#might fix this up a bit before I share it on ao3 eventually

[seaofolives]

🎭 #torokatober2024 day 27/31: horror 🎻

Quatre only realizes that Trowa was in his office when he hears the door slam shut.

It’s also only then that he realizes the story on the evening news: a forest fire in a farflung colony had erupted following a suspected altercation between two armed groups.

Quatre practically rips the door from its hinges when he runs out to see the man pacing the floor, clawing at his sleeves. “Trowa!”

Trowa whirls to him. He looks shocked to see him amid unwanted memories.

He crumples to his knees as soon as Quatre is there to pull him to his chest.

find the list of prompts here!

[harmonictechnicality]

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now. 

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way. 

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him. 

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness. 

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body. 

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers. 

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head. 

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy. 

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests. 

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time. 

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking? 

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier. 

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too. 

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere. 

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible. 

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in. 

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies. 

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.” 

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words. 

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does). 

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve. 

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night. 

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself. 

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part one: "The Night You Met"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader [Series Masterlist]

Summary: You have a bad Monday back at work and grab a few drinks at a nearby bar with a co-worker who takes the opportunity to have a certain attractive lawyer buy you a drink.

Or

How you meet Matthew Murdock and then repeatedly embarrass yourself.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.2k

a/n: So I'm finally sharing a few of these installments on tumblr, but I've been posting them on AO3 since the beginning of the year. Currently there are 74 parts posted on AO3 (almost 300k words total) and still counting. I update this series a few times a week and I figured I'd finally share a few installments here and maybe, eventually, post them all on tumblr? Please heed the warnings--there is a ton of sex later in this series (y'all who've read it know what I'm talking about) and some hurt/no comfort for a bit later during what I deemed Big Angst. If you haven't heard of this series, I certainly hope you enjoy it!

Tapping your fingers lightly against the cold bottle in your hands, your eyes fixed on your beer, you blew out a rough breath. Classic rock was playing in the dimly lit dive bar, a random one you and Katy had last minute ducked inside after work. Neither of you had been here before but after the rough Monday back at work, both of you were dying for a drink and it didn't really matter where.

"I feel like I'm chasing a goddamned dead-end," you complained, glaring at the half-finished beer. 

"Maybe you need a new angle?" Katy suggested. 

She threw back the rest of her beer from her place beside you before raising a hand, flagging down the surly bartender. The older woman behind the bar headed back towards you both and Katy ordered another drink. 

You were lost in thought for a moment, focusing on the story Ellison had been telling you to drop for over a week now. Running a hand through your hair exasperatedly, you picked up your beer in your other hand and took a long pull from the bottle. Your head was buzzing from more than just the alcohol in your system as you swallowed the drink down. 

"Didn't Ellison give you a new piece today?" Katy asked, her attention returning to you when the new beer was set in front of her.

"Yeah," you answered her with an eye roll. "Fluff piece on the local animal shelter. Which, don't get me wrong," you said, raising a hand, "I love dogs and all, but I'm not really in this to write about dogs. I didn't bust my ass to get onto The Bulletin to write fluff." You sighed, eyeing Katy beside you. "What's he got you working on now?"

"That warehouse murder last night," she answered.

"Fuck," you grumbled, slamming your head to the bar counter. Immediately you regretted the action, raising your head and pulling a face as you rubbed at the sticky dampness the bar counter had left behind. "Ugh," you grunted. "I'm on his shit list this month, aren't I?"

"Yup," Katy answered bluntly. "You know he doesn't like any of us chasing dangerous stories about mobsters after…everything that happened a little while back."

You groaned in frustration before picking up your beer and finishing the last dregs of it. Katy nudged you abruptly in the arm, just about causing you to spill the beer. You swallowed, turning to shoot her a pointed look. 

"Isn't that Karen Page?" she whispered, gesturing her head towards the blonde at the pool table. "The one everyone whispered about saying Ellison supposedly fired her because she might know Daredevil's identity?"

Your eyes turned to the pool table, examining the blonde who was laughing with two other gentlemen. "Yeah, looks like her," you answered. 

"Now she had some good shit she wrote," Katy said with a grin. "You know, before Ellison started doling out pieces on animal shelters."

Your eyes returned to your empty beer, but Katy continued to stare at the pool table, fingers drumming on the bar.

"Maybe we should stop talking about work," you said. "The point of grabbing a drink was to forget about this shitty Monday. I'm currently not forgetting."

