking my contacts and you’re not touching the shit I got from Georgia. That’s mine to do what I please with,” Mickey bellowed, yelling louder than you’d ever heard before, “I don’t need you fucking up the relationship I have with my clients, either.” 

“Clients,” Kevin said in a mocking, posh accent, “their fucking drug addicts!” 

“Yeah? And what the fuck are you, again?” 

“What the fuck am I? What the fuck are you, man?” 

The two had slowly begun to advance toward each other in their squabble, and now were only a pace apart. You knew if they were to get any closer, fists would be thrown. It wouldn’t be a good fight, neither boy had ever been good in physical altercations. The fight would likely consist of misthrown punches and cheap shot kicks, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want either to get hurt or take anything too far. 

“That’s enough!” you shouted over their bickering, “Mick, c’mon. Come talk to me in the bedroom, please.” 

Mickey’s angry expression faltered the moment he looked over Kevin’s shoulder at you, “Baby, I can handle this.” 

“Mickey. Bedroom. Now.” you had already started to head that way, and Mickey knew if he wasn’t right behind you, he’d be in deep shit. 

With a petulant sigh, he followed you down the hall to the bedroom and shut the door behind him when he entered. You had sat on the edge of the bed and Mickey found his place to slouch against the opposite wall. 

“I can’t deal with him, baby. I can’t deal with his bullshit anymore,” he said, defeated. 

“He’s your brother, Mick. You love him. And sometimes the people you love need more help than you do.” 

“But that’s the thing, he needs so much more. He takes and he takes and he takes, and somehow, he still needs more. I can’t give him anything else. No one can. He’s more of a fuck up than I am, and that’s saying something,” Mickey puffed. 

“You’re not a fuck up, Mick,” you frowned, your brows peaking with heartache. 

Mickey gave you a pointed look, “I kinda am. You don’t gotta sugar coat it.”

You stood from the bed and crossed the short space between you two. When you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and nestled close to his chest. Mickey accepted your embrace easily and gratefully. 

“You are not a fuck up, baby. You have a good job, you have a good life. You provide for me, for our little two person family. And you make me happier than I ever thought possible... you simply aren’t a fuck up because no man I love could be,” you smiled at the tail end of your sentence. 

You propped your chin on his chest like you had minutes earlier and looked deep into his green eyes, both soft and brimming with adoration. 

“I fucking love you so much, you know that?” he smiled, little crow's feet growing by his eyes as he did. 

“I do. And I love you, too.” 

Mickey sighed, relaxation soothing his muscles at the sound of your confession. He gently pressed your cheek back to his chest and reveled in the feeling of your body against his. 

“But really, baby, what are we gonna do about Kev?” you asked after a moment of calm. 

Mickey’s brows furrowed, the pressure behind them intense and blaring. 

“He’s not our problems, baby. He’s an adult.” 

“He is. But he’s also a sweet kid with a good heart, and he just needs some extra help. And I think we should try to help, at least the best we can.” 

Mickey’s head made a thud as he collapsed to the wall behind him, “baby, we can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep bailing him out. We can’t keep bailing them out.”

The image of his parents popped behind his eyes, both fragile and gray and somehow even crueler than ever. He didn’t want to spend his life being their eternal whipping boy, cleaning up their messes when they couldn’t. And that included the mess they had made in his brother.

“This isn’t about them, alright? Fuck them, you know precisely what I think of your parents,” you frowned, and Mickey felt his heart pick up with pride at your protectiveness, “but you also know what I think about Kevin. He really is a good kid deep down. He’s talented. He just needs a little more support before he’s gonna feel comfortable jumping out on his own.” 

“He still drives me fucking insane…” Mickey retorted.

“He’s your little brother, of course he does.”

“Baby, he really does. You have no idea how much that little shit gets under my skin.”

“Oh, c’mon! You love him! He’s like, sad, high, tattooed Big Bird,” you giggled as you heard a grumble vibrate in Mickey’s chest. 

“Yeah? Well, then what am I?” 

You pulled away from him once more, but only far enough to look him in the eyes. 

“You’re like, strong, sexy, smart Big Bird,” you said, your voice a seductive purr as you placed a few chaste kisses to his jaw, “or Snuffleupagus.” 

Mickey’s face twisted in confusion and slight disgust, “why?” 

“Because he was always my favorite when I was a kid.” 

And his expression instantly extinguished into one of warmth and tenderness. Emerald eyes bathing you in liquid love. 

“You just never stop being cute, do you?” he grinned. 

“Nope,” you said, letting the work pop from your lips. 

He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and took a deep breath of your pheromones; your sun bathed skin and your sweet smelling hair. And as he let his lips stay perched on your skull, he realized that he would do anything for you, no matter the request. He had had this feeling many times before; of his overwhelming and striking devotion to you; though it never ceased to rattle his swelling heart in his chest, and remind him the exact reason he was put on this earth: to make you happy. 

So, if you wanted him to try and help Kevin, then he would. It was the least he could do for all the happiness and love you brought to him. 

But, if he was being honest with himself, there was always going to be a part of him that wanted to nurture his baby brother in any way he could. 

Somewhere in his mind and his heart, Kevin would always be the small blushing bundle handed off to him in a dingy hospital room. It was one of his first formative memories, his little brother wrapped in a white blanket as his mother’s groggy eyes looked upon both of them. Mickey had never held a baby, let alone a newborn, and the tiny writhing creature looked very strange to him, red and angry and crying.

A month before Mickey’s mother would give birth to Kevin, their father had stormed out of the house, and by the time her water had broken he had still yet to turn. So pained and afraid, his mother had piled Mickey in the car after her and drove them both to the hospital. A cigarette in one hand, while her other gave the steering wheel a death grip. As she groaned with contractions and cursed at the traffic, she said something to him that he never forgot: 

“You are the real man of the house, Mickey-honey,” she said in her graveled voice, “this little boy is always gonna look up to you. You gotta live up to that.” 

And that message had bounced around between his ears as his mother, alone and in extraordinary agony, gave birth to his brother. Who as he had held him in his tiny spindly arms, Mickey knew that he would keep him safe forever. No matter what.

A part of that soul promise to his blood now seemed to be finding Kevin a job to keep him afloat. To keep him out of trouble and away from falling down the path their parents had. He honored past his past self in that moment, continuing on with the pledge to keep his brother safe. 

“Fine,” Mickey muttered to your skin, “we’ll help ‘im.” 

“Really?” 

Mickey simply shrugged. 

You moved your hands from where they had been secured behind his waist to come and cradle his cheeks, “you’re a good man, Mick.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he played off, eyelids fluttering. 

“The best man I know,” and you kissed him tenderly, the soft feeling of your lips electrifying him.

He hummed when you pulled away, but with more anguish than pleasure. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Mickey said. He quickly untangled himself from you and exited the bedroom before you could even process your post kiss haze. 

“Kev,” Mickey called, finding his brother laying down on the couch now, the television remote in his hand as he flipped channels, “get the fuck up.” 

“Hey, woah, listen Mickey, alright? I’m sorry! I am, I’m sorry,” Kevin began, stammering nervously. 

Mickey could tell that his brother was trying to save face. That he was trying to bargain for his help, and that he believed that Mickey was coming back to tell him to leave and never come back. But he didn’t stop him, Mickey thought Kevin deserved to squirm a bit. 

“I know I’ve fucked up, like really fucked up over and over again. But I got this this time, ok? I’m like, I’m ready for, I don’t know, a fresh start. I’m ready to do better.” 

Mickey simply crossed his arms as his brother stared up at him with heavy set brown eyes. They were flickering around the room, scared to look at his older brother who loomed over him. Mickey was sure he was searching for you, knowing he could always grovel at your feet for sympathy. 

“Fuck! What am I supposed to say, stop being such a-“ but Kevin stopped himself before he finished, knowing it likely wasn’t smart to start name calling the person he was asking a favor of. 

“No, no, continue. What am I being? Hm?” Mickey raised an eyebrow. 

Kevin’s jaw tightened, “.... a really, good guy.” 

His pained voice would have made Mickey laugh if he wasn’t wearing a stoic persona. It reminded him of when Kevin was forced to apologize as a child, their dad’s hand pulling up his ear as he spat out an apology. 

“Imma ask around, alright? Been hearing about some landscape work a buddy of mine has been talking about. I’ll call you tomorrow.” he finally said, putting his anxious brother out of his misery. 

“No shit?” Kevin asked with a suspicious lilt. 

“No shit. And if you get the fuck out of my house in the next five seconds, I might even put in a good word for you.” 

“Fuck,” Kevin exhaled, his body deflated like a balloon against the cushion, “you have no idea-“ 

“Nope, I don’t,” Mickey interjected, “and I don’t want to. Now fuck off, dude. My lady is home and I don’t need you here.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright!” Kevin said as he was shooed off the couch and to the door, “thank you, (Y/N/N), you hear me, babe?” 

You heard the commotion from the bedroom and popped your head out to watch Mickey escorting Kevin out. Stripped down from your uniform and now bundled in a pair of Mickey’s thread bear sweatpants and his favorite Scorpions t-shirt. 

“You look gorgeous, by the way! So good, does Mickey tell you enough?” Kevin had widened his gangly limbs in the door frame to keep his brother, who was shoving him quite hard, to stop him from leaving. 

“He does, Kev. I promise,” you grinned at the brotherly exchange as they threw jabs at each other, “I’ll see you soon, honey.” 

“Bye, (Y/N/N)!” was the last thing Kevin got out before Mickey slammed the door in his face, not worrying about if there were stray fingers left behind. 

“That fucking kid…” Mickey said under his breath, locking the deadbolt with a resound click. 

You pushed away from where you had leant against the wall and walked toward him, “my man… my sweet, strong man who has such a big heart and helps out his family.” 

You plastered yourself to his back, bringing your hands down to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, “my man who provides for me,” you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, “for the people he loves,” one to his trap, “who is the best person I’ve ever known,” one to his neck. 

Mickey whimpered under your ministrations, caught up in the whispered pleasure of your lips and nimble fingers that greedily took inventory of his torso.

“You’re really tryin’ to start something, huh?” he chuckled as you began to suck on his pulse point. 

“And if I was?” 

As soon as the last syllable left your mouth, Mickey had twisted around to take handfuls of your thighs to hitch you up around his waist. 

You couldn’t hold in the excited giggle that bubbled from your chest as he marched you both back toward your room in quick succession. His long strides getting you both back between the sheets in no time. All thoughts of  dropped sandwiches and burn holes and faulty equipment and pesky little brothers, gone. Now, there was only you, and that was just the way Mickey liked it. 

if you follow me you know that i have been going through a major writing block and a creativity dry spell, so while i don’t think this is my best work, it is fun and silly and soft and nice to write (:  if you enjoyed, i would really love it hear it <3 ‘til next time!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Entwining Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an incredibly s p i c y date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Valentine’s 2020 Collection: Gavin // Lucien // Victor

The date begins with MC watching a live broadcast of an annual award ceremony, which announces that Kiro has won the grand award.

MC grabs the congratulatory card and present she prepared, heading out to decorate Kiro’s house for a mini celebration party.

Along the way, she receives news that for some unknown reason, Kiro was absent from a product launch that he was supposed to be a spokesperson for.

She enters Kiro’s house using the keys Savin gave her and starts decorating. 

After a while, Kiro enters the house looking melancholic, with Savin nagging behind him. Savin tells her to keep an eye on Kiro to ensure he gets proper rest and not exert himself.

After Savin rushes off to deal with the press, Kiro explains that he is unable to move his neck and back.

Kiro: I just finished dance practice and heard Savin calling me at the door. I turned my neck using too much force and couldn’t move my neck afterwards. The doctor said it’s a sprain.

Saying this, he despondently grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest in a state of utter devastation.

Kiro: [pouting] I wasn’t even doing any big movements.

Even so, Kiro is happy that he gets a day of rest.

He suggests that they slip out to visit an interesting shop nearby. While Kiro’s puppy eyes cause MC to hesitate, she refuses so Kiro can rest. Despite his unwillingness, Kiro rests on the bed. She sits on a chair next to the bed so she can watch over him.

He grabs my fingers and plays with them restlessly. It feels ticklish. I try to draw my hand back but he refuses to let go.

Kiro: I can’t sleep. When you spend time with me, I can’t bear to close my eyes.

Kiro’s words soften my heart. Due to our busy schedules, it has been a long while since we last spent time alone together.

MC: When we’re less busy, let’s go to the interesting shop you mentioned, okay?

Kiro: Yes, let’s!

The corners of Kiro’s lips lift. As though discovering a new form of amusement, he patiently plays with my fingers one by one. 

His fingers are soft and smooth. I experience a strange palpitation whenever our fingers meet. I avert my gaze, the outer rim of my ears turning red.

Kiro: Miss Chips has very soft fingers.

MC: [blushing] They’re all right…

I’m unable to control the acceleration of my heart rate. In order to loosen my hand from his, I grab the phone off the bedside table and hand it to him.

MC: Since you don’t want to sleep, I’ll let you use your phone.

Looking as though he can’t bear to let go of my hand, he takes the phone and sees that the screen is filled with tons of notifications.

Kiro guesses that his fans are worried about the sudden cancellation of the product launch and decides to post something on his Weibo account to dispel their concerns. He tries but fails to take a selfie in his injured state, so MC helps.

On the screen, there is an incredibly adorable combination of Kiro lying on the soft bed, his messy golden hair, and the teddy bear next the pillow.

Kiro: Why is my hair so messy?

His eyes widen, dismay written all over his features. I reach out and tidy his messy hair, suppressing the urge to mess it up even more.

Kiro obediently leaves his hair to me, a smile appearing on his lips.

MC: It’s going to be perfect this time.

I look him over, satisfied, and snap three consecutive photos of Kiro before showing them to him.

MC: Don’t you look very handsome now?

Kiro has a look of satisfaction as he starts typing, reading his words aloud.

Kiro: “Even though I can’t move, it’s because of this incident that I can have an afternoon of leisure”…done!

Comments start flooding in after mere seconds:

“Does such beauty truly exist?”

“Oh my god, I can lick this face for a lifetime.” 

“I’m there, I’m that bear!”

While he’s overjoyed at the compliments, he reads on:

Kiro: “Just look, it’s obvious he has put on weight again”…I definitely did not gain weight, it’s just the angle!

In a huff, Kiro readies himself to respond to this comment with a retort. I hurriedly take the phone away from him.

MC: You should rest and not respond to these comments! Let me read them to you instead.

Kiro: Since you put it that way…

With a “hmph”, he gives up on the idea. I clear my throat and begin reading the comments.

MC: “Congratulations to Kiro for winning the award! Please rest well today! To commemorate Kiro’s face, I danced a Waltz of love!” Haha, what an expression. “My heart is in critical condition! Hugging… my husband… feels like a 100 meter sprint.”

I pause when reading the words “my husband”, feeling my face heat up. Kiro smiles as he looks at me, his eyes brimming with contentment.

MC: The next one says, “Who took the photo? Why does Kiro…”

…have such a sweet look in his eyes?

I look at the photo I had taken - Kiro stares into the camera with a sweet look in his eyes, like a little bear hugging a honey pot.

Kiro: MC? Why have you stopped?

Kiro curiously sneaks a peek at the screen, but I react immediately and lift the phone so he can no longer see it.

Kiro: Very suspicious… why aren’t you letting me see?

Kiro gets even more excited, stretching out his hand for the phone.

Kiro: Ouch!

He groans and falls back onto the bed. I get a fright, no longer caring about the phone. I immediately check on his condition.

Half of his face is buried under the covers, the corner of his eyes brimming with tears. I carefully touch his arm.

MC: Are you okay?

Kiro: [groans]

MC: Is it very serious?

I start panicking. Seeing that my guard is down, Kiro uses this opportunity to pull me onto the bed with him.

Kiro: [laughing] Did I scare you?

He laughs while reappearing from under the covers. It is only now that I realise he was joking, and I let out a sigh of relief.

At this point, MC remembers that she prepared a present for Kiro. She retrieves and gives it to him. He opens it excitedly.

The box is filled with small stars folded using fluorescent paper. In the middle of these paper stars is a golden-coloured glass bottle with moving sand.

Kiro: This is so pretty…

He carefully shakes the bottle, and the gold-coloured sand slowly drifts, reflecting sunlight.

Seeing him engrossed with it, I drop him a hint.

MC: The bottle itself isn’t the main thing. There’s something in it.

Kiro: Is it a drink? Or perfume?

Kiro twists the bottle open, and a faint pine tree scent wafts into the room.

Kiro: This is… a scented bottle?

MC: Nope. This is a special essential oil I had an expert masseur make during a shoot. I heard that it’s effective for relaxing one’s muscles. I didn’t expect that it’d be of use now!

Kiro: Essential oil…

Kiro recalls that the shoot involving essential oil took place when the list of shortlisted candidates for the award was just announced. He is surprised that MC had prepared the gift so far in advance.

MC: …That’s because I knew you would definitely win! And even if you didn’t win, it could be used to comfort you.

There is a smile in Kiro’s eyes, and he takes my hand in his, such that my palm faces upwards.

MC: W-what are you doing?

Kiro: I want to try this gift.

A drop of oil lands on my palm and he rubs it slowly, spreading it across my palm evenly. The pine scent permeates the room, and the fragrance of fresh flowers soon follows. The liquid is quickly absorbed into my skin, and my palm seems to heat up.

Kiro holds my fingers gently, then brings himself closer to them. He sniffs my fingers lightly, his lips curling into a smile.

Kiro: It’s a nice smell. It’s a scent I like.

MC: !!

I am taken aback by Kiro’s sudden breath on my palm, and my heart beats at an unnatural rhythm.

Kiro doesn’t let go of my hand. He picks up the black ribbon resting on the gift box, taking his time to wrap them around my wrists.

His gaze shifts to me, his vibrant eyes making me forget how to react, and I let him continue.

Kiro: And like that, it’s done!

After saying this, he holds my wrist and pulls me closer, planting the side of his face on my palm before gently leaning into it.

As his soft golden hair brushes against my fingertips, my fingers involuntarily tremble. My palm is coated with his body temperature.

He tilts his head slightly, pressing his lips onto my palm, as if branding me with a permanent kiss.

Kiro: Actually, you are the best prize and gift to me.

Sunlight streams in from between the curtains and onto his eyes, giving me a clear view of the gentleness and adoration in them. My heart feels like it has melted into a puddle. At the same time, his transparent emotions cause my heart to heat up.

MC: I… how about I give you a massage…

I feel like biting my tongue after the words leave my lips. What am I saying!

Kiro: Sure!

Before I can change my mind, Kiro has already agreed without hesitation.

Kiro: Do I need to take my clothes off for the massage?

Saying this, he shrugs off his jacket, and both hands start pulling the ends of his t-shirt to reveal his sculpted abdomen.

MC: Wait!

Heat floods into my brain and I immediately grab the bottom of his shirt to pull it back down.

Kiro: I don’t need to take them off?

Kiro blinks, looking at me innocently.

MC: I’m just giving it a try. If you remove your shirt, it’d be easy to catch a cold.

With an “ohh”, he lets go of his shirt, his face betraying a hint of disappointment.

MC: …Go lie down on your stomach.

While Kiro obediently turns to lie down, I place my hands on my chest to calm my rapidly beating heart.

MC begins the massage, applying what she learnt from the massage expert

She does it gently and Kiro is on the verge of falling asleep

She calls Kiro’s name to check if he’s asleep, and he snaps out of his daze

Feeling bad for disturbing him, MC continues:

MC: …You can sleep if you want to.

I speak gently. Noticing that a strand of hair near his eyes makes Kiro slightly uncomfortable, I reach out to sweep it away.

Kiro: But I don’t feel like sleeping anymore.

He blinks, his voice slightly nasally and coquettish.

Kiro: I felt too comfortable just now, so I almost fell asleep.

He grabs hold of my hand. In a playful manner, he gently pinches my palm twice.

Kiro: Thank you, Miss Chips.

MC: No need to thank me. It just shows that my technique is not bad, right?

Kiro: Mm, this is a great present.

His eyebrows are curved upwards and he smiles softly.

Kiro: I like the feeling of you touching me.

He interlaces our fingers together, then hooks my thumb with his.

Kiro: I realized that humans, like animals, like to be touched and have their hair combed through.

MC: Is it because it’s very comfortable?

Kiro: It is really very comfortable. If that person is a loved one, her hands and body temperature would have an even more addictive effect.

A warmth emanates from our joined palms, and I can feel myself starting to sweat.

MC starts ruffling Kiro’s hair, and they banter for a while.

Kiro: I feel very happy whenever you’re by my side. Although sometimes, I do think of being a little closer to you.

Even before I pick out the hidden meaning in his words, I instinctively seek to change the subject.

MC: My massage techniques are quite mediocre though. I’ll introduce you to the masseur another time.

Kiro: I don’t want anyone else.

Kiro pouts, turning to face me.

Kiro: I only want my Miss Chips…

His voice trails off, and I am rooted to the spot. I am leaning over him, face-to-face with Kiro. Just a slight lowering of my head would be enough for me to kiss him.

Our breathing becomes ragged, and the initially peaceful atmosphere in the room seems to turn into boiling water.

Although Kiro doesn’t speak, I can feel his quickening breaths on my face. His grip on my hand tightens.

As though being in this position is too dangerous, I come to my senses and straighten up, putting distance between us.

Kiro sits up, his hand still on mine, giving me no chance to escape.

MC: We…

Kiro: I have not finished unwrapping my gift.

His words leave me frozen.

MC: What present?

Anticipating that I would respond this way, he laughs. 

Kiro: My present… is you of course.

His voice carries an evident smile. I look into his blue eyes, which hide within them the expansiveness of the sky.

A black ribbon appears in his hands, and he wraps them around his fingers, the colour of the ribbon striking a sharp contrast against his pale skin.

MC: …Why do you say that I’m the present?

He doesn’t respond. His abrupt silence leaves me not knowing what to do. Before I repeat my question, he suddenly hooks the ribbon over the back of my neck, and my heart skips a beat.

