#like is it his foot’s fault that they have to choose such ridiculous shoes??????

[galadrielette]

WHAT IS WITH THE CLOWN SHOES

[urimaginespimp]

A Half-naked Nurse and Wrong Ideas.

Bucky x Reader with fever.

Thank you @daredarling for the “you’ve gotten sick and Bucky takes care of you” idea.

——–

You should’ve known better than to race Sam under a thunderstorm last night. Waking up the next morning, you had a massive headache, your muscles felt sore, and you were shivering.

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Barnes says you’re half an hour late in training.” FRIDAY’s voice spoke, making you groan and bring your comforters above you.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you muffled under the sheets.

Barnes… He has been nothing but a pain in the ass to you. To this day, you don’t know what you’ve done for him to dislike you this much. And as if his snarky comments and glares thrown your way wasn’t enough, Steve actually paired you both for missions and trainings.

If he wasn’t so handsome you would’ve cut him already. If Steve allowed you.

Loud bangs hit your door outside. “Y/L/N you’re already 30 minutes late! That’s 5 laps extra for you!” You could hear the irritation lacing his voice.

Maybe if you ignore him long enough, the pest would go away.

“I know you’re in there!” He followed up after you ignored him.

Sighing in annoyance, you got up, with the blankets still wrapped around you, and weakly waddled your way to your door, not bothering to open up your curtains. Opening the door, A frowning Bucky was looking down on you. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, you would’ve snickered at his expression.

“Barnes why are you so obsessed with me?” your cracked voice barely managed to finish asking.

He was observing you from head to toe, noting how pale you are, and shivering under a huge comforter despite that your AC was off.

“You’re stupid.” That was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“Well, you’re not that sma-”

“Will you shut up and go back to bed? You look like you’re about to drop dead any second now.” He interrupted you, his face still stern with no emotion.

Rolling your eyes, you turned back and weakly made your way back over to bed, pausing to groan as you remembered you forgot to close the door.

“If you’re still there, could you please close the door.” it almost pained you to even be so polite to him but you blame it to being sick.

Finally managing to lie back down, you stared up the ceiling when you heard the door finally shut gently. Sighing, you were about to let sleep take over you when something caught the corner of your eye.

Bucky was by the closed door, taking his shirt off over his head. You let out a shriek. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?!”

“You’re sick.” he replied nonchalantly, while kicking off his shoes, leaving him in his sweatpants and socks.

“And taking off your clothes is supposed to make me feel better?!” you were trying to support yourself with your elbow, facing his way. “And I meant that you close the door before leaving.”

“I don’t want to die of heat while taking care of you.” he replied in a duh tone before entering your bathroom to fetch some warm water in a basin.

You were still trying to process what he was getting at when he finally went back out, now basin with steaming water in hand.

“You got a clean towelette I can use?” has asked as he placed the basin on the foot of your bed.

“Yeah, it’s by the third dra- what the hell are you doing again?” you caught yourself as he was opening your drawers. “Because if you’re trying to kill me, doing it while I’m defenseless is just beneath you.”

“Didn’t think your IQ could get any lower but you’re sick so I’ll let this pass.” He rolled his eyes before soaking the cloth on the water. “I’m nursing you. Now lay flat and still so the cloth won’t fall off that forehead of yours.” he instructed, again sounding so casual.

You followed his orders before realizing that this whole ordeal was still very weird. “I’m sorry, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He went by your head and placed the cloth on your forehead, making you sigh at the warmth it brought your chilling form. “Steve will have my head if he finds out I knew you’re sick and let you die.”

You stared at him deadpan.

“And partners are supposed to be taking care of each other.” he muttered, making the side of your mouth twitch.

“If you tell anyone I said that I’ll kill you.” he lightly threatened when he noticed your mouth twitch.

“Fair enough. And I should probably tell you that I’m prone to get mentally confused when I have fevers which is a normal symptom, but just letting you know in case I start saying something nice.” you chuckled.

He went over your mini fridge and opened a bottle of water to drink.

You look at him, noticing that he was starting to sweat a lot from the heat. His skin was glistening making you mentally kick yourself from staring.

“You got underwear?” you found yourself asking, making him choke on his drink.

“What?”

“I-I’m just saying i-if you’re that hot, you can just take off your sweatpants and I won’t mind.”

“You’re saying I’m hot?” he chuckled, having fun twisting your words, making you flush. “Hey, color’s back on your face. Maybe I should get you all flustered more.” he teased further.

“Shut up Barnes, I meant that the room’s too hot for you because the AC is off. You’re sweating like a pig.”

“Save the excuses, Y/N. You won’t mind if I’ll just be in my boxers?” he smirked at you as he took his socks off and started working on untying the strings of his sweats.

“Puh-lease, Barnes, it may come as a shock to you, but I’ve seen enough men in boxers. You’re not that…”

You trailed off what you were going to say when you noticed that this was a different kind of boxers. Why were they so tight?

You thought he meant boxer shorts, not boxer briefs. Dammit.

“I’m not that…?” He asked.

“I forgot. Fever brain.” You shrugged, diverting your eyes away from him. “Anyway, why are you so nice to me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He contradicts, placing his hands on his hips.

“Uh, yeah you do.” you paused to let out a cough. “You always make fun of me or provoke me in front of everyone else.”

“And how do I treat you when we’re alone, especially in missions?” he raised his brows at you, expecting that you’ll put two and two together.

“A lot nicer actually.” You muttered.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that the team keeps insisting I have a crush on you.” he scratched the back of his head.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they even think that?” you chuckled.

“It’s Sam’s fault. He tricked me.”

“What?”

“He was being all hypothetical, saying what if I was only allowed to date someone from the team and who would I choose. And I uh… may have said I’d choose you. And everyone else heard.” He muttered the last part, embarrassed.

It was your turn to smirk at him. “And why me?”

“Stop that. You look like a smirking corpse.” he snapped at you defensively and cleared his throat. “It’s just that you were actually really nice to me when we met. Didn’t feel like you were masking apprehensiveness like everybody did when I first got here.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on me.” you had the courage to tease him, seeing how flustered he got from telling the story.

“This is not how you treat your nurse, Y/N.”

“Yeah, a nurse in his underwear. Very ethical. And I’m not your supervisor, but I think brooding is not advisable.”

“And now as your nurse, I would advise you to quit talking and get some sleep.”  he playfully glared at you. “I’ll be by the chair to constantly check on your temperature and replace the cloth on your forehead.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing, Barnes. I’m starting to think the team’s right.”

“Ma’am flirting with patients and vice versa is frowned upon. Now sleep.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

——–

While you were finally snoozing for over an hour, gentle knocks were heard on your door.

Standing up from his chair, Bucky quickly made his way over the door to prevent more knocks from disturbing your sleep, forgetting that he was still only in his boxer briefs.

Opening it slowly, he was met with three pairs of wide eyes belonging to Steve, Sam, and Nat.

“Hey you guys, could you keep it down? Y/N is getting some rest.”

“Uhuh… I bet she needs it.” Sam replied slowly, still wide-eyed, noting how Bucky’s slightly sweaty.

“So… when did this happen?” It was Steve’s turn to speak up.

“Oh, just this morning. She was running late and I came here with the intention of punishing her for it but I ended up taking care of her.” He explained in a low voice, still oblivious to how their teammates were getting a totally different idea.

“Woah.” Nat muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, I guess her muscles are all sore because she was moving so weakly, and her voice is all hoarse now when she talks, and -”

“Look we’re happy for you, but TMI, Buck! TMI.” Steve cut him off and the three of them scrambled away from your room, with Sam muttering he didn’t need the unwelcomed visuals, and Nat screaming for Wanda.

Now left alone and confused by the doorway, he was trying to figure out why they reacted that way when it finally clicked.

“Fuck.” he whisper-yelled, knowing that the teasing was about to get worse.

——–

Final Part

Permanent tag list: @lizzarooni

Marvel Masterlist

[mjxmoon]

george does your daughters hair II 🪴

george x black reader

word count: ~760

warnings: swearing 

request: that george fic got me thinking, what if one day he’s doing the readers daughters hair and she asks him to put beads in it but like obviously he can’t tell the difference between the colors so it ends up being tacky asf but reader doesn’t have the heart to tell him because he’s so proud of himself 😭👖-

pt. 1!! george does your daughters hair

a/n im buying beads for my braids brb  

“All done!” George says proudly as he finishes off the last braid. You glance up from your laptop to check out the hairstyle he’s done on your daughter's hair. 

Ever since you taught him how to do it, he’s been watching tutorials and practicing non-stop. He’s actually better than you but you’ll never admit it. 

“Yay! Do you like it, hun?” You ask your daughter. She nods her head rapidly before standing up and darting off. “Oh, I'll take that as a yes.”

George flops back on the couch with an exhausted sigh. “Whew, that's a lot of work.” “Yeah, I'm glad she wanted you to take over. My fingers needed the break.”

Your daughter then returns, plopping a box on George's lap. “Can you add these?” She flips open the lid revealing the wide selection of colored beads inside. Recently George tackled learning about the different accessories that can go into hair and mastered beads quite quickly. He practiced on a section of your hair one night, and the following day you woke up with the ends of each of your braids stacked with blue and white beads. 

You look at the time and realize that everyone has to leave in about 30 minutes if you want to be on time for your daughter's school concert. It's the annual spring one where kids stand on stage and sing off-key for an hour while looking ridiculously adorable. “Oh shoot, we have to leave soon. I'm gonna take a quick shower- you got this?” 

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” George says, shooing you away. You give him a quick kiss before hopping up and rushing off to the shower.

George stares down at the box and tries to identify the different colors, quickly finding his favorite color, blue, and another that seems to be purple. 

“Can I have yellow, green, and pink, please?” She asks, pointing to each color in the box. “Like a flower!”

George lets out a little laugh; of course, she would choose the three colors he can hardly tell apart. “Sure!” He decides not to stress about it too much and reaches for the pink bead, stringing it through her braid before reaching for the next color.

Unlike when George did it on you, he had the luxury to ask every few minutes if he had chosen the right color, but now that he’s on a time crunch he can’t be too picky and has to trust his gut.

George focuses intently on his task, his fingers working quickly to string each bead in before you return from your shower and herd everyone out of the house. 

“Is it done?” Your daughter asks with a huff as she reaches to feel around for any parts he hasn't finished.

“I am all...done!” George slips on the last bead and adds the rubber band. 

“You two ready?!” You shout, dashing out of the room, hopping on one foot as you try to slip on your shoe. You notice your daughter's hair and stop, taking a moment to process what you’re seeing. 

The ends of her braids are stacked with varying colors of pink, yellow, green, light blue, and purple. One braid has four green beads and a single yellow one, while another is an assortment of all five of the colors.  

“Do you like it?” George asks you as he runs his fingers along his handy work.

“I-” You have no clue what to say. It's not seriously terrible, and it is slightly your fault for leaving your colorblind boyfriend with a multicolored box of beads, but...can you really send your daughter to a school concert when her hair looks like a confetti popper? 

“Don’t you like it, Mum?” Your daughter asks as she does a little spin, giggling happily at her new hairstyle. You can tell she doesn't care how it looks; anytime George does her hair, she’ll refuse to take it out unless he’s the one redoing it. 

You look to George, and your heart almost melts at the look of pride on his face. You would feel like a monster if you had to ruin that, so just for tonight, you decide to say “fuck it” and go with the flow.

“It looks great!” You finally say, “Come on, let's go. We’re already late!” 

“Let's go!” George exclaims, swooping her up and carrying her out the front door. Their squeals of laughter and excitement make up for the tacky ass hairstyle your daughter is about to stand in front of an audience with - not by a whole lot, but a little.

[morganaspendragonss]

request for you -> no. 65 💗💜💙

holly's august extravaganza day 20: can't smile without you

thank you! this is a follow-up to my previous fic a hole where your memory goes

65) “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because they’re gone and it’s my fault. And god knows what they’re doing to them right now and I’m just sitting here doing nothing!” (from this list)

ao3 | 1.6k | angst with a happy ending, supportive firefam, kidnapping, mentioned amputation

before.

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

Carlos doesn’t like the thought of TK going out alone anymore, but he tries to push down his protective instincts to normal levels, for TK’s sake. TK thinks he’s being ridiculous—but then, TK only knows what the news has said about the case. Carlos has refused to talk about it at home, mostly because he’s not supposed to, but also because he doesn’t want to scare his husband.

He won’t admit it, but Carlos is scared enough for the both of them.

But as the case wears on and no new leads appear, things change. The fear… It doesn’t get lesser, or disappear, but it becomes something he’s used to; something, really, he’s been used to ever since they first began dating all those years ago. And the thing about being a detective—the person who investigates and solves the crimes—is that it’s easy to believe that these are things that happen to other people.

Carlos knows he’s not invincible. But there’s something about his job that has him marking out his home as a safe bubble, where the horrors he sees on the daily can’t enter.

Later, when he thinks back on it all, he won’t remember the moment he let himself get so lax. What he will remember, all too clearly, is the moment he lost everything.

“Babe, I’m going out!” TK shouts, his voice reaching Carlos where he’s washing up in the kitchen. “I’ll be back soon; don’t wait up.”

Carlos smiles, but doesn’t turn around, knowing TK will probably be halfway out the door by now anyway. “Have a good run,” he says instead. Seconds later, he hears the door shut and lock, and he carries on with his night. His shift had been long, so he goes to bed pretty quickly, certain in the knowledge that, when he wakes up, TK will be by his side again, as always.

He wakes up at two am to a cold bed, and Carlos’s world crumbles.

during.

Seventy-three days after TK’s disappearance, Carlos is sitting in the firehouse kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and wondering what, exactly, he’s doing here. He should be at work, going over the case, doing everything he can to find TK; not here, the one place he hasn’t set foot in since that awful day.

“Carlos,” Paul said, surprise colouring his voice. He narrowed his eyes, clearly noting the grief hanging heavy around Carlos, and a brief fear flickered across his expression. “Is everything okay?”

Carlos swallowed, unable to meet Paul’s eyes. “I, uh. Is Owen around?”

“Yeah, he’s in his office. You can head on up if you want.”

He nodded and took a step forward, before being suddenly hit by a realisation. “Actually, Paul?” he asked. “Could you gather everyone? You all deserve to hear this from me, but I don’t think I have the strength to say it twice.”

Paul’s eyes widened, the fear returning in full force. Carlos knew he must have joined the dots by now—TK not showing up for work, Carlos appearing, looking, probably, wrecked… There was only one conclusion to be drawn.

Even so, Carlos didn’t think any of them would have imagined something this bad, and the looks on their faces when they found out broke him all over again.

He sighs and stares down into his coffee, swirling the cooling dregs around the mug. He doesn’t want to be here; even now, seventy-three days afterwards, part of him still thinks he’s going to look up and see him walking around the corner. The feeling is even worse at home, but Carlos only really goes there to sleep and, occasionally, eat. TK’s nightstand is still occupied by the book he was reading, his shoes lie abandoned by the front door, his shampoo going untouched next to Carlos’s own.

The memories there threaten to suffocate him, so he chooses to let them gather dust.

The firehouse is quiet, and there’s an itch in Carlos’s bones telling him to get up and get going. He grits his teeth and tries to force himself to stay put, for his friends’ sake if nothing else, but it’s an impossible task, and he ends up shoving himself out of the chair. For once, no-one is around to spot him, so he turns, fully intent on sneaking out, when his eyes catch on the 126’s memorial wall.

It’s the same as it has been for years, Tim’s photo right alongside those of the old 126. A thought enters Carlos’s mind, unbidden, and it sticks in his head, keeping his gaze locked on the wall.

How long until TK ends up there too?

Carlos’s breath trembles, his hands bunching into fists at his side. The rest of the firehouse fades into background noise until all Carlos can see is the wall of photos and the memory of TK’s voice on the night he left.

Judd appears from seemingly nowhere, Carlos jumping when his hands land on his shoulders. “Sit.”

“No,” Carlos protests, shoving at Judd. “No, let me go.”

But Judd just folds his arms and refuses to budge, looking down at Carlos with a mixture of sympathy and determination in his eyes. “Look, Carlos, I have no idea what you’re going through,” he says, “but you’re running yourself into the ground and you’re going to burn out. TK—”

“Don’t.” Carlos grits his teeth, glaring at Judd. “Don’t say it. You all—You all keep saying the same shit, but I’m pretty sure the only thing TK wants right now is to be away from wherever they’re keeping him. And it’s my job to do that for him! Judd, it is literally my job to find these people and I just keep failing and I should be out there; I should be looking for him, so just—just let me go!”

“Carlos, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” There’s a sob building in Carlos’s chest, the ever-present ache growing until it eclipses anything else he has inside him. “I can’t calm down, and you know what else? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can barely fucking breathe because he’s gone and it’s my fault. And god knows what they’re doing to him right now and I’m just sitting here doing nothing! I’m sitting here, drinking coffee, when he’s—he’s—”

The words stick in his throat and Carlos gives in to the tears, letting the emotion overwhelm him. His legs give out and he slumps back down in the chair by the kitchen island, saved from sliding to the floor by Judd, who cradles Carlos’s head against his chest. Judd’s uniform is probably getting soaked, but he makes no complaint, simply holding Carlos as he cries.

“I know,” he shushes, rubbing a large hand in circles on Carlos’s back. “I know.”

He doesn’t, but Carlos takes solace in it anyway.

after.

Carlos chews on his lip, anxiously watching as TK is settled in his wheelchair. It’s been a month since TK came home from the hospital, and the first time he’s going out without Carlos.

“Ready, Strand?” Judd asks. TK nods, and time feels like it slows down as Judd grips onto the chair’s handles, muscles tensing to push.

“Wait!” He seizes a blanket from the couch—TK’s favourite—and rushes over, kneeling down in front of his husband. “You’ll get cold.”

It’s true; after all the weight he lost, TK feels the cold so much more these days. He knows that TK, and probably some of the crew, thinks he’s being over-protective, but Carlos is terrified of him getting sick. Of losing him, for good this time. So he tucks the blanket around TK’s leg, the other one’s absence still glaring after all this time, giving more attention to the task than it warrants.

He’s stopped by a hand slipping into his, and he looks up to meet TK’s eyes, brilliant green shining with understanding.

“Carlos,” he murmurs, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s okay. Y—You don’t—have to—w—w—” TK frowns, his face scrunching up in frustration as his tongue refuses to cooperate, and Carlos reaches out to caress his face.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’ll see you later, okay? Love you.”

Every instinct Carlos possesses protests as he watches TK disappear out the door once more, and he takes an involuntary step forward. But Paul and Grace, both of whom insisted on keeping him company, place a hand on each of his shoulders, gently but firmly guiding him towards the couch.

“I—I don’t…”

“He’ll be fine, Carlos,” Grace says, sitting next to him. “Let us take care of you, now.”

Paul walks over with a bowl of something steaming, practically forcing it into his hands. “I’m gonna tell you right now, I’ll be real offended if you don’t eat that, Reyes. I didn’t spend hours slaving over it for you to turn your nose up because you got used to all that gourmet shit they serve in the hospital.”

Carlos laughs weakly, taking the proffered fork. Between the hospital and TK’s strict diet while he gets used to food again, he hasn’t had a proper meal in a while; he didn’t think he had the appetite for one, but the spicy aroma wafting from the bowl sets his stomach growling.

They eat, and they talk, and it seems like normality might be in reach once more.

An hour later, TK comes home.

And Carlos finally starts to feel safe again.

[e-of-west-glendia]

This is a very very very late birthday present for the amazing @moonscarsandstars. I love you so so much babe (except for that thing yesterday you little shit) and I hope you enjoy this thing I wrote!

“I’m not doing it.”

“But whyyy?”

“Because it’s creepy as hell, James. That’s why.”

Sirius shoulders open the door to James’ room and flops down onto his bed.

“It’s not creepy!” James protests, flinging his backpack into a corner.

“It’s just unconventional.”

“Read ‘creepy and stalker-ish’,” Sirius mutters.

James plops down on the bed next to Sirius. “You,” he says, poking his friend in the ribs. “Are no fun.”

Sirius snorts. “I’m plenty of fun. I just don’t write random people letters and put them in their mailbox.”

“At least not yet,” James teases.

“Not ever.”

James rolls his eyes, toeing his shoes off. “You’ll cave, eventually.”

“Unlikely,” Sirius says firmly, folding his legs up onto the bed. Only to be shoved roughly off not a moment later.

“Prongs!”

“No shoes on the bed!” James gestures to his own recently departed shoes. “This is the one rule that I have.”

Sirius picks himself up off the floor. “You sound like your mother.”

“Do not.”

Sirius kicks his shoes off but doesn’t return to the bed. Instead, he takes a seat at James’ desk. In favor of silently spinning in the swivel chair.

They’d been having the same back and forth debate for days now. Should Sirius send a letter to that boy who lived down the street? Or no.

James, of course, voted yes. As did many of Sirius’ friends. Sirius, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out why.

His friends seemed to be under the impression that this was some sort of young adult novel. It wasn’t.

You couldn’t just send random people letters. What if they called the police? Then what? Not to mention the fact that Sirius didn’t even know his name. That certainly would complicate things.

That’s not to say they were complete strangers though, Sirius and the mystery boy. Quite the contrary, actually.

The two had met before, when Peter’s mother pointed out the fact that that house was the one she grew up in.

The current occupants of Mrs. Pettigrew’s childhood home had insisted on giving her a tour. A sort of them versus now type thing, Sirius supposed.

As it happened, James and Sirius were there the day of the tour. And that was when Sirius had first run into mystery kid.

They’d been briefly introduced, but Sirius was too busy considering how awkward it was to be walking through someone’s house to pay attention to his name.

Now, nearly seven months later, Sirius, James, and Peter had seen the boy again. And for some ridiculous reason, James was under the impression that sticking a letter with his number on it in that boys mailbox was the best idea ever.

Ok technically it was Sirius’ own fault that the idea even came to mind. But he was absolutely joking when he’d said, “what do you want me to do, stick a letter in his mailbox?”

In response to James’ telling him to go socialize. That didn’t mean he was serious (all jokes aside, of course.)

“Yo,” James says, and Sirius stops spinning.

“Mm?”

“Peters asking if we want to come over. His mom's baking cookies.”

Sirius halts his spinning and stands. “Really all you had to say was ‘cookies’ and I would’ve been on board.”

James laughs. “Fair enough.”

James scoops up his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder while Sirius pulls his shoes back on.

“What are you bringing that for,” Sirius asks, curiously.

James shrugs. “You never know.”

Sirius rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else about it, he just leads the way out of James’ room.

The two of them run into Euphemia at the foot of the stairs.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Peter invited us over,” James explains.

“His mom is making cookies,” Sirius adds.

Euphemia nods solemnly. “I don’t blame you, Peggy’s baking is amazing.”

“That it is!” James agrees, starting for the front door. Sirius follows him.

“Sirius,” Euphemia says, voice slightly sing-songy.

Sirius stops in his tracks.

“Those aren’t shoes are they?”

“Nope,” Sirius says. “They absolutely are not.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought,” she says with a laugh. “You boys have fun now.”

“We will,” James calls, opening the door and then shutting it firmly behind them.

“I told you you sound like your mother,” Sirius snickers.

“Oh, fuck off,” James says. “That was a joke and you know it.”

Sirius very much does know it, but he chooses to ignore it.

A little while into their walk, Sirius feels a buzz at his side, buoyed by the familiar Apple ringtone.

“Who is it?” James asks.

“Lemme get the phone out first,” Sirius responds. Then, “Marlene.”

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“I’m getting there.”

A moment later Marlene’s face pops onto the screen. Her blonde hair splayed across the pillows around her.

“What’s up?” Sirius asks.

“Did you do it?” She asks, and Sirius groans.

James plucks the phone out of his hand before he can respond.

“No, he absolutely did not. I’ve been trying for hours!”

“Give Sirius his phone back,” Marlene commands.

Sirius take his phone back, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Pussy,” Marlene says, and then eats what appears to be a handful of gummy worms.

Sirius throws his hands up, exasperated. “What is it with you all and your stupid letter!”

Marlene shrugs. “Dunno, just need some gay drama in our lives I suppose.”

Sirius glares at her. “Marlene,” he says slowly. “You. Are. A. Lesbian.”

“And you’re gay as a maypole,” Marlene retorts. “Go get the guy, Black.”

“It is not that easy,” Sirius sighs.

“Can you write?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a phone?”

“No, I’m calling from a toaster.”

“That would explain the poor video quality.”

“Bullshit.”

Marlene ignores this. “Seems to me like you’re perfectly capable of writing that letter.”

“Yes, but I’m not social,” Sirius says.

Both Marlene and James laugh at that.

“Sirius Black you are the most social person I know aside from myself and your haired idiot over there.”

“Hey!” James says, indignant.

“You can write that letter,” Marlene continues. “I know you can.”

“The problem isn’t I can’t do it,” Sirius says, handing the phone to Marlene so that he can tie up his hair, which has decided for whatever reason to fall in his eyes and be irritating. “I just don’t want to because it’s stupid,” Sirius finishes.

“I see,” Marlene says.

She’s silent for a bit. Which is slightly alarming to Sirius. Marlene is only this quiet on the phone when she’s thinking or playing Subway Surfers, her designated FaceTime Game.

“Well then,” She says, and Sirius releases a sigh of relief. “I guess I can’t make you.”

“Nope,” Sirius says cheerfully, a girl starting to spread across his face.

“Unless of course I dare you to,” Marlene says, and Sirius’ grin drops.

It’s Marlene’s turn to smile now. “Gotcha.”

“You’re the devil.”

It’s quite the well known fact that Sirius will take basically any dare, so long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. And as far as he can tell, this dare isn’t hurting anyone. Not even himself, save for some minor embarrassment.