"Mmm, I wouldn't mind forgetting about my Monday by getting underneath him," Katy replied, her eyes still on the pool table as she gestured her beer towards someone.

You glanced back over, your eyes landing on the man drinking back a beer with Karen Page. It was obvious Katy was drooling over the dark haired gentleman with the red glasses and cane. His jawline was perfect, his hair practically begging to have fingers run through it, his body clearly well-built under that tight dress shirt with buttons tempted to pop when he moved just right, and he had an absolutely breathtaking smile.

"Isn't that Murdock from Nelson, Murdock, and Page?" Katy said after a moment, her eyes narrowing. "They're the guys who took down Fisk. Shit, he's hotter in person." When you didn't respond, Katy glanced back at you, eyebrows shooting up on her forehead. "Is your silence you disagreeing about that man’s perfection?"

You shook your head, your eyes landing back on the man. It almost seemed like he was looking at you and Katy at the bar, but considering he was blind, that would have been impossible.

"He's attractive, yeah," you agreed with a shrug. 

Katy's eyes widened at you. "Really? That's it? That guy looks like sex on legs and I'm pretty sure I've heard rumors that he is amazing in bed and…that’s all you’ve got?"

"Your point?" you asked.

"Are you serious right now?" she asked in disbelief. "You wouldn't want a night with that guy?"

You let out a heavy breath, your eyes returning to the now empty bottle of beer as you debated on another or just going home and making dinner and writing that pointless article for Ellison.

"I wouldn’t know what to even say to a guy like that," you muttered. "You know outside of interviews I am shit with human interaction."

Katy chuckled lightly before shaking her head. "You do have a knack for being awkward. But you wouldn't need to say anything, just let him fuck you senseless as you're screaming his name on your back." 

Katy abruptly threw out some light, breathy fake moans that had you slapping her arm sharply and your face burning up. 

"Pretty sure you could handle that ," she teased you with a light laugh. 

"You're a fucking animal," you joked, burying your reddening face in your hands.

"You're thinking about it though," she shot back. 

You glanced at the man between your fingers, face still buried in your hands. He was holding a beer in one hand as something that looked like a smirk broke across his face. He was standing by the pool table, his gaze in your direction as his friends focused on the game they were playing. Your heart sped up at the thought of him throwing you onto your bed and you swore you saw his lips pull up even higher before you turned away. 

"Would literally never happen," you mumbled. "Guys who look like that don't talk to chicks like me." 

"Sexy and awkward?" Katy supplied. 

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Only one of those is an accurate description," you replied. "Anyway, I should probably get back. Make dinner and slam my head into the wall repeatedly as I write that piece for the next issue."

"Or you could stay and see if you're awkward enough to scare away Hell’s Kitchen’s sexiest lawyer," Katy suggested with a playful grin. "Maybe end up finding God on your back."

She opened her mouth and got out one moan before you kicked her shin. 

She laughed, waving a hand at you. "Alright, fine. Let me chug this and I'll leave, too. I've got a lead I need to check out tonight anyway."

You watched her raise the beer to her lips and toss it back, downing the last half of the bottle before slamming it to the counter. You slid off the bar stool and turned to leave only to run head first into someone. You stumbled backwards muttering out an 'oh shit' as your back hit the bar counter, and then your eyes went wide when you saw it was the attractive lawyer you and Katy had just been talking about.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't see you there," you blurted out an apology. 

"Neither did I," he answered, a grin spreading across his mouth. 

"Right, because you're…" you trailed off quickly realizing how rude it would be to point out his disability. 

Katy appeared just beside him, her eyes going wide as she gawked at you, shaking her head sharply. 

"Blind?" the man finished for you. 

Your cheeks burned as you awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He was somehow even more attractive up close and he had a nice, deep voice. For a moment you couldn't help but imagine him on top of you in your bed again and your heart stuttered in your chest.

"And I'm tactless," you breathed out. "Sorry, I didn't mean to literally run into you and then be completely rude. I'm just going to go," you said quickly, trying to skirt around him.

"Or you could buy her a drink," Katy blurted.

Your eyes widened as you stared open-mouthed at her, entirely taken aback. Katy shot you a look, shrugging a shoulder. The man chuckled, the sound drawing your attention back to him beside you. He was grinning in your direction and you internally groaned.

"You want me to buy your friend a drink?" he asked curiously.