MC: W-what are you doing?

Kiro: Make a guess?

He arches an eyebrow. His usual playful expression is replaced with a sudden sexiness.

He resumes his work with the ribbon while I remain kneeling on the bed. He slowly pulls me closer to him. Although he isn’t exerting much strength, I can’t help but give in to the tug of the ribbon.

Our breaths mingle and we can no longer tell them apart.

Kiro: Since this is a present for me, I will open it very, very slowly.

He says this languidly, curling his words with the tip of his tongue, ending his sentence in a low voice.

At this moment, the ribbon has become a string encircling my heart, letting it beat only for him.

Kiro is unwilling to stop here. He takes one end of the ribbon into his mouth and bites it firmly, the corners of his mouth lifting with a certain look.

The light descends onto the bridge of his nose, the clear lines of his jaw, spreading to his Adam’s apple. He oozes hormones of a different kind than usual.

His free hand rubs my thigh gently, and the sound of my skirt ruffling is especially clear.

Such unobstructed physical contact feels like fire, setting every inch of my skin ablaze. My body involuntarily trembles.

My breathing becomes increasingly ragged as he continues his upward motions. My heart beats rapidly, and my mind is completely blank, only remembering to shout his name.

MC: Kiro…

Kiro: It is time to receive my present.

The corner of his mouth is raised as he slowly releases the black ribbon on my neck. The ribbon slides down my body. I look into his wide eyes and let down my defenses. In a moment, the distance between us is barely visible.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you are a gift sent from heaven, a gift that I have awaited for my whole life, a gift that is most precious to me.

His gentle voice disappears into the space where our lips meet, melting into a quiet whisper.

Unlike his gentle tone, his kiss resembles a storm, forcefully entering and occupying all available space, leaving not a single crevice untouched.

The temperature rises sharply between our intertwining lips and tongue. Our exchange of breaths strips away all my senses and thoughts.

The almost inaudible sound of water echoes in the quiet room. The arm encircling my waist pulls me even closer against his body.

All the blood in my body is set ablaze, engulfing the little rationality I have left.

Suddenly, there is the sound of a door opening in the living room, followed by a conversation between Savin and the assistant.

Savin: Kiro should be resting. You can head to the kitchen to wash the ingredients for our hotpot later.

Assistant: Sure, but isn’t this a little too much…

I snap out of my daze after a few seconds and realise the situation Kiro and I are in.

MC: They’re back!

My panic completely dismantles the earlier atmosphere, and I muster the strength to tear myself from Kiro’s arms.

Even before I shift to the edge of the bed, Kiro wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards.

We both fall onto the bed, a tangled mess of sheets beneath us. The teddy bear has fallen off the bed.

Kiro holds me tightly from behind, and my back is pressed against his chest.

Sweat soaks the fabric, which clings to our closely connected skin, bringing with it an intimate and sticky feeling.

I feel his scorching breath on the nape of my neck. It weaves through my sweat-drenched hair, lingering on my skin.

The sound of footsteps outside grows louder, causing me to tense up. I open my mouth to speak, but can only let out an inaudible gasp.

Kiro’s lips are pressed against the back of my ear, and a low and raspy voice follows.

Kiro: There’s no need to be nervous. The room is locked.

🎁

Phone Call

[440mxs-wife]

A Slice of Heaven

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Anthony (OMC) x Reader (former). Other Characters: Charlie, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Kara (OFC)

Word Count: 5880-ish

Warnings: Mentions of Divorce, Jerk Ex, light smut-ish towards the end, mostly fluff though.

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

You awoke to a faint buzzing sound that only grew louder the more you opened your eyes. "Ugh, make it stop," you groaned aloud. You finally realized that it was your alarm clock going off, and that you had pushed the snooze one too many times. If you didn't get up and shower and now, you weren't going to have enough time.

Fortunately, the coffee pot was on a timer, so by the time you came downstairs, it was already finished brewing. You fixed your coffee in your travel cup, grabbed a blueberry muffin off the counter and put it in a resealable bag. You checked to make sure you had everything you needed, put your purse in your messenger bag then zipped it closed. Just before you went out the front door, you lifted your keys out of the bowl sitting on the shelf.

You pulled the door shut behind you, making sure it was locked. As you turned to your left, you noticed that your neighbor was sitting on his front porch, enjoying a cup of coffee. He was reading a magazine, but as soon as he heard your door being closed he looked up. His emerald eyes shifted in your direction and a smile lit his face.

"Good morning!" he called out, raising his coffee cup in salute. The Golden Retriever pup at his feet raised his head, looked side to side, then laid back down on his front paws.

"Oh, hey! Good morning to you, Dean," you replied, returning his salute with your own coffee cup. You then slipped the strap over your head for your messenger bag so that it was stretched diagonally across your body.

As you descended the steps from your porch, you noticed that Dean was doing the same from his. He met you on the sidewalk in front of your houses and took a sip of his coffee.

"So, off to work, I see. By chance, do you have any big plans for the weekend?" Dean asked.

"Sadly, no. I've been invited to go out for drinks with some of the girls from work, but it all depends on how the day goes. Might be too tired for anything other than pizza and a movie," you remarked.

"Well, if you find yourself with nothing to do and you'd like some company, I'm right next door," he offered.

Your eyes brightened at the possibility of spending time with Dean. "I may just take you up on that, Dean," you replied. You looked down at your watch and noted the time. "Oh my goodness, I need to get going so I'm not late for work," you groaned.

"Wait, I still need to get your phone number! You know, so I can text you or....something," he stumbled.

You giggled. "I don't have time right now, but if you want, you can come by where I work. It's that bakery called 'A Slice of Heaven', down on 7th Avenue," you explained.

"I know where that is, maybe I'll have to stop in and see what you have," Dean remarked.

By this time, you had reached the driver's side of your 1968 Chevy Nova. You gave Dean a wave and a smile before getting into the car and driving off to work.

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

Since he saw you move in, Dean has made sure he was waiting on his front porch no later than 7:15 a.m. every day. That's because he knew that you usually left for work no later than 7:25 a.m. Seeing you every morning has become the highlight of his day. Even if it's raining out, he peeks out at you from behind his living room curtains. He feels that his day won't go just right unless he gets at least a glimpse of you.

To him, you're an amazing, beautiful woman who drives a badass car, and someone he'd very much like to get to know better. He'd heard some of the neighborhood gossip, but tried not to pay much attention or put any stock in it.

Rumor Control said that you moved here after your divorce from a rich husband. You were living in a modest home in a small, quiet neighborhood and went to work every day to support yourself. That led Dean to believe that you probably got the short end in the divorce settlement.

A Slice of Heaven. That's what you said your bakery was called, and Dean was starting to develop a serious craving for pie. May have to go check things out over there, he thought with a smirk.

If nothing else, it gave him a chance to get your number and put it into his phone for safekeeping. He had no problem finding any excuse to try and get close to you, get to know you better. Anything for you to give him one of your heart-stopping smiles, like the one you gave him before you drove off this morning. Dean went back inside to shower, then to get ready for the day and his important journey to a certain bakery.

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

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I'm just getting here at the last minute. It is only by the grace of the Traffic Light Gods that I managed to get here in the nick of time. I couldn't help it, I stayed up too late  reading. The story was getting to the good part, and you know how much I love to read," you remarked.

"Oh, it's all right, honey. You're here now, so let's get to work. Throw your apron on and help Kara with getting those pies made and in the oven, would you please?" your boss and best friend, Charlie asked.

"You got it, Chief," you grinned as you tied your apron behind you.

A few hours and so many pie crusts and fillings later, Charlie came back to see you in the kitchen. She said there was a handsome customer out front that wanted to place an order, but specifically asked for you. With a puzzled look on your face, you washed your hands and walked towards the front of the shop.

The man leaning down and checking out the display case suddenly stood up. All at once you were staring into the piercing green eyes of your next-door neighbor.

"Dean, how wonderful to see you again! Is there something I can help you with?" you asked.

"Yes, I believe you can. I think I need one slice of everything in this display case. Everything looks so delicious, I can't possibly be expected to choose. Yep, that's what I want. One slice of everything please," he requested.

You giggled at his request, because no one had ever placed a walk-in order like that before. "We can certainly do that, but it will take time to put it together. If you could come back in an hour or so, we could have it ready for you by then," you suggested.

"Perfect, that way we can have some lunch, and by the time I bring you back, it'll be ready. Right?" he asked.

"I would love to go to lunch with you today, but--" you started, but Charlie interjected.

"She just went on lunch break. Here, give me your apron, and I'll put his order together while you're gone. Goooooo," she insisted. She untied your apron and gave you a gentle push towards Dean's outstretched hand.

"Wait, I need my purse or at least my wallet if we're going to lunch," you recalled, turning back towards the kitchen.

"Nuh-uh, nope, no way, this was my idea, therefore it is my treat," Dean replied. With his hands on your shoulders, he steered you back so you were facing the shop's front door once again. "I'll have her back in an hour, boss lady," Dean called over his shoulder. Charlie made a shooing motion with her hands, and the next thing you knew, you and Dean were out the door.

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

Once outside, you scanned the area for places to go and have lunch, but Dean seemed to already have an idea of where to go. He picked up your hand with his, and guided you towards the little diner that was a few blocks from the bakery. Pausing in front of the door, he asked, "Is this okay?"

"Oh, absolutely, I love this place. Their fries have exactly the right amount of crispy that I love, and they have awesome milkshakes,"  you gushed.

Dean pulled the door open for you to walk in before him. "After you, milady," he gestured with a bow.

"Thank you, kind sir," you giggled as your cheeks grew quite warm, even in the air-conditioned diner. Dean's hand settled on the small of your back, gently ushering you to an open table by the window. A waitress with bright red hair and big doe eyes strode over to your table, pen and order pad in her hand.

"Welcome to The Bluebird Café, what can I start you with to drink?" Emma, your server, asked.

"I'll have a cup of coffee, please," Dean replied.

"And I'll have an Arnold Palmer, please," you asked.

"Excellent, and do you need a few minutes, or are you ready to order?" Emma inquired.

You and Dean looked at each other, both shrugged and grinned. You ordered the turkey club sandwich with fries, while he ordered the bacon cheeseburger with fries. Emma smiled and said she would be back shortly with your drinks.

"So," he started. "You do know that an 'Arnold Palmer' is just an iced tea with a whole lot of lemon in it, right?" Dean teased.

"I know, but it's what I like," you laughed. "This is nice, thank you. I usually don't get much of a chance to take a 'real' lunch break. You know, one where I actually leave the shop. Usually, I'm bringing in leftovers and reheating them in the microwave," you explained.

"Well, that is a tragedy, one I am committed to remedying for you," Dean declared. He leaned back, since Emma had returned with your drink order. As she set his drink on the table, she gave him a big wink, which did not go unnoticed by you. An unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling fluttered in your stomach at her obvious attempts at flirting with Dean.

Dean seemed to pay no attention to her, though. He continued to rattle on about possibly making this a once-a-week event for the two of you. Suddenly he stopped talking and carefully reached across the table for your hand. As soon as he made contact, you jumped as if scalded by boiling hot water.

"I'm sorry, was it something I said?" he asked gently. He pulled his hand back, waiting for you to make the next move.

"No, Dean, I'm sorry. What were you saying about lunch?" you asked, hoping to revisit the subject.

"It's all right, we can talk about this another time," he promised. At that moment, his phone went off, and he rolled his eyes as he fished it out of his pants pocket. If the look on Dean's face was any indication, it said he'd rather not interrupt lunch with you to answer. However, he knew he had to take it.

"Sa-Sammy? Sam. Slow down, bro, what's going on? They what? You're kidding me. No, don't worry, I'll handle it. I'll think of  something and let you know. Bye, bro," Dean grimaced as he  disconnected the call.

By this time, Emma had returned with your lunch order, placing your meals in front of you. Reaching across the table, you took his hand in yours. "Is everything okay? Something I can help with, Dean?" you asked with concern.

Dean let out a small chuckle. "You're so sweet. It's about my parents' 30th anniversary party.  They've decided to go all out for this party, they've rented a ballroom at this hotel, invited a bunch of their friends, black-tie. There'll be dinner, dancing, the works," he explained.

"Sounds fancy," you added.

"Yup. So, we hired this company to make these baked goods for the dessert table, but they had to cancel. Seems they overbooked themselves, and ours was the last order taken, so the first to be cancelled," he grumbled.

"That's terrible! Also, extremely unprofessional," you retorted.

"Anyway, the party is in three months, and now I have to come up with a solution before everyone is booked. Wait a minute," Dean said, his face brightening.

"What?" you asked.

"You work for a bakery, and I've seen firsthand the work you all can do. If the product tastes even half as good as it looks, I think I've found a solution to my problem. What if your shop took the contract?" Dean suggested.

You pondered his idea for a minute. On the one hand, you and your co-workers took great pride in your work. You were confident that your shop could compete with the larger ones. On the other hand, it was a rather daunting task. One that may possibly blow up in your face if it didn't go well. "How about we ask Charlie when we get back? Let her decide if we can handle a job of that scale, not to mention prestige," you replied.

"Oh, sweetheart, if you can convince her to take the job, I would be forever in your debt," Dean remarked as he dug into his burger.

Your cheeks grew warm at hearing his endearment for you. "That's not necessary, Dean," you said shyly.

He put his burger down and reached for your hand across the table and grasped it in his. "You know, you're awfully pretty when you blush. Sweetheart," he added with a wink.

You felt as if your cheeks were the temperature of glowing hot metal from a sword-maker's forge. "Thank you, Dean," you whispered.

At some point, you had the presence of mind to pick up your sandwich and take your first bite. The warm turkey and crispy bacon against the cool lettuce, tomato and mayo nearly melted in your mouth. Once you and Dean had finished your sandwich and his burger, you took turns stealing fries from each others' plates. It was the most relaxed lunch break you'd taken in a while.

All too soon, it was time for you to return to work. Before you left your table, you made sure to exchange phone numbers with Dean. When you got back to the shop, Dean's pie order was all boxed up and ready to go. You went into the kitchen and asked Charlie to come out to one of the tables, because Dean had something to ask her.

When he was done explaining his dilemma, Charlie was silent for a few minutes. You and Dean passed nervous looks back and forth to each other until Charlie cleared her throat. "I think....I think that we could help you out, Dean. You said the party is in three months?" she  asked. Dean confirmed the date of the party as June 20th, three and a half months away. "You know what? Let's do this!" Charlie exclaimed.

Hugs were exchanged and a preliminary order form for the party was completed. Once that was done, you helped Dean load up his slices of pie in a shopping bag. After he placed the last one in the bag, you put your hand on his arm. "Thank you so much for lunch today. I had a wonderful time with you. Next time, though, it's my treat," you promised.

"Anything you say, as long as there is a next time," he agreed, tapping on the end of your nose. "It's time I should be getting home and start sampling these pies. Maybe I'll share them with my family....then again, maybe not," Dean grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

You laughed at Dean's antics. "I hope you enjoy your purchase, sir. Don't eat too many at once, or you'll get sick, you know! Hope you have a great rest of your day," you replied.

"Until we meet again, sweet lady," Dean said softly. He captured your hand once more and brushed his lips to the back of it. "Ladies," he called to your boss and co-workers as he walked out the door.

As soon as the door was shut, everyone swarmed around you. "Where on earth did you meet him?" Kara and Charlie both asked.

"Girls, he's my next-door neighbor. He's friendly, easy to talk to and has a great sense of humor. Also has a dog, a Golden Retriever," you mentioned.

"And he's good-looking, hot, handsome, all of the above," Kara interjected.

You rolled your eyes, even though you agreed with Kara's assessment. "Can we please get back to work?" you asked with mock exasperation. Reluctantly, everyone returned to their station and the remainder of the day passed without further comment on Dean. Mostly, anyway. Charlie stopped you as you were both closing up the shop for the night.

"Seriously, you need to do something about and with that neighbor of yours. Not everyone is a jerk like your ex, honey," she remarked.

"I know, Char. Right now, I'm having fun being friends with Dean. For now, that is," you hastily added.

"Uh, okay, but the way he was looking at you tells me that he wishes you were having fun as more than friends. He's into you. Taking you to lunch, buying one slice of every kind of pie we have. Giving us this tremendous opportunity to cater his parents' anniversary. Face it, he likes you," she finished.

"We'll see, Charlie. For now, I'm going home to shower, order a pizza then probably fall asleep halfway through some movie. I know, the riveting life I lead," you remarked sarcastically.

You and Charlie walked out to your cars together and gave each other a hug before going your separate ways. You promised to let her know if anything more developed between you and Dean. "Don't get your hopes up, Char," you warned, even though you secretly wished for another opportunity to get together with your neighbor.

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

As predicted, you didn't go out for drinks with your friends from work. You breathed a sigh of relief when you parked your car in front of your house. "Home at last," you announced to yourself. Once inside the house, you deposited your keys in the bowl on the shelf next to the door.

You walked into your room and began peeling off your clothes to get ready for your shower. The hot water coursing over your body soothed your aching muscles from a hard day's work. You dried yourself off and put on your pink plaid pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt. From your phone, you accessed the app for the pizza place and ordered your dinner. You settled on the couch for some mindless TV program while you waited for your delivery.

About 40 minutes later, your doorbell rang, signaling dinner was served. When you opened your door, you were surprised to see Dean standing there, holding your pizza. "Well, this is certainly a surprise. I didn't know you moonlighted as a pizza delivery man," you teased.

"I'll have you know, I'm a man of many talents and secrets. Sadly, though, pizza delivery is neither of them. I had to kind of hijack this from your actual delivery person. I was hoping we could make good on that deal to get together, since you have no big plans? You know, that we were talking about this morning?" he asked with hope.

You laughed as you opened the door wider for him to come in. "How can I refuse such an offer? Please, come in," you replied, your heart hammering. "Let's bring the pizza into the kitchen and we can fix our plates there. Would you like something to drink?" you asked.

He asked for a beer if you had it, which fortunately, you did. For yourself, you poured a glass of white wine. "A toast," Dean started. "To dinner and a movie with the sweetest woman I know. Cheers," he finished softly, clinking his glass to yours.

"Cheers," you returned softly. At that moment, your phone rang in your pocket. Dean noticed how your smile completely dropped when you noticed the name on the Caller ID. Anthony, your ex-husband. You took a deep breath before answering, "Hello?"

"What took you so long to answer?" Anthony demanded.

"If you must know, I have a guest over for dinner, Anthony, not that it's any of your business. I was deciding whether to pick up or let it go to voicemail. Looks like I made the wrong decision on that. What do you want?" you retorted.

"Whatever. My parents are coming over for dinner next week, and I can't find the silver flatware that they bought us as a wedding present. I've looked all over the house. It's not here, which means you must have taken it with you when you left. I want it back, and I will be over to your house tomorrow to pick it up," he declared.

"Anthony, what on earth makes you think I have any use for something like that? Besides, it's in the storage area under the basement stairs. I put it there after the last time we used it for dinner with your parents. And you are truly unbelievable if you think I'm capable of stealing," you huffed.

"How do I know you wouldn't take it to the pawn shop if--" he shot back but you  interrupted.

"Don't even THINK about finishing that thought, Anthony. I didn't want anything from you in the divorce. I didn't ask for alimony, all I took with me when I left was what I brought with me into the marriage. Well, all but my belief in a forever love. That was something I had to leave behind when you cheated on me with Ashlynn," you remarked, tears silently streaming down your cheeks. "I don't have your precious silver flatware, Anthony. Goodbye and don't ever call me again," you finished as you disconnected the call.

With a shaking hand, you placed your phone on the counter and covered your face with both hands. Silent sobs wracked your body and the next thing you knew, Dean had wrapped his arms around you in a warm  embrace. You leaned into his chest as the tears continued to streak down your face. "I'm so sorry you had to witness that. I can't believe he thought...." you trailed off as you let yourself be comforted by Dean.

"Shh, shh, it's okay. I'm sorry you had to deal for even one minute with your asshat of an ex," Dean replied, to which you gave a small chuckle. When he looked into your eyes, you noticed a kind of softness was in his eyes. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. You sighed deeply in contentment and he tightened his embrace just a bit.

"Um....Dean? If it's okay, I'd still like us to hang out, spend time together tonight. Shall we get our pizza and watch our movie? If you still want to, that is," you added.

"I would love nothing more, sweetheart. Let's do that," he agreed.

"I'm going to go splash some cold water on my face, then I'll be in a much better mood. Be back in a few," you promised but not before pressing a shy kiss to his cheek.

Dean stood in your kitchen, a bit stunned. His fingertips brushed the place where your lips had just been, as a broad grin swept across his face. What a woman, he thought.

His thoughts darkened a bit when he thought back on the phone conversation he witnessed. What a colossal jerk you had for an ex-husband. How dare he suggest that you would steal anything from anyone? You are a strong, independent and selfless woman, how dare he betray your trust by cheating on you? Dean knew that if Anthony was in front of him at this moment, he wouldn't be standing long, because Dean would punch him.

Dean's heart nearly broke in two when he heard what you said about not believing in a forever love anymore. He made a vow to himself to do everything he could to restore your faith and belief in love again.

The rest of the evening went a little more smoothly than it did at the beginning. When the movie was over, you walked Dean to the door, where he lingered a little. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear just before he pressed another soft kiss to your forehead. He said he would call you in the morning about plans for the day, and that he'd  like to see you again. You agreed, and wished him goodnight, a sentiment which he returned.

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

On Monday afternoon, Charlie called you to the front about something. You had no idea what it could be, so you washed your hands and went to find her. When you got up front, you saw a vase with a dozen roses of assorted colors in it. "The card's for you, and I think you have some 'splaining to do," she teased.

You opened the card, and as you read it to yourself, your cheeks grew warm, which did not escape anyone's notice. You replaced the card in the envelope and slid it in your pocket without sharing its contents.

Kara spread her arms wide then dropped them to her sides in exasperation. "So? What gives? Are they from 'him'? What did the card say?" she asked.