“How did you know what my Halloween costume was,” Marlene asks, she’s still grinning at him.

“Well, you certainly aren’t an angel,” Sirius grumbles.

Marlene waves a gummy worm at him. “Ain’t that the truth. Well then, I dare you to write that random guy a letter.”

James whistles. “Gosh why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re afraid of being murdered, maybe?” Sirius suggests.

“And Marlene isn’t?”

“I’m the devil, remember? Already dead.”

“Right, of course, my bad,” James says.

Marlene turns her attention back towards Sirius. “You’re near Peter’s, right? You should send the letter now.”

“With what?” Sirius asks. “I’m short on paper if you can’t tell.”

Marlene gestures to James who is holding up his backpack triumphantly.

“Told you we’d need it!”

“I hate you both,” Sirius mutters, snatching a pen and paper from James.

“What the hell am I even supposed to write?”

“You number,” Marlene says unhelpfully.

“No shit Sherlock.”

Sirius decides not to ask anymore questions. He just scribbles out a quick note and folds the paper.

“What’d you say?” James asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius retorts.

They’re right in front of the house now, and Sirius is wondering if he should just back out of it.

“Don’t be shy,” Marlene says from her end of the phone. Sirius has the vague idea that she’d be shoving him forward if she were here right now.

As it happens he doesn’t need the shove. He walked up the drive himself, ignoring Marlene’s, “Wait flip the camera James. I wanna see him do it.”

He’s at the front porch now, and he thinks he can hear something in the kitchen. There’s the sound of rushing water, dishes maybe?

Without giving it much more thought, Sirius shoves the letter inside the mailbox, wincing at the slight creak it makes.

Then he jogs back down the drive and continues towards Peter’s house.

James runs after him.

“Don’t you feel liberated now?” Marlene asks.

“If by ‘liberated’ you mean like a fucking fairytale charcater then, yes. Sure.”

“I don’t know of any fairyta—“

“Goodbye Marlene,” Sirius says, he takes the phone from James and promptly hangs up on her.

“Rude,” James says jokingly.

“Oh, please, she’s done worse,” Sirius snorts.

“But don’t you feel excited?” James asks.

“I feel anxiety.”

“You’ll thank us later.”

Even thought Sirius rolls his eyes and shoves James into a nearby plant, he can’t help but wonder if James and Marlene are right. And if this’ll actually go somewhere.

Ah, well, that’s another problem for another day. At present moment he should probably be running right about now before James comes to exact his revenge. And that, is exactly what he does.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 19 (Mafia AU)

Summary:  Rus is having a chance for a few regrets. Bad mistakes? Yeah, he's made a few.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings, Attempted Sexual Assault

Warning:  Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

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Read Chapter 19 on AO3

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Read it here!

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Rus came to with his head throbbing, feeling as if his skull had been stuffed full of cotton wool. The blanket under his mouth was soaked with his own drool, sticking clammy and cold to his face. With a grunt of effort, Rus tried to move and found he couldn’t. That quickly woke him up the rest of the way, that and the jangle of chains as struggled to get upright. Craning his neck, he looked up and down the length of his body to see the cuffs circling his wrists and ankles, each with its own chain fastened to a bedpost. He was still mostly dressed, he saw. His sweater was gone, but the button-up and trousers he’d been wearing were still in place, if horribly wrinkled. A small consolation that Rus clung to desperately, uncertain if he’d even know if anything had been done to him.

He had a vague, foggy memory of being carried, being moved, and burning hands moving over him but little else. No, that was wrong, he could remember more and didn’t want to, remembered Lilith and blood and fear, and might not know where exactly he was, but he knew who brought him here.

“no,” Rus whispered to himself, struggling harder, the restraints jangling with an almost cheery chime against the bedframe. “no, no, no.”

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep that up, little flower."

A terrifyingly familiar voice, one that carried with it its own memories of hurt and fear.

“don’t touch me!” Rus blurted hysterically, struggling harder despite the tearing pain in his wrists. “you stay away from me!”

All his struggles meant nothing, the cuffs allowed only enough give for him to lay on the bed, and he let out a weak sob as a hot hand settled on the small of his back, pinning him firmly back to the mattress.

“Darling, we haven’t even begun.” The bed shifted as Blaze sat down next to him and his hand slid up Rus’s spine in a mockery of soothing. “How well do you understand me?"

Rus could taste salt-sweetness, tears running back into his sockets and gathering nauseously at the back of his throat. That hand moved to the top of his skull, knuckles rapping against it painfully. “Answer me.”

“well enough,” Rus said dully. This was his own fault, he’d been warned, and even if Edge found him this time, who was to say what might happen between now and then.

“Better. This will go much easier on you if you’re obedient, precious.” That burning touch moved down to Rus’s face and he tried to jerk away instinctively, the chains holding him back. “Now, now, pet, calm yourself. If I only wanted to fuck you, I could have done it already, couldn’t I.” Those burning fingers skimmed lower, fondling his jaw. “Tempting, I’ll admit, such a pretty mouth. But why use force when you’ll be giving yourself to me willing?”

That confident assertion set off a spark, scorching a path of fury through Rus’s dull acceptance.

“Fuck you!” Rus spat. He twisted around to look at Blaze, truly seeing him for the first time. A fire Monster, he’d known that much, his flames the deep purple of an old ugly bruise and whatever passed for his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, exposing more purple flames and leading a path down to his undone belt. A warning of things to come and Rus couldn’t help trying to struggle again, twisting fruitlessly against the restraints.

“Manners,” Blaze chided. “You’re so certain? You haven’t even heard the bargain yet.”

“I don’t care what it is!”

“No?” Blaze leaned in closer, flames crackling close to Rus’s audial canal. “What if I agreed to let up on Edge and Red? I’ve been toying with them for some time, you’re simply a shiny new game piece. I’d let them be, no more long nights worrying about when the next strike comes. They’d keep their silly little club and all their sluts would be safe.” He leaned in, his breath pouring over Rus like the heat of an opened oven. “I’ve heard you’re quite fond of those whores, hmm? Did my little kitty tell me true?”

Rus said nothing, squeezing his sockets tightly shut as he tried to keep the memories from pouring in. He couldn’t, could only think of Lilith, her pretty, confused face filling his mind’s eye as she fell to lie bleeding in the street, only to be replaced by Mona in the same way, hurt and dying. Sweet Mona who’d been kind to him from the start, tried so hard to help him, who was studying to be a nurse to help other people, their people.

But it was what Blaze said next that sent the rising uncertainty and fear in Rus’s soul boiling, a heat to match the Flame Monster’s own as he said, “Oh, there’s also your brother. Adorable little thing, isn’t he? To be honest, he’s a little more to my tastes.”

Rus jerked around as much as he could, craning his neck to glare that smug face. “you stay the fuck away from my brother!”

“Well, now, I can’t do that unless I get to stay the fuck with you. What do you say?” Two blistering hot fingers curled under his chin, hooking into his jaw and flames licked and curled painfully around his face. “Tik tok, precious, limited time only. You spread your legs so easily for Edge, what’s one more?”

He didn’t bother saying that he and Edge had never had sex, not really. There was no point; even if this Monster, this monster, believed him, it would only be more fuel for the fire of his hatred. He’d probably be fucking delighted to hear it, one more thing he could take from them, one more cruelty to inflict. There was only one bargain available, this one, right here and now. Rus wasn’t so foolish as to believe Blaze was telling the truth, but if it only kept him away from Blue, bought them a little time, what other option did he have?

Tears burned, nearly as hot as that touch, trickling down his face and hissing to stinging steam as they fell against Blaze’s hand. He couldn’t even turn away, Blaze forcing him to look up into that hated face as he whispered out, “deal.”

“What was that, precious?” Blaze smirked. “Speak up.”

“i said deal!” Rus snarled.

“Perfect.” He let go of Rus and stood, unzipping his fly. Rus closed his sockets before seeing what it revealed, forced himself not to flinch away. He wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. “Now let’s see how good you suck cock to start.”

“don’t ever recall you bein’ much of a rapist. guess you learn somethin’ new every day.”

That unexpected voice seemed to come from nowhere at first, slowly solidifying by the door. Blaze whirled around, his flames crackling in loud astonishment and Rus craned his head to see, a feeble blossom of hope sprouted in his soul.

Red stood leaning against the doorjamb, hands in his trouser pockets and a smoldering cigar clenched in his jagged teeth. His eye lights were their own flames, deep red coals that matched his cold grin. “what’s the matter? don’t ya know how to greet an old friend?”

“How did you—” The question was bitten off so hard Rus could practically hear the click of nonexistent teeth over Blaze fumbling with his fly, fastening his trousers again with haste.

“eh, wasn’t too hard.” Red pushed off the wall and wandered closer, dusting off the front of his suit jacket with an absent flick of ringed fingers. “kid is wired up like a gyftmas tree, got little ornaments tucked all over in his clothes. figured you’d find a way to snag him eventually, so best to be prepared.” Rus’s sneakers were lying abandoned near the foot of the bed and Red nudged them with the toe of his shiny, expensive loafer. “you’re gettin’ soft, hothead, shoulda stripped him bare where you first took ‘im.”

Blaze crossed his arms over his chest, flames rising in a flickering dance the only sign of his agitation. “You’re assuming I didn’t want you to find me.”

“true,” Red allowed.

“I admit, I was expecting your brother. It’s so rare for you to come out and play these days.”

“well, now you’ve got me on the monopoly board, so let’s get this over with.” From that angle, Rus could hardly see Red, only from the chest down. Two gold buttons from his vest were visible and the broad chain strung across it, jewelry instead of restrains. Always that ridiculous extravagance, he thought with bitter, near hysterical amusement, even now. “you know, always had a little regret at leaving you behind that day, but, eh. can’t ask someone to choose them over their brother, can you.”

Blaze made a sound like hissing steam. “you left me to die!”

“sure did,” Red agreed, with such bald unapologetic blandness that Rus cringed into the blanket beneath him. “but that’s an ‘us’ problem.”

“You abandoned me!” Now Blaze was huffing like a bellows, his flames darkening nearly to black, lashing and crackling around him. “We came up from the gutters together and you left me behind like I was nothing, like I was ash to be scraped from your shoes!”

“you always were a fucking drama queen.” Red only puffed on his cigar, utterly calm, as if he were arguing with someone in the market over the last head of cabbage, and Rus could only listen with distant, dizzy surreality. Even his tears were drying, leaving behind itchy trails on his face. “turnin’ shit into a dust feud, like there ain’t enough people out there that want us dead? yeah, we did, dragged ourselves out, spitfire, and you shoulda already known by then that my bro always comes first.”

Blaze said nothing, but he took a step back when Red came closer. One of his hands shifted to hover over Rus and he could feel the banked heat even from the distance, a warning to them both.

Not that Red seemed to care. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Rus, his words were careful, slow, as if repeating important directions to one who was easily lost. “been letting you blow off steam for a while now. lost some merchandise here and there, you’d stick your fat fingers into one of our pies and we’d lose a payday. that was fine.” A step closer and Rus could see his face now, Red’s grin wolfishly wide. “‘preciate ya leavin’ the school and the daycare alone. was a bitch settin’ those up without getting’ our names tangled up in ‘em.”

“Harming children is for Humans.” Bitterly spat, someone who’d met Humans on their terms too many times already.

“ain’t that the truth,” Red agreed lazily, His voice changed then, that easiness ceasing as it vanished into bitter, bitten cold, “gotta say though, i ain’t too keen on you threatenin’ my bro or his little pet.”

“They aren’t children. You’re here for him, then.” His hand dropped, settling in the small of Rus’s back and he couldn’t bite back a whimper at the sudden, aching heat licking at his bones. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you always were too concerned about those sluts of yours.”

“always were a sweet talker, fire crotch.” Red straightened briskly, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “time to get down to business. brought you somethin’ ya might want, thought you might consider makin’ a little swap.”

“How generous,” Blaze purred. The tension in him hadn’t eased, his flames still licking high, but he shifted like he’d found his footing. “You have nothing that I want, lover, not anymore.”

“no?” Red licked his teeth, his wet teeth gleaming in the lamplight. “not even a fresh supply of golden flower tea?”

Blaze went suddenly still, all that oozing smarm stilling into whispered astonishment. “You do not.”

“sure do.” Red pulled a hand from his pocket and dangled a small packet between two fingers. “fresh enough you can prolly smell it from there and plenty more where that came from.” He nodded in Rus’s direction, “only, he’s the direct line to it. you kill him, that’s it. supply begins and ends with the flower shop. you can have your fun with him if ya want but—” He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling under his suit coat. “i ain’t about to tell ya how to do business, but if you want in, i don’t mind sharin’.” He licked his teeth again, his smile widening as it curled around a single word. “lover.”

Blaze rocked from foot to foot restlessly and even beneath the sunglasses, the shift of his gaze from the packet to Red’s grinning face was unmistakable. “The fuck you would!”

“the fuck i ain’t!” Red countered, “see, that’s the beauty of it. you know the value, dontcha. these rubes ain’t got a clue, not even my bro gets it, but you and me? sweetspark, you and i know the value of a buck, don’t we. an’ we definitely know the value of this.”

“You’re lying.” But the words were without heat, almost uncertain. Wanting to believe.

“you think i’d come here without proof.” Red opened the packet and poured a little into his palm. He blew across it, scattering dried petals into the air subtle scent of golden flowers filled the air. Rus could taste it, his mouth automatically watering at the familiar flavor. Golden flower tea was a palliative when he’d been growing up, Blue brewed it whenever Rus wasn’t feeling well, whether the sickness was one of the body or the soul. There was always a cup for them both on days their pop had been particularly cruel or drunk, soothing away the lingering hurts. To taste it now, here, was abhorrent.

Blaze spread his hands and the floating petals still hanging in the air disappeared in tiny flares in his palms, that familiar smell going burnt and bitter. “You left me.”

“yep, i did,” Red agreed, unapologetic. "shoulda known if the choice was between you and my bro, there ain't no choice. get that you’re pissed, have every right to be, but don't go blamin’ me for being exactly who ya always knew i was. now, if ya wanna let the flower shop go, then we’ve got a deal.”

“Do you swear it to me?” Blaze said. He didn’t look at Rus, neither of them did; he was nothing, only a pawn in their game. They were the major players, two kings on either side of a chess board, deciding who to sacrifice and who to spare.

“’course i do,” Red snorted, “you got my word, sweetspark. i promise ya.”

The two of them stood for a long, terrible moment in a heated tableau. Rus kept as still as possible, terrified of tipping the decision in the wrong direction. Then came the sound of a drawer sliding open, a painful, hot hand grabbing his wrist as a key slid into the lock. Blaze repeated it on each limb and Rus scrambled to sit up, nearly falling in his haste to get to Red.

“get your shoes on, flower shop,” Red told him, “wouldn’t wanna hurt your little tootsies before i take ya back to my bro.” Rus did as he was told, all but shoving his foot into his shoe as Red turned back to Blaze. “good to be doing business again with ya. we’ll work out the details, but first. shake on it like pals, yeah?”

He held out a hand and Blaze took it, but the sudden sound that came from Blaze made Rus jerk, looking up from his shoes to see Red using that grip to yank Blaze closer, down to his level. His sunglasses slipped down, exposing the hollows that passed for a fire Monster’s eyes gone wide, disbelieving. “You—”

The whisper died in a fall of dust scattering to the floor. Red only watched it fall in a dark, glittering cloud and the soul speared through with the sharpened bone still in his hand was the last to dissolve. No king, only another pawn taken from the board.

Red shook his head, tutting softly, and tossed the little packet of golden flowers onto the dustpile, the remaining petals scattering. “better luck next time, pal. least you went out with dollar signs dancin’ in your head.” He frowned at his dusty hand and pulled out a linen handkerchief that matched his shirt, wiping it off as he turned back to Rus. “normally woulda let one of my boys do it, but i guess i owed him that much, to take care a’ it personal-like.”

Rus couldn’t move, crouched there on the floor with one shoe on as he stared at Red with words clotting in his throat. “you…you…”

The wide slash of his grin only went wider. “go on, spit it out.”

“you killed him.” The last word broke on a sob.

"sure did," Red agreed. He looked at his cigar, his expression twisting in impatient disgust at the dust coating it. He tossed it aside and pulled out another, biting off the end and lighting it with a match struck on the bedpost. "hate to break a promise, too. been putting it off too long. kept hopin’ he’d get over it and sign back on, but he took it a lil’ too far.” Red shrugged. “eh, dogs are better anyway. loyal.”

He wandered past Rus towards the door, his voice floating back where Rus was still sitting with his shoe in his lap. “thanks for the help. knew he’d get his mitts on you eventually and lead the way to where he was holed up. didn’t figure on it goin’ that way, but it didn’t work out too bad, all things considered.” He turned back, one finger curling in a ‘come here’ gesture. “hurry up, kid, time to go.”

With one shoe still untied, Rus stumbled after him as Red led the way out of the room. They were in a large house of some sort, open and spacious where the Fell brothers’ home was all narrow hallways and mazes. No one tried to stop them as they made their way downstairs, every room echoing and empty, and Rus clung to the bannister to keep from falling. His mind still felt fuzzy and wrong, disbelieving, catching onto what Red had said minutes too late.

“you used me as bait?” A sob heaved out of Rus, helpless and wretched, followed by more, as if they’d been bottled up in his chest and now that the first escaped, they were bursting out like bubbles an opened bottle of soda.

"’course i fuckin’ did. you were a pain in the ass to boot, always takin’ off like ya did. made it harder to track whether you were just bein’ a shit or not.” Red paused on the landing impatiently as Rus tripped his way down. “knock it off with the waterworks, yer givin' me a headache."

Rus tried, hiccoughing painfully as he said, "he shot lilith."

"and she almost got you a fire dick up the ass for her troubles,” Red said. The raw crudeness made Rus wince, choking back his tears. “anyway, save the cryin’ for somethin’ important, she's fine. for now. all bandaged up and ready for a heap 'o regret for sellin’ you out."

"don't,” Rus blurted. “please. don't hurt her."

Red swung around to look at him and Rus couldn’t keep from flinching, stumbling back a step from that piercingly sharp gaze. "you defendin' her?"

"she didn't know how bad it was. she tried to stop him."

“regrettin’ after you fuck up don't mean you get off." Red started down the stairs again, but he sounded almost pensive as he said, "’course, she did get shot, that ain’t no summer picnic. i'll think about it."

Hardly soothing, but Rus nodded, relaxing a little as he wiped at his face with his sleeve, mumbling out, “thank you.

Red chuckled, low and rich with perverse humor. "heh, already thinkin' you won, kid? i ain’t as easy as my bro, said i’ll think about it.”

Outside was a long black car, expensive and indistinguishable. A Dog got out of the driver’s side and held open the door for them, Rus scrambling in after Red and sat on the seat opposite. The door wasn’t even closed when Red began rummaging through a little fridge, pulling out a clear crystal bottle of dark brown liquid. “here, have a drink. think you might need it.”

The entire bottle was probably more accurate, but it was better than nothing. Rus took the glass wordlessly, swallowing it all down in one gulp. He couldn’t hold back a grimace; the sharp burn of expensive whisky tried to wash away the taste of burnt golden flowers clinging inside his mouth, but it still lingered in his nasal cavity and he wondered dully if he’d ever be able to smell them again without remembering this moment.

Across from him, Red slumped back against the leather seat, sockets closed, his own glass dangling loosely from his broad fingers. His browbones were drawn together, a line of weariness between them and Rus suddenly wondered how long they’d been looking for him. There were no clocks in the backseat and the sun coming in through the tinted windows revealed nothing. Blue was probably hysterical and Rus couldn’t blame him, his own stupidity got him into trouble again, and Edge—

He didn’t want to think about Edge, not right now.

His mind refused to be blank, kept flittering about and Rus latched on to one of the questions lingering inside his skull, pointless and perfect for this moment. He held his own glass in both hands, the cool crystal slowly warming between them. “why was blaze so interested in golden flower tea?”

“that’s need to know, kid.” Red didn’t open his sockets as he took a sip from his glass.

“yeah, well, i need to know,” Rus said stubbornly. “you used me as bait, so tell me. why was he willing to let everything go over some stupid flowers?”

Those closed sockets slit open, the barest gleam of crimson gazing out at him. “heh. you think i owe you somethin’, flower shop?” Rus said nothing, afraid of agreeing, and Red’s sharp grin widened. “learnin’ how to be careful of those debts, huh. good for you.” He shifted in his seat, loosening his tie as he sighed. “but you got a point. okay, flower shop, here's the deal. see, most monsters and humans get a little relaxed with it, s’all. probably a strong cup of chamomile’d have the same affect.”

“unless ya have lv. golden flower tea is pretty damn useful for monsters with lv.” That sharp smile twisted unpleasantly. “sweet thing like you don’t know what it’s like carryin’ around a lump of charcoal in your chest. feel it burnin’ ya from the inside out…”

For once, Red looked away from Rus first, stared pensively into the dark depths of his glass. “that tea helps, a fucking lot. only once we came to the surface it was hard to find. don’t grow easy around here, not without help.” Red tossed back the rest of his glass and poured another, whiskey slopping out around the lip, spattering the little bar. When he offered the bottle to Rus, he accepted it, pouring more into his own glass. “ain’t had any in ages. not ’til you turned up, flower shop, you and your brother.” He chuckled roughly and shook his head. “mother angel’s mercy, fuckin’ florists of all things.”

“i didn’t know,” Rus admitted, and now that he did, he wasn’t sure if he regretted asking.

Red shrugged. “that ain’t no surprise, you ain’t got any lv and your bro don’t have enough to make any difference.”

That idle statement made Rus jerk, spilling whiskey down the front of his shirt. “my brother has lv?” His voice seemed too small, confined in that backseat.

Red paused and a brief, bothered expression flitted across his face before it smoothed again. “like i said, not enough to make any difference.” He finished off the last of his glass, the silence filled with only the hum of the engine and the tires against the road. “anyway, that’s enough explanations for you. ya did me a favor helpin’ me get a lead on that old flame burnin’ up my ass. think i might owe ya a little extra for a rough time. so tell me, whaddya want?”

Outside the tinted windows, the real world blurred past them. The really real world, where the worst thing that ever happened was a rude barista might mess up your order or a Human might call an insult from the other side of the road, and Rus never hesitated. “i want to go home. i don’t belong in all this.”

“eh, that’s already on the table.” Red crushed out the stub of his current cigar and lit another, the burning smell from the match nearly making Rus heave. “what else you got?”

“that you leave my brother alone!”

Red exhaled a cloud of foul smoke and shook his head, “that’s ‘tween me and him. care for a third try before ya strike out?”

His empty glass thudded to the carpeted floor as Rus buried his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He should let it go, drop the pretense of ever balancing the sheet between them. He’d be back home soon, back to the shop and the normalcy, nothing but bouquets and daydreams, oh, the daydreams. There was one thing yet that he wanted with self-destructive desperation, and the words came out barely muffled by his bony fingers, clear and stark. “i want one night, with him. with your brother. no strings attached.”

“you think i can get you that, huh? well, honey, you hit the jackpot.” Through his fingers, he could see Red’s eye lights glittering, the deep, burning crimson of a devil or maybe a djinn from the stories Blue read to him as a child. Looking at them sent a shiver down Rus’s spine like a sin even as Red spoke, his voice rough and amused as he offered a single word.

“done.”

tbc

[libsterslobsters]

Friends

Summary: Even after the battle with Thanos, The Winter Soldier's reputation still proceeds him (much to the chagrin of Bucky Barnes), which has a habit of making things more complicated than they need to be. That, on to of the fact that there’s certain question he and the Reader still haven't brought up (most importantly, why did she wait those five years he was gone), equals trouble, and poor Sam doesn't know what hit him.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Super-soldier Reader (Reader can see bits of the future in visions as well as understand every language)

Warnings: angst, smut, fluff, insecure Bucky, Sam doesn't deserve any of this, IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN, DON'T INTERACT!!!

‐------------------------------------------

 The day starts off normally enough. He and Sam are in the training room sparring while she practices her skills with the throwing knives on the opposite side. Bucky’s so involved with his task (Sam may not be enhanced per se, but dammit, he can move fast) that he doesn’t notice that he’s being watched until the sound of someone clearing their throat reaches his ears. On instinct, his head turns towards the noise and that’s when he sees the intruder. A man with an eye patch who looks vaguely familiar.

 “Wilson, Barnes, New Girl-” Sam’s head snaps up and as her final knife sticks in the wall, she studies the man in the eye patch as well. “-get your asses up to the situation room. Meeting in five.” With no further explanation for his presence, the man slips out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

 “Who the hell was that?” He says it more to himself than to the others, but Sam still shoots him a questioning look as they start in the direction of the elevator.

 “You mean you don’t know?” He almost shoots back that he wouldn’t be asking if he did, now would he, but before he can, she falls into step next to him, taking his hand.

 “That’s Nick Fury, Buck. Director of SHIELD back before it went up in flames.”

 “Oh, shit.” Well that certainly explains the vague recollection. Now that he knows who the man is, the whole picture is coming into focus. He remembers him. “I tried to kill him once.”

 Sam doesn’t bother to hide his snicker as they climb into the elevator and it begins to ascend.

 “It was a long time ago. I’m sure he’s gotten over it.” Despite her attempt at reassuring him, Bucky’s fairly certain Nick Fury is the type to hold a grudge.

 That theory is confirmed as soon as they step foot in the situation room and he’s instructed to take a seat against the back wall while the others are offered chairs in front of Fury’s desk. It’s also not lost on him that, no matter how far the former director paces, he always keeps Bucky in his eyeline. So much for bygones being bygones.

 “The president is going on a diplomatic mission and his head of security has requested that we lend him a protection detail.”

 “What’s the location?” Sam’s question is met with a frown.

 “That’s on a need-to-know basis. Everyone who’s involved will find out once you’re in the air.”