Your eyes narrowed to a glare at Katy as you quickly answered him. "She's kidding," you told him. "You know, just a bad joke ," you said, the last two words coming out at Katy between gritted teeth. 

"Well," the man mused, "I may not be opposed to the idea."

Your palms immediately began to sweat as Katy sent you a wicked grin. Your heart was thundering wildly in your chest as you chanced a glance back at him. He looked entirely calm and collected as he stood there with a charming smile on his face.

“That’s uh, that’s nice and all, but I actually have work to finish tonight–”

“No you don’t,” Katy cut in sharply, eyes narrowed. “You could write that article in thirty minutes with your hands tied behind your back using only your tongue. You don’t have work.”

The man whose first name you were still unaware of chuckled good-naturedly beside you at Katy’s words. “I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, but that sounds like quite the talent you have,” he teased.

Katy snickered loudly as you audibly groaned, shrinking back into yourself. This was easily the most humiliated you had felt in a long time. 

She turned towards the man next and pointedly told him, “She had a bad day, she’d love another drink.” And then her attention returned to you, a sly grin on her face as she said, “Now I actually have a lead to follow up with. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” She proceeded to mouth ‘you’re welcome’ before she turned and left.

You were torn between trying to chase after her and feeling obligated to converse with this insanely attractive man who was for some reason giving you the time of day. You were tightly gripping the strap of your crossbody bag with indecision as you stood there uncomfortably. Thankfully he spoke and broke the awkward tension.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, gesturing towards the bar beside you both. “You could maybe tell me your name?” he suggested. “And why you’re having such a bad Monday?”

“Look,” you began, “you really don’t have to. She was just being a pain in my ass thinking that she was–” You stopped short. You couldn’t exactly finish that thought and tell him she was trying to help you talk to him because you obviously thought he was attractive and you would never approach him on your own. That would have been even more embarrassing. “I just–you’re clearly here with your friends and I don’t want to pull you away,” you quickly shot out instead.

His dark brows rose up behind his glasses, a slight amused grin forming on his lips. “Oh? You were paying attention to who I was with before you even ran into me?”

Wincing, you wished a bus would just barrel through the bar and hit you, putting you out of your misery and ending this embarrassing conversation. How the fuck were you even supposed to deny that?

So you decided to do what you always did when things got too uncomfortable–run.

“You know what, I really do need to go,” you said, quickly turning and stepping away.

“Wait,” he called out.

And you did. For some unknown reason you actually paused, back still towards him. You could see his two friends at the pool table still enraptured in their game, currently either unaware or uninterested in the fact that he wasn’t back with them.

“Okay, I really am blind, so you’re going to have to actually, you know, acknowledge that you’re still here so I know I’m not just talking to myself right now,” he said.

You cleared your throat nervously, your eyes dropping to your scuffed up dress flats. “Wouldn’t exactly be too out of place in a bar, at least,” you muttered.

He laughed lightly, the sound causing you to glance back at him over your shoulder. He was smiling and the sight nearly gutted you. You wished he’d take off the glasses so you could see the entirety of his face–his eyes were probably as beautiful as the rest of him.

He slid onto the bar stool beside the one you’d just been on, folding up his cane as he patted the seat beside him. “Please, sit. Let me get you a drink,” he offered again.

The words flew out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Why, are you just that curious how far I can shove my foot into my mouth?”

Your mouth immediately clamped shut, one of your hands flying up to cover it as your eyes grew wide in horror at how your sarcastic comment actually came across. His eyebrows once again flew all the way up to his forehead, his lip twitching up at the corner in amusement. 

“Another one of your curious talents?” he asked with a slight laugh.

“Fucking hell,” you groaned, taking a step back. “This is the most embarrassed I’ve probably felt in years,” you blurted. “Which is saying something because I have a tendency to make things incredibly awkward and uncomfortable and I should just really go home now.”

He was fighting the grin on his face as he shook his head. “No, please, don’t be embarrassed. This conversation has honestly been the highlight of my day.”

“I’m glad my mortification brings you joy,” you said flatly, taking another step back, “but I’m pretty sure I’m teetering on the edge of being the first person to actually die of embarrassment. So I should probably really go now.”

“I’m Matthew,” he said, extending his hand out towards you. “Usually I just go by Matt.”

Your eyes dropped down to his extended hand, staring in silent confusion at it. Why the fuck was he offering his hand and introducing himself to you?

He cleared his throat, hand still outstretched. “I know you said you’re a bit awkward and all, so I’ll let you know this is usually the part where you shake my hand and introduce yourself, too.”