"First of all, yes, they're from Dean. And 'B', I don't have to tell you what the card said," you replied mysteriously.

"Must have been some weekend if she's not willing to share details," Charlie muttered.

"Wouldn't YOU like to know," you taunted.

"YEAH! Actually, I would like to know!" Charlie shot back, but with a small smile. It was nice to see you happy, something she hadn't seen in you for quite some time. Not since the divorce, anyway. Charlie decided that if Dean was who made you happy, then it didn't matter what the card said. Still curious, though, she thought to herself.

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

In the months leading up to the anniversary party, you and Dean spent more and more time together. You took turns cooking dinner and hanging out at each other's houses. Most nights you ended up on the porch swing, sitting and talking as people walked by. Those were the times you treasured, when it was just the two of you, sometimes his dog. The walls around your heart, put there because of Anthony, were starting to come down, allowing your trust in Dean to grow.

Dean was careful to take things between you at your pace. As much as he wanted to get closer to you, he wanted more than anything for you to be comfortable being with him. Nights out on the porch started with holding hands and soft kisses. Then it moved to the two of you snuggled together in the cool night air or on the couch during a movie. You learned that Dean gave good foot massages, which felt like heaven after a day on your feet baking pies.

One night after dinner at your place, you were standing at the sink rinsing dishes to be put in the dishwasher. You were too busy singing to yourself and swaying your hips. You failed to notice what was going on behind you in the kitchen.

Dean had come around the corner to enter the kitchen, only to hear you singing and see you dancing. Never had he heard a sweeter sound than the melody of your voice, whether singing, speaking or laughing. He quietly positioned himself so he was in your path, directly behind you. If you pivoted just right, you'd run straight into him, which was exactly what he wanted.

You needed to check if there were any other dirty dishes in the dining room. You turned away from the sink and ran smack dab into Dean, your palms landing flat against his solid chest. As he looked down to you, his eyes held a spark of amusement. You looked closer and caught a fleeting glimpse of what you thought was adoration and maybe even love.

"Careful there, darlin’. Wouldn't want you to fall and hurt yourself. Most accidents happen in the kitchen, or so I've heard," Dean explained softly.

"Well," you said as your tongue darted out to lick your lips. That move was nearly Dean's undoing, though you were unaware of its effect on him. "If I fall, I'm sure you'll be there to catch me. Right?" you asked breathily.

"Sweetheart, I will always be there for you," he promised, brushing your cheeks with his fingertips. "Anthony didn't know what he had when you were together. You deserve to be told every day how loved and cherished you are. You should know what a vibrant, sexy woman you are and how lucky I am that I get to do this." He bent his head towards you and captured your lips with his.

At first, the kiss was soft and tender, as if Dean was testing the boundaries between you. As your mouths moved in tandem, the kisses became more insistent and urgent. You slid your hands up his chest and moved them behind his head. Grinning with mischief, your delicate fingers played with the hairs at the base of his neck.

You could feel his smile as he dropped open-mouthed kisses along your neck, behind your ear, wherever he could reach. You felt the tickle of the vibrations against your skin from his playful growl at your teasing his neck. When the need for oxygen became too great, you broke apart, both breathing heavily.

"Whoa, Dean. That was amazing," you whispered.

"Sugar, you're more than 'amazing', I was going to say 'magical'," Dean replied.

"Dean, really, I'm not--" he silenced your protest by sealing his lips to yours once again. There was just enough of an opening between you for Dean's tongue to sneak through. A fact that he took full advantage of, and when your tongues met, a moan of pleasure escaped from you.

Dean's hands roamed up and down your back as he reached into your hair and gently tugged your head back, exposing your neck. "So beautiful," he murmured against your skin, nipping and ultimately leaving his mark on you for all to see.

Your hands slid around from behind his head to cradle his face so you could attack his lips once again. Just before you dove in to capture his mouth with your own, Dean pulled back a little.

"Is this okay, sweetheart? Or do you want more? We can stop anytime you want," he assured you.

Without a moment's hesitation, "More, I want more with you Dean. Let's go upstairs," you replied as you tugged his hand for him to follow.

Once upstairs in your room, layers of clothing were shed one by one. With no more clothing barriers between you, Dean nudged you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. You climbed up onto the mattress, crawling until you reached the middle. Dean soon joined you and leaned down to kiss you.

His hands and mouth took their time in worshiping every inch of your exposed skin, as if committing it to memory. Your mouth and hands were doing the same, mapping every muscle, every scar, every detail of his exquisite bare body.

Never had you been with such a patient lover, one who was more interested in learning what brought you pleasure than chasing his own end. He wanted to know which touch produced which sounds, so he could fulfill your every desire.

For as much as he was learning about you, there was an eagerness on your end to return the favor. You wanted to discover what sounds he would produce with every caress or stroke of your fingers on his skin. That way, you could be sure to replay each move as often as possible.

The silence of your room was punctuated with breathy words of affection and moans of ecstasy from the two of you. Layers of passion were built higher and higher as you both chased your release. Finally, you both tumbled over the edge, one after the other, each whispering declarations of love.

Later, after getting cleaned up, he belatedly realized that neither of you used protection. You assured him that you were clean and had just renewed your birth control, which eased his mind. He wrapped his arm around you so that your head rested on his chest. You could hear his steady heartbeat, which brought out a sigh of contentment from you.

"Hey," he whispered softly, turning to face you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb caressing it.

"Hey yourself," you grinned. At the serious look on his face, you pulled back a little. "Is everything okay? Oh, god, you don't regret--" he interrupted your spiraling mind with a kiss.

"No, sweetheart, never! You're an incredible woman, and I don't regret one second of what just happened between us. Quite the opposite, actually," he chuckled. "I wanted to ask if you would be my 'plus-one' to my parents' anniversary party," he finished.

Your eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" you whispered. "You want me to meet your parents? That's such an important occasion," you remarked as the self-doubt kicked in.

"I know. That's why I want the woman I love by my side," he replied.

"You love me?" you asked softly.

"Darlin', I've been in love with you since you moved in. Why do you think I'm out on my porch, every morning, when you leave for work? If I don't catch sight of you, even through the curtains, I don't feel like I'll have a good day. You're a strong, passionate and intelligent woman, with a kind and generous heart. There is everything to love about you," he explained.

"Dean, the past few months we've spent together have been wonderful. I feel so comfortable around you, like I can finally be myself. I can tell you anything, without fear of being judged in any way. You are an amazing man, Dean Winchester. I fell in love with you when we went to lunch at The Bluebird Café. That day and everything between us since has restored my belief in a 'forever love'. I love you, Dean," you finished.

"Guess this means you're going shopping for a dress, huh?" he asked, to which you nodded. "Well, sweetheart, you'd better make sure it looks as good on you as it's going to on my bedroom floor," he smirked.

"Your bedroom floor?" you arched an eyebrow in mock annoyance. "Who's to say we wouldn't come back here after the party? Then it would be my bedroom floor," you pointed out.

"Either one works for me, darlin', as long as it ends with you out of the dress," he grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

"You are so lucky that I love you," you remarked.

"Yes, I am. I love you too," he replied softly, as he placed a slow, luxurious kiss on your lips.

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

Tags: @janicho88, @akshi8278, @magssteenkamp, @swiftlymoniquesblog, @lyarr24, @miss-nerd95, @distefano123, @hobby27, @deanwanddamons, @wayward-mikaelson, @jawritter, @gabrielslittleangel, @jensengirl83, @deangirl93, @ellewritesfix05, @supernatural-jackles, @winchesterprincessbride, @babygurltt

[btswishes]

Love me for who I am now

Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 4)

Previous / Next (5)

Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.

A/N: Ok. I think I need to calm down with the descriptions a bit. They might be a bitt too much for everything. Good thing this is an experiment and a challenge for my damn bratty authors block. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.

Tag list: @vicmc624​

Word count:  3,305

Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU

Y/N- Your name                             

Y/L/N- Your Last Name                  

40s Vocabulary:  

killer diller - the best, amazing

grandstand - show off in a boastful manner

​snap your cap - get angry

flip your wig - lose your temper, lose control

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

   The compound was overthrown by silence, such a sweet melody combined with the sound of the nightly creatures, passing by at such heights. One would be surprised at what could even survive up here, at least the city was just a distant presence. The clock hit 12 as you closed the door of the lab behind yourself. After tiding up you decided to brush over some stuff, ending up just doing 3 more hours of work. Steve wouldn’t be happy to find out you did exactly what he expected.

  Your feet tiptoeing snuck around the halls, making sure no one noticed or got woken up by you. No sound came out, not even by your breath. You were expecting to see the glimmer of light from at least 2 rooms, but apparently no one was up. Palm against the metal of the door, it slid open ever so silently as its owner.

“Ah~…” you let out a deep breath, letting your body sink onto the bed- work books and empty laptop bag on the covers under your right hand. Replenishing the oxygen, you took in the smell of the sheets. A mix of fresh, crisp mountains with a hint of floral tones.

       Knock knock

   Your head came up first, allowing the guest access to your room, before pushing half your body up with hands firmly pressed into the bedding. The hissing sound of the door revealed a head pocking from the side, illuminated slightly by the dim lighting coming from inside.

“Am I bothering?” the female voice asked

“Um no, actually I just came from the lab.” You explained, beginning to identify the owner of the rich voice slowly

“Come over to my room then.” blunt and direct, a woman that never beat around the bush. Something you wanted to be able to do as well sometimes

“Nat!” another sweet note flew into your room, rapidly cutting off the residual command “You are supposed to ask her if she wants to come, not demand. She could be tired.”

“Oh come on.” Natasha looked back at the second companion, reading her a lecture in the corridor “She can say no.” with the corner of her eye she was indirectly actuating you in her favor. Agent habits die…well - never.

“ I am a night owl so if you don’t mind I would love to join you.” Still whispering in case someone woke up, you were pulled out from your room by the two women. It felt like a blink of an eye when you found yourself cross-legged on the soft mattress. The situation was not expected and very much tense for you. Soft tapping sounds of rain filled the room, creating a cozy ambiance. Natasha was leaning onto her elbow - body sideways, while Wanda was completely laying onto her stomach- both looking at you.

“Relax.” Natasha tapped your shoulder. It felt almost like magic when your body did exactly that, well maybe it was since Wanda’s hand flashed a bit. I don’t think anyone would complain about the sudden stress relieve. Compared to your pretty empty living quarters this place showed the years spend. The color of the wall was a warm light tone of dark amber. Combined with the wooden style furniture and small knickknacks, it had a warm cabin like feeling - welcoming. You did not regret coming here at all, now that you were situated. And the rain, the light drops just added so much to this, almost like you were on vacation in the woods and star-gazing with your closest friends.

“So, how did it go with Mr. Always Grumpy?” Wanda uttered below you, attention spilling out of her very existence

“Bucky?” you asked strings pulling a nod from both of them “Thought so.” sighing, your elbows dug into the soft cover supporting your upper body “ He just threw a tantrum that ended up with him almost choking me out on the spot and not in the good way. Fixed his arm though. ”you added proud of the last sentence

“Wait, wait.” Natasha swung her hands side to side in front of her face in disbelieve “He let you fix his shoulder? No, no let me rephrase that. James Buchanan Barnes let you touch him? Someone he doesn’t know?”

“How?” Wanda sat up in a split second, making the bed shift a bit from the kinetic energy applied to it

“Simple.” Your pointer finger flung up positioned between your eyebrows, before pointing at the two women “Treat him like a moody antisocial child.” A wide evil smirk tugged from side to side onto your lips “ I just told him that if he doesn’t get it fixed he will be a burden on the next mission. For someone trying to erase his past by doing good deeds and being useful, this was like a jab to his ego.”

“That…” Wanda’s fingers wrapped around her chin, letting her sink in thought “…that makes a lot of sense honestly. I would have never come up with that.”

“Enough about fossil number 2.” Natasha clapped her hands “Since we will be neighbors from now on, let’s go around and do a short introduction happy campers.”

“I will go first.” Wanda rose her hand beginning “Wanda Maximoff here, your teammate living right in front of you.”

“You can just call me Nat, no need for formalities, Captain’s orders.” She joked

“I mean for me just Wanda is ok.”

“I guess the introduction is directed more towards me.” A giggle rung out “ Y/N Y/L/N, studying in Stark University with a very weird past, that I can’t explain to myself either. Your new neighbor and teammate from what I can gather. Pleasure to make -“ too formal you thought to yourself, it was time to let go a bit “Nice to meet yall.”

  You found yourself getting along with the girls much faster than with anyone else in the compound. Maybe it was because you didn’t have an awkward first confrontation with any of them or a choking one.

“By the way.” You lured them back with your voice “Tony said something about me using the gym. What’s all that about? ”

  The two turned to each other questioning for a moment, before deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to know what Tony was mixing in his little pot of mischief – had to get used to it sooner or later.

“He is testing an Avengers new generation program on you.” Nat concluded from their numerous conversations about you prior to your arrival or, as a matter of fact, even your application acceptance “The gym is for well, to make sure you don’t die on missions.”

“Ok, hol’ up hol’ up.” Your eyes squeezed shut when your hands waved air side to side “Not only am I a ‘build an avenger’ type of deal, but I will be going on missions?!”

  Their non verbal agreement pulling a deep and already exhausted sigh out of you. It hadn’t even began and your muscles were in pain. You got yourself in this mess, you kind of wanted it so no backing down now. Your pride wouldn’t let you.

  The rest of the night was filled with jokes, snarky comments about the men in the compound. Natasha had dirt on almost all of them with the occasional help of Wanda. The three troublesome birdies soon fell asleep each in her own corner of the bed, till later in the night when you huddled up. The window in Natasha’s room was the main culprit causing you to ball one next to the other.

  Light slowly creeping into the common room and welcoming the men stumbling early for a cup of coffee - drowsy and very much looking like bird nests. Tony dressed in his fancy pjs was quick in his preparations, while Sam and Steve were still waiting next to the bubbling machine, on each side of it. Arms crossed, pressed against firm muscles and fighting the sleep.

“Morning early birds.” Tony teased Sam when Bucky’s heavy steps passed behind the playboy. He looked the most awake and ready for a mission out of everyone. Steve pulled out a couple of mugs and poor the hot dark liquid, passing 2 out to his buddies.

  Peace covered them like a comfort veil, sips frequently reminding that time was indeed still flowing and not paused. Boredom began crawling up their spines, when Bruce’s emerging presents lit them up. The need for some vibrancy was soaking into the air.

“What is up with the serious atmosphere?” he asked grabbing one of the cups resting on the bar.

“Something is missing here.” Sam pushed his lips to the side speaking of things everyone noticed “It’s...too quiet.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Tony released his grip on the mug, resting it on the table

Yes Sir?

“Where are the rest of us?”

If you are speaking of Miss Maximoff, Miss Romanoff and Miss Y/L/N they are still in bed.

“I know I buy the best beds, but this is a bit too much.” Tony got up and walked over to Wanda’s room, knocking on the door. He waited for an answer, but none was given. His head pocked in just for his eyes to be met with emptiness.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. where are they?” Tony stomped over to your room, which was in the same condition maybe a bit emptier since you were a new arrival

In Miss Romanoff’s room Sir.

“All of them?” Steve pushed his hips off the counter, tall figure stalking after Tony.

Yes Sir.

  The door slid open and Steve almost choked out a loud laugh at the sight. The three of you were cuddled up like stray cats trying to keep warm during the cold winter days, waiting for an owner to come and pick you up. Hands pushing his lips closed, Steve snuck in closing the open window. As simple as the action was it released a calming moan from one of you, the space already getting warmer.

“I don’t have the heart to wake them up.” Bruce announced with a cheerful whisper 

“Yeah, keep them like that.” Sam pulled out his phone and started taking pictures

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s body leaning onto the doorframe, the newest member to this room-visit

“What does it look like tin can arm?” clicking sounds bouncing off the wall “Getting some dirt on Nat. The amount of blackmail material she has on me is too much.”

“Ok, you had your fun bird brain.” Bucky grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled the phone way from your resting figures, specifically you.

“Calm down you two.” Steve tried to pull them away and out of the small space

“What got your panties twisted?” Sam’s body stood up confidant, clenching the muscles being wrapped by the cold vibranium plates “The Winter Soldier look is showing on that smug face of yours.” The dark glistening skin pushed closer to Bucky as he was almost picking a fight “ Shit, if I didn’t know better I would say someone was whispering them trigger words of yours.” 

  Sam finally had something to use for revenge, but this whole righteous behavior of Bucky was spoiling his fun. The rest of the guys felt the pressure accumulating around the menacing men “Zhelaniye and Semnadtsat something like that right? Oh wait that is right~...Wakanda whipped your ass clean.” The awful Russian accent awoke Natasha, but feeling the heavy air she decided to wait her time to get those pictures back. Sly one.

 The words were loud enough for everyone to wait for Bucky’s reaction.

“Rzhaviy or some shit li-“ the word crept inside your ear together with the sentence beforehand. Your left hand decided that the position it was in wasn’t comfortable anymore, swinging your left foot in the opposite direction. Hands pushing off the bed with a rough creek, let your left knee hook onto Sam’s neck – body hanging like a chain in front of him. Your fingers didn’t waste time to snake around his own calves pulling them up.

“Wha-!” Sam gasped when the heels of your feet pushed his shoulders back – head hitting the soft carpet with a loud thud and grunt. There was no time to take a breath for the poor man before your arms locked the air in his throat.

  Natasha grabbed the phone quickly and deleted whatever she could find about herself, while everyone else sat stunned.

“I give- I give- up!” Sam tried squeezing the words out of his mind as he began tapping the floor and your elbow.

“I got the pics Y/N.”Nat waved the phone at you, but your hands began to tighten around his neck. Sam was starting to turn colors his skin wasn’t supposed to have.

“Y/N!” Bucky growled out loud and commanding, shacking up the whole room. It felt like a bubble popped from in front of you, body jolting at the voice.

“Ha?” your lips fell open as your body relaxed, letting Sam finally suck in so much ai,r the covers on Natsha’s bed almost went inside his mouth. Your jaw closed just so your throat could swallow a bit of spit seeing as it was feeling dry, before it opened back up. Sam’s body heat pulled your gaze down to him when you started to register the situation.

“Oh God!” you pulled away from him, apologies spilling out of you, too many in a second “I was sleepwalking again!”

  Dumbfound, that was exactly the expression on everyone’s face hearing you say that. You were used to your nightly habits, even your family found it natural at this point.

“Usually when I have nightmares I either mumble or sleepwalk.” Trying to explain yourself didn’t change what everyone was feeling.

“OW!” Steve screeched out upon feeling Tony’s fingers pinch his arm

“I am not dreaming am I? You all saw that too.” He felt Cap swat his hand away sending a warm wave of pain through his limb

“Test it on yourself next time!” he hissed

“I call that sleep fighting not walking.” Bruce pitched in feeling left out “You are trying to tell us you are…used to this?” your head nodded, roughed up hair flying back and forth

“My mom calls them night terrors. Tried to get help for it, but I guess the only one who could help me was my uncle. One of the reasons why I spend so much time with him.” You grinned trying to get out of this mess as fast as possible with less casualties

“I am stopping this now.”Tony threw his hands in the air “I am not awake enough to deal with all this...and that tiny assassin.” You followed him hastily to the kitchen whipping yourself a cup of tea and flying over to one of the seats. The rest of the Avengers followed your stumbling figure out of the room – slow steps, a mix of amazement and confusion, pain for some. Sam sat on the couch pretty far from you, keeping quiet. Your eyes scanned the room waiting for someone to say something or to cut the thick atmosphere with a butter knife.

“Can I take Y/N over from Nat?” Steve was the hero in this moment . Tony waved his hand, swallowing his almost cold coffee

“Do what you want, I am not capable of decisions right now.” The screeching floor yelped under the chair’s feet. Sam followed Bucky out the room, after Tony announced his departure. 

“Come with me kid.” Steve’s heavy yet warm hand fond your tense shoulder muscles. Your body jumped and followed the man like a small chick behind its mother. You ran to your room taking a quick shower, a dash of deodorant and putting on workout clothes. Washing yourself before sweating made no sense, but the warmth tended to relax you. Taking into consideration the amount of stress you were feeling for awhile now – it felt good.

  The gym was maybe 3 levels before the floor you lived on, information revealed to you in the not so comfortable awkward ride with the elevator. The doors slid open unveiling a whole new world. Stylish…there is nothing you could say at this point but Tony owned it, it talked for itself. Steve told you to leave the duffle bag onto a bench and come to the equipment. 

“Have you used any of these?” he pointed at the machines and you shook your head. You knew about them from youtube videos and maybe 1 or 2 gym visits, but saying up right being able to use them properly was questionable. “Ok, let’s start with a quick evaluation of your body’s capabilities.”

  With the corner of your eyes you could see Bucky lifting an absurd amount of weights – super soldier let’s not forget that again. You started first with the bar without anything on it, before Steve began adding. You were struggling, which made him know when to stop piling stuff and changing the muscle groups. What felt like 2 hours later he gave you a small break, walking over to his friend to spot him.

  A dust cloud swirled around the metal arm before the weights floated in the air. Once more finding yourself eyeing him head to toe – his arms were glistening from the sweat droplets forming onto them. The t-shirt was tightly clinging on his muscles like glue was applied to them previously. His hair fixed to patches of his lovable face. That untamed beard and ice blue eyes made his existence mirror that of a Greek God statue. Fingers tingling around your water bottle unknowingly wishing to touch him, before noticing Steve walking up to you – not before Bucky’s eyes met yours for a split second for who knows what time.

“He is a killer diller aint he.” The blonde snickered at your flushed face, being caught staring. Taking a quick drink from your bottle ,you stood up and threw it to Steve

“Grandstand.” you coughed out at the man leaving him stunned in place from what just erupted from your mouth “You coming?” you coaxed him successfully.