 “Still-” Sam tries again. “-we’re not bodyguards for hire. No world leader, no matter what country he’s from, warrants a protection unit consisting of three Avengers.”

 That lone good eye settles on Bucky once more, and he can guess what’s coming next.

 “Not three Avengers. Just two. Falcon and Soothsayer. The Winter Soldier is not required on this particular mission.”

 “Why?” This time, she’s the one speaking up.

 “Why what?”

 “Why Sam and me, not Bucky? Usually Falcon and Winter Soldier are the go-to task force.” He really wishes she hadn’t asked that. There’s no way the answer will make any of them happy.

 “Apart from the fact that you can see the future and speak every language flawlessly upon hearing it as well as having super soldier capabilities-” Here it comes. “-the president’s head of security felt that Sergeant Barnes is too volatile to act as an asset in this instance.”

 “Bullshit. Barnes is a seasoned combat veteran who’s received special training that allows him to operate seamlessly under any set of circumstances. I’m more likely to lose my shit than he is.” If only he were sitting closer, he could take her hand, try to silently communicate that he’s okay, this is just part of having his particular past, she doesn’t have to go to war for him.

 Fury crosses his arms, glaring at her. “I don’t know how much plainer I can make it. Your boyfriend’s services are not required. End of story.”

 “And if I choose not to accept this mission?” Sam shoots him a look that clearly says, “Is she really arguing with Nick Fury?” Bucky’s torn between being astounded himself and trying not to laugh at how shocked Fury looks.

 “If you chose to disobey direct orders, then you are no longer an Avenger.” He can sense where this is going to go, so before she has a chance to straight up quit, he stands.

 “Will that be all, Director Fury?” That definitely just put him on the shit list, or at least further down it.

 “That will be all. You’re dismissed.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She’s seething the whole drive home, and it shows. While usually Barnes is the one to drive (her guess is it’s a throwback to his youth when the gentlemanly thing to do was for the man to drive, one that he hasn’t even realized he’s doing), it’s rush hour, and he’s still getting used to modern New York traffic, so this time she’s behind the wheel. Normal highway offenses that wouldn’t ruffle her feathers are met with gritted teeth, and situations that would make her frustrated on a good day result in curses and the middle finger. And why not? Since the world at large is showing it’s ass, she’ll join in and show hers too.

 By the time they arrived home, her stormy mood has turned into a varitable hurricane, and she slams the apartment door instead of closing it.

 “Alright, that’s enough.” Bucky’s voice is measured, but she still bristles. “Doll, what’s gotten into you?”

 Her gut instinct is to reply with something seething, but a look at his face puts that to rest. He’s wearing a slight frown, those eyes wide with concern. At the same time, her anger fizzles and is replaced by a deep sadness.

 “I hate how Fury treated you.” Her voice is brittle, breaking off at the end. As much as she’s sick of  how the world views her Winter Soldier, she knows it affects him tenfold. When the world at large looks at the man standing in her kitchen, gazing at her with so much love and sympathy, they see a monster. Maybe it’s ignorance. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to see past the deeds HYDRA forced him to carry out. But it breaks her heart to know that this gentle, loyal to a fault, brilliant, hilarious hero is still regarded by those in power as some sort of heartless psychopath.

 Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead just collecting her into his arms and holding her close in response. Despite her best efforts to keep the tears at bay, a few leak out, and she knows he can feel them through his worn shirt. It’s ridiculous. He’s the one being scorned and she’s crying. Well, there’s something she can still do about this.

 “I’m not going to accept the mission.” She feels more than hears him sigh.

 “Doll, you know you can’t do that. They’ll kick you out of the Avengers.”

 “I don’t care.” Her words are reckless, she realizes that, but in the moment, she means them. “I won’t be part of a team where you’re not treated like a valuable player. Fuck the Avengers. I don’t want it if-”

 “It’s not about what you want though, is it?” She leans back to see his face, trying to read his meaning. Bucky chuckles wearily. “Sweetheart, you didn’t join the Avengers because you wanted something out of it. You did it because the world is a dangerous place, and we can make it safer. Together.” He gives her side a gentle squeeze. “This team is bigger than one person, and what we do is more important than a few jerks holding grudges.”

 She knows he’s right, but still…

 “It should be you on that protection detail. Not me.” She doesn’t doubt her capabilities, and in some ways she understands why her skllset would be deemed valuable for this mission. However, when it comes down to it, Barnes is the better option. He’s stronger than her, has years of experience, and was trained as a soldier. Protecting a target while remaining unseen is his bread and butter. By comparison, she’s a clumsy second.

 “Maybe.” He nods. “But to be honest, I don’t mind sitting this one out. A mission in close quarters with Sam for days on end, sitting through endless boring meetings?” Bucky feigns a shudder, which makes her snicker. “No thanks. You can have that.”

 “So you’re not disappointed?” She decides to pepper in some humor to lighten the mood. “Not missing out on every boy scout’s dream of meeting the president?”

 He narrows his eyes at her, but the twitch of his lips gives it away. “Did you just call me a boy scout?”

 Holding his gaze, she nods solumnly. “If the shoe fits.”

 They stay like that for a few moments, eyes locked, waiting to see which one will crack first. Finally, with a shrug, he tells her, “I don’t even know who the president is nowadays-” and she gives into the giggles.

 “Yeah, yeah. You’d better go pack your bags, solnyshka. Wheels are up in two hours.”

 Still chuckling softly, she squeezes his hand. “Love you, Buck.”

 “Love you too, Doll.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 On the first full day he’s alone, Bucky keeps to his usual schedule. His alarm goes off at five thirty, and after realizing that the other side of the bed is cold (which jogs his memory), he gets up and bleerily makes his way to the kitchen. Normally the time spent waiting for the coffee to perk would be spent making jokes about the inevitable knots and tangles both of them would be sporting after a night of deep sleep, but instead, it’d dead silent, and he reads the news instead of joking around with his girl.

 Their apartment isn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but without her there to make the familiar noises of getting ready for the day ahead, it feels huge and empty. Eerily so. Shaking his head, Bucky finishes dressing and grabs his keys. There’s no real point in going to the Avengers complex since Sam won’t be there, but it feels wrong somehow to hang around his home without her here.

 Rhodey doesn’t bother to hide his surprise when he catches sight of him, but doesn’t say anything other than to tell him to check his inbox for a requisition form which should cover the cost of new ammo. As it turns out, when you have absolutely nothing else to concentrate on other than the task at hand, doing paperwork goes much faster. By twelve o’clock, Bucky’s finished all three field reports that are due and filled out a good month’s worth of backlogged forms. So, after lunch (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because she’s not around to meet up with at a diner for a quick bite before they both have to return to work), he heads to the training room.

 It takes all of two hours for him to thoroughly exhaust every workout option, and no one is available to spar with him. Unfortunately, he’s still left with two more hours to fill before he can justify leaving, so he does something he’s never done before: cleans his desk. Technically, it’s only been two months since he started the “day job” part of being an Avenger, but my god. You’d think it had been two years since this desk saw the business end of a duster. He draws out the task until the clock reads five in the afternoon and then, a trash bag full of odd papers and food wrappers in hand, heads out to the parking lot.

 Dinner is a silent affair. If she were here, he’d put his phone on silent while they worked together, preparing the evening meal, but tonight he watches Youtube video after Youtube video in an attempt to keep himself occupied. Finally, at nine o’clock, he crawls into bed. He’s  nowhere near asleep when, an hour and a half later, his phone dings with a text. It’s her.

 “Hey, you. Hope you didn’t miss me too much today.” A smile spreads over his face as he reads the teasing message, and he rapidly types back.

 “Nope. Barely realized you were gone.”

 “Good, ‘cause I definitely don’t miss you stealing the covers.” He snickers.

 “Yeah, and I had so much hot water for my shower this morning I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

 There’s a short pause, then-

 “Sorry. Got distracted picturing you in the shower.” She’s perfect. She really is.

 “Don’t worry about it. I was busy thinking about you in bed next to me.”

 “Dammit, Barnes. Here I was trying to be sexy, and you said something sweet.”

 They text back and forth for a few more minutes, during which she tells him that she can’t call because the hotel room is possibly bugged, and then finally, after exchanging “I love you’s” say goodnight.

 The second day is a little different. For the first time since his time in the Army, Bucky ignores his alarm. His body wakes him up at seven a.m., and instead of making his own coffee, he stops at the gas station around the corner to pick up a cup. He’s already made up his mind that he’s not going into work today (he’s caught up for the next two weeks at least), so instead, he just drives. Explores the open roads with no map and nowhere to be. Going where the highway takes him. That is, until he gets lost.

 He has a GPS on his phone (wonders of modern technology), but on a whim, he decides to check the map in his glove compartment. If he started in Brooklyn, and the last town was… yeah, he’s in New Jersey. Well, that was a fun road trip. Time to head back home.

 It’s a grand total of five hours later when he arrives back at his apartment, which means he still has nineish hours to kill before he can go to sleep. Alright, he needs another task, fast. As he makes himself a sandwich for lunch, he catches sight of the broom and dustpan. Cleaning. He can clean the apartment.

 Dusting, vaccuuming, mopping, doing dishes, and washing all of the clothes that, between him and his fiancee, they own, takes five hours. It would’ve been less, but he went over things three times to kill more time. There’s no real reason to cook, it’s just him, but because he’s trying to keep himself occupied, he attempts to make a quiche. Three dozen eggs later, he thinks he’s figured it out.

 The goodnight text comes at nine o’clock, but it’s short. “Hey. Can’t talk. Target is still active.” (he assumes she means the president). “Just wanted to check in. Love you.”

 He types a quick reply, then rolls over and starts to count ceiling tiles in an attempt to wear himself out.

 On the third day, Bucky doesn’t get out of bed until ten a.m. Not because he’s sleeping. Oh, no. Because there’s nothing else to do except scroll through news articles and watch videos of dogs getting scared by their own hiccups. He finally convinces himself to get up, but after much consideration, decides against putting on pants. It’s just him. There’s no one else around. Come to think of it, he might as well drink his coffee straight out of the pot. Again, no one else around. He draws the line at eating cereal straight out of the box, but that’s mostly because it requires milk.

 After eating, he settles in on the sofa and decides to take advantage of the seemingly endless supply of movies and television shows readily available at the click of a button. Leave It To Beaver attracts his attention because it’s in black and white. Made in the late 1950s. Okay, he’ll give it a go.

 Three seasons later, his phone dings and he realizes that it’s seven p.m. So that’s what people mean by “binge watching.” It’s a text (big shocker), but this time, he almost drops his phone as he reads. “The mission’s over. We’re heading out tonight. We should touch down tomorrow morning at seven a.m.”  Yes!

 “Alright. I’ll be there.” That’s not enough. “Looking forward to having you back, Doll.”

 It’s quiet for a few minutes, then-

 “So you’re not missing the bachelor life?”

 He snorts. Hell no. “I think 100 years of bachelorhood is enough.”

 That night, for the first time since she left, he sleeps well.

 When his alarm goes off, Bucky’s already been up for half an hour, changing the sheets on the bed, checking to makes sure he put all of the laundry away in the right drawers, and making a note of any foodstuffs they’re out of.  He takes more time showering and shaving than usual along with paying far more attention to which shirt he puts on. Part of him feels a little ridiculous, but it’s quickly overwhelmed by excitement. His girl’s coming home today! Before he climbs in his car, he brews a pot of her favorite tea and pours it into a thermos, adding sugar and milk to her specifications. Goodness knows she’s probably had  enough of doing without over the past four mornings.

 He’s expecting the quinjet to arrive a little later than predicted. He’s even expecting the other agents to disembark first. What he’s not expecting is, when he finally sees her, for her to be laughing at something Sam has said. If anything, he was expecting his partner to have gotten on her nerves. This is good. The three of them have had to work together a few times in the past months since the blip was undone. It’s good that they’re getting along. Bucky nods to himself. It’s healthy really, especially since they work in high-stress situations.

 As soon as he steps out of his car, he can make out their conversation.  

 “I can’t believe you made me listen to Elton John!” Sam’s shaking his head, but he’s smiling.

 She elbows him. “Hey, you ended up singing along, didn’t you? And you have to admit, the song’s catchy.”

 “Not when you sing it, it’s not. You have to be the most tone-deaf person on the face of this planet.”

 Whoa! Where the hell does Sam get off saying that to her? It’s true, but still. He’s about to intervene, tell him to go to hell, but she just shrugs.

 “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

 Sam whistles. “Remind me to make sure you’re on the opposite team next karaoke night.”

 Wait, there’s karaoke nights? He’s never been invited. Not that he’d want to go, but-

 “Yeah, because you know the only way you’d ever have a chance at winning is to go against me.”

 Something about that playful smile, the one he’s only ever seen before directed at him (usually when she’s teasing him about being an old man… god, she’s so young, what’s she doing with him anyway) irks him, and ultimately that’s what makes him step forward and interrupt the banter.

 “Good mission?” Okay, his mind’s definitely playing tricks on him. Her eyes light up and, completely abandoning Sam, she takes off at a run towards him. Bucky’s prepared for it and immediately pulls her into a tight embrace as soon as she’s near enough.

 “God, I missed you.” Yeah, it was all his imagination. Her lips press against his in punctuation to her statement, and by the time they break apart, he’s out of breath.

 “I missed you too, Doll, but the question still stands.”

 “Yes, it was good. Pretty boring for the most part, but…” He really should be paying attention, but his gaze shifts towards Sam. Is he crazy, or is Sam… watching her? That’s to be expected. They did just spend seventy-two odd hours in close quarters. It’s probably a remnant from the mission. Right?

 “...and between you and me-” She leans closer, body pressing against his side, and that redirects his attention. “-the president is kind of a dick.”

 She says it quietly, but Sam must’ve heard, because he nods.

 “Welcome to protecting world leaders.” Their eyes lock for a moment, and Bucky nods.

 “Wilson.”

 “Barnes.” And, Sam’s back to looking at her. “Gotta say, your girl’s more fun on stakeouts than you. Knows how to keep things interesting.” What the hell does that mean? He needs to calm down. He trusts her implicitly. It’s an innocent comment.

 “I could’ve told you that.” Of course she’s more interesting. When Bucky’s on a mission, he’s only interested in getting in and out as quickly and effectively as possible. That’s what he did as The Winter Soldier, and the years of sticking to a strict protocal haven’t made him more chatty. She and Sam are from the same generation. They have things to talk about. Things in common. Shared life experiences. Oh god, he’s so very much older than she is. Old and boring. 

 “Yeah.” Sam chuckles. “I think next time, I’m gonna ask if I can have her instead of you.”

 If he was paying closer attention to the woman by his side, Bucky would’ve caught the slight frown on her face at Sam’s words, but it’s lost on him thanks to her reply.

 “No thanks. If  I never have to share a hotel room with you again, it’ll be too soon.” Wait… they shared a hotel room? That’s common, but… one hotel room. Shared. That means one bathroom. One shower. One bed. Jesus, he needs to get ahold of himself. It’s fine. Everything is-

 “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at the debrief?”

 She nods, smiling brightly. “Sure thing.”

 Sam approaches and… oh boy… they share a quick hug.

 Bucky’s not sure how long he’s just standing there, ordering the voices in his head to shut up, but it must be longer than necessary, because next thing he’s aware of is her calling his name.

 “Yeah.”

 “You okay there, Buck?” She peers up at him, frowning. “You seem a little… off.”

 “Fine.” Clearing his throat, he interlocks his fingers with hers. “Let’s go home.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 It’s been bubbling underneath the surface for a while now. Ever since she returned home from the mission a week ago, really. Something about Barnes is… off. She’s not sure what, but he seems quieter somehow. More solemn.

 At first she thought he was hanging back, giving her a chance to readjust to life at home. That’s why she didn’t pay much attention when, on the first day, he stayed mostly silent, letting her carry the conversation. She took that time to fill him in on the highs and lows of the mission, the funny moments, the frightening ones, and everything in between. His response was pretty muted, but she brushed it off.

 The next day was the debrief. Despite not being involved in the mission, Bucky was called in. She chalked up the stiffness in his posture during the meeting to discomfort at being in the same room with Fury again. That is, until it was just him, her, and Sam, and if anything, Bucky seemed more sullen.

 She returned to teaching on the third day, so her mind was occupied with other things besides the man she loves for the majority of the day. He seemed more his normal self when she arrived home, and the evening was going pretty well until they settled in to watch television and she made an off-handed comment about how he really must’ve enjoyed Leave it to Beaver. His response was a sigh and the words, “It’s more in my age bracket, I guess.” After that, he was completely shut down, and she was torn between apologizing and asking him what the hell is going on.

 On day four, she wakes up with new determination. She’s going to fix this, whatever it is. Maybe he’s feeling left out since she went on a mission with his partner. Well, she has a simple solution to that. She’ll invite Sam over for dinner so that they can have some time to catch up. After all, with Steve all but out of the picture, Sam’s the closest thing to a friend Bucky’s got. And, since tomorrow is a Friday, it’ll work out perfectly. She expects an at least mildly positive response when she mentions the idea to Bucky, but instead, his lips quirk down slightly before he hides any and all emotions away and tells her,

 “Okay. If that’s what you want to do.”

 At least Sam’s a little more enthusiastic.

 “Sure. I’ll do anything to avoid cooking.”

 The day of the dinner, she makes a point to leave work as soon as her last class is dismissed. No student meetings. No talking to colleagues. She’s a woman on a mission. That mission takes her to three separate grocery stores, a bakery, and a liquor store. By the time she arrives home, she has all the ingredients for a traditional Sunday roast, a Boston cream pie, and a bottle of wine she was told would pair well with the meal.

 As per usual on her days to cook, when Bucky arrives home, he asks if he can help with any of the preparations. She cheerfully informs him that she’s got it covered, and from his expression, you’d think she’d told him to go jump off a bridge. She thinks about calling him back, but that’s when a pot decides to boil over, so she’s momentarily distracted.

 At six o’clock, there’s a knock on the door. Right on time.

 “Can you get that?” She calls from the kitchen to where he’s sitting in the living room. It’s unnervingly quiet for a moment, then-

 “Sure.” It’s said with all the excitement of someone agreeing to a root canal.

 Her gut tells her to leave the kitchen, go and oversee the hospitality in the other room, but she forces herself to stay in place, give them some time to get reacquainted.

 “Nice play you’ve got here.” Sam.

 “Thanks.”

 “Didn’t realize it was in the same building as Steve’s.” Oh no. She doesn’t have to be able to see  Bucky’s expression to know he’s taken a hit.

 “Yeah.”

 “Is that his old couch? I remember crashing on it a few times.”  

 “Same one.” 

 Well, this is thrilling. Shaking her head, she removes the cork from the wine, allowing it to breathe and makes her way towards the living room.

 “You okay, man? Seems like something’s eating you.”

 “Fine.” So it’s not just her imagination.

 “Hey, guys-” Two sets of eyes lock on her. Sam looks relieved. Bucky looks… sad? No, she’s reading this wrong. “-soup’s on.”

 Dinner is… awkward. Sam cracks jokes and tells old battle stories. She laughs at the appropriate times and asks polite questions, but the whole time, her attention is on Bucky. He’s not one to participate in idle chatter (at least not when it involves anyone outside of the two of them), but tonight he’s dead silent. At one point, Sam asks him a question, and the only reply is a glare and a sharp, “No.” She resists the urge to kick him under the table, instead focusing her frustrations into being cheery enough for both of them.

 The clock strikes eight, and although she wasn’t expecting Sam to leave this soon, she can’t blame him for making an excuse about having an early morning meeting at the V.A. to get out of there.

"That is, unless you could use some help with the cleanup?”

 She’s already prepared to brush it off, he’s a guest, they can handle it, but before she can speak-

 “No. I’ve got it covered.” It would be a less threatening sentiment if Barnes wasn’t standing directly in the kitchen door frame, blocking the room from view, arms crossed over his chest, frowning menacingly.

 “Right.” Sam nods and, muttering something about seeing them at work, sees himself out.

 As soon as the door closes, she collects their plates and, not bothering with a warning, pushes past her fiance into the kitchen. She’s hoping that the literal cold shoulder will serve as a warning for him to stay back, don’t fuck with her right now, but of course, her luck couldn’t work out just this one time because not thirty seconds later, he’s beside her, scraping plates in preparation for washing. Fine. If he insists on ignoring all the signs that point to “Do not disturb”, she’ll go ahead and get into it.

 “You didn’t have to be so rude to Sam tonight.” He freezes, hands gripping the ceramic bowl he’s emptying into the trashcan so tightly that she’s afraid it’ll shatter.

 “I wasn’t rude. I was quiet.” The bowl slams down on the counter top next to her, and if she weren’t so pissed off, she’d jump, startled. “There’s a difference.”

 “Not speaking when spoken to, answering with one-word statements?” Shaking her head, she turns on the tap. “That’s rude. Not quiet.”

 Another slam, this time of a wine glass. “Didn’t seem like the conversation suffered.”

 She opens her mouth, fully intent on calmly pointing out that friends talk to each other, that’s what they do, but instead what comes out is,

 “What the hell is wrong with you?” His jaw tenses, and she considers apologizing, but decides to stand her ground. He’s had this coming to him all damn week.

 “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me. Except that I’m not Sam.”

 She turns to face him, confused. “What does that even mean?”

 Not so much as pausing as he scrapes the remnants of dinner off of a plate, he nearly growls, “You go away on a mission, and when you come back-” The fork clatters as it’s tossed into the sink. “-he’s your new best friend.”

 “What’s wrong with that?” She refuses to let his gruffness ruffle her, instead allowing her own voice to turn hard. “Am I not supposed to have friends?”

 “That’s not what I’m saying-”

 “Then what is it?” She’s rapidly losing patience with the entire situation.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head, returning to the sink. “Forget I said anything. Clearly my opinion isn’t needed since now you can talk to your good pal Sam.”

 Her mouth falls open, forming a perfect “o”, but she immediately snaps it shut. Fine. If he wants to go down that road…

 “You know what? You’re right.” She nods. “I do like talking to Sam.” His shoulders tense, but she continues. “It turns out we have a lot in common. You should try it sometime instead of shutting down anything that might lead to you actually liking the man!”

 “Well if you like him so much, then why are you even with me?” The words are practically hurled at her and she blinks in surprise. She’s never heard this much anger in his voice, not directed at her. So much anger and… dejection?

 “Is that what all of this is about?” She says it more to herself than him, but Bucky gives her a tight nod.

 “You said so yourself; you two have a lot in common-”

 “So do we-”

 “-And he’s closer to your age.”

 She rolls her eyes. “If I wanted someone closer to my age, do you think I would’ve spent the five years you were gone on my own?”

 “Why did you?” The trashcan lid slams shut and another fork is thrown into the sink. “For all you knew, I wasn’t coming back.” His eyes rake over her, and she has the urge to cross her arms, covering herself. “You’re a beautiful woman. Smart too. Even with half the population gone, you can’t tell me there wasn’t anyone interested. Why didn’t you start over?”

 “I couldn’t.” She expects her voice to shake, but it comes out deceptively strong.

 “Sure you could. Why didn’t you-”

 “Because I love you, okay?” Tears prick at her eyes even as she shouts the words, and she has to stare into the sink to keep him from seeing. “I love you. In  case you hadn’t realized it, I’m a one-and-done type. For me, it’s you. There’s only ever going to be you. I’m yours.”

 “Doll-”

 “What do you want from me, Bucky? Do I have to get on my knees to prove it to you? Because I’ll do it.” The tears are truly flowing now. She doesn’t have much time. So, with the last bit of bitterness she has in reserves, she mutters, “I can’t keep having this conversation for the rest of my life.”

 “And you shouldn’t have to.” The words take her by surprise, and she looks up. He’s peering at her, brow knitted, but this time, it’s not in anger. “Doll, you haven’t done anything wrong. I know that, just-” He groans, forcing his fingers through his hair. “-I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, ‘cause that’s how it’s always been. You don’t deserve that.”

 “I don’t.” She shakes her head, eyes still locked with his. “But you don’t deserve to live like that either. So what can we do to fix it?”

 For a few seconds it’s silent, the kind of silent you can feel pressing against you, strangling you, forcing the breath from your lungs. Then-

 “I don’t know, just-” Bucky sighs, and she pretends not to see the shine of tears in his eyes as well. “-can you keep reminding me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but just until I can get it through my thick skull-”

 It’s involuntary. Her mind has no control over her body as, without any warning, she grabs hold of his collar and, yanking hard, pulls him down for a kiss. As his arms envelope her, pulling her flush against his body, close enough that she can feel his heartbeat hammering against her chest, everything’s right for the first time in days.

 “I can do that.” She murmurs it against his ear, breath catching in her throat as his lips leave a trail of kisses across her jaw, leading down to her neck. “For as long as you need me to.”

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

 “I’m sorry.” It’s never an easy sentence to utter, to admit you were wrong, that you’re the one at fault. “I’m sorry.” In Bucky’s experience, most times he utters those words, it feels like he’s slapping a band-aid on a bullet wound. Most of the things he’s done are so bad, it doesn’t matter if he regrets them. There’s no absolution available. Especially this time. Especially now that he’s hurt her. But what else can he say? He truly is.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “You keep saying that.” They’re in bed now, lying side by side, his head buried in the cushion of her chest. Her hands are trailing up and down his uncovered back, tracing lazy patterns between gently kneading the tension of the past few days out of his muscles. For his part, all he can do is breath her in, her scent, her presence. That and repeat the same damn words over and over like a prayer.

 “And I’m going to keep telling you the same thing. It’s alright. It’s over. I love you.” He’d be happy just to drown in those reassurances, let them wash over him until it’s all he can remember. But that’s not realistic. Eventually he’ll have to get up, and when that happens, the next step will be making amends. He may not be a man who believes in the power of an apology, not after all he’s seen, but he’s wise enough to know that words need to be backed up with actions, and the sooner the better.

 He hates himself for moving, for interrupting such a peaceful moment, but he needs to get a start on repairing any damage that’s been done. Leaning back just enough to see her, he peers into her eyes, partially hidden between lowered lids.

 “Let me show you, then.” It takes a minute, but he can tell when she registers what he’s asking.

 “There’s nothing to prove, but I’ll never say no.”

 It’s nothing they haven’t done a thousand times before. He lifts the shirt from her body and eases her back against the mattress, those trusting eyes not straying from his face, and he can’t help but think to himself that he’s the only one who gets to see her like this. Exposed. Vulnerable. Whether he deserves it or not (he’s unsure if he’ll ever believe he does), he’s the one who gets to kiss her lips, feel them move against his, until, both of them breathless, he pulls away, leaving them a debauched red.

 From their years together, he knows that just below her earlobe is a hot spot; if he so much as brushes it with his tongue or allows his breath to tease over it, she’ll gasp, body growing more pliant beneath him. That, as he works his way lower, she likes the feeling of his hand over her throat, not applying pressure, just resting there, reminding her that she’s held. He’s caught her studying her reflection in the mirror, fingers lightly tracing over the marks he’s left in the hollow between her breasts, a small, secretive smile on her lips. Tomorrow, she’ll do it again.

 He knows, after removing the thin cotton panties from her lower half and settling between her legs, how to take her apart, piece by piece. Her hands grasp his hair, much shorter now than the first time they did this, as he teases her nub with his tongue, just enough to hear her soft moan before starting in earnest. He’s the only one to know exactly how much she can take, how rough he can be, or how teasing, before she’s absolutely desperate, but tonight, he doesn’t put that knowledge to good use, instead focusing on what will tip her over the edge most effectively.

 They’ve both got a hell of a lot of endurance, so this could go on for hours, but he knows after the first orgasm, she prefers for him to get on with it, get inside of her, and usually by that point, he’s beyond jokes or teasing her about being an eager little thing. Tonight’s no exception, although he takes special care to prepare her, working one, then two, then three fingers into her, immediately finding the spot inside of her that makes her breath catch in her throat. It’s only after he’s satisfied that she’s ready, that there will be no pain, that he tears open the packet from the nightstand drawer and, now covered, presses against her entrance.

 He’s the only one who knows that, as soon as her legs are locked around his waist, heels digging into his ass, she’s ready for him to pick up the pace, use the leverage of his resting on either side of her head, boxing her head, to rock against her faster. If he presses his face against her shoulder, he can hear each intake of breath, feel her pulse thundering away. If he lowers his forehead to hers, he can look into her eyes. Tonight, he chooses to take advantage of their position to place kisses on her nose, forehead, cheeks, really any part of her face he feels like pecking.

 It’s as often her on top, and god, that’s probably his favorite view in the world, but this time, he wants to be the one in control, taking care of her. Reaching between them, he urges her over the edge a second time, her nails digging into his shoulders providing just a tinge of pain that’s almost enough for him to lose it, but no, not yet. He wants her to cum one more time before he finishes.

 It doesn’t take long. She’s so sensitive at this point that, only minutes later, he feels her contract around him with a tale-tell moan, and that’s what sends him over, muffling his own moan against her sweaty neck.

 Before, he would resist the urge to just colapse on top of her, or at the very least, roll off quickly in fear that he’d crush her under his weight. Now that her status as a super soldier matches his own, he can relax, enjoy the feeling of her chest rising and falling against his, and moments later, her arms encircling his back.

 “I love you, Doll.” So much. Before it all, before the war and HYDRA and everything that followed, he was good with words, quick with sweet talk, but now, they seem to stick in his throat. Still, that’s what it all boils down to. He loves her, and as much as she claims that she’s his, he belongs just as much to her.

 “I love you, Bucky. Always.”

[huilian]

Character: Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Summary:  One person's hobby can quickly be the entire family's business, especially with a family like this (aka, Cass's adventures with ballet featuring her relationship with her siblings and Steph)

***

It’s rare that Cass would willingly sit in front of a laptop for an extended period of time for something that is not a case. It’s even rarer that her schedule would coincide with Tim’s enough to allow them to be sitting in front of their laptops together. (Well, separately, but in the same room at the same time. So, close enough to being together.)

It’s only because Tim has been expecting it for a few minutes now that the sound of a laptop being slammed closed doesn’t startle him. Tim looks up to find Cass putting her head into her hands while saying, “Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This… this damned website!” Cass all but shouts. “How am I supposed to know which shoes fit me best if I haven’t worn them ever? I’m reading your website to figure that out!”

“Umm… Cass?” Tim is now confused. Very confused. “Can you backtrack a little? What shoes?”

“Ballet shoes!”

“I thought you have them already? What shoes have you been wearing to class then?” Cass has been taking dance classes for months now. She must have ballet shoes, there’s little to no chance of her doing all those classes barefooted. Tim knows that ballet requires special shoes, which is about 50% of his current knowledge about ballet.

“Not those shoes. These are the… the… the pointe shoes!”

Tim is now even more confused. “So? There you go. The shoes you’re looking for are those pointe shoes.”

“No! There’re different kinds of them!”

“Huh?”

“Different brands and models and years and… and the endless modifications!”

“Okay.” Tim raises his hands placatingly. This sounds like an information problem, which he can help with. “Can I maybe, you know, look at the website? Maybe I can help?”

Cass slides her laptop to Tim. Tim closes his own laptop, then opens Cass’. Fifteen tabs greet him from the screens of Cass’s laptop. Tim sees that this is not the only window opened, and is then greeted with another three windows, each having tabs ranging from ten to thirty. Huh. It’s usually Tim who has that problem, opening too many tabs and windows and finding himself trapped in an information hellhole before he looks up to find that he has spent the entire day reading about the probabilities of oak tree getting struck by lightning.

Thankfully, that same thing has prepared Tim for this day. He quickly skims about every other tab. About a quarter of them is measuring tips, half of them are blogs with fitting and choosing tips, some are lists of pros and cons, and the rest are catalogs.

“Are all of these for choosing pointe shoes, Cass?”

“Yes,” Cass grits out.

“I… I never knew there are so many brands of pointe shoes.”

“Exactly! How am I supposed to choose if there’s so many of them!”

Tim, armed with his years of experience of sorting through bullshit on the internet, finds the most promising blog article titled ‘How To Choose Your Pointe Shoes: Guide to Getting the Best Shoes’ and starts to read.

“It says to go for a professional fitting? Maybe we should do that.” Cass makes a sound of protest. “I can start researching, but it’ll take ages and I’m not sure I’ll get it right. I’m pretty sure that poor pointe shoes fitting causes injuries, Cass. When do you need it anyway?”

Cass mumbles something. Tim, whose attention is now partially reading the section titled ‘Shank Strength’ and wondering what on earth a shank even is, doesn’t catch it at first. Then, the connecting nerves between his ears and his brain rebooted, and Tim screeches out, “Tomorrow? Yeah, no. We’re going to a professional fitting right now.”

“Ugh.”

“Cass,” Tim says, drawing out the syllable.

“Ugh.”

“Come on.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re seriously gonna make me read all of this before tomorrow? Have some mercy, Cass,” Tim teases. But seriously, he doesn’t want to have to read all of it in the short time-frame he has. He can do it, but then he’s gonna skip dinner and forgoes sleep and rest entirely and he just got Alfred to stop hounding him to go to sleep after his latest incident . He doesn’t want to have to do it again.

“You’re gonna do it anyway.” He is, but still. It’s the thought that counts. “Fine. It can’t be worse than comparing the box length of Grishko and Bloch.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

“Do you know where?”

Tim freezes. “Shit.” Now he still has to research the fitter in Gotham, and vet the places, and do all sorts of things he was hoping to not have to do by going to a fitter. Damn it.

Cass, being the absolute horrible sister that she is, just laughed at him.

“It’s your shoes, Cass! You do it!”

“No. You read about it. It’s your project now,” Cass smiles triumphantly.

“You are the worst.”

“I am the best.”

***

Jason only comes to the Manor to return Alfred’s pans, swear to god. There’s about half a dozen of Alfred’s pans (because even though it’s Bruce’s money that bought them, they are Alfred’s pans) in his latest apartment, and it’s getting ridiculous. Maybe take a book or two from the library while he’s there, because even with all of Bruce’s fault, he still keeps the library well-stocked with Jason’s favourite books.

So how come that leads to him being dragged by Cass to the Cave?

“Cass. Cass, please,” he tries.

Cass’ response is only to drag him even faster. How a girl half his size has the strength to drag him down the Cave’s stairs, Jason doesn’t know.

“Cass.”

“You said you don’t have anything else to do today. So you can do this.”

“Well, Cass, I-”

“It’ll be fun. You only have to sit. You can even read the entire time.”

“What if-”

“Alfred agrees.”

Jason sighs. “I doubt this is what he meant when he told you to go somewhere else to practice, Cass.”

“I asked him. He agrees.”

Jason sighs again. The problem is, she did ask Alfred, and Alfred did agree. Though why Cass chose to ask Alfred for permission to use Jason as a living, human barre for her ballet practice after Alfred banished her from using the kitchen countertop is a mystery. Maybe she thinks that Jason is not going to protest if Alfred said yes?

“Why me? You can have literally anyone to be your personal barre, Cass.”

“You are the right height.”

There’s nothing to say to that, is there? What’s Jason going to do, argue that he is not the right height? He doesn’t even know how high a ballet barre should be. Besides, Cass is right. Alfred already said yes, and he even went so far as expressing his delight in seeing Jason interacting with his siblings outside of their ‘nighttime activities’. So there’s that. There’s no arguing with Alfred when he had given out his verdict like that.

They arrive at the Cave, and then Cass drags Jason towards the empty space somewhere in between the sparring mats and the computer. Then, she lets Jason’s arm go, which should be enough of an opening for Jason to escape, but Jason knows what Cass can do. She’ll just catch him and drag him back. Jason accepts his fate and stays put even when Cass leaves his side to in search of a chair. Cass finds one, then drags it over, and then says, “Sit.”

Jason, who knows that this girl can easily force him to sit, sits. Cass smiles and nods her approval. She scrolls down on her phone for a while, and then music fils the Cave via the speaker system Bruce installed. Jason allows himself a small shake of the head. It’s just like Bruce to install a speaker system and then let it go to waste by preferring to brood in silence.

Cass puts her hand on Jason’s shoulder, and starts dancing. The hand is feather-light throughout her first combination, and Jason knows enough about ballet to know that this meant Cass doesn’t particularly need a barre to do the movements.

But. Well. It’s not half bad, watching his sister dance in between reading his book. That, coupled with the knowledge that Alfred is somewhere upstairs, most definitely preparing Jason’s favorite foods, made Jason relax.

“Stop moving!” Oh. Jason relaxing meant that his shoulder is now not in the same place it was before.

Jason smiles and says, “Sorry, sorry,” surprising himself that he actually meant the apology.

***

“Cass? Are you there?” Cass had promised to teach Steph a new throw today, but she’s not in the Cave, so Steph is now up in Wayne Manor, hoping she’ll find Cass in her room. “Cass? You promised to show me that throw, remember?”

Steph hears movement from inside Cass’ room, so she opens the door, considering Cass to be well and truly notified of her presence by her hollering in the hallway, only to be greeted with the sight of Cass with surgical tape and cotton balls in her hands. Steph goes to full-alert mode immediately, because anything or anyone that can get Cass to be hurt is a huge threat.

(Steph still hasn’t forgotten about Lady Shiva.)

“Cass, are you alright?” Steph says.

“I’m fine.”

“Where are you hurt? Do I need to call Alfred? Or dr. Thompkins?”

“I’m fine, Steph,” Cass’ voice is calm, but Steph has seen her take a bullet and still talks in the same calm voice as she is using now, so that is not an accurate meter to gauge Cass’ wellbeing.

“You’re holding bandages, Cass. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Watch out for the bucket.”

“Bucket? What bucket?”

“That bucket,” Cass points to her right.

“Why do you need a bucket?” Steph pauses, then the implication of a bucket in Cass’ bedroom hits her. “Are you sick as well?”

“No, it’s for my toes.”

Toes? What? “Okay, back up. Your toes?”

“Ballet.” Oh. Oh . Now that Steph is no longer worried that Cass is going to bleed out, she realizes that Cass is not putting on the tapes, but pulling it off. Oh, again. “Can you push the bucket here?”

Steph pushes the bucket, which Steph now notices is filled with ice, towards Cass with her foot. Cass puts her feet inside, groaning all the way.

“Ballet?” Steph asks. It seems weird that something so innocent can make Cassandra Cain react this extensively. But again, Steph has long learned not to underestimate anything.

“Ballet,” Cass answers.

“Is it the pointe shoes thing? I’ve read about it somewhere. That’s why I don’t want to go into ballet,” Steph says, lifting up a towel that’s next to Cass and replacing its position.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?” Steph puts her head on Cass’ shoulders, looking up a while to check whether or not this is okay.

“Yes,” Cass says, both as an answer for Steph’s question and Steph’s unspoken question.

“Can you still teach me that throw?”

“Yes. Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” They sit in silence for a while, until Steph suddenly has a thought. “Is it weird that you can take bullets without flinching, but groans at this, or is it just me?”

Cass hums. “It’s a different kind of pain. Never had it before. Not prepared for it.”

“Okay, but is it weird, or is it just me?”

“It’s weird.”

“Are you ready to teach me that throw now?”

“Sure.” Cass pulls out her feet and motions for the towel. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because of this.”

Steph hands her the towel, and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

Dick is walking down the hallways of the Manor when he hears Cass swearing from inside a bathroom. Normally, that wouldn’t be a cause of alarm, but since the only reason he’s at the Manor today is because Cass has a ballet recital and everyone is going to go watch it, Dick calls out, “Cass? Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Cass’ voice replies. “Yes! No! I don’t know!”

Okay, that warrants further investigation. “Can I come in?”

Cass makes an affirmative sound, so Dick opens the door, just in time to see Cass putting on false eyelashes in a truly dangerous fashion. As in, almost putting it straight into her eyes. Yeah, something is wrong.

Of course, the false eyelashes do not stick the way it’s supposed to, because Cass is not putting it on properly. Cass swears, again, and picks up the fallen eyelashes from the sink. Dick has seen enough.

“Do you know how to put those on?” Dick says.

“No! Why do they keep falling down? I’m doing it exactly the way they told me to!”

Dick takes a look to the false eyelashes on Cass’ hands, then to Cass’ eyes. “It’s too long for your eyelids, Cass.” Dick frowns. It has been a while since he has to handle false eyelashes. “At least, I think that’s why they keep falling down.”

Cass, who has been furiously dabbing glue to the false eyelashes, looks up to him with wide eyes. “You know how to do this?”

“I mean… I guess, yeah? My mom used to put this on for performances. She would let me help, sometimes.”

“You know how to do this!”

Dick takes a look at Cass’ hopeful face, then says, “Do you want me to do it for you?”

“ Please .”

“It’s been a while since I’ve put this on on anybody. It’s not going to be perfect.”

“ I don’t care . Just put it on.”

“Okay, then. Do you have scissors?”

Cass looks at him, and scrunchs her nose as she says, “No.”

“I’ll get one. Do you want to…,” Dick searches his memory for the times he helped his mom put on false eyelashes, “...clean the glue from the eyelashes? Too much glue will make it stick less, if I’m not wrong.”

“How come too much glue makes it stick less ?”

“I think it’ll make it stiff or something. My mom always cleans the glue off before putting it on. You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Dick says, but Cass is already picking off the dried glue from the false eyelashes.

When he returns with scissors that’s suitable enough ( not the kitchen scissors, Master Dick), Cass is already sitting down on the toilet.

“Are you still sure about this? I’m not sure I can do a good job, Cass.”

“You will not be worse than me,” Cass says, which, considering she almost poked her eye out trying to put it on, Dick is inclined to (grudgingly) agree.

“Alright. Close your eyes.”

Cass obediently closes her eyes. Dick picks up the false eyelashes from the sink and starts to measure it to Cass’ eyes.

“You did this a lot,” Cass says.

“What? Make-up?”

Cass hums. “ Stage make-up.”

“Oh. I guess, yeah, back at the circus. I didn’t have to put on false eyelashes, though.” Dick dabs on the glue to the eyelashes and starts to gently place it to Cass’ eyelids. “But everything else, yeah. Can you open your eyes?”

Cass opens her eyes, and that makes it clear that one of the ends is misplaced. Dick makes a motion for her to close her eyes again.

“Can you do the rest of my make-up too?” Cass says while Dick is pulling down the misplaced end.

Dick stops, surveys the state of Cass’ face, noting the base already on and the mostly done eye make-up, then says, “You just need some blush and lipstick, and you’re done.”

“Do it anyway.”

Dick exhales out a small laugh. “Fine, little sister. Is there anything else I can do for you, oh most talented princess?”

Cass’s response is to stick out her tongue.

“Don’t do that! You’ll make it harder for the lipstick to stay on!”

Cass opens one eye (one that’s not the one Dick is working on now, thank god) and locks eyes with Dick as she proceeds to lick her entire lip. Dick should be annoyed, but he just laughs harder.

***

Damian watches his sister dance in the exercise room. Not the practice and training space down in the Cave, but in the exercise room upstairs that Father remade to be a dance floor with floor-to-ceiling mirrors after too many incidents of pointe shoes flying in the Cave. Cassandra is truly a master of her body, and watching her do this, a very different use of her body than fighting, is mesmerizing. Damian has watched Cassandra’s dancing before, of course, the entire family went out to watch Cassandra’s recital, but that was with make-up and costume and stage-lights. This, just Cassandra with her leotard and tights in the bare room, is somehow a purer and more hypnotizing version.

It has been brought to Damian’s attention that he should do more moving sketches. Damian reviewed his drawings and concluded that that suggestion has value. He has been drawing more still-life lately, and it would be well to branch out from it. So here he is, debating whether or not to ask Cassandra to allow him to sketch her in her practice.

Damian is tempted to just start drawing, but Richard had said to ask for permission before drawing anyone after Damian had just started sketching his brother’s acrobatics practice. Before Damian can decide on anything though, Cassandra notices him and beckons him over.

“Cain,” Damian greets.

Cassandra tilts her head.

Well, now or never, Damian supposes. With her body-language reading capabilities, Cassandra might already know what Damian is there to do and is simply waiting him out. “May I sketch your dancing?”

Cassandra smiles. “Of course, little brother.” And without waiting for further clarification, she simply moves backward enough to not kick Damian with her dancing and starts where she left off. Damian, perplexed but satisfied enough not to make a fuss, sits down on the wooden floor and opens his sketchbook. He has never sketched a person dancing ballet before, and this is a welcome challenge.

As if she knows what is going on, Cassandra switches her routine, moving to a slower piece with lots of holds and balances, all without losing her graceful movements. It is infinitely easier to sketch this routine, especially with Damian never drawing ballet movements before.

Damian doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling that his sister already knows his appreciation for the change. Why be redundant and say it?

It’s a surprisingly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, especially when Cassandra grows tired of watching Damian sketch and drags him into joining her in a routine. He protests at first, only to give in eventually. And if he ends the session with laughter, well, nobody has to know.

(And if he plans on giving Cassandra a painting of her dancing sometime in the future, well, nobody has to know that either.)

[eveningstarcatcher]

Ineffable Valentines Day 15: Delicacies

“You really can’t get good ones outside of Paris,” Aziraphale insisted as they strolled down a path by the river. It was a lovely day, despite the near discorporation - the sun was bright and warm on their faces, a crisp autumn breeze blowing gently through the trees.

“So you said,” Crowley smirked, watching Aziraphale adjust the soft red hat sitting over his pale curls, fiddling and fussing with it until it sat just so. The lace of his sleeves fell against his face as he lifted his arms and Crowley wondered what it would feel like to brush his hand against the angel's soft cheek. The sight of the angel wrapped in anything other than white and cream was something, but for him to be draped in red was something altogether new for Crowley. He had always liked the color, his favorite after black, but seeing Aziraphale in it was deliciously sinful.

“It’s true, Crowley!” Aziraphale turned toward the demon as they walked, a soft pout on his lips, his hands clasped behind the back of his red coat. “Have you ever  had  a crepe? I’ve tried them from all over London and they’re simply atrocious!” His eyes grew wide with exasperation, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Trudged all over the city in search of a decent crepe with none to be found. No one's fault, of course, they tried their best! Poor serving girls were always so kind, service with a smile and all that, I couldn’t bear to tell them the truth, they were working so hard. I did try to influence them, guide them, by dropping suggestions for a better recipe. Nothing worked!”

“You lied ??” Crowley’s eyes were huge behind his glasses, a wide awed smile across his face.

“No!” Aziraphale drew back in offense, hand pressed to his heart, then dropped it. “Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose so. But,” Aziraphale held up a finger to Crowley to stop the remark waiting on his forked tongue, “it was in kindness. No need to spread frustration or anger over a less than ideal meal.”

“What about your standards ?” Crowley over-enunciated the last word in good-natured mocking, his smile still broad across his sharp features.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes. “At least I’m not sporting those ridiculous rolls!” He gestured to Crowley’s hair with a scoff.

“What? You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, one eyebrow raised over his glasses.

“It’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Aziraphale tutted as his lips fought the urge to smirk.

“A bit much?” Crowley howled in laughter. “Funny thing to say for someone who was almost discorporated because he was dressed to the nines, draped in satin and lace! Don’t think I didn’t notice those shoes, angel.” Crowley lowered his dark lenses to wink at Aziraphale, leaving him sputtering.

“Fine,” Crowley conceded, snapping his fingers to let his hair fall in amber curls around his face. “Better?”

Aziarphale studied him for a moment, then looked away, glancing back at him sidelong before responding with a quick nod.

“Good. Wouldn’t want to fall below your standards,” Crowley sauntered along beside the angel, light footed and chuckling. He loved to tease Aziraphale. Loved to see the scandalized look in his eyes, hear the soft gasp, feel the bright eyes on him, catch the hint of a smile. Did he enjoy this game of theirs as well?

“You never could, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly, a pink tint on the apples of his cheeks. His hand drifted closer to Crowley’s for a moment, brushing against the back of the demon's hand. A shiver ran through Crowley from crown to heel, like an electric shock, and Aziraphale pulled his hand away, once again clasping them behind his back.

“So, where are these crepes you were willing to die for?” Crowley cleared his throat and kept his voice even.

“Oh, just around the corner,” Aziraphale smiled and glanced at Crowley again, a tight grin on his lips, suppressing a wide smile at the sight of the sun turning his amber curls into a halo of flame. “Do you remember Rome?”

“Rome?” Crowley repeated, thrown by the change of subject.

“Yes. We had oysters,” Azirpahale wiggled happily at the memory. 

“Petronius,” Crowley added, earning a blinding smile from the angel. “‘Course I remember.”

“It was scrumptious!” Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Crowley nearly fainted. If he survived this day, it would be a miracle. Whether it would be angelic or demonic, he wasn't sure, but it would be a miracle.

“Wine was pretty good.” Crowley’s voice was high and cracked. 

“It was,” Aziraphale chuckled, choosing not to acknowledge Crowley's evident panic. “I’m sure this meal will be as lovely as that one.”

“Lovely how?” Crowey stopped outside the restaurant, watching Aziraphale’s face, which was nostalgic and hopeful.

“Didn’t you think it was lovely?” Aziraphale asked, shifting to the side slightly, so he could see Crowley’s eyes behind his glasses.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I mean it was alright,” Crowley stuttered.

“It wasn’t just the meal. The company was quite lovely as well, don’t you agree?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled with mischief and something else that the demon couldn’t quite place, but made fire pulse through his veins.

“Of course,” Crowley choked out, swallowing hard.

“Shall we?” Aziraphale gestured to the door.

“Let’s hope these crepes are up to your standard. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, especially after all the troubles we went through to get here,” Crowley pulled open the door for Aziraphale, bowing slightly, red hair falling forward around his face.

“Oh, my dear, a meal with you could never be disappointing!” The angel smiled warmly at the demon and strode inside, leaving a blushing, sputtering mess trailing along after him.

 The crepes were exceptional, as was the company.

Crowley watched Azirpahale enjoy the crepes from across the table, cataloguing every sound he made as he enjoyed the spectacular meal. His heart raced at the shape the angel’s lips formed around each mouthful.

Crowley drank quite extraordinary amounts of wine to cope. His corporation was nearly vibrating with the desire to take the angel's hand, to whisper into his ear how much he wanted him, to lean over the table and taste the crepes from those soft lips. 

And those blue eyes, the way they glittered and glanced, almost like flirting. 

But that couldn’t be it.

Could it?

No.

This was just about crepes...

For @mielpetite‘s @ineffable-valentines Also on A03

[myheartgoesuwus]

Writing Practice 1

Prompt :

“So you’re a-”

“Yes. And your children will be too. And by God, if you snitch me, you won’t live to see the light of day again.”

-promptslair

She stood there, her brown eyes wide and her small mouth agape. Her eyebrows were raised and the over-all look on her face could be called amusing if the situation weren’t as serious as this.

The air were thick with silence, each moment that passed by sent shivers down the man’s spine as he shifted from foot to foot. It was quite a shocking revelation, one that could possibly change both of their life.

The grown man squinted his eyes at the gaping brunette, his mouth forming into a deep scowl. The woman blinked before closing her mouth, diverting her gaze towards the grass beneath, biting her lips in uncertainty.

Neither one of them utter a sound, silent as the wind blow through their brown hats and the woman’s flowery dress. He tilted his head sideways, black hair clouding his vision as he unconsciously fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

Another moment passed before a shaky breath could be heard from the brown haired woman, moving her thin hands to cover her dark arms. She gazed at him with an alarming look before choosing to break the silence between them.