  Aside from the small playful teasing Cap tried to play on you,F on his best friend’s back - training was though. He wasn’t going easy on you, ass hitting the floor one too many times for your liking. You could already feel the bruises coloring your skin a midnight blue with a hint of a bloody red.

“Time out!” puffing out the words with the last liter of air left inside your lungs “I-I can’t Steve.” The dull thudding sound your legs made hitting the mat echoed in the big gym. It was loud enough to wake up the dead.

“That is enough for today. You did surprisingly well. Don’t you think Mr. Grandstrand?” a towel flung on top of your head turning off the lights in your mind. With a trembling hand you pulled it off to look at the one and only Sergeant, looming over you. Steve’s words summoned a low groan from Bucky filled with annoyance.

“Hey now, don’t snap your cap.” A type of teasing only possible between friends gone through decades and countless near death situations. The towel was soft enveloped in a calming and nostalgic smell. Having gained some of your strength back, your palms pushed off the floor with a fling. For a moment your demeanor mirrored that of Steve, calmly tapping Bucky’s back and throwing him a playful look, that of years long pals.

“Come on cap, don’t tease him that much. He gonn’ flip his wig soon.” The sentence dripping with a heavy old school Brooklyn accent. No war could prepare them both for this one sided conversation they just witnessed.

“Did she just?” Bucky pointed at you, finger hovering in the direction of your disappearing body silhouette.

“I don’t know man.” 

[jemmahazelnut]

Two broken hearts with matching sides - Chapter 8

Link: AO3

Here you can find Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven.

Like old times

Freed, Laxus, Bickslow and Evergreen entered the apartment and Freed immediately hurried to his room. Before he could lock himself in, however, Laxus put a hand on his shoulder.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asked. Freed nodded and opened the door waving him inside. Then he locked them both in and sat on the bed. Before he could ask what he wanted to talk about, Laxus anticipated him. “You can’t stand Rufus, do you?” he asked. Freed looked up at him, considering whether to ignore it or be honest. He didn’t want to admit that he was jealous.

“Well, we never got along very well in high school,” he then said. “And I didn’t get to know him better.” Honestly, he wasn’t even interested in getting to know him better.

“Yeah, well, anyway… he’s not that bad,” Laxus said, peering at him. Freed narrowed his gaze. Wasn’t he bad? He would have had a lot to say. Rufus was haughty, presumptuous beyond belief, he thought he was the best just because of his fortune of having an eidetic memory, he shot bullshit just to be told how clever and cultured he was, but the truth was that despite his fucking memory he couldn’t make a reasoning that would take him from A to B.

Of all the things he had in mind Freed said the stupidest.

“I still remember that time he told the professors he saw us playing truant,” he said. Laxus laughed loudly.

“Yeah, I remember. However, he looks like you, I thought you’d get along with him,” he said. Freed looked at him skeptically and honestly very offended.

“That’s the worst insult you can give me,” he said between his teeth and Laxus chuckled slightly. That made Freed even more nervous. “Where would we look alike? Explain yourself” he told him even though he didn’t want to listen.

“Well, you’re both refined, you’ve similar tastes, you like to read and...”.

“Ok, no,” Freed snapped. He didn’t really want to listen. “He’s a fucking conceited, and all night he has been flirting with you and he has also been instigating me to fight, with those fucking questions and those shitty jokes. And we don’t have similar tastes, he doesn’t like to read. He just likes to boast that he’s the best when he clearly feels inferior to everyone because his only ability is to have a memory that he cannot use to make the most elementary reasoning” he blurted out without being able to restrain himself. Laxus looked at him amused.

“You’re jealous,” he said. Freed stiffened.

“No,” he grunted.

“No?” the blond asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” Freed repeated. “After all we’re just friends. What should I be jealous of?” he hissed then nervously. Laxus’ smile disappeared and the blond came over and placed a hand on his knee.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” Freed growled.

“Well, I’ve some. I didn’t push Rufus away because I wanted to know if you were really interested in me, and I pushed that too far,” he admitted. Freed looked at him in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t want to mess things up between us. I just wanted… it was stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “And I wanted to tell him that there was more between the two of us but... I couldn’t have explained exactly what is between us. You’re not just a friend, but… I don’t know how to define us,” he explained. “It’s… I’m sorry, really,” he said genuinely repentant.

“Ok,” Freed said calmer this time. Laxus wasn’t completely wrong, it was difficult to explain to people what was between them. They were trying to recover a friendship and build a relationship. Not even he would know how to define them. “Next time maybe avoid flirting with him in front of me,” he added. Laxus smiled and tightened her grip on his knee.

“Actually, he flirted with me. Anyway, I already told him at the end of the night that I’m dating another guy. Not that there was ever anything between me and Rufus, it was a disengaged relationship, we only dated twice,” he reassured him. Freed nodded feeling better and Laxus smiled. “All right?”.

“Sure,” Freed replied honestly, smiling at him to reassure him.

“Good,” the blond said. “So you’re not angry?”

“No, that’s okay,” Freed said. Laxus nodded and pulled his grip off his knee. He stood up and went to the door, but at the last he turned to him and resumed his arrogant smile.

“You weren’t jealous, huh?” he asked ironically.

“Oh shut up,” Freed snarled and Laxus left the room giggling.

***

Freed and Laxus had passed out of town to Freed’s mother’s house. The woman had wanted to see Laxus, since the blond had spent so many afternoons at their house. Beverly had remembered with them all the damage they had done to her. Such as the time the two had disconnected the car antenna, or the time they broke the microwave, or the time when they had destroyed several flower pots while playing football. They had done quite a few when they were little, but remembering them now was fun.

“And that time you took me home a stray dog? Really, I didn’t know what to do with you two,” Beverly said, leaning back comfortably on the sofa.

“It wasn’t a stray dog,” Freed objected. “And we weren’t doing that much damage.”

“Anyway, it was all Freed’s ideas,” Laxus defended himself with a polite smile as he took another cookie.

“This is not true”.

“Yes, I know that Freed dragged you into his follies, but you weren’t a saint either,” the woman said, giggling. Freed rolled his eyes but smiled. The idea of going to see her with Laxus hadn’t been bad at all. Though he still thought it was more Laxus who drove him to bullshit, rather than the other way around.

“It’s getting late, I think we’re going home,” Freed said glancing at his watch. They had been there for lunch and all afternoon. His mother nodded and got up from the couch. She hugged them both in a hug, leaving them two kisses on the cheeks and then escorting them to the door.

“I’m really happy to see you again, Laxus,” she told the blonde.

“Me too,” he replied and went out into the driveway, passing the gate and reaching the car. Freed started to leave but his mother hugged him again in a hug.

“Mom, we saw three days ago,” he pointed out.

“You’re really cold” she said, loosening her embrace and then smiled broadly. “You know, Laxus has become such a handsome boy.”

“Oh god, no,” Freed said ready to escape.

“I’m serious. He was a beautiful child, and now he’s even better. And then you’ve always been so close”.

“Bye mom,” Freed greeted not wanting to talk about that at the moment.

“Just tell me if there’s something new I need to know,” his mother insisted. Freed hesitated for a moment whether to tell her they were going out, then he thought his mother was too pushy and gossipy and he changed his mind. When it would become serious, he would tell her.

“There’s nothing, we’re friends”.

“Mm... I’m not convinced” commented the woman. “Oh, if you care, I found your old skateboards in the garage.” Freed greeted her for the umpteenth time and joined Laxus near the car.

“What was she telling you?” the blond asked.

“Old skateboards, she found them in the garage,” Freed said. “I didn’t know I still had yours,” he then added. The blond shrugged.

“Anyway I was only going to skate with you” he said “Let’s go and see them?”.

Freed nodded and the two boys walked to the garage. They entered and immediately saw the two skateboards leaning in a corner. They approached and removed the dust from above, gazing at them with two smiles on their faces and a little nostalgia. The color had faded a little, but they were still in good condition.

“Damn, I still remember the afternoon I finished decorating them,” Freed smiled.

“I remember it too, because then I got to the bar first,” Laxus said, turning the black one in his hands.

“You remember badly, I was first,” Freed retorted.

“No, you cheated because you left without warning me” Laxus objected. “So I won.” Freed laughed slightly and put the skateboard on the ground, climbing onto it. “Do you remember how to go?”

“It’s like riding a bicycle, isn’t it? You never forget” the boy replied.

“So, another challenge? Up to the square and then back to Magnolia” Laxus suggested. Freed laughed and nodded, then the two boys left, darting like in the old days to the center of town.

***

Laxus glanced at Freed as the boy chatted with Makarov. In the last few days they had been out a lot and that weekend they had decided to go to his grandfather. Anyway Laxus would go see him and since he had asked him about Freed, he had taken advantage of it.

He was happy to spend some quiet days with his old friend, even though he noticed how their relationship had changed since high school. As much as they got along and as easy as it was to talk to Freed, Laxus knew there were some thorny topics. Like Rufus. Although Laxus felt a certain warmth in his stomach knowing that Freed was jealous, at the same time he feared that talking about him might piss Freed off.

Besides, Laxus had a great desire to take him in his arms and kiss him. Or to get a little closer, share some food or find any excuse to be closer to him. But he was afraid of making mistakes and going too far, as he had done in high school. And the last thing he wanted was to repeat the mistake and screw everything up again.

“Ah, so it was you who let the rabbits escape,” Makarov said suddenly.

“Well, it was an accident,” Freed said.

“You told me it was the neighbor!” exclaimed the old man. “All this time I accused him and I hated him for something he never did,” he blurted out.

Laxus and Freed exchanged a knowing glance, smiling. They still remembered how it had happened, it had actually been an accident. They had crashed into with Makarov’s old moped and opened the cages, and then all rabbits had escaped. They had searched for them for hours trying to bring them home, but they had fled.

“Anyway, the neighbor is unbearable all the same,” Laxus commented.

“I really hope you two got your head right,” Makarov told them. “Are you staying for dinner?” he then asked. Laxus and Freed looked at each other again and understanding each other instantly nodded. “Well, now I’m going to talk to Polyushka for a moment. You see not to do any more damage in the meantime,” he said greeting them and leaving the living room.

“We’re no longer children,” Laxus objected, but as soon as his grandfather was outside, he suggested Freed go upstairs.

So they went up the stairs and into Laxus’ old room. It had changed a lot from years ago. There were no more posters of his favorite bands, and the old stereo was full of dust. On the other hand, all the CDs were still on top of the shelf in order. Freed walked over to the shelf and grabbed one.

“You still keep them,” he observed.

“I’ll never throw them. I don’t care if in a few years no one will listen to more songs on the stereo,” he replied as he approached Freed. He opened his desk drawer and found what he was looking for under some papers. An album that Makarov had made for him and that Laxus hadn’t seen for years. He opened it and Freed approached curious.

“You have... all our photos?” he asked surprised.

“Yeah,” Laxus smiled wistfully as he watched two eleven-year-old boys eating on a blanket lying on the lawn. “At the time I hated that my grandfather took pictures of us,” he commented.

“I remember that,” Freed said, reaching out and turning the page. The gesture brought their hands together and Laxus tried not to dwell on that contact. They both sat on the bed and began to browse together, remembering what they had done together.

There were the photos Freed’s mother had taken of them when they were in Hargeon, on the beach, or at a water park. There were the photos that Makarov had taken of them when they were taking walks in the woods or in the countryside. Photo of the two of them in the snow. There was everything and they were easily lost in memories, laughing together at the funniest ones.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back to those times,” Freed revealed. Laxus looked up at him and smiled.

“Me too,” he admitted. Those times were completely different, they didn’t have the stress of exams, or work, they didn’t have thoughts. They had fun and their relationship was genuine.

Well, more or less, Laxus thought as he moved his gaze to the bed and remembered how they’d made out there once too. They had taken a bottle of their grandfather’s wine and drank it in two, just to have the excuse to kiss and touch. Maybe that was where Freed had made the first one ... he banished the thought before he even finished it, feeling himself flush and looked away. It really wasn’t the time to think about it. Not with Freed nearby.

He glanced at his friend, lingering on his lips and wondered once again if it was too soon. After all, they both admitted they were in love, right? He could close the gap and rejoin their lips. He didn’t ask for much, just a little contact. Laxus was about to place a hand on his friend’s knee when they heard the doorbell ring.

Laxus snorted in annoyance as Freed looked up in surprise.

“Your grandfather?” he asked.

“Probably yes,” Laxus commented, getting up from the mattress and leaving the room to go and open the door.

[bat-besties]

Courtship song

AO3

2.7k

Logince Fluff

When esteemed researcher Logan Crofter needs the help of a musician, famous saxophone player Roman Sanders gets ready for the most unusual project of his career.

-

Logan looked over the application again. Roman Sanders, respected saxophone player, winner of the Australian Jazz Bell Awards 2015 and 2018, with record sales in fifty countries. He outshone every other applicant, but that was what was worrying. Logan knew that his budget could not stretch to the kind of money Sanders would make at his average performance. Still, the musician had known their budget when he applied.

Trying not to overthink it too much, he dialed the number.

After a few moments, it picked up. "Hello? This is Roman Sanders speaking," said a clear, deep voice from the other end and he froze. He had not- expected him to sound like that. Whatever he had expected his voice to hold, it was not a timbre which seemed to be set to the resonant frequency of Logan's heart.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

"Yes-yes-" he snapped back into focus and cleared his throat. "Yes, this is, uh, Logan Crofter, I am accepting your application. You have reviewed the details?"

"I have! It all seems to be very organised," Roman replied. Logan felt his cheeks flood with heat.

"It is very organised," he said stiffly. "It's not your usual caliber of work, I know, but it is very serious. Very important. To me and others."

Roman laughed, not like he was mocking Logan, but in a genuine expression of excitement. "I know! It's important to me too! I always want to do something different, stretch my creativity, so this stood out to me. I think the idea is amazing. How did you come up with it?"

"Oh, you know, research- but more than a little hope. I had to also be creative, in my own way." Desperate times led to desperate measures, which for Logan were increasingly far from the approval of established methodology.

"Wonderful!"

He was suddenly afraid that Roman could hear his heart racing over the other end of the phone line. "Indeed. Indeed. So, I will email you the relevant audio files, then I can set up the studio for you for the 15th."

"Of course- I'll try and immerse myself! Truly get the feel! Any documentaries or anything you can recommend?"

"Oh, I-" Logan adjusted his perfectly straight glasses. "I'll send you a link to some," he said in a high-pitched voice. "And I can- set up the studio for you."

"Thank you, I appreciate it, Logan."

At the sound of his name in Roman's voice, he completely short-circuited. "Yesthankyougoodbye-" He hung up.

For a long moment, he stared at the blank screen of his phone almost breathless. I appreciate it, Logan.

He stood up, irritated, and wondered what in the name of Darwin had come over him. Attraction, he supposed. The musician's voice was simply...attractive.

Would it be egotistical to send Roman a documentary he himself had been interviewed in? It was most informative due to his consultation, but...perhaps it would not look best. Then again, research would probably cause him to stumble upon Logan's name-

He shook his head. He did not have time to deal with this. There were more important things at stake, and Roman Sanders could wait until the 15th.

*

Writing a love song would be stressful enough with a conspicuous and oft-mourned lack of a lover in his life, but as Roman trawled through the articles and videos Logan sent him, what had started as an exercise in eccentricity began to take on larger importance.

As the two emailed back and forth, the nervous, uptight voice Roman had spoken on the phone to morphed into a complete nerd delivering informative ramblings, or, in one YouTube video he'd stumbled upon, a slightly younger version of Logan almost lit up by a kind of tender curiosity.

Therefore, Roman wanted his song to be perfect, and between days practicing and nights researching, he managed to finish the piece only the day before the 15th.

*

As soon as he caught a glimpse of Roman's cloud of hair in the distance, Logan took a deep breath, and pulled on his best cool and professional approach. "Roman! I’m glad you were punctual."

Roman grinned at him. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

And, despite himself, he grinned back. He coughed, and then opened the door so Roman could carry his saxophone case through. "We rented out the space for hours, to give you as much time as you need."

"Thank you," the musician stepped through into the cool air-conditioned reception and wondered why Logan was flushed. "I hope you weren't waiting outside long? I am usually on time! I neither lag nor rush," he joked.

After a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched up. "Ah. Jazz joke. And no, please do not worry. I was not outside long."

As he led Roman down the corridor, he was trying not to look like he was watching him- though he also wanted to be polite- so he walked just ahead, turning his head every now and then. "Everything is prepared for you. We will overlay the drums afterwards, that idea is...really quite impressive."

"Well, the video you sent me gave me the idea! But yes," he admitted, with a bow more flamboyant than polite, "I do think the way I've worked it is quite unique."

They stopped outside the door. "Well-" Logan began, and Roman looked at him with interest. As they made eye contact somehow all the words he wanted to say fell down to bounce around his stomach.

Roman frowned in concern. "Are you alright?" Maybe the researcher got anxious, like Virgil did. "Would you rather I didn't make eye contact?"

"Oh," He adjusted his tie and looked down. "Thank you. No, I am alright with it. It is a threat display in many animals, but not necessarily humans-" He tapped the door-handle. He dimly knew he should cut off now but his clarification was already falling out his mouth. "It is especially seen as a threat among primates, and among those that is most pronounced with chimpanzees- which is why you must never look a chimpanzee in the eye and why zoos should in my opinion warn about body language of primates better, because visitors can upset them. But, then, many animals do become desensitised.” He shook his head. “But really, anthromorphising animals at all is a fool's route." His eyes darted up to meet Roman's once more.

Oh no. He was very, very cute. Roman would never have thought being informed about primate threat displays would be very interesting, but it was incredibly endearing. "You never think animals have their own thoughts and feelings?" he gently prompted.

"No, I know they do," Logan said sincerely. "But they are not the same as human thoughts and feelings."

"This isn't a little like that?" Roman teased.

Logan drew himself up. "No, this is research based."

"Have you set up the studio for me?" Roman asked with a twinkle of humor in his eye.

"I have. For you, a human-" But Roman just caught on you.

Logan unlocked the door, to reveal that the inside of the studio had been decorated with potted plants, the floor scattered with rose petals, a few candles lit, and a framed photo sat on a side-table.

"This is for your inspiration," Logan said with a slight smile. "You may serenade the photo."

Roman burst into a peal of laughter as he put down his case, then blew a kiss to the photograph.

It was a picture of a bird. It had mossy green feathers around its face, then brown ones around beady black eyes and a little beak with nostrils in it.

"I have played love songs for many people in my lifetime," Roman announced to Logan. "But never for, or on behalf of, a parrot."

The kakapo parrot is remarkable for many reasons- it is the only flightless parrot, as well as the heaviest one, and it is historically significant to the Maori. It ought to find mates with males booming to win the attention of females in arenas, but with critically diminishing numbers, competitions to attract mates are not replenishing or increasing the population. And therefore, conservationists must become creative.

"It is not a method which has been proven," Logan clarified, once again. "But any assistance in creating optimal conditions for the kakapo to meet mates is gravely needed."

Roman winked at him. "Don't worry, you already know that I can help set the mood."

"I don't know what you are-"

He undid the clips of his case, then picked up some of the rose petals. "And so, it seems, do you."

"It is of great importance this goes as well as it can do," Logan replied primly.

"Of course, of course, we need the rose petals," he said, with wide, sincere eyes. "For the atmosphere! Here we are, in the arena of love..."

"Actually," Logan couldn't help but add, "the arenas are very large. Each "court" is on average 50m apart, so I would have to be down the street from you."

Roman pouted. "But the benefit of this is you hearing me up close, not at the distance of a music arena. You have front-row tickets to one of the biggest names in Australian jazz." That was, perhaps, arrogant, but Logan appreciated him saying it like the fact it was. He said it like it was a gift to Logan that the musician wanted him to appreciate, not something he didn't deserve.

"Well," Logan conceded, "I suppose that the bird being serenaded is closer to the court."

"I am a proud parrot in my court then!" he said.

Logan nodded. "That is accurate. Judging by your voice, I am hoping your saxophone playing will also be attractive."

Roman paused. "By my voice?"

"It is objectively attractive," Logan said, completely objectively. "Therefore, I hope that your playing shall attract the kakapo parrots. To each other."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened, then a soft smile spread on his face. "Thank you."

He bobbed his head into a nod, then gestured to the recording booth. "I have been instructed in how to use this, so I am going to go and set it up. You can start when you are ready."

"Just give me a moment to warm up."

"Of course."

As Logan fiddled with the controls to set up the recording for a new song, Roman warmed up, playing through a few scales. He didn't use anything to check his exact pitch, but it sounded right to Logan as he adjusted.

Then he paused, and nodded to Logan through the glass. "I'm ready."

Roman started with a few low, humming notes, similar to the booming of the kakapo, and Logan looked up from the controls, his heart in his chest all of a sudden. He could remember those long nights in a hide close to the arena, hearing the courtships- it was a sound which by rights should be common all throughout New Zealand. Then, the musician overlayed a few long notes, swaying and closing his eyes as he leaned into the music.

It was upbeat, with big dramatic swells every now and again, and Logan, whose mind was always leaping from thought to thought, from analysis to evaluation, was transfixed into stillness.

The smooth sounds, Roman's swaying, the way the dim light of the studio glinted off the saxophone and that earnest expression on the player's face…

All too soon, it came to an end with a final little trill.

*

To ward off stage fright, Roman had closed his eyes against the cute researcher and instead lost himself to his music. As he opened them again, he was met with a beaming smile and round of applause. A residue of nerves mixed with pride to thrill through him. "What did you think?"

Logan beamed. "I think it was perfect."

Roman's face heated, and his eyes crinkled as he returned a genuine smile. "Thank you! So- I'll have some water, have another take or two, and then we can see about overlaying drums and chirping?"

Logan nodded. "I think that is a good plan."

The two of them worked well together- in all honesty, Logan didn't have to input much since Roman was the expert on composition, but he was happy to cede control on a project if he was confident in the abilities of his partner. He was happy to listen to each deliberation, and provide questions if not answers.

They were finished and ready to vacate the studio half-an-hour before they needed to, since Roman helped Logan carry his props back to the van. "No- they just pair for the mating season."

"For now!" Roman declared. "My funky music will create love for a lifetime! That's a joke," he clarified.

Logan laughed. "Well, at least they have great genetic variation."

It was late afternoon creeping into evening outside the studio, and the warm air had begun to mellow and cool. "Are you staying in Auckland long?" Logan inquired.

"Only a few nights. I want to catch a show, but I don't have anything to do tonight. How about you?"

"I should be back at the sanctuary tomorrow. I would recommend the square a few streets from here if you're looking for a good restaurant. I can give you directions?"

"Oh, I don't know," Roman adjusted his saxophone case with a faux innocent expression. "I have to have this back at the hotel for safekeeping, and then it might be harder to find my way there..."

Logan furrowed his brow. "I can give you an address if you wish to use Google Maps?"

He couldn't quite work out if this was a genuine suggestion, or a gentle refusal. His hotel was close, and Logan's van on the curb. It was now or never- "You could take me," he said, with a confidence he didn't feel. "Tell me more about, uh, parrots."

Logan's heart thudded in his chest. "As a social event? Not to do with the project?"

"Social, yes."

"I'd like that." He adjusted his glasses. "I would like that very much, Roman."

They walked back to Roman's hotel, so that he could protect his saxophone, then wandered out along a quiet avenue on the way to the restaurant. The sky had dimmed to soft grey and purple, clouds scudding aimlessly across it. Side by side, they talked and laughed, glances catching on lips, on hands, on each other.

As a tentative test, Logan moved closer, so that their hands brushed together as they walked. When Roman faltered in the middle of his story about a concert, he offered his hand for him to hold.

Roman took it, raised it to his lips, and turned Logan red. Then, Logan mirrored, pulling Roman closer by their joined hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. For a long, still moment, they met eyes and forgot how to speak.

"I liked your playing, today," Logan said softly.

His lips parted for just a second before he could manage to say, "And I liked talking with you. Even over the emails...it has been a pleasure-" He cut himself off with a nervous laugh. "A pleasure I can't quite describe."

"We don't always need words for things." Although his hand was shaking, and his heart loud in his chest, Logan's voice was steady. "Music, body language, mutual company...there are many ways to communicate."

"Oh?" Roman murmured.

He nodded, and stroked his thumb over the back of Roman's hand. "I think so."

"Then, may I..." Slowly, he brought their joined hands over Logan's heart, and he moved his other one to cup his face.

Logan's eyes darted up to meet his, all shining with wonder. A breeze shivered through the trees, and although the evening was still balmy, he drew closer together, wrapping his arm around Roman's waist.

They stood in a tenderness of quick breaths and racing hearts, until Logan breathed, "Yes."

Roman dipped his head, and Logan tilted his up, their noses bumping into each other so the kiss was met with the beginnings of laughter. It was gentle, and curious, and as much about their clasped hands and chests pressed together and weak knees as it was the kiss itself.

They drew back for a beat. "How was that?" Roman asked, although his face was hot and Logan was starry-eyes, and he felt like he could faint.

"It was perfect," he said, thrilling again at Roman's voice so close to his face. "Just perfect. But, with these things I suppose..."

Roman stopped breathing.

A mischievous smile crept onto his flushed face. "I suppose we would be remiss for not, ah, testing further."

He burst into laughter. "Of course! Of course! Practice is the key to anything..." And they kissed again, more secure and passionate than before.

- 

This is all based on a true story! Here is an article And here is the song! 

[notapaladin]

you just gotta let it go (redux)

What makes a sickfic better? More snarky bitching about being sick, of course! Poor, poor Acatl.

Also on AO3.

Original version here

-

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself.

Or at least trying not to faint. Fatigue had dragged at every limb, threatening to pull him under entirely; he’d collapsed on the floor next to the basin Ichtaca had fetched for him, unable to rise even to his knees as bone-breaking chills had shuddered through him. He’d barely even had the strength to continue throwing up, though his stomach had left him little choice. Dull, twisting pain wormed its way through his guts, and each blink had lasted an eternity. He been so exhausted that he hadn’t wanted to open his eyes again. He might not have if fear hadn’t compelled him, if a cold spike of terror hadn’t whispered if you close your eyes you’ll never open them again, and then where will you be? Do you want so badly for Teomitl to weep for you when you leave him behind?

He’d thought of Teomitl’s smile, Teomitl’s warm words and steady hands, and forced himself to remain conscious. Ichtaca stayed by his side and that helped, but when the man had helped him wipe his mouth—and gods, how humiliating had that been—he’d been sick all over again at the question that hissed through his mind like an arrow. Am I going to die?

He served Mictlantecuhtli with all his heart, but he did not want to meet Him yet. Not with so much left unsaid. The thought that it might be entirely beyond his control had been terrifying; in a brief burst of energy he’d thought of asking Ichtaca to summon Teomitl, but fortunately he’d thrown up again before he could voice it, and that had erased such rank stupidity from his thoughts. It would only make things worse if he survived.

He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. At least he wasn’t afraid of sleeping anymore. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two more priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—”

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

There were times he truly took pride in being High Priest for the Dead at all hours, whether at a feast or standing by the side of a pyre. This was not one of them. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert. The angle of the sunlight shifted through his one window, and he watched it blankly.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest and he had to set the rest aside. His stomach had been emptier than this for longer. He’d be alright.

He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh...” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and once again it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped the healing priests had been right and it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious. Last night’s panic had faded, but it was far too easy to bring to mind just how very inevitable—how very immediate—his death had felt. Lord Death, he prayed, do not take me into Your arms yet.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open properly. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” Oh, no. Not you. He felt vaguely nauseous again, and not just from the effort of sitting up.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. There was a degree of bustling involved that made him dizzy to think about. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. Besides, he was a grown man. He didn’t need to be fussed over, especially not when it might make him start hoping. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t. It was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. He briefly had to struggle to remember how to speak; even the muscles in his tongue felt tired. A blink lasted longer than he liked. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked again, discreetly pinching himself to stay awake. Passing out in his soup bowl wouldn’t convince his family he was hale. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He had to admit she had a point; he felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with that nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. On a full stomach and with something approximating sleep under his belt, that fear felt ridiculous now. He glared back at her. “I’m not that sick. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but battle wounds were an acceptable form of weakness, one that struck down even the greatest warriors. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly; a man who thought limits were for the weak surely couldn’t still respect him when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he shot him a savage glare. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. Nothing would ever be as bad as the plague had been. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience, staring at the knotted pine grain of the table. It needed a wash. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state—that Teomitl looked at him and thought he shouldn’t even be left alone—stung bitterly. Even though he could be weak, came the treacherous thought. Even though Teomitl would let him. Would help him lay down, put his arms around him...no. He shook his head firmly, banishing those thoughts before they could make him remember what had come to him in the dead of last night’s pain. It was still hopeless, and he would not plead his way into Teomitl’s heart. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

The table clean, Teomitl sat down by him within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to the absurd urge to lean against him. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “And we’re all glad for that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you could use some company, if only for a distraction. I’m good at that.” A smile still tugged at the corners of his lips, warm eyes looking Acatl over. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d been right. Teomitl would let him be weak. And he’d thought his feelings would fade? That he’d be able to bury them forever? Gods, he was such a fool. It was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t...” He yawned, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “I’m sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was gazing at him with fond exasperation, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “You have a job. Your own duties...”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of dreamless sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; Teomitl had shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being viscerally reminded that they couldn’t be ignored forever. That the feelings which had sustained him through many long nights wouldn’t melt with the dawn. That not even what he’d thought with sharp terror would be his actual death could successfully smother them. Duality curse me.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. Do you need anything?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence. His stomach felt better, but his heart didn’t.

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush as he snapped, “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, because he cares about you, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, callused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I...uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to...”

Teomitl’s voice held nothing but certainty. He might as well have been making a royal proclamation. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop. And Lord Death had not seen fit to take him into His embrace last night, so a sudden and fatal relapse wouldn’t save him either.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I learned how sick you were?”

“I was not that sick—” he began.

Teomitl didn’t let him finish. “Yes. You were. Ichtaca was shaking when he told us you were finally keeping down liquids.”

He dropped his gaze to his lap. Mired as he’d been in his own terror, Ichtaca had felt like a rock beside him. He’d had no idea the man had been frightened too. “...Oh.”

“Oh,” Teomitl mimicked, a spark of nastiness in his voice that faded almost instantly to that tight, flat restraint. “You terrified us, Acatl. You terrified me.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. It was one thing to be pretty sure Teomitl cared about him, but another thing entirely to hear it confirmed. “I...” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But...”

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. There was a terrible tremor in his voice. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “I know how you feel.”

“..Do you?” The bite of skepticism couldn’t quite hide that moment of hopeful hesitation.

He inhaled. “...Last night...” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. But Teomitl wasn’t saying anything; he was giving him the space to find his words. That made the difference, in the end. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” He still wondered idly at the possibility, but it no longer filled him with heart-clenching fear. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you.”

Teomitl’s eyes were wide, his fingers trembling. Now Acatl knew the expression on his face, that stunned sort of hope that didn’t quite dare to step into the sunlight yet. “Me?”

He nodded. Yes, you. Always you. “I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you that I—” But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. Unfortunately, this didn’t let him off the hook. “That you what?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? Or else it wouldn’t have taken the fear of death to force the words out. “I love you,” he blurted out, and when Teomitl didn’t immediately react in rage or disgust he added, “I wanted to be sure you knew.” Even if you don’t love me back in the same way. Even if you’re about to break my heart, I’m giving it to you to break.

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss. Well, he was still ill. It might be.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. A wry little disbelieving smile tugged at his lips. “I was halfway to convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. His brain clearly wasn’t up to its full capacity yet, because Teomitl couldn’t have said what he thought he said. “You what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you...”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Passing glances, lingering touches, a hitched breath. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous at whatever she’d said, and ice gripped his heart again. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race. He wouldn’t do that to her.

Teomitl drew himself up, glaring at him. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does. Do you think I’d go behind her back, especially after the last time?” He didn’t have to elaborate. Things between him and Mihmatini had been so frosty for a few weeks that she’d practically spat when mentioning his name. Acatl wasn’t sure how they’d reconciled, but he was starting to get a few, somewhat embarrassing, ideas.

The ice was starting to thaw. He took one deep breath, and then another. If she knows, then... “Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier...”

“You know how she is. She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings a while ago.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. Teomitl quirked up a smile and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He found it much easier to breathe when he knew he wasn’t ruining his sister’s marriage. “After last night...I had to let you know. In case fate saw fit to separate us. I didn’t want to die without telling you how I feel.”

Teomitl’s gaze had softened like melted wax, and it was just about as hot. “Maybe you should tell me again.”

His heart kicked within his chest. Feeling suddenly bold—he’d come this far, after all—he shot back, “Why don’t I just show you?” Even raising the possibility of what such a demonstration might entail made him blush all over again, but...well. Teomitl deserved to know the full truth of his feelings, and honesty had already brought him great rewards. I took vows of chastity, of celibacy. I would break them all for you if you asked. Gods, I would break them all if I thought you might ask.

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.

[flowerfan2]

Context Is Everything - Ch. 2

Complete.  McDanno, A03, T, 5600 words

Summary: After Steve is injured during his walkabout, Danny shows up in Seattle and for a moment, it seems like the boys are going to get their fairy tale ending, complete with a magical kiss.  But nothing is ever quite that easy.  

Chapter 2

That night, Danny thinks about his conversation with Kono, about why she left the island.  He can’t sleep, tossing and turning on Kono’s uncomfortable futon couch.  It’s hard to reconcile Steve’s need to get away from Oahu with whatever is going on between the two of them.  What Steve did in the car, climbing in and planting himself in Danny’s lap, had given him some hope that Steve still wants them to be together, in some form or other. But Steve wanting momentary comfort and physical contact while he’s ill is a long way from an actual relationship.

Danny doesn’t just want to be Steve’s dependable best friend.  He’s more than happy to take care of him whenever he needs it, but he wants more than that.  He wants to finally be Steve’s <i>partner,</i> in every sense of the word.  He thought they were there, at long last, that they had turned the corner into what could be their new life together.  For a little while, despite everything, he had been so, so happy.

He knows Kono took a picture of the two of them, squeezed tightly together in Steve’s hospital bed.  She had shared it to the group text, and Danny had immediately saved it on his phone.  He wasn’t stupid enough to make it his lock screen, although he wanted to. He’s looked at it more times than he can count.

Danny doesn’t want that to be the last time he gets to curl up in bed with Steve, to feel his body up against his own, his breath against his cheek.  He thought Steve had been happy too.  He knows Steve’s smiles, and his soft, quiet laugh that’s just for him, and when Danny had acquiesced and climbed into that hospital bed, Danny was the recipient of those very special Steve smiles and the quiet laugh.  Steve wanted him there, Danny is certain of it.

 But then Steve pulled back.  It was as if it never happened.  Danny felt it like a physical blow, when Steve flinched away from him the next day.  He can’t say it was worse than when Steve left the island – that was like bleeding out slowly over the course of the week when it became clear that Steve was actually leaving, that he wasn’t just toying with the idea, that Danny getting kidnapped and shot wasn’t even going to change his mind.  He used to think he knew Steve better than anyone.  Maybe it hardly counts if Steve doesn’t know what he wants himself, but Danny wishes he would make up his mind.

 Scratch that – he doesn’t really want Steve to make up his mind too fast, not unless it’s to decide that he wants to be with Danny.  

 Danny’s confused, and sad, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

 Talking to Steve is the obvious solution, but he tried that today in the hospital, and Steve shut him down. After that kiss (one of Danny’s more risky moves, but at the time it seemed like a fantastic success) Danny had a whole day of thinking that things were finally, miraculously going to change between him and Steve, that they were actually going to act on this thing that had flickered between them for years.

 Then Steve had basically told him to back off, and it all came crashing down.

 To make matters more complicated, his team back at home is now constantly texting him on the recently re-named “Danny’s Kiss Is Magic” group text.  In response he has continued to pretend that everything is ok, ask for a bit of privacy, and give medically bland updates on Steve’s condition.  He doesn’t even want to change the name of the group text, as it might hint at trouble in paradise, and he wants so, so desperately for the trouble to go away.

 After tossing and turning for hours, Danny calls it quits and goes into the kitchen for a glass of water.  He lingers in the hallway afterwards. Kono’s house is small and cozy, and he can easily hear Steve doing his own tossing and turning in the guest room. Cursing his lack of self-control, he eases open the door and looks in.

 Steve is tugging at his blanket, which is apparently twisted around his legs in an entirely offensive fashion. He looks up as Danny opens the door, and then flops back on the bed, defeated.

 “That blanket giving you trouble?” Danny asks, unable to help the smile that tugs at his mouth.  No matter what else is going on between them, the urge to banter is irrepressible.

 “It’s possessed,” Steve says, his voice sleep rough.  “I don’t even like blankets.  But it’s too fucking cold here to sleep without it.”

 “Can I help?”  Danny asks.  He wouldn’t ordinarily hesitate, but nothing has been ordinary about the past few days.

 “Sure.”

 Danny helps straighten out the misbehaving blanket, tucking it around Steve’s body like he used to do with Charlie. Steve laughs softly, and then grabs at Danny’s wrist.

 Danny lets himself meet Steve’s eyes (eye, one eye, and he’s definitely not going to think about any possibility that the other one won’t heal up perfectly), and braces himself for whatever “it’s not you it’s me” platitude Steve’s about to utter.

 “Don’t give up on me,” Steve says, and Danny blinks in confusion.  “I know I’m fucking this up.  But I don’t mean to.  I don’t want to.”

 “What, um, what do you want?” Danny asks, his heart beating faster in his chest.

 Steve tugs on Danny’s wrist until he sits down, one knee up on the bed, facing Steve.

 “I want you.”

 Danny can’t really process this, but Steve doesn’t give him any time to question it, reaching out with a hand behind Danny’s head to pull him down for a long, certain kiss.

 “Oh,” Danny says, “wow.  Really?”  His head is spinning.

 Steve snorts.  “Yeah.”

 “Because, um, mixed messages much?”

 “Sorry?”  Steve pushes at Danny’s elbow where it’s propping Danny up, and Danny slides down on the bed, both of them facing each other.  He might have to talk to Steve at some point about using words instead of just shoving Danny around, but then again, it’s kind of hot, so, maybe not.

 “Honestly, Steve, you haven’t seemed particularly interested in this-” Danny waves his hand between them “lately.”

 “I know.  I’m sorry.  I can try to explain, but it won’t make any sense.”

 “At least that means you’re back to normal.”

 “Very funny.”  Steve’s expression turns serious.  “I do want this, us.  I just don’t know how to make it work.”

 Danny raises an eyebrow at Steve, and leans in to kiss him again, opening his mouth to tease at Steve’s lips with his tongue.  “Pretty sure we can figure it out,” he says, grinning against Steve’s face as Steve grabs at his arm to pull him closer.

 They make out for a few minutes, until it becomes clear that Steve is actually far too sleepy for anything more intense.  When Danny moves to get out of bed Steve just snuggles in closer, wrapping a heavy arm over Danny’s chest, and it makes something light up inside him.  That damn happiness again.

 “I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings,” Steve says softly.  Danny wants to protest that he’s not a kid and no one has to worry about hurting his feelings, but it’s actually exactly what he needed to hear.

 “It’s okay, Steve.”

 “’night, Danno.”

 “Good night.”  Danny shuffles the blanket until it’s covering them both completely, and closes his eyes.  He knows Steve still hasn’t really told him what’s going on.  Steve’s worry about making it work obviously wasn’t referring to the physical aspect of their relationship (although to be fair, Danny’s got some questions of his own where that is concerned).  But rolling along without discussing every little thing has gotten them this far.  Besides, he’s pretty sure that Steve doesn’t even know what’s bothering him.  It’s as he said to Steve – they’ll figure it out. They have to.

 ****

 The next morning Danny is up long before Steve.  He slips out of bed as quietly as he can, showers and dresses and makes a pot of coffee. Steve needs his rest.

 Kono had woken up even earlier, shooting Danny a text explaining that she would be back from work in time for dinner, so Danny has the kitchen to himself for a little while.

 It’s a peaceful place, Kono’s little house here in the great Northwest.  Danny’s never been to this area of the country before.  He had expected it to be raining every day, maybe overrun with hipsters drinking overpriced coffee.  While the coffee part had turned out to be true, the rain hasn’t been too bad.

 His meandering thoughts about the weather are interrupted by Steve walking stiffly into the kitchen.

 “Hey,” Danny says in greeting. “Sleep okay?”

 Steve smiles shyly, and Danny’s heart skips a beat.  God, he’s so smitten, even after all this time.

 “Yeah, thanks.”  Steve sits down stiffly at the little round table.  In the middle of the table is a wooden plate with a leafy pattern that reminds Danny of Hawaii.  Steve too, by the way he draws his fingertip over it, a contemplative expression on his face.

 “Want some coffee?”  Danny asks.

 “Sure.”

 Danny pours Steve a mug of coffee and sets it down in front of him, then refreshes his own cup and hoists himself up on the counter.  It feels familiar, sitting with Steve like this, drinking coffee while they each get ready to face the day.  Steve’s kitchen at home has felt awfully empty lately.

 They sit quietly for a little while, the silence more comfortable than it’s been for the past few days.  Danny takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts, and then decides he’d better give it a try before Steve gets to the bottom of his cup and heads off for a shower or an ill-advised run around the neighborhood or other such nonsense.  

 This isn’t only Steve’s problem, this difficulty they’re having in getting their act together.  Danny’s got to man up, too.  

 Danny sets his coffee cup down, and takes a breath.

 “It’s okay if you haven’t found what you’re looking for,” Danny says.  

 Steve looks up at him, surprised, and then back down at his coffee cup.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”  Steve asks, but Danny knows it’s mostly a placeholder, a meaningless phrase to give Steve more time to process the question.

 Danny slides off the counter and takes a step towards Steve, his hands twitching against his thighs as he keeps himself from reaching out.  “You left Oahu because you thought it would help,” Danny says quietly.  “Did it?”

 Steve shakes his head, shrugs, catches Danny’s gaze and then lets his eyes flicker away.  He’s a second away from dashing out of the room, although with the huge bruises on his side still healing it might be more like a panicked stagger.  “I don’t know.  Sometimes. Maybe.”  Guilt flashes behind Steve’s eyes, and Danny sees it for what it is this time.

 “I missed you,” Danny says, determinedly keeping his voice steady.  “A lot. A fuck of a lot.  But I’m not mad at you for going away.”

 Steve gets that little crease between his brows, and he tilts his head.  “You’re not?”

 “Nope.”  He looks directly at Steve, hoping he can see the truth in his eyes. It took Danny a while to get here, admittedly, but he’s sure now.  Steve hasn’t been feeling shame about being with Danny.  He’s been feeling guilty about them being apart.  Kono still feels it, even years later.

 If Steve and Danny are to have any hope at being together, Danny needs to let any lingering resentment go, and make sure Steve knows there’s no need for guilt.  Steve left because he felt like he needed to, not because he didn’t care about Danny.  He trusted that Danny would still be there for him, and Danny needs him to understand that what he did was okay.  That they’re still okay.

 “Good partners support each other,” Danny says.  “I’m all in, whatever you need to do.  Even if it means going back to Oahu by myself for now.  Drinking coffee with Junior and Eddie, instead of with you.”  He waves his hand at the two of them.  “I like this a hell of a lot better, though.”

 Steve licks his lips, rising from his chair and standing up straight, then taking a step towards Danny.  “Can I tell you something?”

 The air is suddenly charged, and Danny has to remind himself that he is actually supposed to answer.  “Sure.”

 “I like it better too.”  Steve swallows and grabs Danny’s wrist, holding tight.  “Danno, I think I’m ready to go home.”

 *****

 DW:  Chin, if the offer is still open, Steve and I would love to come visit.

 CK:  That’s great news!  