“So, if I’m not wrong, you’re….”

Stopping as her words were caught by the back of her throat, furrowing her eyebrows deeply and averting her eyes back to the ground.

The man let out a nervous sigh before running his hand through his short black hair.

“Yes…you’re correct”

The woman’s breathing hitched and her long fingernails burrowed crescent shaped marks on her tanned arms. She were ridiculed, out of all the crazy things they had done in their journey, she were never this flabbergasted.

“How…no, why did you kept this a secret from me?”

“Because I know if I did this sooner, you would run from me”

At that, she stiffened and hurriedly averted her eyes from the man’s formidable stare. Furrowing her eyebrows once more as her mouth turned into a thin line, her mind filled with the honest truth the man had spouted.

“I’m sorry”

The black haired man sighed deeply, not bearing to provoke the woman if he dared to move an inch. He instead opted to shake his head hurriedly, and looked at her with pleading eyes.

“It’s not your fault”

“I still have the urge to apologize” Her eyes were downcast as she tried to hold back the tears that’s dangerously close to spilling out.

The too-pale man desperately wanted to take a step forward, do something, anything to console the quivering brunette, but his shoes were rooted down to the ground. Feeling like an invisible chain were curling and chaining his feet down, so he couldn’t get out, he couldn’t move a damn thing.

“It’s fine”

The words were let out so smoothly but they knew that it’s not fine, it’s definitely not fine. But they chose to ignore it, acknowledging that it’s okay to be selfish once in a while. Ignorance is bliss, for now.

The tanned woman’s sorrow face brightened up significantly at those short words and smiled, crinkling up her eyes and eyebrows. He ached to smile back and say that everything would be okay in the end but he couldn’t, the words were caught on the back of his throat- sitting there uncomfortably.

She released her grip on her arms, revealing deep crescent marks and took a step forward, two steps before she was sprinting down the grassy land and slumping down the man’s thin body, catching him by surprise.

The said man grunted out an incoherent sound before she let out a shaky sigh and nuzzled her face towards the man’s chest. Breathing irregularly as her body shake, her eyes and cheeks wet with spilling tears.

He let out a small, hollow laugh as his arms captured the woman’s frail figure, burrowing his nose on her brown hair. They stayed silence for a moment before he leaned back, his soft gaze replaced by a fierce glare.

“You absolutely can’t tell anyone”

She widened her eyes before she pushed the man’s thin body away, pulling her arm towards her body as if she were burned. The words agonized her as her mouth turned into a deep frown.

“If you do, you won’t live to see the light of day again” his tone were brash, eyes seemingly looking down on the woman as his hands were clenched and his posture rigid.

She let out a depraved laugh, wiping away the reminders of her tears as her face reddened, looking at the grown man with a mocking gaze.

“Then you should have never told me in the first place”

She had enough, moving to back away from the wide eyed man as he was too shocked to form words to reply to her abrasive tone. The woman turned around and slowly began to leave, leaving the gaping man alone.

“You don’t understand!” The man’s tone were filled with anguish as she halted her steps, turning around once more in rapid movements, fixing the man with a pointed glare.

“You’re right, I don’t understand. And I don’t need to, this will be our goodbye Alexander, I’ve had enough of you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh as she gave him one last pitiful look before turning away, never looking back as she strode her way out of the park, out of Alexander’s life.

“Please…don’t…” His voice cracked as hot tears spilled down his pale cheeks. But it didn’t matter, she was gone, just like that. She left him all alone, leaving his problem all to himself, leaving their journey like it’s no bother.

He shouldn’t have told her, no- he should have kept everything a secret. He should have been more patient, he should have told her later. He should have never become one in the first place.

But no matter how much he regretted and prayed, Alice won’t ever return back his life.

-

Thank you @promptslair for the amazing prompt! I’m not mainly sticking on the original prompt but i hoped this was satisfactory. 

20/03/2020

[hungline]

prologue

pairings: namseok, platonic yoonseok   genre: angst, arranged marriage au, chaebol au, rated t  warnings: sugar baby!yoongi, cursing  words: 1602 

summary: Hoseok complains to Yoongi and, as expected, he is of no help whatsoever. 

⇢ chapter zero of arranged to be 

Hoseok is seething with rage. He never thought he could ever feel so insulted in his entire life.

But somehow, Kim Namjoon has managed to do it.

If Hoseok was thinking rationally, he'd probably understand that it's not really Namjoon's fault at all, but their parents' instead.

However, Hoseok isn't being rational and he very much wants to shove his foot down Namjoon's throat.

"You're overreacting, Seok-ah," Yoongi says, his voice being the only anchor Hoseok has in order to keep a cool head in the middle of the mall.

"No. You just don't get it, hyung," Hoseok mutters, hands curled into fists as he follows Yoongi mindlessly, not paying attention to the stores they enter. "This is literally about the rest of my life, my future, and it's all being decided for me. How could I not overreact? He has absolutely no right!"

Yoongi laughs under his breath, eyes trained on the racks of clothing in front of him. "Honestly, I saw it coming. After you came out to your parents and they made a big deal out of you not producing an heir, it was really only a matter of time."

Hoseok glares at the elder and averts his gaze, looking up at the tacky posters that adorn the walls of the store they're in. "Hyung, you don't get it. He agreed to it and specifically asked for me. For me! We've exchanged a total of four words ever in our lives! What the hell gives him the right to choose and not me?"

"Probably because he already owns his own business, Seok-ah. You're living off the scraps your parents are mindful enough to throw your way. I don't know why you're making such a big fuss. If I was you, I'd be all in for it."

"I forgot I was talking to the biggest gold digger in existence right now," Hoseok says glumly, eyes rolling in annoyance as the elder continues to browse through clothes. "Thought you were getting good money out of that old guy you've been milking for a few months?"

Yoongi smirks and holds a shirt up to his neck, turning to show Hoseok and laughing when the younger man furiously shakes his head no. "I am, but he's kind of grossing me out. I broke my contract with him and this is his goodbye gift to me."

"A hideous shirt?" Hoseok asks with brows raised.

"A shopping spree," Yoongi corrects. "A sixty million won shopping spree."

"Jesus Christ, hyung. Where the hell do you even find these guys?" Hoseok asks, mouth agape as he converts the ridiculous amount of won into U.S. dollars in his head.

Yoongi shrugs and puts the shirt back, picking up a white button up instead that doesn't look like anything special but probably costs more than Hoseok's very expensive dancing shoes. "When you're an attractive sugar baby like me, rich geezers flock to you like moths to a flame."

Hoseok sighs, nodding his head when Yoongi holds the new shirt up then rolling his eyes when the elder's gummy smile greets him. "One of these days, you're gonna fall for one of these 'geezers' and then you'll really be fucked."

"You know, you say that every time I mention my profession and you know what? It still hasn't happened. Now shut up and help me pick out an outfit for my goodbye dinner and maybe I'll be a good hyung and buy you some workout clothes or whatever the hell else you need," Yoongi waves his hand, laughing when Hoseok instantly perks up at the mention of his hyung buying things for him.

While what some of what Yoongi said is true, Hoseok has to disagree with the part where he's supposedly living off scraps. Hoseok's parents aren't the flashy kind of rich, they're the old kind of rich. Most of their family's money comes from inheritances and whatever they earn by running their array of businesses. His family isn't poor, but they're not at the top of the social tier when it comes to the chaebol community either. Hoseok lives a good life and gets by happily with his position at his father's company with some dancing on the side.

Hoseok is happy and he hates Kim Namjoon for ruining everything.

Whatever made his parents think that arranging a marriage between them was such a good idea honestly needs to be punched in the goddamn face.

Still, as Hoseok follows after Yoongi, holding his bags and clothes that he's picked out, Hoseok can't help but wonder why the genius heir of Bang Enterprises decided to marry him.

It doesn't make any sense. They've never really run in the same social circles, per se, and as far as Hoseok can remember, he's really only seen the guy around. They attended the same primary school, but where Hoseok went to a school focused in the arts for high school, Namjoon went off to the most elite business school in South Korea. University was a breeze for Hoseok, his dance and business classes not requiring much effort for the most part while Namjoon went off to who knows where really, Hoseok hasn't really ever kept a tab on the slightly younger man if he's being honest. At social gatherings like galas or exhibits, Hoseok can only remember on one occasion where the two were formally introduced.

He has no idea how that suddenly turned into Namjoon choosing him to marry when his older sister is perfectly capable of being married off instead. Hoseok really does not want to think about why he was chosen for this crap role, but if his parents were serious then he is so going to kill Kim Namjoon.

Yoongi drags him around the entire mall, stopping in what feels like every store and Hoseok's arms ache under the weight of the shopping bags. The elder stays true to his word and buys Hoseok a few things he wants though so Hoseok doesn't complain and continues to be his hyung's personal bag carrier for the duration of their shopping spree.

"Hey, look." Yoongi's voice pulls Hoseok back to reality, a humorous tone to it that Hoseok decides to ignore as he looks in the direction that the elder is pointing at. "It's your fiance."

"Hyung, shut up," Hoseok mutters under his breath, quickly yanking Yoongi's arm down and turning them around so their backs are to the man that Hoseok hates the most in the world. "I swear if he comes over here, I'm going to strangle you, hyung. And he isn't my fiance. I'm not marrying that asshole."

Hoseok's face feels hot, and his hands tingly. He'd only caught a glimpse of Namjoon's figure standing in line at the food court, but it had been enough. Hoseok is done with the mall and shopping and he's done with Yoongi for today. All Hoseok wants to do is go home, crawl under the covers and force his eyes shut, hoping that when he wakes up, he finds that it was all just one big nightmare and not reality.

Yoongi laughs, thumping a hand on Hoseok's back as he does. "You're being an asshole. You don't even know him and you're insulting him. This isn't very like you, Seok-ah."

Hoseok starts to lead the elder away, hand probably wrapped too tight around Yoongi's elbow. "Due to my current situation, I'm sure you can see why, hyung. I mean, honestly, an arranged marriage of all things! What is this? The eighteen hundreds? Why did this have to happen to me of all people?"

"You're being overdramatic, Seok-ah. Look, I'm sure that Namjoon is a nice guy and he probably has his own reasons for choosing you instead of your older sister or whoever else was a potential candidate. Or, you know what! Maybe he didn't get to choose at all. Maybe his parents chose for him like yours did for you."

Hoseok rolls his eyes and walks faster, smirking when Yoongi has to jog to keep up with him. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that Mr. Genius Heir didn't have a say in this awful arrangement at all. He's gotten everything he's ever wanted in life, why the hell should he have me too? I'm not ready for marriage! I don't even know the guy!"

Yoongi shrugs and tugs on Hoseok's hold, planting his feet to get more momentum. "So he's richer than you, big deal. That's fine, but I don't think you should shit on him for that. You don't know him and he doesn't know you. People live different lives and have their own different problems. You're not one to judge him for having money, Seok-ah. He honestly could have had this dumped on him just like you did. I think you should try talking to him."

"If I talk to him, I'm going to strangle him for getting me into this situation in the first place, hyung."

"Just talk to him," Yoongi sighs, finally managing to pull his arm free from Hoseok's grip. "Be civil and don't run away from him like you did just now. Talk to your parents too, see what the hell's going through their heads. Don't be such a dick about this, Seok-ah."

Hoseok huffs out an irritated breath and hands the elder his shopping bags. "No."

Yoongi merely laughs and shakes his head. "Can't say I didn't try."

"Hyung?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you," Hoseok says, expression grim and hands curled into fists again.

"Love you too, Seok-ah," Yoongi chuckles out as he punches Hoseok in the arm and drags the younger man home.

[inthesummerswelter]

recipe for disaster: chapter eighteen

There are days when he wants to hold the world’s hand and there are days when he wants to pat it on the shoulder and tell it that everything will be alright and there are days when he wants to tell it to buck up and keep a stiff upper lip.

This is one of those days when he wants to tell a collective fuck you to the world and not care about anything.

Because he’s just failed one of his final term papers.

(His professor is a heartless dick who wants to watch the world burn, he just knows it.)

And he’s just waltzed straight into a puddle that’s the size of Loch Ness, and his shoes are drenched.

(They’re the nice suede brogues that he’s saved up ages for because he wanted to look a bit more mature than Vans and a vest top all the time, and now they’re fucking ruined.)

And Penn won’t fucking talk to him anymore.

(It’s not really that she won’t talk. It’s more like she won’t even look at him. She got that funny look on her face, all crumpled and scrunched up, and then didn't even try to make up some excuse about how she had to go out to the grocer or to walk the dogs or some bullshit like that. She’s obviously avoiding him.)

He scuffs the bottom of his shoe along the grit collecting on the edge of the pavement, scrubbing it around a bit, hands in his pockets and his hood pulled up.

It’s not even raining. A gloomy sort of weather hangs above him now, and Ashton’s just sick and tired of things not going his way.

He rounds the corner to where their building is – it’s a bit of a cheery sight, he supposes, because he knows that there’s a warm blanket and a good cup of tea waiting for him back at his flat – and sees Penn there. Just sitting out there on the steps, as easy as you please.

Except it’s not. Easy that is.

To breathe.

Penn’s wearing a dress.

It’s a simple one, as far as Ashton can tell, and it suits her splendidly, the way the little navy floral pattern loops around her curves and gathers under her chest.

It’s also way too indecently short, he thinks a second later, quickly scanning the street around him to see if there’s anybody else about that he should need to offer her his jacket to hide her from.

Ashton chooses to ignore that fact that Penn’s been cooking him breakfast in just her bra top and his boxer shorts for an excessively long time now and instead concentrates on how obscenely long her legs look to be.

And then his heart drops.

She’s dressed up, dolled up, with that stuff around her eyes that makes them pop unnaturally – he doesn’t like it, never has – and lipstick even.

That’s date attire. Even he knows that.

Penn’s dressed up to go out on a date.

Soon, his feet are taking him faster and faster towards her, the kilometres of cement becoming millimetres, and suddenly he’s there, right in front of her.

She looks up, blinking, and his world slows down to half-time.

“H-hello.”

“You, um. You look…nice.”

Frowning a bit, she plucks at the edge of her skirt. “Thanks.”

There's a long pause where he tries to collect his thoughts and bring them away from how strikingly beautiful she looks.

He can do this. He can be smooth and eloquent.

“Ah, um.” Nope, no he can't.

He retracts the hand that somehow had made its way halfway to tucking an errant piece of hair back behind her ear and tries to turn it into a casual pass through his mussed hair instead. He knows it doesn’t come even as close to smooth as he intended.

But it’s like she hadn’t even noticed, the way her eyes flit around, as if they’re looking for somebody else.

Somebody who’s not him.

If his heart dropped before, it plummets now into the roiling pit of spite and jealousy eating a hole through his gut.

"Looking for Louis?" he asks, practically spitting out the words. It's like he hears his voice coming back at him through a bad connection, all tinny and twisted and warped in hate. "Hot date? Taking the next step in your relationship together, yeah?"

Now he's gotten her attention. Penn looks at him, brow knitting up in a frown.

"Ash," she says in a soft voice that nearly breaks through his thundercloud. "Ash, it's not him. It's somebody else."

He can't take it, his head spinning with all the vicious possibilities. Niall, then, the scrawny little Irish bloke.

"Well, have a fucking fantastic time, then, with whoever you wanna fuck."

Ashton can't take this anymore, can't watch her do this.

Brushing past her, he takes the steps up to their floor two at a time, slamming himself and his pain inside the walls of his flat.

(In his haste, he doesn't hear her gasp, doesn't see the hurt flare up in her eyes or how she gathers herself and the bouquet up and picks her way down the street, away from their building.)

  His eyes are stuck on one line. He's read it a thousand times with no success.

Just when he thinks he's cracked the code - obviously the daft loon's been prattling on about corrupt systems through the ridiculous shoe factory analogy - and is about to make a note in the margins, the doorbell rings.

Tempted to ignore it, he goes back to his readings, making it three words before it rings again, more insistently.

And then, a third, fourth, and fifth time in rapid succession.

Grumbling, he lifts the book off his chest and moves to get the door.

Opening it, Ashton’s shocked.

It’s Louis, standing there before him, a genial smile on his face and hands shoved into the pockets of a coat already dripping rainwater onto the floor.

“Hello!” he says cheerily, poking his head underneath Ashton’s arm to peer around the room. "Is Penn here, then? I tried her door and nobody answered, so I figured you two would be here then."

He glances at his watch. "I did give you lot enough time, now, didn't I? It was hard to judge, but I figured a few hours would be sufficient."

Ashton clears his throat. "Penn's not here."

"Oh! Well, where is she? Is she out at the shops, then, or something?"

This isn't making any sense.

"She was sitting on the steps at the front of the building," Ashton says slowly, enunciating just in case this Louis bloke is a bit thick after all. "You know, waiting for her date. I figured it was you or that little blonde fellow."

Louis' expression makes the rapid right turn from sunny bemusement to horrified realization.

"Jesus Christ. Oh my God. Holy shit."

Ashton doesn't know how many more deities Louis is going to invoke, but he'd rather he be done sooner rather than later, so he interrupts him, stating bitterly, "Look, mate, she's with your friend, right? It'll be just fucking fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some revising to finish."

Hands wrapped firmly around the handle, he goes to swing the door shut and almost accomplishes the task, but for a Herculean effort from the boy in the hallway.

"You don't understand!" Louis shouts with his foot jammed securely between the frame and the door, effectively blocking it open. "She was meant to be with you! That was the fucking plan! All that, on the stairs, was for you, you bleeding idiot!"

It's a very big voice coming out of a very small body - well, at least a shorter body than his own - and the sudden shock causes him to release his grip on the door. Accordingly, it slams inward against the wall, a very nonplussed Louis attached.

His expression leaves showy anger behind, this time, and leans towards colder fury.

"What did you say to her? If she's not in her flat, not with you, and not at any of the places Niall's been running his arse off to, then you must have fucked up royally. What the fuck did you say to her?"

Ashton throat tightens strangely. All that was for...him?

He's grinning now, and Louis looks ready to physically assault him.

"Christ, concentrate! This is all your fucking fault for fucking this up, so go and bring her back and fix everything, goddamnit!"

"Calm down, mate, I know where she is."

At the very least, he's got an intuitive inkling of where she might be. Someplace that she hasn't ever taken Niall or Louis before.

Taking his keys and a coat off the ring by the door, he brushes Louis back into the hallway. Ashton shuts and locks up his flat, telling the bloke behind him, "I'm going to fix this, okay? I'm going to fix this."

  He trots through the streets in worn boots and the mac over top his denim jacket and worn tee. There's no posturing here now, with her. No need for fancy get-ups.

This is it, this is his moment.

The gate creaks open easily, still open for visitors even in the last few hours of the early evening, and he keeps up a steady pace as he moves down the paved pathway.

She's there, in the cemetery, just like he knew she would be. Leaning on the tombstone, her fingers bracket the etched letters, curving pale parentheses around the dark of the stone.

The bouquet of lily-of-the-valley lays limp by where her heels dig into the soft sod, the tiny cream blooms still holding their perfect delicate bell shape.

As he approaches, he can see her quivering, the thin fabric of the dress plastered to her body, limbs a worryingly pale shade. Unconsciously, he slips off the mac he's wearing, bundles it up into one hand, and walks into the row.

"I didn't--," he begins, worrying the stitching at the edges of the coat in his hand. "I didn't know that, I mean, I thought that you and he were..."

There's no nice way to put it, so the words jam themselves back up into his throat and he wraps the mac around her shoulders.

A single lock of dark hair sticks itself to the plane of her cheekbone like an ugly scar. His fingers reach up and brush it away without a second thought.

She doesn't say anything, just lets her lips seal themselves together as she waits for him.

Ashton clears his throat. "What I said on the steps, I mean - I wasn't thinking straight, I was angry, really angry. And jealous as hell, thinking of you and...and someone who's not me."

Closing her eyes, Penn gives a half-hearted laugh.

"That's so fucking ironic. Do you remember the day I locked myself in the bathroom?"

He nods. He was going to tell her that day, until she told him to leave. And then life got in the way.

(He think maybe he'll tell her today instead.)

She continues, saying, "I was so, so upset that day, so frustrated. It was already a shit day. And then I saw you with that girl, through your window, and I couldn't see you any more without seeing her too."

Ashton can't believe it. "You saw me? And a girl? ...Oh my God. You saw me and Tal. That's Mikey's girlfriend, Penn. I was asking her for advice about things."

"Things?"

He's utterly embarrassed now.

"You."

"Oh." She scrubs at her face with the back of her hand, dragonfly eyes flitting around. "Oh."

"I'm so sorry, Penn. I never mean to hurt you."

The rain has slowed now, turning from a torrent to a drizzle now, and the mist rising up from the ground frosts Penn's eyelashes with a dusting of sparkling crystals.

He's thrown back to the first time they met in the rain, the way her hands splayed across his chest, and Ashton's chest tightens up.

"I think I'm in love with you. I hope you don't mind too much."

He doesn't realise that he's the one who spoke until her eyes flutter shut and her breath mists out in front of her.

And if he was having trouble breathing before, there's nothing in his lungs now as they constrict in his chest with anxiety as he waits for her to say anything, do anything.

Slowly, so slow he can't be sure she's actually moving, Penn picks herself up off where she's leaning on the headstone and pulls her hands out of the sleeves of the mac.

Her hands are bone-cold, but they warm quickly as she reaches forward to where his are dangling by his side. Lacing their fingers together in what feels like a promise, she tilts her head up towards his and whispers with a smile, "I don't mind at all."

Closing the scant distance between them, quivering with months of anticipation trapped under his skin, he catches her mouth with his own, molding their lips together with gentle, coaxing pressure.

Every part of him is brimming with electricity, humming down his veins until he is all caught up in her. They create a world there, the two of them, a sharing of breath, a melding of souls.

He never wants this moment to end.

  It does, though, as all moments do, when Penn's hands return to their icy state, and he reluctantly releases her with a teasing nip at her lower lip.

Later, once they've made the long journey and returned to her flat, towelled themselves off, and curled up on her sofa under a pile of blankets in their skivvies, he kisses her again, just because he can.

And, afterwards, he tells her he's in love with her, just because he can.

With a grin, she tucks her head into his chest and tells him she's in love with him too.

Just because she can.

(They're so happy together.)

[faejilly]

i am for you (9/?)

Malec texting!fluff and intertwining hedges. inter-hedging? intra-hedging? Both? Something like that. (ao3 / series tag)

WEDNESDAY

*** *** ***

[jace]: coffee?

[alec]: uh. I'm. On the wrong busline, unless you want to meet somewhere other than the usual? Or after my morning class instead of before

[jace]: why are you? [jace]: oh [jace]: you didn't sleep at your place did you

[alec]: no.

[jace]: I love you, and he seems nice enough, and you're one of the smartest guys I know, but [jace]: this is really confusing and not at all like you [jace]: are you? IS HE? I don't even know what I want to ask

[alec]: I know it's crazy, but... [alec]: Give him a chance

[jace]: you know I will. He makes you smile. I'm just.

[alec]: worried. I know. I get it.

[jace]: well. I guess as long as you still recognize the crazy as you're doing it, it's not too bad, right?

[alec]: that does actually track

[jace]: you don't have to sound so surprised

[alec]: yes I do, part of the job

[jace]: the "being an asshole" job?

[alec]: I learned from the best

[jace]: 👉👌

[alec]: rude

[jace]: I learned from the best, too

[alec]: lunch instead of coffee?

[jace]: you know it

*** *** ***

[magnus]: I have to go to a faculty meeting. I may die of boredom. Save me!

[alec]: and how am I supposed to do that? I can't go to your faculty meeting [alec]: and wouldn't even if I could, sorry

[magnus]: you're not at all sorry

[alec]: no, not really [alec]: I mean, being with you? Almost worth it. [alec]: but faculty meetings sound terrible [alec]: my professors always look either homicidal or half-dead with exhaustion after them

[magnus]: if I'm half-dead with exhaustion I will fall asleep on you tonight instead of any of the other things you want me to do to you

[alec]: you're terrible [alec]: maybe I want to do things to you instead

[magnus]: darling! [magnus]: tell me more, that will distract me wonderfully

[alec]: that might distract you too much [alec]: it will definitely distract me too much [alec]: and possibly get me kicked out of the union. I cannot be on the outs with the people who make me my coffee, I might die [alec]: and studying is more important. At least for another hour.

[magnus]: how distressingly sensible of you [magnus]: I can't believe I fell madly in love with someone SENSIBLE [magnus]: Cat is going to laugh at me for at least a decade

[alec]: I can't believe I fell madly in love with someone who was going to try and sext me during his meeting [alec]: Proper sexting deserves your complete focus

[magnus]: very true, that was terribly inconsiderate of me [magnus]: all right, I must go pretend to pay attention, but expect impertinent questions or inappropriate propositions as soon as I am free

[alec]: I look forward to it. Them. Both. Either. (You.)

*** *** ***

[alec]: or actually, I could ask *you* a potentially impertinent question [alec]: that you do not at all need to answer

[magnus]: ask away

[alec]: so uh. Ragnor may have mentioned that they refrained from murdering a previous romantic entanglement of yours, and they weren't going to make that mistake again [alec]: and it seemed closer to serious than hyperbole

[magnus]: oh

[alec]: I am in no way claiming you have to tell me all about your exes, or that I'm worried about them in relation to us or anything. But that sounds serious and I hope... I guess that talking to me might help you as much as talking to you helps me

[magnus]: well, you know I dated Dot, the exes aren't all terrible

[alec]: that sentence kind of makes it sound like she's the exception that proves the rule [alec]: plus it didn't sound like either of you took it as much more than friends who are good dance partners and fooled around for awhile

[magnus]: *fooled around* oh dear I'm moving in with an 80yo grandpa

[alec]: apparently I talked like an 80yo grandpa when I was actually 8, Mom will be happy to tell you all about it

[magnus]: at 8 that's adorable. At 26 it's hilarious in entirely different ways

[alec]: glad I can amuse

[magnus]: you really can! [magnus]: and you're not wrong, we were always friends, more than anything else, and Dot is not QUITE the only exception but... I have previously always fallen for people who wanted different things than I did when we were together, they wanted a future when I wanted a present, I wanted to settle down a little when they wanted to go adventuring, that sort of thing [magnus]: it hurts, every time, you get bumped and bruised and scarred, but no one's *trying* to hurt anyone else, you just don't... fit

[alec]: oh, I should have asked this when we got back home, I really want to give you a hug

[magnus]: the fact that you called the apartment home is almost as good as a hug

[alec]: you're my home

[magnus]: however did I get so lucky as to meet you

[alec]: Ragnor hates Aldertree and you're too impatient to work technology properly?

[magnus]: I take it all back, you're awful

[alec]: you love me anyway

[magnus]: I do

[magnus]: her name was Camille

[alec]: the one Ragnor wishes he'd murdered?

[magnus]: yeah [magnus]: she's why I moved back to Alicante from NYC actually

[magnus]: Camille's an actress, gorgeous, smart, draws the eye when she enters a room. And when it went wrong it went really wrong, but when it started? We both fell hard, played hard, pushed each other into each new opportunity, each new audition, each new call-back. [magnus]: before her I'd barely been hanging on, couldn't seem to *feel* any of what I was doing, couldn't make myself finish the degree I'd been working part-time on for years at that point. [magnus]: if you've got no emotions to put into your work, no one wants to see it, no one wants to hire you.

[alec]: which just makes you feel worse and makes it that much harder the next day

[magnus]: exactly. But Camille believed in me, in us, in putting on a show, each day bigger and brighter than the day before [magnus]: suddenly I was working regularly, usually a couple levels of *Off* Broadway, but sometimes I swung closer, sometimes I got TV episode work, or small movie parts. It was good, I was doing what I'd always wanted, I finished my MFA, I could still eat and pay my share of rent and occasionally even buy new shoes [magnus]: which is a big deal when you're frequently working as a dancer or choreographer

[alec]: shoes are important, I know

[magnus]: you might not make that joke once you see inside my closet

[alec]: I wasn't joking

[magnus]: 😘

[alec]: 💘

[magnus]: you're ridiculous

[alec]: just for you

[magnus]: I thought Camille and I were happy, you know? [magnus]: but she wasn't. I don't know, it wasn't getting better fast enough for her, maybe [magnus]: I was doing more workshops here and there, standing on both sides of the curtain, and she couldn't see why I couldn't help her get her foot in a few more doors. Never mind that I never worked in casting. [magnus]: she loved me, I do believe that, but she never trusted me, not really, not to be there for her. Never trusted anyone. Always put herself first because no one else ever had, ever would. [magnus]: so when she caught a producer's eye, she let him catch her [magnus]: and truly didn't understand why it broke my heart when I found them in bed together

[alec]: oh hell, I'm so sorry

[magnus]: oh, that wasn't the worst part, not by a long shot [magnus]: it was another year of fights and manipulation and making up, of her pushing me towards jobs that would help *her* rather than jobs that suited me, of making me feel like I'd let her down, that I was why she'd cheated [magnus]: that's the part that almost broke me, the part that sent me back to Alicante when it finally got to be too much, when I couldn't stand any of the jobs I might be able to get, couldn't stand the person I was while I was living with her, working with her. The way she made me believe that everything that was wrong with our relationship, everything I felt bad about, that every bit of it was my fault and I should be grateful to her for putting up with me. That the only reason I'd had any success at all was because of her, that I *owed* her, and she could take it away again if I didn't pay her back the way she wanted

[alec]: I'm gonna help Ragnor hide the body [alec]: no, wait, need his truck to finish moving in first [alec]: if the opportunity arises though

[magnus]: I don't think murder's the answer, though I'm touched by the sentiment

[alec]: I love you so much Magnus, you've such a beautiful soul, I can't. How could anyone do that to someone? Much less someone they thought they loved. I'm so sorry. I wish... I don't know, I wish I could take all that pain for you, just wipe it away

[magnus]: well, if we hadn't both gotten run out of New York by heartbreak, we might never have met [magnus]: that's a damn fine silver lining

[alec]: wait now, you're telling me the sad story, why are you comforting me? Shouldn't that be the other way around?

[magnus]: have we ever done things normally?

[alec]: I don't have a clue what "normal" might look like, but that silver lining does make a hell of a difference, you're right. Tonight we're moving in together [alec]: because we're both choosing this [alec]: choosing us

[magnus]: took us awhile, but we're both finally making good decisions?

[alec]: I think so [alec]: not sure anyone else would agree, even if Ragnor seems cautiously supportive

[magnus]: they'll come around. We've got time.

[alec]: All the time in the world

*** *** ***

[izzy]: question

[alec]: no

[izzy]: I know you don't mean that [izzy]: especially since I want Magnus' number [izzy]: I'd like to get to know the guy who swept you off your feet [izzy]: and seems to have fallen head over heels right back, just like someone said! Now who could that have been? Someone so very smart and kind, who do we possible know like that...

[alec]: if I give you his number will you stop?

[izzy]: of course not

[alec]: yeah, that's what I thought

[izzy]: .... [izzy]: really. REALLY? Here I was trying to be nice, I was going to take your boyfriend out for lunch, maybe do some shopping, we'd have a good time. [izzy]: He's clearly got excellent taste.

[alec]: was that a compliment?

[izzy]: He had really nice shoes you know

[alec]: shoes are important, got it [alec]: why do people think I don't know that?

[izzy]: because you have like three pairs and they're all black? Sneakers, dress shoes, combat boots.

[alec]: but they're high quality sneakers and dress shoes and combat boots.

[izzy]: they are actually [izzy]: ... [izzy]: sorry? [izzy]: ... [izzy]: are you really not going to give me his number?

[alec]: nope

[izzy]: ALEXANDER GIDEON

[alec]: ISABELLE SOPHIA [alec]: I don't want you to interrupt his class, I'll leave him a message with your number, all right?

[izzy]: oh. I guess. You're still a brat.

[alec]: I learned from the best

[izzy]: 🙄

[alec]: ❤

*** *** ***

THURSDAY

*** *** ***

[magnus]: question!

[alec]: yes?

[magnus]: now that I have experienced the dancing with Alexander which is actually intense eye-contact and steadily decreasing personal space [magnus]: (I knew your hips were lethal) [magnus]: did you dance WITH John for this dare? [magnus]: because. Um. How did Lydia take that?

[alec]: I did, and he turned bright red and Lydia laughed for a week. Do you want me to see if she's still got the video she took on her phone?

[magnus]: hotdamnyesplease [magnus]: also have you ever been to Pandemonium? Because we could get away with that in public there [magnus]: This weekend even? Not Saturday, I'll probably still be recovering from your sister taking me shoe shopping [magnus]: But Friday maybe... [magnus]: Pandemonium has unusually roomy bathroom stalls. not that I know from experience. Or not that kind of experience. There is no good way to finish this sentence is there?

[alec]: you know I wouldn't care if you did, right? That kind of experience.

[magnus]: I do know that, yes [magnus]: but also I've never really been a fan of sweaty groping in a club bathroom [magnus]: but I've also never been quite so constantly desperate as I am for you

[alec]: same here

[magnus]: so with that in mind. it might be a thing we should know [magnus]: just in case

[alec]: ok for Pandemonium dancing you would probably have to get me a bit not sober

[magnus]: that wasn't a no

[alec]: no it wasn't, was it?

*** *** ***

[lydia]: Alec requested some of the video from my engagement party, but then gave me your phone number instead of your email [lydia]: I think they'd send better via something smarter than my phone's data plan

[magnus]: I think he assumed you'd send them to him? But certainly: ma.ba05@uia.edu

[lydia]: pretty sure you'll enjoy having them more than he will

[magnus]: you may have a point there, thank you [magnus]: I think he'd like to have more of John to remember, though

[lydia]: Alec told you about him, did he?

[magnus]: a little. My condolences

[lydia]: It was four years ago

[magnus]: regardless.

[lydia]: hmm. Yes. [lydia]: thank you

[magnus]: you're welcome [magnus]: and if you have any more John & Alexander stories, I would of course be DELIGHTED to hear them. Or see them. Regardless of media.

[lydia]: that might be nice, I'll think about it

[magnus]: excellent! No hurry, but I do appreciate it.

[lydia]: Are you sure you're not in a hurry? I hear you're braving Lightwood family dinner already. [lydia]: good luck with that

[magnus]: I feel like starting our mutual acquaintance at a bar full of six metaphorical siblings was scarier? [magnus]: You're making me question my conclusions a little though

[lydia]: Luke used to be a cop and Maryse is... Maryse

[magnus]: That did not clarify anything. [magnus]: Alexander couldn't seem to explain why he was nervous about me meeting his mother either [magnus]: she was very nice when she confirmed the invitation

[lydia]: she is a lovely woman

[magnus]: but?

[lydia]: I don't know how to explain it either. She's an accountant, used to work for the prosecutor's office I think it was, and I'm pretty sure that if she'd been around she would have scared Capone even before he knew it was his finances that were going to take him down.

[magnus]: well that's terrifying

[lydia]: she's very competent. And she knows it. And she expects the same.

[magnus]: that doesn't sound too bad?

[lydia]: at *everything* from *everyone* [lydia]: all the time

[magnus]: huh. I think I'm starting to get it.

[lydia]: she loves her kids though [lydia]: so she'll like you, regardless of anything else, because you make Alec happy

[magnus]: I'm glad that you think I do

[lydia]: You do. I'm not blind [lydia]: I've not ever seen Alec like that before, and it's nice [lydia]: I kind of get the feeling no one's ever seen you like that either?

[magnus]: you are a very observant woman

[lydia]: well. Maryse likes me. I'm competent, too.

[magnus]: and now we're back to scaring me a little, aren't we?

[lydia]: no. Alec's important to a lot of people, but you're important to him, so now you're important to us too. But there is that question of *hurry* that isn't usually Alec's style? There may be some growing pains [lydia]: I'll get those videos to you later today. It really was very nice to meet you, I look forward to seeing you again

[magnus]: thank you, you too

*** *** ***

[magnus]: I had a slightly odd conversation with Lydia [magnus]: I'm not sure if she was trying to comfort me or scare me

[alec]: she has that effect on people a lot [alec]: I think it's only sort-of on purpose [alec]: but she wouldn't have even tried the comforting half if she didn't like you, so that's a good sign

[magnus]: and she promised me videos! And perhaps more John & Alexander shenanigan stories in the future

[alec]: there were no shenanigans. We were very boring.

[magnus]: impossible

[alec]: Well. I always felt very boring, but John was great, so I guess we'll see what Lydia has to say on the subject.

[magnus]: why in the world would you think you're boring?

[alec]: I work too hard and don't, as a general rule, like people [alec]: People don't usually notice me, if there's anyone else in the room

[magnus]: John did. I do.

[alec]: well, you're both special cases

[magnus]: so are you

[alec]: agree to disagree on that one?

[magnus]: nope. You're wrong. I'll convince you eventually.

[alec]: good luck, I guess?

[magnus]: I don't need luck, not for something so obvious.

[alec]: I don't know whether to roll my eyes or stick my tongue out at you

[magnus]: Well, the tongue could be considered an *invitation* and we both still have work to do

[alec]: 🙄🙄🙄

[magnus]: 😈😇😘

*** *** ***

[raphael]: thank you.

[alec]: Raphael? I mean. You're welcome? Maybe? Are you... is Magnus ok?

[raphael]: Of course. I'd lead with that, if he wasn't.

[alec]: yeah, right. That would make sense. Are we going to make sense sometime soon?

[raphael]: Maybe. If I feel like it.

[alec]: ha, I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere.

[raphael]: don't tell anyone

[alec]: never

[raphael]: have you been to Magnus' office yet?

[alec]: not today, but yes. Why?

[raphael]: did you see the display in the hallway?

[alec]: the programs and photos from the work the department's done? Yeah, I spent. An amount of time I am not going to figure out because it'd be embarrassing, probably, finding every single one of them that had Magnus' name or picture in it. [alec]: he's got an impressive resume

[raphael]: he put some more up today. [raphael]: from shows he'd done with Camille

[alec]: oh

[raphael]: exactly. He's been back for years and it took you what, a week? to manage what we didn't. So.

[alec]: He did it himself. But thank you for telling me.

[raphael]: you're welcome [raphael]: I assume I'll see you Sunday?

[alec]: Yeah. Yes, you will.

[raphael]: good

*** *** ***

[alec]: oh my god why are people so stupid [alec]: I have re-set the password for this guy every week [alec]: all semester [alec]: and yet he's the one who looks at me like it's my fault he's locked himself out. Again [alec]: why can't he follow directions? [alec]: just once? [alec]: I am reconsidering my position on sexting as distraction help me

[magnus]: oh no, you wouldn't help me, said you deserved my full attention. Are you saying I don't deserve your full attention?

[alec]: I WOULD NEVER [alec]: but the rest of the world pales in comparison to you [alec]: the simple fact of your existence makes it harder for me to deal with idiots [alec]: I know how much better people can be, because of how much better you are

[magnus]: jjjjjjjjjjj

[magnus]: ... jfc Alexander [magnus]: Raphael is doing that face where he's laughing at me in his head. Apparently you broke me for a bit there [magnus]: which is fine, I love you [magnus]: but I need to return the favor [magnus]: I'll meet you at the door for a celebratory bj

[alec]: fcuk [alec]: I knew you were magical, apparently my face when I glanced down at my phone did something and he left instead of complaining more [alec]: Also. Your door or the student center's door? Because the SC is really well lit [alec]: I don't think I care

[magnus]: OUR door! [magnus]: I'm going to take my time. [magnus]: 2am right? I remember those emails

[alec]: I love you so much [alec]: even before I discovered you could scare away idiots [alec]: even beyond blowjobs [alec]: I'll be there by 1:45 at the latest

*** *** ***

FRIDAY

*** *** ***

[cat]: you owe me new scrubs

[alec]: Cat? What. How. Why do all my conversations keep starting like this? [alec]: Nevermind. What did I do?

[cat]: I saw your picture in the Chief Surgeon's office and almost choked and did manage to spill my entire mug of coffee on myself

[alec]: that's. I'm sorry. I really am. That sounds awful, I might actually cry without my coffee [alec]: but also not actually my fault

[cat]: no, but if you come shopping with me for new ones I can tell you embarrassing Ragnor and Magnus stories

[alec]: are you free tomorrow?

[cat]: Lunch? [cat]: And you can maybe also tell me how you managed to get Dr. Penhallow to smile for a camera

[alec]: I can't, actually, my mother's the one who managed that (they were friends in college, if that answers your soon to be second question) [alec]: the most I've ever managed is that raised eyebrow thing where she's amused and not glaring but not *quite* smiling?

[cat]: Ah, yeah. I've seen that one.

[alec]: you must be really good at your job then, she doesn't let that one out for people who aren't practically family very often

[cat]: maybe she just thinks I'm funny?

[alec]: You're hilarious if you think I'd fall for that. Respect or you have not earned facial expressions at all. Except maybe the murder-one if you did something stupid

[cat]: gotten that one too, have you?

[alec]: maybe once or twice

[cat]: and you survived! Impressive

[alec]: well, she toned it down a little when I was eight

[cat]: what did you do to earn a murder-look at eight?

[alec]: My sister Izzy and Aline and I chased all the local cats one summer, trying to find the ones with wings like in these kids books I'd been reading them. The cats did not appreciate this behavior. Neither did anyone else, especially when we wandered back all bruised and scratched up. Plus Aline had managed to twist her wrist really badly, and I am the eldest so...

[cat]: murder-look

[alec]: murder-look

[cat]: don't worry, if you and Magnus ever get injured in an adventure I'll know to blame him instead of you

[alec]: thanks?

[cat]: I have a pretty good murder-look too, if I do say so myself, this is a pretty big concession I'm making

[alec]: I'm honored

[cat]: as you should be. Any ideas for lunch?

[alec]: I will literally eat anything. Surprise me?

[cat]: You are a little reckless, aren't you? I like that. All right then. I'll text you the address tomorrow.

[alec]: sounds like a plan

*** *** ***

[magnus]: impertinent question!

[alec]: my favorite kind (from my favorite person)

[magnus]: distracting! I forgot what I was going to ask [magnus]: and even so you are still my favorite too [magnus]: I perhaps have questionable taste

[alec]: but it works in my favor, so I'm not gonna argue with it

[magnus]: does this mean if I buy you something pretty that you'll wear it? Since you trust my taste and all...

[alec]: depends on the sort of pretty, I suppose. Public or private?

[magnus]: private

[alec]: then yes

[magnus]: you don't even know what I'm thinking of

[alec]: doesn't matter

[magnus]: goddamn [magnus]: uh. I gotta. Go. [magnus]: order something

[alec]: do I get a hint? [alec]: ... [alec]: apparently not. ok then.

*** *** ***

[magnus]: I remembered my original question!

[alec]: is it as impertinent as the tangent?

[magnus]: probably not, sorry [magnus]: how do you do that thing, you know, [magnus]: where you're looking at say, me for example, but can still catch Jace's napkin and not walk into dancers or bump into furniture in an apartment you've never been in before even when I am Very Distracting?

[alec]: oh. That's. Situational awareness. That's actually a serious answer, let me get my food (more coffee) first.

[magnus]: oh, you do not have to serious in between your classes, do ignore me

[alec]: never. And I like it when you know more about me. it's just easier to typewhen I'm sitting down [alec]: as witnessed by my inability to use the spacebar

[magnus]: well you do have nice big hands, Alexander

[alec]: and now I'm blushing in line I'm ignoring you until I'm settled

[alec]: all right. Ready for the long story?

[magnus]: always

[alec]: one of the things Mom insisted on when we got to Alicante was me staying in therapy [alec]: all of us getting therapy actually, including her, but especially me

[magnus]: I'm glad

[alec]: she was determined to do better. She helped us all do better. I think you'll like her.

[magnus]: I'm sure I will

[alec]: I ended up in a depression therapy group, but it wasn't just. We had all tried... We were all on suicide watch at some point. We were the really sad depression group?

[magnus]: not sad. You were all fighting to get that far, weren't you? The bravest group, I think.

[alec]: Even now, while I agree with that for every other person who was in that room, I have trouble saying it to myself.

[magnus]: I'll keep saying it until it gets a little easier

[alec]: you're going to make me cry in public if you keep being so perfect

[magnus]: well we can't have that, I promise to avoid doing the dishes for at least a week

[alec]: You avoid the dishes already

[magnus]: see! terribly flawed.

[alec]: perfect for me though

[magnus]: you make me breathless when you say things like that, I may faint [magnus]: but are you trying to avoid the subject? We can talk about it later. In person, if it's easier. Or not at all, if you don't want to.

[alec]: no, well. Maybe. Let's see how it goes?

[magnus]: all right

[alec]: one of the men in the group was a vet. Former combat arms. [alec]: he was hyper-vigilant, if you know what that is? Always tracking everything around him, every shift, every noise, until there was too much coming in, and he couldn't handle it anymore.

[magnus]: It's quite common in foster kids, too. For different reasons. Not that we knew it had a name. Pretty sure we would have gone with 'sensible precaution'

[alec]: I hate that. I hate the why and the how and the how many...

[magnus]: I know. I do too.

[alec]: I love you. And I'm so glad you made it.

[magnus]: same to you

[alec]: unsurprisingly, my problem was paying too much attention to what I was thinking and not enough to what was really around me. I'd assume the worst and make it fit in my head even though it hadn't actually happened. [alec]: sometimes it had kind of happened? But usually not the way I made myself feel about it. [alec]: the therapist leading the group... paired us off, I guess. Was trying to help us balance it out [alec]: it was awful for a couple weeks. We barely talked, he kept startling me because he would walk around fucking silently, and I apparently kept 'blocking his sight lines' and 'looming' in his way

[magnus]: my poor awkward giant

[alec]: ha. You're not wrong though. He's relatively compact and I was even more all arms and legs than I am now

[magnus]: I'm a terrible person, that sounds hilarious

[alec]: you could never be a terrible person. Plus in retrospect I'm sure it was. [alec]: I was very uncomfortable at 18, kept trying to make myself smaller and shorter which never worked and tended to make me all elbows and knees and stutters [alec]: Hodge was grumpy and stocky and looked about ten years older than he actually was. He was also really tired of everyone telling him he was overreacting every time he jumped.

[magnus]: people are assholes

[alec]: sometimes, yeah [alec]: I think it was a kind of self-defense, really, that once we started talking he'd point out the things he kept seeing and hearing that I missed. Most of the time, I'd realize I'd maybe sort of noticed it, and I'd tell him why I hadn't thought it was important. Not just that it hadn't scared me, but why. Which apparently was a new thing. Most people just said *that's not going to hurt you* with a *don't be dumb* implied on the side

[magnus]: which you never did

[alec]: tried not to. The step-by-step deduction was the thing that helped him out. [alec]: helped me out too, because I started noticing when I jumped a few steps in order to get to the worst possible conclusion [alec]: and then I started noticing things even before he told them to me, and he started figuring out they weren't trying to kill him even before I pointed it out [alec]: Once it clicked, I never really managed to turn it off? But it wasn't ever as... hair-trigger as Hodge's had been. [alec]: part of why I don't dance when I'm out with the hedge. I tend to focus on who I'm dancing with, and not. Everything else? Same for not drinking. It helps keep me steady, knowing I know what's going on around me, paying attention to what's out there instead of what's in my head. Alcohol blunts that awareness enough I start getting twitchy.

[magnus]: now I feel terrible, I keep trying to entice you to go out drinking and dancing with me

[alec]: but I want to [alec]: I don't think you understand just HOW MUCH I enjoy your dancing [alec]: and I know you'll keep me safe

[magnus]: now who's perfect? I'm going to start crying and ruin my eyeliner

[alec]: well we can't have that [alec]: Would it make you feel better to know that when Hodge met Jace, Jace tried to clap him on the shoulder (despite the fact that I had told him how I knew Hodge, and why we were working together) and Hodge just sort of turned sideways and Jace was flat on his back on the floor blinking at the ceiling? [alec]: because the memory of that makes me feel better on an almost weekly basis and it's been something like seven years

[magnus]: ohno that's perfect.

[alec]: Jace being Jace, he was of course delighted, and he popped right back onto his feet and asked Hodge to show him how he did it. [alec]: Hodge was very confused.

[magnus]: I would have been too. Your brother sounds like... something else

[alec]: He is one of a kind.

[magnus]: ...

[alec]: I see you typing. No smart comments, you're stuck with him forever now. Package deal.

[magnus]: I know, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't think he agrees though. Your sister's voice did something odd when she mentioned he might join us for lunch.

[alec]: Not yet. He's just cautious. For good reason.

[magnus]: I know

[alec]: I love you

[magnus]: And I you

[alec]: Jace will probably be fine, he likes when people feed him. Izzy might just be annoyed that she'll have a witness to her attempting to interrogate you. She tends towards inquisitive.

[magnus]: I'll have my deflecting answers ready, shall I?

[alec]: I mostly just don't answer, but you do you

[magnus]: I always do

[alec]: I've noticed. It's one of the many things I appreciate about you

[magnus]: you're going to make me blush. I have to change the topic now, or I'll do something excruciatingly sappy. [magnus]: Where is Hodge now, if you don't mind me asking? Are you still in touch?

[alec]: He works for a cleaning company. He's never said, but I think it's a nice change for him, fixing things and putting them back together, instead of... you know. [alec]: He HAS said that he likes ending the day being able to see exactly what he accomplished via empty trash cans and shiny floors and windows. Plus then he gets to go home and leave work completely behind.

[magnus]: That does sound rather nice, I can see the appeal

[alec]: neither of us picked good careers for that second one, did we?

[magnus]: not so much

[alec]: He and Jace also do the self-defense classes together at the gym where Jace works. Jace always volunteers to be the bad guy. He's so proud when, by the last session, he spends most of the hour flat on the mat.

[magnus]: that's oddly adorable

[alec]: that's Jace

[magnus]: But now that my office hours are about to start, I should probably hide my phone until I'm done [magnus]: until later, love

[alec]: until dancing. I can’t wait 💖

[medeafive]

Dust to Dust

Here’s my secret santa gift for @lizziesaltyzman who's song prompt was "Dust to Dust" by The Civil Wars (which fits Buckynat super well, thank you for bringing it to my attention!).  

A quiet night in, sometime before Christmas, featuring cooking and dancing and teasing.

Read on AO3

She smells it as soon as she opens the door.

If he makes her soup, it's usually bad. Not the soup, he makes borscht like a Russian babushka. It's cliché, but then again, she cannot claim particularly much authentic Russianness at this point. But if he makes her soup, it usually means he's not in a good place. She remembers coming home from difficult missions, missions where she got hurt, and finding gallons of soup in the fridge.

She kicks her shoes off, not caring to put them on the shoe rack, and leans against the corner peeking around. He's not actually in the kitchen, just a boiling pot. Shit. There's candles. Did she forget something? Birthday? Anniversary? Other holiday? She probably forgot something. It's been a busy week, and really, all these stupid anniversaries, first kiss, first sex, moving in together, why would one even-

The bedroom door opens and he emerges, hair wet, smiling when he sees her. “Oh, hey. There you are, just on time.”

“Please just tell me what I fucked up this time,” she asks. At least he's in sweatpants. So it's not that serious. “I mean- candles?”

He laughs, lifting the lid of the pot and stirring. “Don't worry, doll, it's nothing. Was just in the mood.”