 DW:  I’ve never spent much time in San Fran, and Steve claims there’s an Italian restaurant that makes better lasagna than I do.  I need to prove him wrong.

 CK:  Whatever floats your boat.  I can take a few days off, show you the sights.  We could do some day trips, go to Muir Woods to see the redwoods, have lunch in Sausalito.

 DW:  Sounds great.

 CK:  Tell Steve I’ll make sure Sara gets her craft stuff out of the guest bedroom this time.  We’ll even wash the glitter off the sheets.

 DW:  We’re going to stay at a hotel.  But thanks for the offer.

 CK:  You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?

 DW:  Taking the fifth, thanks.

 CK:  Did Steve mention that the walls are so thin, he could hear Sara singing Taylor Swift all night long?

 DW:  No, he did not.  And if this is an attempt to continue making fun of my taste in music, I’ll have you know that her new album is fantastic.

 CK:  Nah, it was an attempt to pry into how things are going between you and Steve.  In a very subtle fashion.

 DW:  Chin, I’m surprised at you.  You’re usually the grown-up in these conversations.

 CK:  Just want the best for you, brah.  Both of you.

 DW:  Thanks.  We’re okay, actually.  I know I have an uncanny ability to screw things up, but this time I’m going to try not to be an idiot.

 CK:  You’re not an idiot.

 DW:  Well, time will tell.

 CK:  Have faith.  You’re the most important person in Steve’s life.  You have been for a long time.  I bet you’re both taking this seriously.

 DW:  It’s scary, but I think you’re right.  

 CK:  Honestly, Danny, you can do it.  You both can.

 DW:  Thanks, Chin.

 TR:  So, about this hotel room.  Will it have one bed or two?  I bet they ran out of double rooms.  Might have to put you in the honeymoon suite.  

 DW:  Tani, where the hell did you come from?

 TR:  It’s the group text, Danny.  It’s forever, I told you.  We’re never going away.

 <i>TR has changed the name of the group text to</i> <b>There Was Only One Bed</b>

[kiminicricket]

Swords and Opals - 14

A Ruthari fic based pre-show. adventure. friendship. bad-assery. fluff. angst. romance. and of course, Ruthari. What else could you need?

Need to catch up? From the Start Previous Chapter

The next few days were torture for Ethari. He tried to focus on his work, but found himself distracted, tense, constantly looking at the two stones glowing with flickering lights, terrified that one of them would go out.

He shouldn’t have pulled back from Runaan, he should have kissed him all night. He should have told him exactly how much he meant to Ethari and made sure that he knew it before he went on this mission. Ethari’s gaze drifted to the village entrance. It was empty, as it had been every time he looked for the last three days. He needed something to distract himself. He got up and walked outside. Gathering some materials would help get his mind off things. Hopefully.

*

Ethari sat at his work bench, sketching jewellery designs. The model he was sketching was a bit more detailed than usual, and with a start, Ethari realised he was drawing Runaan. He slammed the book closed and got his tools out. He really just needed to hit something. Taking out some scrap metal and his hammer, he started pounding it into shape, no design in mind, just the distraction of the repeated movements, the loud ringing noises driving out any coherent thoughts from his brain.

*

The next day, desperate for distraction, Ethari went to see Instructor Tanyl.

“Ethari, welcome,” They said, opening the door and inviting him in.

“Hello,” Ethari said, trying to keep the glumness out of his voice. “I was wondering what you had learned about the plant we collected, if there was anything I could maybe utilise in my designs?”

“Of course, of course, come.” They turned and led Ethari though the house to the greenhouse out the back. Ethari saw the plant, looking much better than when he had dropped it off here. He noted Tanyl shifting into transparency, and knew he probably had as well. He shook his head.

“That is amazing!”

“Yes, it is. it is very powerful. I understand you have begun doing some enchantments?”

Ethari nodded and explained a few of his design ideas. Instructor Tanyl nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure the plant will be of much use in those, but I have been meaning to have this sent over to you for your own research and experimentation.”

Tanyl took out from behind the plant a smaller off-shoot of the plant that had been put into a little planter. Ethari’s jaw dropped as he accepted the small pot.

“But, the conditions, I don’t think I could keep it alive.”

“Oh yes, there’s also this.” Tanyl brought out a sparkling cage. “This is enchanted to simulate the cliffside conditions that the plant thrives in. Other than that water it regularly and it should be fine.”

“Thank you!” Ethari bowed his thanks

“Do let us know how you get on with it. And we shall of course share our learning with you.”

“I will!” Ethari was already on his way out the door, intent on finding the perfect home for the plant and getting started on the research.

***

“Focus Runaan, what’s wrong with you?” Lain whispered as they approached the camp they were about to infiltrate.

“Nothing!” Runaan insisted, trying to still his fidgeting hands. In truth he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Ethari. He had lain awake the previous night reliving the kiss and imagining how he would approach things when he got back. He imagined bringing over a flower, but that seemed… not right somehow. He imagined asking him on a date, taking him out to dinner, watching the moonrise from the nearby mountain top. That could work, that was a nice idea. He closed his eyes and relived the too-short but very sweet kiss that Ethari had given him, the look in his eyes, clearly wanting more, but also wanting to give incentive for Runaan to come back.

Oh Runaan was coming back all right. And when he did he was going to-

“Move!” The head assassin, Usten whispered and Runaan’s thoughts snapped back to the mission at hand. He nocked an arrow, and fell into line behind his team, moving on silent feet towards the camp.

The camp was orderly. A single, neat row of three small tents, lined up almost perfectly. A sentry on either end, keeping watch for the dangers of Xadia. They were pitifully unprepared. Lain and Tiadrin broke off from the team to take care of them. Runaan’s gaze swept the camp, watching for movement, for traps, for anything unexpected. There was a fireplace exactly in the middle of the line - not unexpected - smoke drifted lazily up from the slowly dying embers. 

Embers that looked like they had the night Runaan and Ethari had danced in each others arms, and then fallen asleep next to each other under the stars as the melodaisies had sung in the distance.

The sentries for the camp were taken out before they could raise an alarm, and Tiadrin shot Runaan a Look as she sidled past him. He told himself once again to focus. They had a target. They had a mission. He brought his weapon back up to readiness and moved to the entrance of the centre tent, ready to breach.

A hand on his shoulder pulled his attention, and he turned to see Usten frowning and signalling him to take the lookout position. Runaan shook his head, but Usten’s hand was firm, and his gaze unflinching. He motioned Tiadrin to take this tent. 

Kicking himself, Runaan took up a lookout position next to Jeddy, who had been allocated lookout from the start. Jeddy shrugged sympathetically, but shied away from the glare Runaan shot him. Runaan told himself not to take this out on Jeddy - he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he couldn’t wipe the glare from his face as his team breached the tents. He kept an arrow nocked and ready should anything go awry. But they didn’t. It was all so quick. So neat. So silent. Well, almost silent. A gasp and a sobbing begging could soon be heard from the right tent, the one Usten had breached. Barely a moment passed before the assassins returned, Usten holding a captive. Runaan steeled himself as they approached. The team gathered and the captive was thrown down before them.

“Please, please!” The young man begged, incoherently asking for mercy he probably would not get.

“Why are you here?” Usten asked, casually wiping blood from one of his blades.

“W-w-w-we needed i-i-i-ingredients, for the mages. P-p-please!” Tears were freely running down the captives face, and Runaan had to harden himself to the pitiful pleading.

Usten had a blade under the captives chin, pushing hard enough to bleed, but not enough to cause serious damage.

“You can go and tell your mages” Usten spat the word, “That you can go elsewhere for your ingredients. You are not welcome in Xadia.”

The captives eyes widened with the tiniest spark of hope before clenching in pain as Usten dug his blade in a little further, still not enough to kill, but there was a steady stream of blood now darkening the mans neck and tunic.

“Better hurry,” Usten said, “Before I change my mind.” He withdrew the blade and the captive scrambled backwards a few yards before turning over, scrambling to his feet and disappearing into the trees.

“Will he even make it home to deliver the message?” Jeddy asked as they watched him run.

“One way or another. Them not returning sends basically the same message.” 

Usten’s eyes were hard as he turned to Runaan. He motioned the rest of the group to start heading back for home.

“I had heard great things about you Runaan,” Usten said, as soon as the others were out of earshot. “I was expecting a little better than spaced out and distracted on such an important mission.”

Runaan clenched his jaw. He nodded. “I’m sorry sir.”

“This job is a dangerous one. The slightest misstep can spell disaster for yourself or your teammates. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Runaan closed his eyes at the painful reminder. “No sir.”

Usten regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “You have enormous potential.” He eventually said. “Don’t let tonight hang over you. But also don’t let it happen again.”

Runaan nodded again. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” Usten turned to follow the team back towards the silver grove and Runaan fell into step behind him, his heart lifting for the first time since they had left. They were going home, soon he would see Ethari!

***

Ethari spent the better part of the last few days studying the plant, drafting new design ideas, and pouring through his enchantment book to see what kind of enchantments might benefit from it. So grateful for the distraction, he didn’t notice the day draw to a close until it was too dark to read. He glanced up. He hadn’t even put any lights on, the only light was coming from the fire flickering in the forge.

He glanced down for the first time this afternoon at his crystals. Both were still glowing. He sighed in relief, reaching up to grasp them and yawning. Maybe he would actually get some sleep tonight.

He stood and was putting his book away when the door to his workshop slammed open. Ethari spun around to see a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. He dropped the book as the figure stalked purposefully towards him.

Part 15 

[lahelable]

Role Call

Inspiration: Open Heart by Choices

Pairing: Bryce X MC with a little "Ethan" thrown in...

Summary: Bryce and MC get a little kinky in a forbidden place. NSFW

Author notes: just enjoy!

Role Call

I had just finished signing off on some paperwork when my phone vibrated on the desk. I stretched in the dimming light and swung the phone around to face me. A text from Bryce.

I'm ready to leave, where are you?

I smiled. I'd stayed to get this paperwork finished so that Bryce and I could go to Donohue's together. It was hard to resist the pull of drinking and dancing with the hot surgeon. His easy going nature definitely helped me to unwind after a hard day, and hopefully there'd be something else in it for both of us at the end of the night.

I'm in Ramsey's office, just packing away, come get me and let's go dancing!

Leaning back in Dr Ramsey's comfy leather chair, I glanced around his office. He had been at a meeting all day and wouldn't be back tonight so had said that I could use it to complete my work in peace. His conditions had been that I wasn't to touch a thing, and I wasnt to let anyone else take even the smallest step inside. I pushed my foot against the desk to spin the chair but realised it wasnt a spinny chair. Of course it wasn't: that would be far too much fun.

Scooping my papers up and shoving them in bag, I heard a little rap at the door. Bryce poked his head around.

"Ready, gorgeous?"

I grinned, feeling the familiar warm comfort in my stomach at his compliment. We had know each other three months now and had gotten pretty close. Nothing official; I'm not sure either of us needed to label what we had yet, but it was fun. And he was incredibly hot.

"I'm ready," I said as I picked up my things and took one check to make sure the room was in order. Heaven forbid I should leave anything out of place or leave something askew. I straightened the chair so it was exactly parallel to the desk and swiped off any dead skin cells I may have left on the mahogany wood. Just in case. "Hey," I said glancing at Bryce who had opened the door wide, "dont take one foot inside here!"

Bryce looked confused for a second, then realisation dawned.

"Oh, Dr Dickhead doesnt want anyone in his office?" He wiggled his eyebrows and theatrically lifted his foot from the linoleum outside and held it over the thick burgundy carpet in Ethan's office.

"I'm serious..." I warned him, striding over to put a hand on his chest. "You know what he's like, he will know."

"Pft. I dont know why you care so much. This office isn't even all that. I mean, look at that!" He pointed over my shoulder and I turned to look.

"I dont see anyth.. Bryce!"

As I turned back to look at him, I realised he had stepped inside the office and was now having a nosey at some of Ethan's certificates in the wall. I had actually fallen for the 'look over there' trick.

I glanced up and down the hallway outside and quickly shut the door.

"For gods sake, Bryce! Etha.. I mean, Dr Ramsey told me explicitly not to let anyone else in!" I could feel the flush rising to my cheeks and the panic rising to my chest. Dr Ramsey was my mentor and had put his trust in me, if he found out that Bryce of all people had been in here. I mean, I saw the way they looked at each other. Bryce thought Ethan was a complete prick and thought I should stand up to him more, and I could see that Ethan hated Bryce's confidence. Arrogant, he had once called him. And I didn't correct him, either.

"Hey look," laughed Bryce as he turned around to me. He was wearing Ethans glasses and had his hands on his hips. "Hey Rookie," he said in a deep voice, supposedly to imitate the diagnostics doctor. "I'm the best at everything and I'm a complete cunt, so you should bow to me, peasant"

I giggled.

"Yeh, that's a pretty good impression, now take off his glasses!"

"Wait..." Bryce grabbed a white lab coat off the coat stand near the door and put it on. "What do you think?"

I shook my head as Bryce span around, pouting and pulling the glasses down his nose to peer over them.

"Can you imagine Dr Doofus if he saw me now?" chuckled the surgeon.

"Yeh I can, we'd both be out of a job. Now, let's go!"

Bryce grabbed my wrists gently and turned me towards him. He gave me a cheeky wink.

"Come on, Rookie... We could have some fun..." he wiggled his hips suggestively.

"Hmm.. what are you suggesting?"

"How about I be Dr Dipshit, and I get to uh..." he glanced at the desk, "boss you about a little?"

I bit my lip as I mulled over his idea. It did sound hot but then we were in Ethan Ramsey's office and this could genuinely get us sacked. But also, it did sound hot. But it was a terrible idea. But a hot one, too.

Bryce could see me wavering and decided to take action. He flung himself into the leather chair and grabbed a ruler from the pot on the desk. He thwacked the mahogany top and leaned forward towards me. I mentally flinched as I hoped it wouldn't leave a mark on the wood.

"Rookie, get here now." He pointed with the ruler to the edge of the desk.

I took a last glance towards the door. The blinds were closed. The lights were off inside the office. No one could see. I moved slowly towards the desk, biting my lower lip and not taking my eyes from Bryce. He whistled as I approached and sat on the edge, in front of him.

"That skirt," he said, licking his lips, "far too short for a hospital environment. You're ridiculously unprofessional. Aren't you?"

I smirked and tried not to laugh. I'd never taken part in role play like this before but I tried to imagine it was really Ethan admonishing me.

I pulled up the hem of my black skirt about two inches, almost exposing my black underwear.

"This thing?" I said, innocently. "But last week I wore one this short and you didn't say anything."

His eyes narrowed as they followed my fingers clutching and tugging at the edge of my skirt, which threatened to show my panties.

"That's because I, Dr Dumbass, was too busy jerking off in my office over it."

I shoved him in the shoulder.

Bryce ran the ruler faintly along one of my exposed thighs and then the other. I gripped the edge of the desk and let my head roll back. I felt him run the ruler underneath the edge of my skirt to lift it, and then lightly stroke it down my panties.

"Oh, doctor..." I moaned quietly.

Suddenly, Bryce's mouth crashed into mine and his hands pawed at my waist desperately. He pressed himself between my legs as I tangled my fingers in his hair.

"Strip." Bryce's voice was demanding and hard. I shrugged off my jacket and pulled my top over my head to reveal my black lacy bra and my heaving chest. "The rest of it, Rookie, come on!" He pointed the ruler at my skirt and bra.

I undid my bra under his gaze and, as it dropped to the floor, he grabbed his crotch.

"You're making me so hard, you naughty girl. Dont forget the skirt, and the panties."

After I had undressed and was completely bare in front of him, he relaxed back in Ethan's chair and beckoned me forward.

"Put your tit in my mouth," he ordered.

I straddled him and, tugging his head back by pulling his floppy hair, I placed my nipple in his mouth and he clamped his lips down, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud. Roughly, he grabbed my other breast and began to squeeze. The sensations through my body were electric. Not just because of what Dr Lahela was doing to me, but because of the naughtiness of being in Ramsey's private space, stark naked with his least favourite surgeon sucking on my tits.

Bryce pushed me up and shoved me back until my butt hit the desk again.

"Bend over," he growled in my ear and I complied. My beasts pressed against the cool mahogany of the desk where my mentor had worked so many nights previously and would work again, would lean on the spot where my nipples had been pushed against the wood.

Thwack!

I felt a searing pain across my buttocks and turned to look over my shoulder. Bryce was grinning with the ruler in his hands.

"That's the punishment for your short skirt," he winked and I flinched as he smacked me again. I felt a warm rush as my pussy got wetter, and it ached with desire. Then, the sharp pain of being spanked gave way to a soft, cool sensation as Bryce bent down and ran his wet tongue over the raised red marks he had created.

He pressed his entire body against mine, and I felt his hard dick against my ass. His breath came hot and heavy in my ear, "do you want to get fucked over your boss's desk?"

I whimpered a desperate yes and no sooner had it left my lips than I felt Bryce's rock hard cock pushing up inside me and filling my wet core. He pounded at me relentlessly, slamming his hips against my ass, until i came, rubbing my own fingers against my clit as my hips became bruised and sore against the edge of the desk. He banged against me so hard that I swear the heavy desk shifted slightly. I felt Bryce tense up and cum inside me, before he leant his weight on top of me, breathing heavily.

"Did you enjoy that, Rookie?" He smirked, in my ear.

"Stop calling me Rookie, now," I rolled my eyes and elbowed him.

He yanked up his slacks and shrugged off the white coat as I grabbed my clothes. Jacket, bra, top, skirt... I couldnt find my panties.

"Uh, Bryce," I began to panic as I dressed haphazardly. "Wheres my underwear?"

We checked under the desk, moved the chair, even checked the desk drawers but couldn't find them. The blood pounded in my ears as I realised the situation we were in. My eyes filled with tears.

"Bryce!" I pleaded with him to magically find them.

"Hey," he said, grabbing my arm gently and pulling me in for a hug. "Its fine!" He pulled a small scrap of black lace from his pocket. "I was winding you up!"

I snatched my underwear back and gave him a dirty look.

"I was so worried then!" I scowled at him as I slid the panties up my legs and adjusted them under my skirt.

"Don't you think Dr Douche would have just lurrrved to have a pair of your panties to savour?" He mimed sniffing something in his hand and fluttering his eyes in utter delight. I tried not to giggle at his repulsive joke but he grabbed me by the waist and kissed me deeply. "Although, I know he'd prefer to fuck you over his desk like I just did. Ah well, they can't all be me!"

I swatted him away and went to check that everything was in order. I neatened up the desk and chair and checked that we hadn't ahem... left a mess. I flapped my arms in the air.

"What are you doing," asked Bryce, who was standing at the door with my bags in his hand.

"Getting rid of," I gasped, as I flapped a bit more, "the smell of sex."

The surgeon laughed.

"Come on, let's go... Rookie."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Thatll do, thank you Lahela."

He grinned and grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers together. We walked along the corridor, glancing at each other like two naughty school children, giggling and snatching kisses.

There was never a boring moment with Dr Bryce Lahela and I hoped it lasted for a very long time.

Tags: @owleyes374 @sibella-plays-choices @commander-rahrah something youd like, perhaps?

Let me know if you want tagging in future Bryce x MC fic. More stuff on my homepage.

[takadasaiko]

Houseguest Chapter Nine

FFN II AO3

Summary: Tony trusts Cap with a story he doesn't often share and they receive bad news in regards to the stolen alien tech.

Chapter Nine: Consequences of Warnings Ignored

Sneider hadn't lied. The old man had warned him that his ribs were going to feel worse before they felt better. Sometime around three in the morning the painkillers had worn off just enough for the pain to slice through the trippy dreams he had been having and wake him up coughing and sputtering. He rolled to his side, curling in on himself as he did his best to will his body under control. His best wasn't cutting it. He was going to hurl, but he had no idea how to get himself up and out of bed, much less to the bathroom.

"I gotcha, Tones," a familiar voice said, and he squinted to see a trash can being held ready for him. He dove for it, emptying what little he had in his stomach until there was less than nothing left. He sank down, draped against the edge of the bed and focused on breathing for a long moment.

He could hear Rhodey shuffling, taking the trash can to the bathroom and running water in it. Tony couldn't muster the energy to move, just listen, and he heard his friend's footsteps returning. "Just like old times, huh?" he rasped, the joke sounding weak even to him.

"Yeah, I don't remember old times including as many broken bones," Rhodey huffed, moving back into his line of sight. It looked like he'd pilfered a pair of sweatpants and an MIT hoodie that Tony thought he actually remembered stealing from Rhodey years before. Well, he supposed that was fair.

"Cracked ribs, not broken," he corrected as his gaze slid past his friend to a chair not too far from the bed.

"Oh yeah? How's that foot?"

A blanket was slung over the back of the chair that wasn't usually there. "Rude. Did you sleep in a chair? I have guest rooms you know."

"Yeah, six of them. When do you ever have that many people stay over?"

"I like to have options."

Rhodey snorted. "I can't hear you from the guest bedroom."

"You worried about me, Rhodes?" Tony teased, but the other man's expression was more serious.

"Always these days, Tones. How're you feeling?"

Tony gave a dramatic groan. "Like a building exploded with me inside of it about thirty-six hours ago."

"That good, huh?"

"Oh yeah. That and I took pain meds on an empty stomach."

"Could be why you woke up like you did."

"Leaning in that direction, yeah."

Rhodey reached forward, the back of his hand pressed against Tony's forehead like he was checking for a fever and looked satisfied with the results. "You should -"

"I apologize for the interruption," JARVIS' voice cut in, "but I've just received a report that the transfer vehicle and police escort that was taking Ms Mira to a new holding facility was attacked."

"Just now?" Tony demanded. "It's the middle of the night."

"Probably avoiding morning traffic," Rhodey mused.

"How bad, J?"

"The reports are still coming in, but there appears to have been an explosion. Three confirmed fatalities currently, but medical is on its way."

Tony felt his chest tighten, his anxiety levels on the rise and he tried to think through them. He needed more information. More data. He couldn't do anything unless he had all the facts. "Explosion? Where?" He shifted, steeling himself.

Rhodey turned a half panicked look on him. "No no no. You stay down."

He had barely started the struggle to sit when two hands pushed gently against his shoulders, forcing him back against the pillows. "I have to help -"

"You're not in any condition to go help anyone right now."

Brown eyes met a darker set. "I tried to warn him."

Rhodey's determination shifted into an expression Tony couldn't quite place. It wasn't pity. He knew better than that, but where Tony felt the sudden onslaught of guilt at not being able to make Ito see reason and that failure costing likely good cops their lives, Rhodey seemed to join him somewhere on that spectrum of pain. "I know you did, buddy," he answered softly. "Listen, try to get some more sleep. You know I have enough contacts to run something down. As soon as I've got something I'll let you know. Okay?"

He still felt the overwhelming need to act, to make sure that this didn't happen again, but Tony found himself nodding and accepting Rhodey's admittedly reasonable proposal.

"Right. I'm gonna go wake Rogers up and -"

"Why?"

Rhodey snorted. "Because if someone isn't here you're gonna faceplant into the floor when you try to get up the second I'm out the door. C'mon, man. I know you." He reached forward, his touch brief on the side of Tony's face. "Get some rest. I'll call it in as soon as I've got it."

"Promise?"

"Promise." He turned towards the door and paused. "I know you won't believe me, but this wasn't your fault, Tones."

And then he was gone, leaving Tony to loose a trembling, pained breath as he squeezed his eyes shut, his imagination filling in the gaps of JARVIS' limited report.

                                                     ___________

Colonel Rhodes was convinced that if someone wasn't watching Tony that he would try to slip out of the house as soon as Rhodes was gone. It seemed like a stretch until Steve poked his head into the presumably sleeping man's room to find it empty. A quick search through the bedroom and a call into the adjacent bathroom suite confirmed it.

Panic threatened his sleep deprived mind. Five minutes. He'd been responsible for Stark for five minutes and he'd lost him. Fantastic.

Just as quick as the panic had threatened, Steve pushed it aside. It wasn't useful anyway. Never had been. No, he needed to think this through. It hadn't been long since Rhodes had left, and as slow as he'd been moving a few hours before when they had all turned in for the night, he couldn't have gotten dressed and out the door yet. Maybe the garage? Or….

He stopped. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Where's Tony? Is he still in the house?"

"Mr Stark is in the kitchen," the AI answered briskly and Steve was off.

Down the stairs and into the kitchen, there was no immediate sign of the missing Stark. The coffee pot was on and brewing, but the lights were dimmed.

"Rhodey tell you what happened?"

Steve startled just a little at the unexpected voice from the room just beyond the kitchen. He followed it to find Tony curled into a chair, that old robe wrapped around him, and a tablet in hand. He flicked at it and the video feed he was looking at projected out so that Steve could see the mangled mess of vehicles left behind from the explosion.

"Two local cops are dead, one US Marshal," Tony said, his voice raw sounding and there was none of his usual enthusiasm.

"How?"

"Still waiting on more intel, but it happened when they were transferring our woman. If I were to take a guess, I'd bet she found a way to smuggle a piece of the alien tech with her and set it off."

Steve looked him over as subtly as he could. He looked exhausted and in no small amount of pain still. "Maybe you should get some sleep while we wait? It could be a while."

"I can't sleep."

"Just -"

"No."

The snap took Steve off guard and he stiffened. Tony must have seen the reaction because he loosed a long breath. "Sorry. I'm just…. I need to figure this out. There could be more out there. Until we figure out who these people are and if they got any more of it…" He squeezed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I can't let anybody else get hurt."

You only fight for yourself. That's what Steve has told Tony when they'd first met. He'd seen footage, he'd read reports. He had thought he knew him, but all he'd seen was the image Tony projected for the world. This man - bruised, beaten, and heartbroken over the lives he couldn't save - somehow seemed so much more real than the mask of bravado that he usually wore. Steve took a careful seat across from him and pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"What?" Tony prompted tiredly.

"You said you created the Iron Man suit to make sure your tech didn't hurt anyone."

"Yeah," he managed, not sounding like he liked where this was going. Steve would have to tread carefully.

"SHIELD's files are… thin on what happened in Afghanistan, but that's where it started, right?"

Tony managed to look even more uncomfortable than before. "What are you asking, Cap?"

"What happened there? What made you choose this?"

Tony looked at him for a long moment and Steve thought the dark haired man might tell him to mind his own business. His reasons were his own, and when Tony uncurled and stood, he was pretty sure that was what he was expected to take away. He didn't move, but watched as the injured man limped slowly back towards the kitchen. "You coming or are you gonna make me shout?"

His invitations left a lot to be desired, but at least Steve was certain that's what it was. He followed, doing his best to keep his movements casual and unhurried. Tony looked uncomfortable enough with the subject as it stood.

The other man moved stiffly to the coffee pot, his voice soft and distant as he spoke. "I was there for a presentation. The Jericho Missile. The convoy escorting us back to base was hit and I was taken. Spent about three months there and built the suit to get out."

"That's about where the SHIELD files end. I just… I guess I'm asking what got you from there to being willing to get blown skyhigh."

Tony snorted. "I could ask you the same thing." He turned to lean back against the cabinets and sip at his steaming coffee. "There was a man I worked with. A… mentor. He was close with my dad. I found out he was selling my weapons to terrorists. This -" he taped the ARC reactor set into his chest - "keeps the shrapnel from my own bomb away from my heart. They were using those weapons on local families to keep them under their thumb. They ripped airmen to pieces with them to get to me. I swore I wouldn't let anyone use one of my designs like that again."

"The early missions that you ran," Steve breathed. "The ones with near to no information on them."

"They were to destroy my stolen tech."

Steve loosed a breath. That had been the missing piece. It made more sense now, and he knew he'd misjudged the other man early on. He knew it now more than ever. "I'm sorry."

That seemed to startle him out of the increasingly brooding mood he had been sinking into as he spoke. "Huh? For what?"

"The things I said before New York."

Tony ducked his head a little. "Yeah, well, you turned out to be more than just some hopped up super soldier so… live and learn, right?"

"Guess so," Steve murmured, the corner of his lips quirking up.

If Tony was going to offer anything further, he didn't get the chance. There was a loud chime that must have been the doorbell and he shot a questioning lol towards the front door. "J, what've we got?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm unable to get a clear visual of the individual for ID recognition."

Steve frowned. That didn't sound good.

"Show me what you dohave," Tony answered irritably.

An image popped up on the tablet he'd left on the kitchen island and Steve leaned in for a closer look. The man on the porch was slender, medium height, and very good at making sure his baseball cap shielded his face from view. Tony pushes a breath out through his nose. "I'll be damned. I think that's Ito."

Now that he said it, the figure did resemble the police captain. "What would he be doing here?"

"Won't know until we talk to him. Jarvis, let him in."

                                                    ___________

TBC

Notes: For a story that I never actually meant to write, this thing has grown like crazy....

And it's almost done. I just wrapped up the writing for chapter 10 and I think, at most, there may be 12 chapters all together. Watch it somehow turn into 20. That'd be just like my traitor brain to add on another arc to prove me wrong. :P

For those of you that celebrate, I want to wish you a very happy Chunukkah and a Merry Christmas! I hope everyone has a safe and fun holiday, and here's hoping that I can get the next chapter up by New Year! :D

Next Time: Danger follows Ito to Tony's doorstep.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Always There For You- Part 5

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins

Word Count: 1,608

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, it’s all a little mixed

Summary: Now that everyone knows about you and your condition, it’s time to talk about how you are able to move forward and how everyone can help you. You love that they care for you like this but you hate feeling suffocated and that’s exactly how Jensen, Jared, and Misha make you feel. You’re sick of it.

Author’s Note: This is the fifth part of a commissioned fic for a very lovely anon! This is a short series lasting 6 parts and I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it! This is about POTS or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome so if this is a trigger, then don’t read this. This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are mine.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

“So, knowing what we know, how can we help moving forward?” Jared asked, looking at you, Jensen and Misha who were in Jensen’s trailer. You sighed, rubbing your fingers on your forehead because you were growing tired of this. All you wanted was to act, sleep, and occasionally go out with your boyfriend without having to worry about your stupid condition.

“We make sure we always have water and food for her. If we see signs of lightheadedness, we make sure she lies down and one of us should always be with her in case she does have an episode and we can catch her if she falls.” Jensen said, thinking of ways to help you.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room.” You snapped, feeling a little bit bad for snapping at them but not enough to stop doing it.

“Sorry, babe.” Jensen frowned a bit, rubbing his hand on your back.

“Anything else we’re missing?” Misha asked.

“Okay, seriously, guys, stop. I don’t want this to change anything. I’m fine and I’m going to be fine.” You said, standing up. You stood up too quickly and got dizzy which Jensen seemed to notice. He got up and helped you steady yourself before you gently pushed him off you.

“Y/N, this is serious. You could get seriously hurt if you don’t let us help you. We won’t hover around you but you have to let us help.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just tired.” You sighed.

“That’s fine. Why don’t you go take a nap and I’ll wake you when they need you on set?” Jensen smiled.

“Thank you.” You gave your boyfriend a kiss before saying goodbye to Jared and Misha. You let Jensen walk you to your trailer. “Thanks, Jensen.”

“What are boyfriends for?” He joked.

“I’m serious. I don’t deserve someone like you.” You smiled and he brought you closer to him.

“I’m the lucky one.” He whispered before capturing your lips with his. You smiled in the kiss, letting it last a few more seconds before pulling away.

“Okay, I really have to get some sleep.” You chuckled. Jenson nodded and closed your trailer door after you entered the place. You immediately went to bed, thankful you had such amazing people in your life.

“Here, take your medicine.” Jensen said when you got a few minutes for a break while the cast and crew set up the next scene.

“Jensen,” You sighed.

“Don’t do that. You have to take it. Come on.” Jensen handed you your pill bottle and you grabbed it, opening it and taking out a pill. You looked up and noticed him watching you like a hawk.

“I’m not ten, Jensen, you don’t have to watch me.” You subtly rolled your eyes as you tossed back the pill.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jensen scratched the back of his neck and took the pill bottle when you were done. It wasn’t even a full day since you woke up from your much-needed nap and already, you were feeling suffocated. You were sure Jensen, Jared, and Misha didn’t mean it but that’s what it felt like.

“Here, drink some water.” Misha said, shoving a water bottle in your hand. You glared at him but did anyway since you were thirsty.

“Misha, I am not a child, you don’t need to do this for me.” You sighed, putting the water down on the snacks table. Both Jensen and Misha have been up your ass, trying to see if you were okay and giving you water and snacks and you were grateful but they were testing your nerves and you were about to go off on them if they didn’t stop.

“I’m sorry, I noticed you were a bit shaky. You okay? Do you need to lie down?”

“Misha, stop, I am fine. If I need to lie down, I will lie down.” You said, facing him fully. He nodded and put his hands up in defense before walking back to set to finish his scene with Jared and Jensen. You sighed and took a seat, watching your best friends become different people. You loved them so much but sometimes, they could be a royal pain in the ass.

“And… action!” The director yelled.

“What is this place?” You asked in character, looking around the set that was supposed to be for the “other world”. In this scene, you, Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Jack all go into the other world since Mary is still there and you needed to get her back.

“This is the place we were telling you about. There are all kinds of monsters here so be careful.” Sam said, walking the path.

“Yeah, the angles here are not so nice like you and Cas. They will kill you if given the chance. All we need is my mom and we’re out of here.” Dean replied, adjusting his backpack.

“Right, just get Mary and then we can go.” You repeated and walked past the camera.

“And cut! Great job everyone!” The bell sounded and you took off your character’s jacket since it was hot with it on. You walked over to the coat rack the set provided and hung it up, turning around to get something to eat. However, when you did that, you got lightheaded and swayed a little bit. You put a hand to your head to get it to stop but you felt your brother’s hand on your back, ready to help you.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water? Some food? Jensen, get some water and crackers for her. Come on, let’s sit down.” Jared said, trying to bring you to your chair but you have had enough. All week, you were being watched like a little child, taken care of as if you couldn’t do it yourself, always surrounded by Jensen, Jared or Misha and you were sick of it. They were treating you differently because before they knew about this, they wouldn’t act like this around you.

“Stop! Jared, just stop! You guys said you wouldn’t hover around me but this is exactly what you’re doing. I’m fine! I’ve been fine these past few months without your help!” You blew up, making everyone stop and stare at you. Jared cautiously moved away from you, staring at you with wide eyes.

“I can take my medicine on my own without you getting up my ass about it!” You yelled at Jensen.

“I can eat and drink on my own without you babysitting me!” You yelled at Misha.

“And I can certainly take care of myself! I don’t need you guys! Just leave me alone!” You yelled at Jared before storming off. You ignored their calls to you, even the director’s. You walked past your trailer since you knew they would go their first and walked so far off set, you didn’t know where you were.

You got tears in your eyes from their lack of trust in you. You could do these things on your own just fine and they can’t seem to understand that. You hated that you yelled at them and felt bad immediately afterwards but you felt so suffocated and they didn’t seem to get that.

You hated that you ever got diagnosed with this stupid disease. You hated that you ever told Misha about it. You hated that anyone ever found out because now, they would never treat you the same. All you wanted was for things to go back to normal and you were afraid that you were never going to get that.

After a few hours of being by yourself, you knew you had to go and apologize to everyone you yelled at. You sighed and got up, making your way back to set. It took a while but you saw your trailer with its lights on. You frowned, not knowing who was in there and why.

You knew it wasn’t someone bad because Clif would never let that happen so you didn’t worry too much about it. You opened the door and was shocked at what you found.

Jensen, Jared and Misha were inside with balloons, flowers and some cupcakes. Your heart quenched at their actions and you knew you had to apologize before you started crying.

“Guys, I’m so sorry for yelling at you, you didn’t deserve it.” You bit your lip in sadness.

“Actually, we did. We’re sorry for not giving you the space you need. We were just worried about you and we took it a step too far.” Jensen said, fiddling with the balloons in his hands.

“Yeah, we never meant for you to feel like that.” Misha added.

“You’re my baby sister and I’m supposed to take care of you. I just forget that sometimes you don’t need me.” Jared said.

“I do need you. I need all of you. I just didn’t want things to change and everything was changing and you guys were treating me differently. I’m not different. I’m still the same girl before I was diagnosed. I can take care of myself.” You sighed.

“We know you can. Which is why we got you these. We really are sorry.” Misha said, motioning to the balloons, flowers and cupcakes.

“I love you guys.” You said, walking to them and bringing all three of them into a hug. They laughed and hugged you back, finally letting you take things into your own hands. That night, you all ate and had a good time, not once talking about your condition. You loved everyone here and was so lucky you found them when you did.

The Queens:

@mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @crispychrissy @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @posiemax @vonthesupernaturalwriter @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth @newtospnfandom @jessikared97 @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @charliebradbury1104 @shaym-rassu @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @kristaparadowski @bloodyvoodoo @jadalecki-jackles @likiyoshi-lijie @skybabydead @jae-sch @notmoose45 @the1younevernotice @heyitscam99 @lifelovelaughangell123 @jennferjareau @crazyspn67 @speakinvain @nunnallynara @gh0stgurl @spnbaby-67 @internationalmusicteacher @teamfreewillsstuff @internationalmusicteacher @crankthatcastiel @rhiannonj79 @calaofnoldor @untitled39887 @broken-soul-bruised-heart @your-basic-potato @lostnliterature @superkrazy04 @alexwinchester23 @lonelycaffeinateddreamer

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @carribear31 @dont-you-dare-say-misha @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl @iam-a-cutiepie @kristendanwayne @milo-winchester-4ever @jensenackesl @codyshany316 @helllonearth @juniorhuntersam @pouterpufftrain @ruprecht0420 @carriemichelle2012 @sandlee44 @gucci-daddario @kukindukin @starry-chaos @05spn18 @my-wayward-heroes @baconlover001 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @onlydeanandjensen @expectosel @redsalv20 @dragonrider10 @designcted @xxtheoutsidersxx @dean-winchesters-bacon

@oliolioxiclean @crazyspn67 @mariahoedt @chocolateturtlepeanutopera @mlovesstories @cdwmtjb8 @smoothdogsgirl @drakelover78

[a-girl-with-a-big-heart]

Rely On Me

Pristin Rena x Reader

Fluff

Requested: Scenario with Rena(Pristin) in wich she's a pediatrician, and the reader's son is sick. Fufly flufly! Reader: female

Yebin stood, filling out papers, near the nurse’s station. She glanced at the clock in the room and sighed. It was already past midnight when she was supposed to switch shifts with one of her fellow surgeons. The room was quite empty with only one other person in the waiting area. It was a man who looked like he hasn't eaten or slept for almost three days. He had his head buried in his hands, and Yebin couldn't help but feel sympathetic for the man. That was just part of her job whether she liked it or not. She's gotten used to seeing pale faces and fatigued bodies. It was something she was accustomed to no matter how many people she sees come and go. It was part of her job.

Yebin glanced at the clock again, and with a sigh, she returned back to her paperwork. Just then, you come in carrying a boy no older than 4 in your arms. He's asleep, and you're calm yet frantic. When you reach the nurse's station, you speak with a calm yet tentative voice.

"Um, is there a doctor I could speak to?" You ask the lady. Yebin's ears perk up, and she looks over at you. She notices the sleeping boy in your arms as she listens in on your conversation.

"What seems to be the problem ma'am?" The lady asks in a calm voice.

"My son." You start. "He has this fever that isn't going down and I've tried everything but nothing's worked. I'm out of options here and I don't know what to do." With a click of Yebin's pen, she's already walking over to you. The lady behind the desk is about to say something until Yebin approaches you cautiously.

"I can help you. What seems to be the problem exactly?" You turn around to be face to face with the young doctor. You stare at her for a moment before finally speaking.

"I think my son is sick. No, I'm sure my son is sick." You state. Yebin glances at the boy then back at you before taking a step toward you.

"May I?" She reaches out her arms, and you hand him to her. She takes him slowly from you and carries him over to a nearby room, with you following right behind her. She moves the curtains after she lays him down, and you stand beside him looking down. Your heart is in your throat, and you can't believe how incredibly calm you are. But your hands tell you otherwise as they tremble. You try to stop them by stuffing them in your jacket pockets. When that doesn't work, you dig your nails into your palms til they stop shaking. Once Yebin returns, she has a stethoscope around her neck. You watch her for a moment as she places the back of her hand to your sons forehead, then to hers. She checks his pulse, then listens to his heart. Suddenly your son coughs, and it's harsh and croaky. You're first instinct is to go to him and pat his back, and you do. Yebin looks at you sadly and retreats the stethoscope from his chest.

"He has a slight fever and his breathing is irregular. Which is normal considering how young he is. It just means that he has a healthy heart. Other than that, he doesn't seem to be in any serious condition." You stare at her longer than needed with a slightly open mouth. Your hands have stopped shaking, and you let out a sigh you didn't realize you were holding.

"So he's okay? There's nothing wrong with him?" You ask. Yebin answers you with a nod.

"Besides a slight fever, there's nothing to worry about.” She smiles at you. You let out a slow exhale, and can’t believe how dumb you felt. It was just a fever. Yebin eyes you for a moment and glances at your pale hand gripping the metal bar beside you. The worry that still stains your face that something might be wrong with your son is enough for her to understand the position you’re in. “If it will make you feel better, we can watch him for the night.” Yebin doesn’t know why she said that when there was absolutely no reason for him to stay. But when she saw your face, she felt that it would relieve you somehow. And it did. This was the first time your son has ever been sick, and you were clueless on what to do.

“Thank you.” You tell her. Yebin only smiles at you before going to get some papers for you to sign. When she comes back, she hands you a clipboard telling you where to sign.

“What’s your sons name?” She asks you.

“Sang-Yung” Yebin looks back at the already sleeping boy and tilts her head to the side. She could see a slight resemblance between your eyes and his. The way they were shaped, and how his nose was a bit higher than most boys. But his hair was blonde, and she wondered who the father could be. When you finish signing the papers, you hand them back to Yebin.

“I’ll tell someone to set up room for Sang-Yung upstairs.” She turns on the ball of her heels before you could say anything else, and you look down at your sleeping boy. You go to kiss his forehead, and wipe the smudge lipstick that left an imprint. When you look back up, you see Yebin walking away further and further. The thought of how young she looked to be a doctor crossed your mind, but it quickly left as soon as a nurse came in to move your son to another room.

It’s barely been 3 hours since you’ve been at the hospital, and you still haven’t slept at all tonight. You couldn’t go home in fear that your son would wake up wondering if you left him all alone. He’s only 3, and you know he would cry if you weren’t by his side. Even if you had to work in the morning, you weren’t going to sleep just in case something does happen. You stare at the empty space in front of you, your hand holding your sons as you try your best to stay awake. You could feel your eyes fighting sleep, when suddenly a hand touches your shoulder. You jump startled in your seat, and Yebin laughs at your reaction.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She whispers the moment she sees Sang-Yung sleeping. “Have you gotten any sleep at all?” As she asks you, you shake your head with a warm smile, and Yebin swallows down a blush. She clears her throat and continues. “Come with me for a bit.” As she tells you that, you look down at your sleeping boy. Worry is clearly written all over your face, and she could tell. “He’ll still be asleep by the time you get back.” She reassures you. When you look up at her, you can’t say no to those dark brown eyes. So you get up out of your chair, and quietly follow behind her. “I’m Yebin by the way.”

“Y/n.” You respond back. Yebin smiles to herself as she walks in front of you when she hears your name for the first time. You don’t know where you’re going or why, but you believe she’s trying to get you to relax a bit more. You think she can see how tense you are, and your question is answered once she pulls you into the staff’s only lounge. “Is it okay for me to be in here?” Your voice shaky at your own words.