It's not your eyes It's not what you say It's not your laughter that gives you away

He's put up all the Christmas decoration already. Right. Shit. She should do something for that. But she still has a week, a week and a half. She pushes herself away from the corner. “Did something go bad?”

He snorts. “Always does, right? No, it's okay. Just needed a break.”

You're just lonely You've been lonely too long

She slips behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. He exhales. She presses a kiss to his shoulder blade, through the shirt. “How long has it been?”

“Thirteen days,” he murmurs, leaning back against her. “Twelve and a half.”

“Sorry,” she whispers, letting go of him. “I'm gonna take a shower. I'll be right back, smelling a lot nicer.”

“Bought you a new shower gel,” he remarks, pretending to be preoccupied with the pot. “Cinnamon or something. Looked Christmas-y.”

“I'll let you know in a second,” she promises, slipping away to the bathroom.

All your acting Your thin disguise All your perfectly delivered lies They don't fool me You've been lonely too long

He's set the table when she comes back, the pretty red tablecloth underneath. He's not even on his phone now. She rubs through her hair again, then drops the towel by the bedroom door. He snorts, turning around. “You're such a slob.”

“Come on,” she purrs, dancing within his reach. “You missed me.”

“You've been away much longer, on other occasions,” he replies, almost catching her wrist but she's faster. “And you still don't seem to have a clue what a shoe rack is for.”

Her eyes widen almost comically. “Who cares about shoes. Come on, catch me.”

“I'm not chasing you,” he stresses. “Also, it's pretty small here, you really have nowhere to go.”

She smirks, prancing around the edge of his reach. “Aw, sure. I'll show you.”

He rolls his eyes. “The soup's gonna burn, doll.”

“Fuck the soup,” she states in a deceptively soft voice. “Oh, you know what, fuck you.”

His eyes go straight down to where his shirt ends on her thighs. Suddenly, he leaps forward, but she saw it coming, anticipated it, and she ducks out of his reach again and again, reading his next move faster than he can make it, until her back hits the wall of the bedroom and he bumps right into her, pressing up against her, his turn to smirk. “Got you.”

“Oh my,” she remarks, hooking her left leg around his hip. “What a terrible thing to happen.”

Let me in the wall you've built around And we can light a match and burn it down

He lets it go, instead ducking in to nestle her neck, breathing her in deeply. She gets a little goosebumps. Her hair is still wet. She pulls him in with her leg.

“Cinnamon,” he remarks before moving up to her lips. She hums, letting him in, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. His shirt has rucked up almost to her hips but she doesn't push it right now, lavishing in the laziness they're so rarely permitted.

She's a little disappointed when he pulls back already. “Mhm. Close your eyes.”

They're already closed, so she just nods, pretending to be very serious. He pushes her arms off him. “Stay here. Don't move.”

“Okay,” she mutters, again a little disappointed when he doesn't drop to his knees to make her see stars. Also very Christmas-y. But okay, she'll wait. She hears him moving around in the kitchen. The soup? No, patience.

“Don't open your eyes,” he reminds her from the kitchen and she snorts impatiently. Okay, just get on with it. She thinks she hears a little pling. Oh- she freezes. This idiot. This idiot.

The violin of Tchaikovsky's Valse sentimentale serenades towards her. She snorts and almost opens her eyes, but he is there to close them again gently. “Nuh-uh. Eyes closed.”

Let me hold your hand and dance 'round and 'round the flame In front of us Dust to dust

He places the left hand over her shoulder blades, taking her hand with his right. His apartment is small, too much furniture, there's no fucking space for a fucking waltz, and her eyes are closed and she can't even-

He spins her around and her feet respond almost automatically, not losing balance for a second, back straightening automatically. It's the London Festival Orchestra version, which is of course the best one, and she moves backwards before he steps on her foot, and then the music swells and she's twirling, eyes closed, through this fucking tiny apartment, and he pulls her to the side just a little with the next turn, she's not even sure anymore which way is which, eyes closed, and he spins them more to the right, the music swelling even more, she realizes she's not even close to losing her balance, definitely not in his arms, even if they move at twice the speed, spinning on approximately five square feet because that's the free space in his kitchen, she squints and they're actually there, in the kitchen, judging by the blurred tablecloth flying past her.

He leans in to kiss her neck again, which is really bad form on his part, this must look ridiculous, she in his shirt which doesn't even cover her thighs, wet hair, he in sweatpants, dancing the tiniest possible waltz in this little kitchen, it's really a wonder she hasn't bumped into anything yet, and if he can kiss her neck, she can certainly open her eyes, so she does.

“That's your Christmas present, by the way, doll,” he whispers against her neck, still spinning them with surgical precision. “Cause I'm not sure we're gonna meet again before that.”

She snorts, watching closely but he misses the stove just so. “Oh, you also forgot.”

He rolls his eyes, lifting his head again. “Last time, I got you a necklace and you ripped it.”

“This guy was trying to choke me with it!” she defends, automatically dropping a little back to look up at him.

“Exactly,” he replies, sliding his left hand a little back up. “I'm not getting you another gift that someone might use to try to kill you. I'm positive a waltz is safe.”

“If you don't step on my feet,” she remarks, even though it's not even close. “So, that's your Christmas party? Come on, it's the 14th.”

He snorts. “Yeah, and tomorrow someone threatens to blow up a nuclear plant in Nicaragua. Not risking it.”

“I'll have you know that since you didn't give me a heads-up, it's your fault I don't have anything for you,” she adds. “So, I'm not counting that under my fuck-ups.”

He rubs his cheek against her wet hair, which entirely ruins the whole posture, they're way too close for a waltz, but who gives a fuck, there's no one here to judge. “Oh, I can think of something I want.”

She smirks, rubbing a little against him. “Oh, really, can you?”

You've held your head up You've fought the fight You bear the scars You've done your time Listen to me You've been lonely too long

They step around more slowly again. If any actual dancing teacher saw them, they'd scream. But it's for them. For her. For Christmas.

The song dripples out and she gazes at him, her feet have somehow found their place on their own where they can stay. The final tone fades out and then it's quiet, other than the stove. “You deserve this,” she whispers. “All of this. You know that, right?”

He pulls her in, hugging her. “Yeah. But thanks for reminding me.”

She buries her face in his chest. The cinnamon is probably from her, but he still smells good. She realizes she's really home.

You're like a mirror, reflecting me Takes one to know one, so take it from me You've been lonely You've been lonely too long

“The soup's gonna burn,” he mutters, not letting go of her. She doesn't care. Food, Christmas, that's all just background noise and what really matters is that she is here, that they are here, even if it's just for now. It's nice, for people like them, to come back to a place they can call home and that frankly even feels a bit like it, as far as people like them can tell. Before there's another mission in the world outside that takes them away for days, weeks, months. But now they're here, and now they're home.

“So, if it's Christmas already,” she whispers against his shirt. “Are you gonna make me see stars?”

He snorts, cupping her ass with his right hand. “Well, you gotta choose, doll. Food or stars?”

“I'm going to assume that's about the order,” she remarks. “Otherwise, well, shit.”

We've been lonely We've been lonely too long

[iwroteinapastlife]

Zelink Month Day 29!

Week 5: Will You Come Wake Me Up?

Day 29: Entangled

Zelda hisses as Link does his best to take off her boot without jostling the injured ankle underneath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes are hard and focused on her foot, but his deeply laden frown tells her that there’s more going on in his mind. Knowing him, she’s almost positive he’s blaming himself for her getting hurt in that last fight with the lizalfos.

“Link,” she says as he sets the shoe aside. She smiles when he looks up, hoping to melt that ice hardened gaze the slightest bit. “It’s just a little twist. You said it yourself; the hot spring alone will be enough to make it good as new.” He nods, but she can see the self-blame still heavy in his eyes as he pulls off her sock. “Link.” Her tone is stronger this time, more resolute. He presses his lips together and looks up with a stubborn expression. “I’m going to be fine.” She says it with a level of finality that doesn’t leave room for disagreement.

He frowns. “I would prefer if you didn’t get hurt at all.”

“I know,” she replies with a soft smile. “But this is nothing to get worked up over. My stance wasn’t good so the lizal knocked me back. It was my mistake that I need to work on.”

“It was an ice-breath; I could have taken it out with a single fire arrow.”

“Which you did with all the rest of them while I handled the one. Link,” she leans forward to take his face in her gloved hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her words are working, but he’s still not fully convinced; she can see it in the way he sighs. When it comes to her safety, he’s the most stubborn person in the world. She loves him for it, but she also wishes he wouldn’t beat himself up like this.

“Let’s get you in the water,” he says. She decides to allow the subject change.

Link leans forward and hooks one arm under her legs and the other around her back. She locks her arms behind his neck and pulls herself in as he stands up. His boots splash in the shallow waters as he takes her to a spot where she can soak her ankle.

Hidden under coves of snow and ice deep in the Hebra Mountains, Goflam’s Secret Hot Spring is a blessing of nature, offering travelers a place to heal so far from any settlements. The healing properties of the water aren’t full medical treatment by any means, but they cure light wounds with ease and assist recovery on deeper injuries. To fix up a twisted ankle after a run in with lizalfos? Perfect.

The water is warm and soothing on her skin as Link sets her down. He places her gently on a rock that she can sit on and remain dry while her foot is completely immersed.

“I’m going to start setting up camp. We should be safe here for the night.”

Zelda snatches his hand just before he walks out of reach. “You got hit too, didn’t you?” He purses his lips and doesn’t answer, so she frowns at him. “You need to heal too.”

They glare at each other in silence, but Zelda is determined to win this staring match. Being stubborn about the blame is one thing, but not taking proper care of himself is another. The knight is strong, has endurance for days, and is extremely brave in the face of adversity. While all good things, put together it means that he doesn’t give his body the rest and recovery it often needs, choosing to shoulder through pain instead. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let that continue.

Zelda stares on. Finally, Link huffs and looks away.

“Alright, what if I promise to come back and soak as soon as I set up our tent and get a fire going?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “It hit your chest pretty hard. You even had the wind knocked out of you. Are you sure you’re alright to do all that?”

“It’s fine,” he says, though the hand he puts over his ribs says otherwise. He’s always been ridiculously good at hiding pain. He could be in excruciating agony for all she knows.

He did lift her without trouble though, and he’s clearly preoccupied with securing their safety for the night. She imagines he won’t be able to relax until she lets him go.

“Just…” she softens her gaze and squeezes his hand, “take it easy, okay? Don’t leave me here alone for too long.” She adds a tiny smile and is relieved to see his shoulders fall a little bit as he exhales.

He leans down and places a tender kiss on her forehead. “I promise.”

Five minutes later, Zelda’s ankle is feeling good enough for her to swish it around in the water. She can still feel tiny twinges of pain here and there, but she’ll be fine to walk again at the very least. She decides to take off her other boot just for the sake of feeling the nice warm water on both feet. If they’re going to be staying here the whole night, she may as well dress down and take a swim. It’s not every day she gets the opportunity to swim in a giant hot bath after all.

She’s just removed her pants and is in the middle of pulling off her heavy sweater when she hears Link’s splashing footsteps return and subsequently pause. She looks up as her head pops out from under her shirt. He’s gazing at her with a simple, almost wistful smile that she doesn’t really understand.

“What?”

She can almost feel the path those eyes take along her skin as they rise to meet her own. It sends a tiny shiver down her spine.

His smile widens and he resumes his approach. “Feeling better I see?” He kneels down next to her and starts unlacing his boots. She nods and lifts her foot out of the water.

“Good as new.”

“Good.”

She sets her clothes in a neat pile off to the side where they won’t get wet before looking down at the underwear she’s still wearing. “Do you think anyone else will come out here?”

“I doubt it.”

“Good,” she says. Then she lifts the article of clothing covering her breasts up over her head and places it with the rest of her clothes. Her panties follow. She doesn’t look at Link, though she can sense his movements pause and she feels his eyes on her as she steps forward into the water.

The water comes up to her navel and slowly encompasses more of her as she moves further in. As it hits her ribcage, she sinks down and dunks her head.

The spring is somehow at just the right temperature to feel comfortably hot without scalding her, and it feels like a dream as it soaks through her hair. Her ankle is fully healed now and the rest of her body feels better than ever—the water easing sore muscles and joints frozen from traversing the snowy mountains over the last few days.

She comes up for air just in time to hear the small splash from Link entering the water. Pushing wet hair back, she turns to face him…

…and the blood rushes from her face.

“Dear Hylia!” she exclaims, wading forward. “I knew you were hiding something, but this!” She lifts his arm out of the way so she can inspect his side. Blooming all the way from his armpit down to his upper waist is a collage of yellow, red and purple—a myriad of smaller bruises all converging into one.

“It’s fine,” he says, his tone indicating he finds this amusing.

“You call this fine!?”

“It’s just a broken rib.”

“JUST a broken rib!?”

He laughs then—a full-hearted laugh that gets cut short by a wince. He’s still smiling though as he lowers his arm and settles in around her waist.

“Broken ribs really aren’t that serious,” he says. “You should have seen me after my first Lynel.” She finally tears her eyes from his injury to glare at him. But how is she supposed to be upset when he’s looking at her like that? He’s so much warmer now that her ankle is better and they’re safe for the night. That joking smile that she so adores is back on his lips.

“Come on,” she says, rolling her eyes. She places her hands on his arms and leads him deeper into the water. “I can’t believe you carried me here with a broken rib,” she mutters under her breath—though it’s plenty loud enough for him to hear her.

“I’d do it again.”

“I know you would; that’s the problem.”

He chuckles at that, smiling with such genuine warmth it has summerwings fluttering all through her. He doesn’t argue though; he knows she’s right.

She stops when the water comes up to his breast. “There,” she says, tone hard but gentle. “Now don’t do anything to strain your injury, okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He hardly wastes a breath before stepping up close and pulling her in for a kiss. She automatically sinks into him, hands connecting with his hips—his bare hips, she notes. He must have decided to follow her lead.

“How can you think about kissing me when you’re hurt like that?” she asks in a hushed voice. Link moves his lips to the crook of her neck, trailing soft kisses down to her shoulder.

“You haven’t looked in a mirror recently,” he murmurs against her skin. His hands glide along her back, fingers gently massaging knotted muscles. She practically melts at the touch, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. “You also don’t know how it feels to touch you.”

“I think I have some idea,” she replies, her own hands smoothing a slow path up his back. She pauses just before she would reach bruised territory. He senses this and skims his lips up to her ear.

“You’re not going to hurt me.” His voice is soft and low, and it hums in a way that turns her insides to mush.

“But—ah…”

Whatever she was about to say is completely derailed by the open-mouthed kisses he places on her neck. One hand comes up to the back of her head, fingers tangling through wet hair, while the other lays flat at the small of her back and pulls her in tight. She breathes in slow and deep as that familiar prodding appears where their hips meet.

“L-Link, I…” she has trouble piecing together her thoughts as his kisses move down to her shoulder. “I don’t want to do anything that—mm,” he just barely grazes his teeth, “—th-that strains your—ah,” he does it again, “—your ribs.”

He huffs out a half laugh and rests his forehead against hers. “If I promise to take it easy, will you stop talking and kiss me?”

She stares into those pretty blue eyes and sets her hands on either side of his face. “Promise you’ll tell me if something hurts.”

He nods. “I promise.”

“Even if it’s a really small pain.”

He chuckles, and she thinks either the hot spring is already working or he’s already hiding his pain again because he doesn’t wince this time. “Okay.”

“You promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” she whispers. Then she finally shuts up and kisses him.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

DOTW 51 - Full. With the nursery scene, it would have ended up being waaaaay too long, but now you know what's coming