“It’s fine. No one comes in here around this time, and most of the surgeons are in surgery.” You don’t get how she can talk to you so casually as if you two have been friends for a long time. But it doesn’t faze you in the least as you sit down on one of the couches. You rest your elbow on the armrest and lean your head against the palm of your hand. Yebin’s back is facing you as she makes a pot of coffee.

“I’ve seen parents come and go with their children and they always seem frantic when something might be wrong with their child. It’s usually nothing, but they always seem to think otherwise. Why is that?” She turns to around to you with two cups of coffee, and hands you one. You thank her as she sits next to you and pulls one leg up to her chest. You take a long sip of your drink before answering.

“I guess it’s a parents intuition that something must be automatically wrong with their kid if something seems out of place.” You don’t look at her while you talk, but Yebin does, and she’s leaning forward, waiting for you to continue. “It’s just a gut feeling that we get, and we believe that feeling more than reason.” You finish. When you finally look at Yebin, you expect her to be confused, but she seemed the opposite actually. She seemed as if she got all that.

“But you didn’t seem all that worried on the outside.” She glances at your hands, and you look down too. “You’re hands.” She states. You look up to find her already staring back at you. “I could tell they were shaking.”

“Was it that obvious?” You ask with a nervous chuckle. She nods before taking a sip of her drink. “Ever since I was young, I had this habit where I would keep my feelings to myself. I never talked about it, but my body language I guess showed more than I could ever explain.” The words slipped out of your mouth, and you wonder how easily it was to say that to a total stranger. Before Yebin could respond, you quickly change the subject. “You’re a pediatrician right?” Yebin is caught off guard from your sudden change in topic but nods her head. “Do you have kids?” You ask her. Yebin laughs to herself.

“If only I had a penny for every time someone asked me that. No, I don’t.” She states.

“Do you want any?” Yebin thinks for a moment at your question. Does she want kids?

“Of course.” She pauses. “Maybe a little boy like Sang-Yung.” You almost burst out laughing at her answer.

“Trust me, when he gets whiny, you do not want to be around to see it. It’s hard to calm him down once he’s making a fuss.” Yebin can’t help but smile to herself. Seeing you talk so casually now makes her feel like she accomplished something.

“I don’t know. I think he’s pretty cute. He has your eyes.” She states. You could feel the tip of your ears turn red, and you try to block your face with your coffee. Yebin finds it amusing and she can’t help but laugh quietly. When you recompose yourself, you sit up straight.

“Your question from earlier-” You start. “Why did you ask?”

“I saw how worried you looked, and you seemed a bit restless. First time parents always are when their child gets sick.” Your ears perk up on the word ‘parents’.

“Parent.” You can’t help but to correct her.

“Oh sorry.” She seems taken aback, afraid that she has offended you. But you shrug it off. You’re sued to it.

“It’s fine.” The atmosphere between the two of you has gotten thicker, and Yebin thought she was helping, but she probably made things worse with her lack of thoughtfulness. You finish your coffee, and Yebin is up, about to pour another one, but you stop her.

“That’s okay, I should probably go back now. Thank you though. Talking to you helped relax my nerves a bit.” You tell her. With a bow, you leave and go out the door, leaving Yebin standing in the room looking completely dumbfounded. She chases after you once you’re out the door, but only stops there to watch you walk away. She felt as though she did something wrong to make you leave, and slumped back inside the room to clean up the empty cups.

After your conversation, Yebin walked around the hospital aimlessly, until she found Minkyeong in her scrubs by the surgery room. She slowly walked up to her, and leaned her back against one of the sinks. Minkyeong wasn’t surprised to see her, as she washed her hands.

“Hey, I heard you brought in a patient to the staff’s lounge.” She said. Yebin was surprised to hear that.

“Who told you?”

“Nurse Jackson.” She stated. Yebin internally groaned while rolling her eyes before staring at the ground blankly. “What’s with the long face?” Minkyeong asks.

“That ‘patient’ Jackson told you was one of my kids parent.” She stated.

“Oh?” Minkyeong raised her eyebrows at the shorter girl.

“Yeah...” Yebin trailed off. “I think I like her.” She suddenly says. Minkyeong doesn’t seem fazed at her words as she drys her hands with a paper towel.

“Is she single?” Minkyeong asks. Yebin hesitantly nods.

“I think so. I’m not sure. I didn’t see a ring, so no.” She states. Minkyeong leans against the sink with her friend.

“What exactly did you talk about in there?”

“About her kid really. And I asked her about parenting and she seemed different then when I talk to other parents. She seemed genuine. Not saying that other parents didn’t, but her words seemed real in a sense. You know?” Yebin looks up at her friend.

“No, I don’t actually.” Yebin only shoves her by the shoulder playfully. “But I’ve never seen you talk about someone like this. You must really like her after just one conversation.”

“I guess so.” Yebin mumbles. With a pat to the back, Minkyeong moves away from her friend to go over some papers.

“You should ask for her number then.” Yebin is quick to respond with a shouted ‘what?!’ before Minkyeong takes off. She only shakes her head at her friend before waking aimlessly around the hospital again.

As Yebin passed the room you and your son were in, she saw you asleep with your head resting on the side of the bed. She felt her heart flutter at the sight of your sleeping figure, and had brought a blanket to cover your shoulders. She swears she could hear Minkyeong laughing in the distance, but it could just be her imagination. She shrugged the thought away before walking out of the room, taking one last glance at you, and smiled.

The morning came, and your son was being discharged. He looked better, and his skin was glowing. So it really was a fever after all. When you look down at your son holding your hand, he smiles up at you with his bright eyes and toothy grin. You turn to leave and you run into Yebin walking down the hallway, only to be stopped to thank her again.

“I’m just glad I could help.” She smiles at you, then down at Sang-Yung. She gives him a little wave and he hides behind your leg.

“Don’t be shy little man. This lady helped you get better.” You tell him. He looks up at you, then at Yebin, then back to you.

“Really?” He asks.

“Really.” You say. He comes out from behind you and bows to her.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He says. Yebin’s heart melts, and she suddenly feels the urge to pinch his cheeks, but resists.

“You are very welcome.” She grins at him. When she looks back up you, you can’t help but smile back.

“Thank you again.” You tell her.

“No problem.” With a quick response, you and your son start walking out of the hospital. But not for long, you’re brought back by Yebin’s voice.

“Uh, wait.” You turn around at her timid voice, and you raise your brows in question. She has her phone out, and is reaching it towards you. “Y-you’re number. So I can check up on Sang-Yung.” It’s not necessary for a doctor to check up on kids over something so small, but it was the best excuse Yebin could come up with to get your number. You stare at her for a brief moment before laughing at her gesture. You take the phone out of her hand, and quickly type in your number. When you hand it back to her, she looks up at you as you give a small smile and a wave.

“Bye Yebin.” You turn back around with your sons hand in yours, and you both start walking out of the hospital again. He glances back at Yebin who continues to watch the two of you leave before looking back at you.

“Are we going to see her again?” He asks you. A smile plays on your lips as you reach the doors, and you don’t have to look at him to reply.

“Maybe.” You simply reply. “Would you like to?” He nods his head eagerly and you can’t help but laugh.

“She’s pretty.” He says, and you couldn’t deny the fact. Yebin doesn’t take her eyes off you until you’re out the door before looking down at her phone. Your contact name had a heart next to it, and Yebin clutched her phone to her chest whilst smiling. As Minkyeong passes the girl, she hits her in the back of the head with a clipboard.

“Get back to work Romeo.” Yebin doesn’t even let it faze her as she continues to hold her phone to her chest with a smile.

[carryforthtradition]

My relationship with food, previously living with M.E. and recovering practicing an ancient, traditional self cultivation way.

I feel I need to write about food. This is a personal account. Here is a short video we made yesterday - an introduction into something very complex made simple - I hope this may help others -My relationship with food has always been healthy and I would consider it pretty traditional, in that I eat the way I was brought up to eat. I remember fondly watching my grandfather cooking the way I do now, standing in his kitchen under the clothes airer chopping up onions, carrots and potatoes for a stew and folding the vegetable peelings in newspaper to go in the compost.

Recently, under a lot of extra pressure and external stress I find myself becoming increasingly aware that I am comfort eating, and a lot of this involves sugar, and extra weight around my midriff! I’m not so concerned about how I look, but it is beginning to become an issue when I actually feel the extra weight when I am moving around, lifting myself up off the floor, tying my shoe laces and when I lie on my side it is like another body lying in front of me! I reckon I’m carrying and extra 2 stone - I don’t weigh myself, I can just grab it with two hands and at the front it is actually hanging over the waistband of my trousers.

My attitude towards food is also different to what I believe is the main narrative people are being sold (pushed) in mainstream media, be that on TV programmes, news, magazines, newspapers, food packaging, marketing… we are constantly being bombarded with different, quite often conflicting messages -

We are constantly being told - eat this and you will feel great; this is the magic pill to lose weight; the magic pill to heal everything; you need to eat this; you don’t need to eat that; omit this from your diet and you will feel great; you are glucose intolerant; have intolerances…. buy our vitamin supplements, processed foods, nitrates, phosphates, our food has been so tampered with it has additives, MSG, artificial sweeteners, flavourings, there is GMO food, monoculture farming, nutrient depleted soil, pesticides, we’re told all the bees are dying, the world is dying, our food is not nutritious any more; there is intensive farming, we need to eat organic, eat local, food shipped is across the globe, chicken from China is been sold in the US, we are eating bleached chicken scraped off the floor, inhumane practices, vegetarian, vegan, you are not human if you eat meat, if you don’t eat meat your body will be unwell, you’re a Hippy if you don’t eat meat, eat more greens, don’t take salt, or eggs, or pate if you are pregnant, or shrimps, drink vinegar if you’re losing your hair, you need this, you need that….. it is endless………

…….you get the idea. Even writing down what flew into my head just then illustrates the overload and chaotic mess we have been bombarded with for as long as I can remember. There must be some thread of truth running through all of this and this is what I am trying to discover. To strip away and break free from all the, what I perceive as, nonsense and social conditioning. It’s like one huge big experiment has been playing out to take us away from what is natural, God given, native, regional, locally grown or reared and to lead us to mess and experiment and with nature, overly rely on technology and science instead of the all the nourishing information and wisdom handed down to us over eons from experience. I personally find it disrespectful and ungrateful in some ways. Has this modern obsession with manufactured and processed food actually improved or enhanced our lives? If you ask me, I’d say no - return to tradition! Thankfully I have friends on this same quest.

In a nutshell - to see where I’m coming from - I realise that I enjoy everything I eat. There is nothing I won’t eat other than raw meat, raw fish or raw eggs. I don’t drink alcohol or take any drugs. I’m not vegetarian or vegan. I eat what I perceive as nourishing and healthy. I don’t drink enough water. I drink too much caffeine. I don’t take any supplements. Or medication. I don’t have set times when I eat and I sleep or exercise. I have little routine. Some weeks I eat loads and loads and some weeks I eat very little, and have been like this all my life since childhood. I tend to follow my instincts. I’m aware we need to eat a variety of foods and to have a balanced diet and not gorge on too much of the same thing - and I’m also aware that there are many people who are not as fortunate as I, who eat and survive on what they have available even if it is only a small amount of rice or millet and nothing else. The human body is incredible. The human mind and resilience is incredible.

To go back a little into my past, as I mentioned, I was raised eating what I would regard as traditional home made food, things such as a Sunday dinner of meat, vegetables, potatoes, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. I eat fish, salads, pasta and sauces, soups, rice and stir fries, curries, pies, vegetables, cooked breakfasts….. I buy the odd ready-made meal like a moussaka or lasagne, frozen breaded fish, fries, tinned food, some processed food. I go through phases like making bread at home in a machine/buying it, making my own preserves, batch cooking from scratch and freezing it. I quite often live on left-overs and sometimes even add new ingredients to a huge stew done in a earthenware clay pot, or our slow cooker, made the day before, to transform it into another meal. I will even eat a take away curry the next morning for breakfast! I lived in Singapore for years and for breakfast sometimes I would have rice, fried egg, fish and chilli, I’m more of a savoury fan than of sugar. I will try new foods quite happily, and new fruits and vegetables I’ve never seen before. I’m not aware that I have any crazy habits other than my recent comfort eating - which has been highlighted this year, which includes eating Haribo jelly sweets just before I go to sleep and wriggling around uncomfortably, probably due to all the sugar and weird additives. Do you actually know what it is you are eating half the time? I can’t even pronounce half the ingredients.

In 2005 I had a serious accident on the motorway, which led me to being diagnosed with M.E, and on top of that when I was 18 I’d had a car crash and my sacrum was twisted through whiplash and lodged in my pelvis, which cause serious pains in my spine and back most of my life. Another accident on a jet ski in Malaysia in 1996 - which I believe also nearly ended my life, meant I had been bashed around quite a lot - I had actually ended up in a hospital in Singapore - where I lived at the time - on a traction bed for a week which was fun I recall - I could lift myself up and down and the push of a button! (I could do with that now to lift up my lard ass - oops!)

From 2005 - 2011 I really struggled with M.E. and my spinal injuries. I remember lots of pain, problems at different times walking as swinging my leg forward was very painful. Sometimes I couldn’t feel my legs. M.E. is horrible., I was absolutely drained, exhausted. Pain in my body and head was relentless. I looked ok, and had lo live knowing many people thought I was making it up, and because sometimes I was ok, and lived pretty normal life, I would get lots of remarks like ‘pull yourself together’ which I eventually began to ignore, and understood people really didn’t understand, so it wasn’t their fault.

I had spent years trying different things to help my back problems, radiotherapy, massage, keeping myself fit, in Singapore where I lived from 1995 - 2001, I went swimming almost every day and walked everywhere and I did yoga every day for about 15 years. I was fit and healthy up until 2005.

For those of you reading this with M.E., you will understand. It is very difficult to live with. You have to learn to pace yourself. I could do one small thing in a day and end up in bed for a week or two afterwards. If, for example, a wedding came up, to prepare myself I would sleep most of the time for 2 weeks before the special day so I could get through it on the day. It’s like being trapped in your own body, my mind wanted to do things, but my body just couldn’t cope. I didn’t have depression, but it was becoming increasingly harder to remain optimistic as there was no cure.

I was told my organs would probably deteriorate earlier than others and that it could lead to heart problems, and my fitness levels decreased so much at times that I found it hard to get upstairs, never mind out the house for a walk. But this was off and on. It is sneaky, when you think you’re ok, you do too much, and pay the consequences. In the worst times, the ringing in my ears, pain in my eyes in bright light, the ability to talk for 5 minutes before my head hurt, then shutting down and needing to lie down and slip into sleep, the only place it didn’t hurt, was unbearable. My life shrank. I stopped communicating with many people because I just couldn’t handle talking. I relied on my family and close friends and they were amazing, because sometimes I was ok, and it must have been very frustrating and baffling for them too. I couldn’t watch T.V, read a book, go on the computer, or do anything that needed any amount of concentration for longer than minutes at a time before indescribable pain in my head, my brain would make me shut down. I couldn’t breathe and my whole body felt like it was bursting.

Over 6 years, obviously I looked into cures, as you would, and tried lots of different things. Food being the one I focussed on the most. I tired different diets, eating one thing, omitting another. I tried omitting dairy, it didn’t work. Sugar, it didn’t work. Gluten, didn’t work. Meat, didn’t work………. this went on and on. I tried supplements, different combinations, different amounts and I rattled with supplements at times. It didn’t work.

A slight breakthrough came when I came across ‘Forever Living’ Aloe Vera. It was the only improvement to my general well being - I even signed up to them so I could buy it cheaper, and would drink some every day, and I also took bee propolis - a natural anti biotic. I was on no other medication - a saving grace when I look back as I never became dependant on any drugs or medication - my doctor said there wasn’t anything she could prescribe. I didn’t take pain killers either. Nothing.

In 2009 I signed up for a short course called the Lighting Process, which was ‘NLP’ and it did help me realise I had more control over my brain than I had realised, but it didn’t cure me, although it helped me to think about things slightly differently. I’d had to give up teaching in 2006 aged and over 6 years of living with this illness, I gave up any desire to conquer the world, my ambitions, the many adventures to continue my travels in the world, doing the great British Coast to Coast walk, achieving anything significant, working outdoors, a career, having children….. In 2008 me and my husband decided to go for it and fly to New Zealand and live in a van for 6 months, which we did, and it was amazing. I was in beautiful surroundings ill, instead of at home ill! We had hoped it would cure me. We even swam with a dolphin (who actually looked like it felt sorry for me as I floated on the surface of the water in my wetsuit with loads of lead weights around my waist because I couldn’t sink and I couldn’t breathe properly through the snorkel - not as romantic or life changing as I had expected!) Being in nature did make me feel a lot happier, but I didn’t recover. (If you’re wondering how I got there - I just got there like anyone else, but just slept anytime I could and suffered knowing at the other end I would be somewhere quiet) The trip taught me a lot, by this time, I had resigned myself the the fact that I would be living with this for the rest of my life I began to realise I could be happy with my lot, and appreciated how incredibly fortunate and lucky I was. I still really enjoyed the whole experience, the precious time with my husband - who is a diamond. He stood firmly by my side and still does. I let go of more attachments and expectations and found some level of contentment.

In 2011, I received a leaflet though my door to learn Falun Dafa (Falun Gong) a traditional Buddhist self cultivation practice, a mind and body practice free to learn in a local community centre, with 4 exercises that reminded me of Tai Chi and a sitting meditation. It said the teachings focussed on the Universal Principles of truth, compassion and tolerance. After trying everything else, I decided to go and see what it was and I took my husband’s mum along too.

And it’s no secret that it was in fact by practicing Falun Dafa that I made a full recovery. There have been numerous studies written about the healing effects of this traditional, ancient practice. I am testimony to it. It means I am working on myself, looking deep inside myself to figure myself out and it highlights any addictions and attachments I may have that are not beneficial to either myself or to others - so it is all good. It has highlighted my comfort eating is a deep rooted issue I need to unearth and overcome, and at the moment I think it is linked to grief or fear…..

Since I began the practice in 2011, I have been campaigning on a huge scale (I’ve organised briefings in Parliament, run local campaigns, coordinated art exhibitions screened films, spent thousands of hours on the streets handing out information and lots of other things) about the persecution of Falun Gong who are being targeted and killed by the CCP Chinese communist party in China for their beliefs in truth, compassion and tolerance, and forcibly harvested for their organs whilst still alive - I will add some links below. It has been traumatic, to say the least, and stressful and taken a tremendous amount of energy, effort and courage for me to stand up to this and not be afraid. Last year on top of this continuous effort I looked after my dying aunt who I loved dearly. It was very intense. And now, of course, we have Covic-19 which I ‘lovingly’ call the #CCPVIRUS and we are locked in our homes, not really quite knowing what is going on any more! We are truly living in times of uncertainty. Yet, I believe everything will come good and am optimistic and will carry on doing what I do the best I can. The CCP’s days are indeed numbered.

So back to today - bearing all this in mind - I have fortunately discovered for myself through my own experience that food alone cannot heal my body and mind. I conclude that food is like a tool, something needed to nourish the body and when it is out of balance I’m becoming increasingly aware of the subtle messages my body gives to me. For example, if I eat too much I can’t move; too much sugar, I feel tired; my joints hurt, because there is too much acid in my body, probably from eating too much meat; if I don’t drink enough water, my skin is dry; and other noticeable sensations or manifestations. And I have yet to overcome the deep emotional pain I carry with me to make me strong enough to overcome cravings and break free!

So, I have turned to my dear friends for support and advice - and this is where our Carry Forth Tradition Quentin comes in - he has years of experience with food, nutrition and diet and all sorts of other amazing things and experiences. And he has kindly offered to see if there are any tweaks he can suggest to improve my diet a little, maybe a healthy food to cure a craving instead of a sugary one, a change to my routine, the amount I eat (I have been so brainwashed I don’t even know what a healthy amount is to eat), to help me get more control back and balance my food intake. This in turn will help me face my deeper demons and overcome them. Some of our Carry forth Tradition writers may join in too! We will log my eating habits, and daily routines and see what we discover.

[notapaladin]

you just gotta let it go

Teocatl sickfic, because Acatl deserves to have someone watch over him when he’s ill and it’s highly cathartic for me. Acatl is, unfortunately, a grumpy patient. Also on AO3!

-

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself. He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—“

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

Right. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest. Right. No more food for me. He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh…” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” He felt vaguely nauseous again.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t; it was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked. He’d briefly felt himself in danger of falling asleep in his soup bowl, and it took him a moment to reapply himself to the conversation. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with last night’s nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. He glared back at her. “I’m much stronger now. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but injuries were one thing. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly, when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he glared down at him. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state stung bitterly. Gods, isn’t it bad enough that I’m ill? Must I have witnesses? “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

Teomitl sat down by him, within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to any...urges he might have. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “I know that, too. But...let me anyway?” He paused, looking him over with soft eyes. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d thought those feelings would fade; it was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t…” He blinked, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “’M sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was smiling at him again, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “...Your own duties…”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; he’d shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being reminded—viscerally—that they couldn’t be ignored forever.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. What do you need?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence.  

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush. “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, calloused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I—uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to…”

Teomitl might as well have been making a royal proclamation; his voice held nothing but certainty. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “When I heard you had been taken ill...gods, Acatl, I was terrified.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. “I…” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But—“

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “You won’t.” He knew as he said it that it was an empty promise, but it was true. Even if I die tomorrow. Even if I die right now, he’ll never lose me.

He inhaled. I have to tell him. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” It had been a fleeting thought somewhere between the second time he’d collapsed and the dozenth time he’d vomited, but it had stuck with him until he’d simply been too tired to fear it anymore. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you. I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you I—“ But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. “...Acatl?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? “I love you. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. “I was half convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. “You...what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you…”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race.

Teomitl sighed, dropping his gaze. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does.”

“Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier…”

“She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. But Teomitl quirked up a smile, then, and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He swallowed. “I had to let you know. You have to know—you’ll never lose me. Ever. I love you too much for that.”

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.