Eren's had spent a week in hospital, his omega then returning fully over the next two weeks. It was a roller coaster for both of them. Eren still struggling to control emotions. Some days and nights were better than others. Some days Eren couldn't even get out bed, thanks to being exhausted by his nightmares or the inability to get comfortable. Then some days, he couldn't get out of bed without being reduced into a panicking mess over the smallest of things. Like Levi closing a drawer too hard... he'd taken his bad shift out on the cutlery drawer, causing Eren to bolted into the bathroom. He'd stayed there for the better part of three hours before calming down enough to come back out. Then there were the sudden bouts of anger that seemed to well up from nothing at all... He'd bought eggs without thinking about it, eggs still seemingly taboo in the apartment. Eren had lost hit shit over it, throwing each and every single one of the dozen at him with angry screams. If it'd been anyone other than Eren, he would have been pissed. Handling the situation like a mature adult, he'd laughed. He couldn't help it. Eren had run out of curses after the forth egg, just defaulting to calling him a "constipated arsehole", before getting flustered at himself over it all. It'd been adorable. His boyfriend might be ridiculously tall, but he was, as Hanji would describe, an "anger muffin". Impossible to actually be mad at due to the fact he was completely adorable. At 22 weeks, his boyfriend was a force to be reckoned with. His affectionate side had come back, Levi enjoying every second of it. Eren would have dinner or breakfast ready, and a bath waiting for him. His omega seemed to be prefer baths to showers, and didn't want to bathe alone. It only dissolved into sex half the time... He couldn't keep his hands off his mates stomach, pathetically in love with the swell and the future it meant. He was acting completely foolish, almost unlike himself. His protective instincts were only growing stronger, each time he left work, he forced Eren to lock the door properly behind him. It was the only way he could make through his shifts. That and when Eren was awake, they'd message back and forth all day. His omega choosing to throw himself into working through the books Levi had ordered for him. His drive to learn so great, that Levi had been thinking about asking Eren if he'd like to enrol in some online classes, or at least find a way for his boyfriend to get his high school equivalency. With how determined Eren was, he was sure he could manage it, especially with only 18 weeks being left until the due date of their pup. It all seemed like it was approaching too fast. Like if he blinked, he'd miss it, and he didn't want to miss a single thing in both Eren's and their child's life. With things finally looking better, Levi was finally able to bring the nursery issue up with Eren. His boyfriend had plenty of ideas, which surprised him. He'd thought Eren spent his time alone at home napping, cleaning or working on his studies. He hadn't even considered the fact that Eren might sneak into the spare room to take measurements, and compile a basic list of what he wanted via screen shots. All of it was perfect... Almost too perfect... yet quite unlike him, he didn't find himself dwelling on all the "what ifs" of the situation. Labour was dangerous. It'd never been a safer time to be having children, yet 830 women died a day due to pregnancy and complications. Males at an even higher risk as their bodies didn't stretch the way a female did. He knew if the fluid situation didn't happen to level out, that Eren would most likely require a c-section, and he knew Eren would automatically blame himself for it all. Finally getting two days off in a row, Levi had hit cloud nine. He'd spent the morning having lazy sex and snuggles with Eren. Their bed a complete mess by the time the two of the had crawled out of it. This had been followed by a quick hard fuck with Eren bent over the bathroom counter. Then had come showering with, and carefully cleaning out his blissed out omega. Eren coming with a whimper as he did. He'd wanted nothing more than to curl up with Eren on the sofa, and binge on a bunch of bad movies, but they were going shopping for nursery and baby things. His "suppressed" alpha constantly reminding him of the fact, as it wanted to show how good it was at providing for their child. There was also the fact that Eren wanted his hair cut, after trying to cut it himself in the bathroom, and the fact that nearly nothing of the omega's fitted over his swollen stomach anymore. Personally, Levi didn't give two shits if Eren wanted to walk around shirt free, or just in his bra. His lover's body was beautiful, and his developing breasts were perfect for holding onto when he mounted him from behind. He was lucky Eren felt the same way. He'd succeeded in making Eren come in his pants, by toying with his nipples while making out on the sofa. Eren's white dress was the only thing that properly covered his bump. Coupled with a pair of yoga pants and one of Levi's hoodies, his omega really didn't want to wear shoes. There was no way he was letting his boyfriend walk around bared foot getting all sorts of nasty germs all over them. His firm attitude led to Eren crying, but allowing Levi to put shoes on him... while leaving Levi feeling like a bit of an arse. Eren had enough problems as it was. His depression wasn't something magically cured by the return of his omega, it'd just helped to take the edge off. They still had plenty to talk about. For instance, the fact Eren thought himself a murderer, but that was barely remembered once they'd started being physical again. Heading to the closest shopping centre, Eren clung to him adorably... even if it was from anxiety. With his heartburn making breakfast nearly impossible, Levi was determined to do as much as he could for Eren. He'd gotten him to drink some milk, so his stomach wasn't completely empty. Not that it counted as breakfast in his eyes. He'd just have to trust that Eren would let him know when he was hungry. Walking into the department store, Levi snagged a trolley "Now. Anything you like, anything at all, you can get" "Mmm... I know. I, uh... talked to Marco and Hanji a little" "You've been talking to Marco?" "I thought I told you that Hanji brought him to see me. He apologised for being a bad friend... he came and saw me again, without Hanji and we talked a little... it's not like how it used to be, but he's... yeah. It's better" Levi wasn't sure if he liked Eren hanging around Marco again. Not when Jean was such a fucking arsehole. Jean getting into Eren's head, would be... no. Marco had to prove himself to Eren first, then maybe he would be allowed to visit... sans Jean. He might just tear that fucker's throat out if he had the chance "Ok. As long as you're ok with it, then I'll... be ok with it" "Don't worry. I'm not rushing to have them over. Don't give me that look. Your expression said it all" "I might just kill Jean if I see him" Eren swayed, before shaking his head. Fuck. He should have picked his words better. Taking a deep breath, Eren brought himself back under control "You can't do that. Marco's pregnant again" "Again? Haven't they heard of condoms?" "He smelt like it" "How old's Mina now?" "Uh... I think she was born in... November? No. We went on holiday in November. I can't remember, but like 10ish months? It's halfway through September... She looks so much like Marco" "Lucky girl. I wouldn't curse my worst enemy with Jean's looks" Eren giggled "That's harsh. I want our pup to look like you" "I know... but I've seen your baby photos, and I've seen you grow. I would be the luckiest alpha in the world if our pup looked like you" Eren blushed "Aren't you already the luckiest alpha in the world? My throbbing arse says you are" Eren's comment went straight to his dick. It was hard to believe he could still get hard enough how many times he and Eren had indulged in each other's bodies. Clearing his throat, his voice was slightly husky as he replied "Listen here, brat. If you keep that up, the nursery is never going to be done" 22 weeks may be too soon to start preparing the nursery, but it had now been months since he'd suggested it. He wanted to give Eren the chance to change his mind if he wanted, and wanted to give them enough time that they wouldn't be rushing to put everything together. What he'd read online said it was common for omega's to even nest in there when close to their due date. This was their first child. He didn't want to fuck up. That's why he'd chosen to go shopping before cleaning out the room. They could spent today and tomorrow making sure every purchase was just right "I'm just saying..." "And I'm just saying that I love you" "You love me enough to ruin my arse?" "And your breasts, and your mouth..." Eren playfully punched him on the shoulder "It's not my fault everything you do feels... good" "I know this pregnancy hasn't been easy, but... you've really opened up over being intimate" "I still can't... on my own. But with you, I want it. Only with you" "Does it bother you when I touch myself?" Eren's blush deepened "It... it's hot" He hadn't been aiming for a reply, but Eren's mumble was cute "I'm just teasing you" "You're an arsehole, old man" "Yeah. Anyway, baby shopping?" "Shopping for our pup. Not quite baby shopping. I think one is going to be hard enough" "Alright, brat. Point taken" "Good. If you behave, I might be persuaded to give you a treat" "I don't know if I can behave" "Then no treat for you. Come on, I want to get all the soft stuff first. I want to make sure it's all washed and sorted" Eren bopped him on the nose with the tip of his pointer finger. His warm scent rolling over Levi like the fresh rains of a storm, barely a note of anxiety to it. He was so fucking proud of him, even if he was a little shit. Walking a few steps ahead, Eren didn't realise Levi was still rooted to the spot, momentarily stripped of basic functions as rush of love filled his gut with warmth. Why the fuck hadn't he just proposed? Eren knew exactly what he wanted, that was one of the joys of actually going shopping with him. Though pregnant, he wanted to just get in, get everything they'd settled on, and get out... Then they hit the baby clothes. Getting Eren more maternity clothes had been easy. Soft and comfortable yoga pants and stretch belted jeans, couples with a few long sleeved shirts and bras that converted to nursing bras. Baby clothes sent his omega into while different kind of panic. Eren had picked up a soft fleece onesie and broken down. He wasn't crying, but his scent was definitely troubled and everything he picked up, he placed back "Eren, what's wrong?" Placing his hand on his stomach, Eren turned to him. His bright eyes filled with pain "Do you think I deserve to keep this baby?" "What do you mean?" "I... I don't know if I deserve this baby anymore... Levi... what do I do?" "You tell me what's going on, and we figure this out together" "I... my dad... he did something... It was horrible, Levi" Reaching out, Levi took Eren by the arm, gently pulling him close "You're not your father" "He... he took babies from omegas. How many omega's lost their pups because of him... 10 years... hundreds of omegas, Levi. And then he just dies. He dies. He... How do I live with that?" Hushing Eren softly, Levi nuzzled his neck "You live by loving our pup with everything you have" "Why? Why should I get to keep my pup, when they didn't?" "Because you weren't the one to take their pups away. That sin. That sin is a stain on your father, not you" "The sins of the father are inherited by the son" "That's a load of shit. I don't even know my fucking father and I, sure as hell, am not going to start cleaning up his shit. You're not him" "But Levi..." "No. This pup. This pup is ours. You're allowed to want this and to be happy. What he's done, it's not ok. And I will tell you as many times as you need, you will be an amazing mother. You're allowed to be happy and to love this pup" "I feel so guilty. Looking at all this. It's like... they never got to do this with their babies" "That's because the world is shit. They treat omega's like shit and walk all over them to make themselves feel better. It's not fair. To them or to you. I love you, and when you're ready to tell me more, I will listen" Grisha could go choke on a bag of dicks... or maybe a sack of balls, seeing he obviously didn't have a set. What kind of fucked up shit had the man done? And why the fuck... No. he just had no words for him "I don't want to remember, but how do I forget?" "I don't know. I love you, ok?" "I love you too, Levi. I... think maybe we... I don't know..." "We can go home, if you want? Or we can get a few more things. Or we can get the furniture? Whatever you want to do" "Can we do furniture? This is just..." "You don't have to explain. I understand" "I really... I don't even know what I'm saying now" "You're saying how much you love me, and how we're going to order way too much food when we get home. You're going to take a bath, and..." "How do you do that?" "Do what?" "Love me, so easily. No matter what I say" "It's your arse. I... love your arse. I was born gay, just to be with your arse. I'm not giving that arse up to anyone" Eren sighed at him, nuzzling and kissing his hair as Eren's hand found his "Why am I bonded to you?" "Because you love me" "Oh... I forgot about that" "Shitty brat. Eren, thank you. For trusting me enough to tell me" "It seems like I'm pretty much stuck with you, not matter what I do" "You're only just working that out?" "I didn't go to school, remember?" "As long as it's not my fault that it's taken this long to realise that" "No... No. You... You're my strength, Lee. Coming home to you, that's the only thing that kept me going. I love you" "I love you, and I think this is getting too mushy for a shopping trip" "You're probably right. I never really realised how small baby clothes actually are" "It'd be a bit weird if you just gave birth to a full grown adult" "Don't go giving him ideas... I'm already scared about the labour" "You'll be fine. I'll be with you" "Yeah... as long as he doesn't get ideas about coming too soon" "Don't go jinxing it" "I'm not. You're the one giving him ideas" "I can't help it. I never thought I'd be a father. I never even thought I'd find a mate, or have a family. This is all your fault" "My fault? I'm pretty sure you said you were born gay to be with my arse" "It doesn't sound romantic when you say it" "It's not romantic at all. At least, not to anyone butt me" "Did you just...?" "Maybe. What are you going to do about it?" "Just you wait until we get home. I'll be happy to show you just how much I love that arse of yours" "Fuck. I'm slick as it is..." "All the more reason we should grab what we planned and get home. You've turned me into a horny old man, who can barely keep it in my pants" Eren paused as he moved to step towards the shopping trolley "Do you... do you really find me that attractive? I... kind of just... feel fat" "I found you beautiful before you even fell pregnant, and I can honestly say I find you just as beautiful now" "Even though I look like this?" "There is nothing wrong with the way you look. And if anyone dares say otherwise, I will bash the ever living shit out of them" "Really?" "I promise" "Then I suppose we should get you home" * Their playful banter had helped distract Eren from his guilt. His omega had perked up when they'd moved towards furniture, only to deflate again until Levi started teasing him again. He'd never thought Eren would be subjected to the harsh reality of those who used and abused omegas. Not after Zeke's death. Knowing the cause of Eren's depression made things much more understandable, while the strength of Eren's trust in him was a little terrifying. With his omega rejecting the pup, and his guilt over carrying, the fact Eren hadn't done something extreme like aborting it, only served to weigh heavily on his mind. Eren kept going through the pregnancy because he knew how much he wanted it. That was all Levi could put it down to. His omega who'd so desperately wanted this child, hadn't thought to get rid of it, because he didn't want to hurt him. Sure, now that his omega had evened out, his moods had improved, but it must have been fucking hard for Eren to keep that inside. He'd probably only confided in Krista... They were lucky to have found such an understanding therapist, and one that Eren could vent to. Returning home from shopping, they headed up to the apartment. The larger items of furniture were being delivered the following day, while the car seat and the majority of the bedding was still in the car. Eren having slowly run out of steam and needing a nap. Lunch leaving his lover seemingly more exhausted than before they'd started eating. Letting Eren in first, his omega made to the sofa before sinking down onto it, automatically going to curl up on it, only to stop before his shoes touched the cushions. Waving his arm at him, Eren groaned "I'm coming" "My feet are too far away. This wouldn't have happened if you'd let me get away with no shoes" "No. You'd be taking a shower if you weren't wearing shoes" "So mean. I don't think you understand fat and swollen feet at all" "Your feet aren't fat" "They feel fat. I feel fat" Draping his waving arm over his face, Eren sighed dramatically "I'm beached" "Hi, beached..." He didn't even get to finish his sentence before Eren was throwing a cushion at him "Please, Levi. Just... help" Closing the apartment door, Levi decided everything down in the car could wait. Placing the bags of Eren's clothes down by the sofa, he squatted down to free his omega of his shoes. Eren moaning the moment his feet were both free "Thank you... I have no idea how full term people walk around or wear high heels" "I honestly don't either. Do you want to nap here? Or in bed?" "Bed. I want cuddles" "Cuddles or sex?" "Cuddles during sex?" Laughing to himself, Levi moved to lift Eren from the sofa "Cuddles during sex?" "I don't know. Why am I so sleepy?" "Because you had a big day" "I don't feel like I did" "You did, and you did good. You told me when you reached your limit" "I feel like my limit isn't good enough" "Eren, trust me. You did good" "I trust you, but I'm still gonna disagree" "I bet if you told Krista, she'd agree" "We are literally about to fuck or snuggle. I don't wanna think about anyone else" Sitting Eren down, Levi helped him out his jacket and dress, then bra. Eren flopped back as if in defeat, lifting his arse to be free from his yoga pants "Eren, how would you feel about topping?" "Topping what? Like ice cream topping?" "Me" "Levi. My brain is like... already shut off... I'm sorry. I can't think" Stripping Eren down, Levi was far less careful when it came to his own clothes. Slick had soaked his boyfriend pad and underwear, leaving them almost sodden. Something that should have revolted, and once would have. Now it just had him itching to mount his mate. Propping himself up, Eren smiled at him "You're so fucking sexy" "Says the guy oozing slick" "Mmm, but that's your fault. And I notice you left my bra on. Do you love my breasts that much?" "You have no idea what I want to do to them" "Oh, is that right? Maybe you show me" "I thought you were sleepy" "There's no way I can sleep after looking at your dick" How could Eren possibly be so shy about masturbating, then sprout something like that? "Is that so?" "It'd just be cruel to make you sleep like that" Pushing himself up to sitting, Eren pulled him closer. His dick brushing over his omega's breasts "Fuck, brat..." "You could take the bra off?" "Mmm. I could, but then what would I do with your breasts?" "I don't know... but I think I want to" "I have an idea, but I want you to know I'll stop if you don't like it, or it feels uncomfortable" "I want to try more with you..." "Eren. I need to hear you say it" It was probably pathetic, but every time they tried something knew, or if Eren didn't initiate it, he still wanted to hear that it was really ok. Eren hadn't had a full blown panic attack from sex since falling pregnant, but he had had a few moments when Levi had needed to step back and let his omega calm back down, even if Eren hadn't noticed them "Levi, if it's too uncomfortable, it'll tell you" "Thank you" Freed from his bra, Levi now had a firm hold of Eren's breasts, pushing them together as he massaged them firmly. Moaning, Eren's legs were spread wide as Levi slowly rocked up against his boyfriend. His erection was trapped between the soft warm flesh of Eren's developing chest, with each trust making Eren mew. He hadn't been sure Eren would into this, but the constant stimulation seemed to be driving him wild, as Levi's desire to cum across Eren's face and chest grew. He'd never thought he'd into titty fucking his boyfriend, but it was fucking hot, especially when Eren slid one hand down to start jerking himself off. Building up a constant rhythm, he felt the tell tale feeling, knowing he was going to come all too soon "Eren, can I come?" "My mouth... I want to taste you" "Are you sure?" "Please alpha... let me taste you" Keeping his hand on Eren's right breast, he used his left to guide himself into Eren's eager mouth. His omega immediately hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head. Shit. Eren's technique had him weak the knees "Eren..." Nodding around his erection, Eren's eyes met his. That was it. He was gone. His orgasm hitting hard enough for left knee to give out. Awkwardly half kneeling on the bed, he pulled out Eren's mouth as his mate started to choke, coming down Eren's lips and chest, as his lover's come hit his leg. Panting, Levi's head dropped forward, still coming as he tried to catch his breath. No one but Eren had ever made him come this fucking hard, it was seriously verging on ridiculous and felt like what he imagined a volcano erupting would feel like. For some reason that escaped him, it seemed like he came more now that Eren was pregnant. Almost like he was trying to get him pregnant all over again. Milking the last few drops free, he dropped down onto the bed, next to Eren who looked just as fucked as he was. Looking to his mate, Eren caught his eye before starting to laugh "What?" "That felt... kind of amazing" "You're laughing because it felt good?" "And because you have to help me clean up. I think I'm just going to fall asleep like this" "Give me a minute. I popped half a knot" Rubbing his dick, Eren rolled towards him "I'm so not up for kissing it better" "Says the guy covered in my come, and groping me" "Mmm. I just want to touch you. I want to remember every inch of you" "Oh?" "Mhmm. Especially these 9 inches" Leaning in, Eren's lips still held traces of the cinnamon and sugar from the donut he instead on having for lunch. The slow kiss slowly grew more hungry, Eren moaning into his mouth as he release his hold to climb into Levi's lap. Not wanting to break the kiss, Levi pushed himself up, Eren's stomach big enough to make things uncomfortable for him if he hadn't. Breaking the kiss, Eren whined as Levi started to stiffen beneath him. Rolling his hips, Eren started to ride him slowly, one hand on his stomach to keep his balance. With slick pooling in his lap, Levi let out a growl, his dick demanding to be inside their mate instead of just fucking him between his cheeks. Taking hold of Eren's arse, he lifted him enough to line up, the omega so wet and aroused that he could slowly sink into his heat without causing too much pain. It had probably helped that Eren was also still loose from that morning. Topping from the bottom, he held Eren's hips down as he thrust up, placing Eren's pleasure and comfort above his own. With each thrust, more come would dribble from the omega. Having just come, Levi took his time in reducing Eren into a fevered mess. Loving the way he moaned and mewed so sweetly just for him. As Eren's breathing grew more ragged, he started to clench and ripple, his orgasm close, but knowing another orgasm would leave him boneless, Levi lifted Eren, keeping just the tip buried inside as he flipped them over. Spreading his knees wide, his pace grew hard, the sound of squelching slick and wet skin against wet skin as he rode Eren through his orgasm and into his own, coming with a deep and almost primal snarl. Beneath him, Eren's eyelashes fluttered, Levi's heart stopping for a moment. Worried he'd hurt his mate he reached to cup Eren's cheek, before rubbing a soft circle with the pad of his thumb "Eren? Hey. Eren, can you hear me?" His mate didn't smell pained, nor did he feel pain from their bond. From what he could tell, Eren had passed out as soon as he'd come. He'd expected bonelessness, not outright passing out, though Eren had been exhausted. Climbing onto the bed was awkward, the position he ended up in wasn't exactly the best for collapsing into after sex, but he'd rather not cause any unnecessary discomfort for Eren. Resting his cheek against Eren's swell, he peppered kissed to Eren's stretch mark spotted skin. He knew Eren applied vitamin E cream to each stripe almost religiously, but he loved the marks. He didn't care if Eren's stomach never returned to being perfectly smooth. Pregnancy was changing Eren's body in so may ways, and other than his rank farts, Levi had no problems with it all. When Levi's knot finally deflated, he pulled from Eren. Given the fact his boyfriend had started to snore, he was pretty sure he hadn't hurt him. Retrieving a warm towel from the bathroom, Titan had appeared in his absence. Sitting on Eren's pillow, he scowled at Levi as he started to clean Eren down, as if blaming him for the current lack of cuddles. Making sure his boyfriend was as come free as he could be, Levi them grabbed a fresh pad and pair of underwear for Eren, getting him redressed and settled on his side of their bed. He'd completely forgotten the sheets were still a mess from that morning, so he'd settled Eren on the top sheet as it'd come through relatively clean, then grabbed a few of Eren's other blankets out the wardrobe to cover him with. Chucking Eren's clothes in the wash, he forced himself to shower. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with Eren, but his mind niggled at him, reminding him of the shopping waiting in the car. Eren was soundly asleep, and sorely needed it, giving him plenty of time to head down and retrieve everything. * Eren was in a forgiving mood. Actually, he was in the best mood he'd been in since bonding with Levi. Confessing his and his father's sin to his alpha may not have been planned, but it felt like the crushing tightness in his chest had eased. Levi had said it was ok to love his pup and to be happy. That what his father did wasn't his fault. It was completely different hearing it out loud, and from the alpha he loved so deeply. He could have told himself the exact same thing until he was blue in the face and he never would have believed it for himself. Having fallen asleep during sex, he'd woken to Levi cuddles. His alpha reading while playing absentmindedly with his hair. Eren couldn't help the rush of affection he felt every single time he looked to his mate. When he'd realised Levi wasn't going to propose any time soon, saying he was crushed was the understatement of the century, but gradually he settled back down, realising that perhaps Levi was planning something special and needed time to do so. He'd vowed to himself not to say anything, not after subjecting Levi to some of the foulest moods he'd ever experienced. Like seriously, who the fuck just throws a dozen eggs at their partner. It wasn't Levi's fault he didn't remember. His alpha worked his fucking arse so that they could live such a comfortable life. His own inheritance had been delayed due to the ongoing investigation into his father by Floch. Though he may have neglected to mention to Levi that man had called to tell him that. Levi would worry himself sick over it all. His alpha used to claim he was terrible at words, but every single word that came from Levi's lips was with love. Even when he'd had a horrible day at work, and was all broody and scowly, if he accident snapped he'd apologise right away. With the help of Levi, he'd showered and dressed, before his lover settled him down on the sofa in the living room. Levi so insistent on helping, he'd had to shoo him out so he could go to the toilet. Pregnant people peed a lot... like.... a lot. Equal parts impressed and annoyed, he eyed the organised mess spilling of their living area. While he'd been sleeping, Levi had moved all the new things for the pup to his room, and dragged everything out the spare room alone. With the smell of vinegar in the air, he could tell his alpha would have scrubbed the spare room from top to bottom already. Levi had once explained that vinegar kills mould, while bleach only serves to bleach it. Maybe it was the expectant mum in him, but the idea of the nursery stinking of bleach made his stomach roll. He wanted to be able to work in there, without worrying about the smell sending him scrambling for the toilet. Passing him his phone, Levi ruffed his hair on his way pass to the kitchen. Opening his Facebook up, he found himself doing something he never thought he would. First unblocking Armin, then adding him and the woman called Mikasa on his friends list. His father had told him how close they'd been, and with Levi's words of how he wasn't his father's sin or whatever it was, echoing in his mind. He sent them both friend requests, before placing his phone down and snatching up the TV remote. He'd expected to maybe feel some slight nerves, but he was just too happy to. When Levi joined him on the sofa, Eren sank into his warmth. He might be a horny shit, but cuddles felt even better. His alpha scent of warm free tea with the lingering touches of his body was had his omega internally purring. Starting to nibble at the sandwich Levi had made, his stomach rolled before rumbling "I'm not surprised you're staving" "I honestly feel like I haven't eaten in years" "That's because yesterday all you had was a glass of milk and lunch" "Yesterday?" "It's about 2 am. You slept for a solid 12 hours" "I don't feel like I have. Why didn't you wake me?" "Because making a baby takes a lot of energy. You needed the rest, especially when you didn't seem to have any nightmares" "I can't remember dreaming... I can't believe I fell asleep during sex" "You managed to scare the fuck out of me. I had a feeling you'd be tired, not that you'd pass out and start snoring" Eren's face dusted red with embarrassment, whining as it did. Levi was supposed to be nice to him! "Don't worry. I'm not mad" "I am. I didn't get my after sex cuddles" "No, but you're having cuddles now. You're not too sore, are you?" "No... my hips are, and my back, and feet, and my shoulders, and I feel bloated... I think I just want cuddles instead of sex" "I was thinking we could sort the boxes?" The things Levi decided to keep were going to be stored at Hanji's house, seeing she owned her own home, and had the space in her garage for them. Erwin had offered to help, but Levi had shot him down "Mmm. Ok. Let me sit up, and where's Titan?" "He was in your room. He wasn't happy I stripped our bed down" "Titan!" "You're supposed to be eating" "I'm still eating. I'm just worried about my fur baby" There was the soft but solid thud of Titan's paws as he came running, leaping up to settle on the sofa, then immediately trying to get to Eren's sandwich "You should have left him sleeping" "But then I couldn't have shared with him" "You're not sharing with him" Titan meowed at him, one large paw coming up to hover just short of Eren's plate. His big eyes stared up at him, silently begging "Leeevi. How am I supposed to say no now?" "I'll give him a tin of cat food. Just finish your sandwich" Titan was a cat who's love was easy to buy. The moment Levi cracked the top of the tin of cat food, the tom was racing off to the kitchen. Finishing his sandwich, Eren placed the plate down with a pout. He wanted Titan cuddles, and Levi cuddles. Now his boyfriend was hefting a box up onto the coffee table and Titan was too busy eating "I think this box is mostly clothes" He knew he said he'd be there for Levi as he did this, but now he was getting nervous. He was terrible at comforting Levi and making him feel better. He never knew if he was saying the right things or making it all a hundred times worse. Tipping the box onto its side, Levi joined him back on the sofa. Pulling off the tap over the top as it did and sending a whole bunch of things cascading onto the floor "Yeah... clothes..." All of Isabel and Farlan's clothes seemed to have been second hand. Isabel had tried to patch them the best she could. Digging to the bottom, Levi wrinkled his nose in clear disgust "There's nothing worth saving in here" "Are you sure?" "Don't get too close, the bottom layers are mouldy" "Can't you just wash them?" "Mould stains. Even if I did, it wouldn't be worth it. I should have gone through these sooner" His boyfriend sounded bitter, Eren whining softly as he placed his hand on his arm "I'm sorry" "No. No, it's my fault. I don't even know how the mould got in. Something must have been wet. It's my fault" "It's not your fault..." Levi huffed, brushing him off as he rose and moved the box next to the door. The next four boxes were mostly clothes, but they were used to wrap more interesting things. Small photo frames, tea cups, plates, glass figures and chipped Christmas ornaments were carefully unwrapped. Eren couldn't help himself as he collected each photo frame carefully. Levi sighing heavily as he leaned over to explain where they were in each of them. Seeing Isabel's bright smile and Farlan's faked scowl, his heart ached. Levi looked so young and happy with them. Like... genuinely happy. The smile on his lips completely unguarded, not a single wrinkle of grey hair to be seen... He knew his boyfriend was drop dead sexy, but fuck... He fell in love with him all over again, and desperately wished there'd been a way to meet Levi back then. The frames were carefully put aside. The mould had gotten in between the photo and glass in some of them, but apparently there was a way to get them restored. Levi wanted to bin the ornaments and figured, but Eren wasn't having it. Carefully saving them for storage at Hanji's, and the three badly hand painted baubles with Levi's, Isabel's and Farlan's name on them. They were definitely going on the tree this year. It The way Levi joked about how much Isabel loved the "shitty things" was all he needed to know. Levi wasn't quite ready to get rid of them, even if he said so. It didn't matter to him if once they were in storage never they saw them again, as long as they were safe for a day when Levi might want to. The box that really broke Levi was Isabel's books. Like everything else, it may have been second hand, but her books. They were something special. Crammed full of notes and slips of paper, the woman's passion clear. Levi's scent turned troubled, emotional pain infecting him through their bond "Levi" The book in Levi's hands started to shake due to his alpha starting to tremble "I bought her this book. Actually, I stole it for her. She'd worked so hard to save for it, but Farlan needed a fucking doctor and medication... Before you give me that look, we were back in high school. This was her first new book on birds. She'd stared at it for hours... and it wasn't like I didn't have the money. You do what you need to, you know. But they took one look at me and refused to serve me. I had the fucking money in my hand, but... they weren't having it. With Farlan being sick, it was the last straw. I waited until the clerk was busy, then I bolted. It was fucking worth it though. She was so happy. She read it over and over... Even at college, with all the new big and better books she could use, she still carried this one. Farlan would joke she loved her book more than him" Levi let out a shaky breath, running his fingers through his hair "Fuck. Sorry. I need a drink" "I'll get you one..." They still had a couple of boxes left to go through... but with how distressed Levi seemed to be, he wanted to do everything he could to calm his alpha and be there for him "No. It's ok. You stay here" Patting him on the knee, Levi took the book with him. The alpha first disappearing into their bedroom, then to the kitchen. Sitting back on the sofa, Levi had apparently drained his drink in the kitchen. His alpha looking at the neat pile of books with pained eyes. Climbing into Levi's lap, he wrapped his arms around his alpha. Nuzzling into his hair, in the hope of providing comfort "Eren... just... not now" Pushing him off, Eren was confused. He was only trying to make Levi feel better. He wasn't kissing him, or trying anything sexual. He simply wanted to comfort Levi. His omega was just as confused. Their mate was sad. He didn't like his mate being sad "I just wanted to hug you" "I think I want to finish this alone. Why don't you go to bed?" He wasn't tired... and he thought Levi wanted to do this together? Besides, barely talked about Farlan... he wanted to hear more about him "I don't mind..." "Sorry, Eren. I want to do this alone" "I..." "Go to bed..." He was trying to tell Levi he loved him, and if he changed his mind to just let him know... and now he being sent to bed like a kid. He knew it wasn't easy for Levi to talk to about Isabel and Farlan, but he'd opened up to him about his father... and about Zeke, and his mum. So why didn't Levi want to tell him anything? Didn't his alpha trust him? Eren didn't sleep well that night. He'd returned to their room, only to find he needed to pee. He didn't want to upset Levi by walking around the apartment, so tried to sleep it off. It didn't work. Creeping from their bedroom to the bathroom, he was just as "ninja" as he crept back. The bottle of scotch had made it from the kitchen to the coffee table, while Levi was patting Titan. The cat purring with his usual rumble. So Levi didn't mind Titan making a fuss over him... as long as it wasn't his pregnant mate. Feeling pathetically jealous of Titan, Eren returned to their bed. Levi hadn't even remade it... getting fresh sheets would mean leaving the room again, and he didn't want to do that. All he could do was grab one of his blankets from Levi's wardrobe and make sure he was completely covered by it. The cold plastic of the mattress protector sticking uncomfortable to his skin when he slipped his hand under his pillowcase free pillow.. which was covered with a gross feeling fabric protector. He was cold and uncomfortable, the pup spinning flips from the feel of it. Closing his eyes, it was hard not to feel like he didn't even belong in their apartment. Still just as cold as when he'd gone to bed, Eren crept out when things went silent. He'd managed to doze off at some point, waking up, Levi had been swearing. He'd been tempted to go help him, but several loud thuds followed, then some of the more colourful language he'd ever heard. Scared by his mate, he'd sunk from their bed to the floor, curling up in the corner of the room as he'd tried to hide under his blanket. Emerging to find the living room cleaned, Levi was passed out on the sofa with Titan on his chest. The bottle of scotch was empty, the lone item left out from the night before. Even the boxes to go down to the dumpsters were gone. Hurt over the fact Levi hadn't even bothered coming to bed, he'd been tempted to leave him sleeping without blanket. The apartment was fucking freezing, his toes growing numb... Fuck. He couldn't just leave Levi like this. Retrieving the blanket he'd used, he draped it over Levi and Titan, Titan giving him a glare, but not bothering to move. If Levi could go ahead and do things for the nursery without him, that must mean it's ok for him to do the same? After all, the nursery was the whole reason Levi was home. It sure as hell wasn't to spend time with him... No. No. He wasn't going to do this. Levi hadn't really done anything wrong. He'd just needed space to process everything. It wasn't like his alpha didn't give him all the space he needed... and then some... Dragging all the shopping from his room and into the nursery, that was the end of his will power. He didn't want to do any of this alone. He couldn't do anything anyway, they didn't have the furniture yet. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to go back to Levi's room and sleeping alone held no appeal... Things without Levi were boring... Wandering back to Levi, Titan had abandoned him. Levi had turned to his side, his leg hanging off the side of the sofa in a way that looked highly uncomfortable. His stomach might be slightly bigger than the photos on google, but he was sure he could lift Levi. He didn't want to leave him on the sofa. Dragging the coffee table back enough to make space, Levi was too out of it to know. His alpha even stank of scotch... lifting Levi, his alpha groaned at him "Let me sleep" "Shut up, or I'll drop you" Scowling up at him, he'd woken Levi... but he'd come too far to back out. He'd managed to even get him completely off the sofa... Fuck... Levi better appreciate this "Just put me down" "Not an option right now. You're going to bed you drunk" "Eren..." "Shut up. I'm mad at you. You didn't even make the bed. Do you know fucking cold it is?" "You're freezing" "And you're doing that things where you're talking and I don't want you to" Levi let a giggle. An actual fucking giggle. He wished he'd recorded, because there was no way anyone ever believe he had. Dumping him down on his bed, his boyfriend flipped him off before crawling under the covers and patting the space beside him "Get down here brat..." Climbing under the covers, Levi rolled and clung to him. Pulling him flush and nuzzling into his nape "Mmm. 'm sorry. I'm a jerk" "You are. You left me freezing" "Fuck..." Placing his cold hand on Eren's stomach, Eren gasped as he tried to escape, Levi's hold making it impossible "You arsehole" "Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone, again" The playfullyness of Levi's drunken state was gone, his alpha sounding so fucking lonely that Eren forgot he'd been trying to escape "I'm not leaving you" "Don't want to lose you, brat..." "You won't. I love you" Levi huffed, Eren copping a blast of scotch breath. He'd thought his alpha was going to say something else... only, Levi started to purr instead. Eren had no idea that alpha's could even purr. Fuck. He needed his phone. Not only a giggle but a purr... he needed Levi to get drunk more often.