“I–” you began, hesitating as you continued eyeing his outstretched hand. “I just told you like five times that I should go…”

“I know, I’m blind, not deaf,” Matt said, grin still intact, causing you to flush further. “But yet you’re still standing here instead of actually leaving. So,” he continued, extending his hand out further towards you, “my name is Matt, and you are?”

“Dying of embarrassment,” you muttered, unable to resist the slight smile on your mouth when he chuckled again. 

And then you caved and against your better judgment you shook his hand, offering him your name as you sat on the bar stool beside him. 

“That’s a pretty name,” he told you.

“And that sounds like a line,” you quipped back.

He raised a single brow at you this time, the corner of his mouth quirking up. You watched as the bartender made her way over towards the pair of you, the surly expression on her face morphing into a large smile when she saw Matt.

“What can I get you, Murdock?” she asked.

Matt turned towards the woman, a charming smile on his face as he said, “Just another beer, Josie, and whatever this lovely lady is having.” His head tilted towards you and Josie’s eyes followed curiously.

“Uh, just a beer, thanks,” you muttered awkwardly.

She nodded, lightly tapping a hand to the counter before sauntering off to grab two beers. You took a moment to take a deep breath, not entirely sure what to make of the evening so far. Normally you’d have scared someone off by now, making them entirely too uncomfortable to try to endure conversation. But not Matt. He was still sitting beside you, clearly relaxed and comfortable.

“So why’re you having a bad day?” he asked.

You glanced over at him. He was studying you, head tilted to the side and one arm resting along the bar counter, the cane folded up on the surface beside him. With the way he was turned towards you in the bar stool, and you towards him, your knees were almost brushing.

“Just a bad day at work,” you mumbled. 

“Where do you work?” he asked curiously.

“The Bulletin,” you told him.

He appeared to perk up instantly, sitting up straighter in his chair as his head shifted further to the side. “You’re a journalist?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Or at least, I try to be when my boss isn’t throwing fluff pieces at me instead of letting me chase real stories.”

You briefly noticed the thinning of his lips at your words before Josie’s return with two beers caught your attention. You thanked her with a smile, surprised when she returned one, and watched as she disappeared. You took a deep drink from the beer, definitely feeling like you needed it to survive in Matt’s presence. When you set the beer back on the bar, your right hand absently playing with the condensation on the bottle, you turned your attention back to Matt and noticed the slight frown on his mouth.

“So you’re…chasing a dangerous story and your boss doesn’t want you to?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah,” you answered simply.

“Maybe you should listen to him,” Matt suggested.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “And what, write about the upcoming adoption event at the animal shelter forever?” You shook your head. “No, that’s not what I signed up for with this career. Your friend over there is Karen Page, right? She was the same way when she worked at The Bulletin, too.”

“Yeah, and you see how she no longer chases after the dangerous stories for a newspaper anymore, right?” he replied, his tone more serious than it had been.

“I’m sorry but, I just met you literally minutes ago and now you’re trying to dictate what I should be doing?” you asked skeptically.

Matt abruptly shook his head, his charming smile returning. “You know what? You’re right. I just remember Karen having some terrible situations arise because she was chasing a story. I shouldn’t project that onto you. I apologize.”

You continued to study him curiously as you raised your beer to your lips, taking a drink. You swallowed, voicing your thought aloud as you asked, “Why’d you want to have a drink with me so badly?”

“I liked the sound of your voice,” he answered easily. “You sounded nice and I thought I’d like to continue hearing you talk for a bit more tonight.”

You snorted loudly, shaking your head. “Okay, now that is a terrible line,” you said.

“Says the woman who wanted to show me how far she could shove her foot into her mouth before she even knew my name,” he countered.

You blushed furiously, shaking your head with a grin. “No, I said you wanted to see that, not that I wanted to show you,” you shot back.

“Well,” Matt said with a shrug of his shoulders as he brought his beer to his lips, “I’m blind anyway so I couldn’t actually see it one way or another.”

“How many blind jokes are you going to make tonight?” you asked him.

He grinned smoothly back at you, swallowing down his beer. “As many as you continue to easily drop into my lap,” he answered.

You laughed, your eyes darting to the beer beside you. Matt’s knee nudged yours and you glanced back at him.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked softly.

You shrugged a shoulder, eyeing the beer again. “I can’t decide if I’m regretting staying for this drink or not yet."

"Oh, ouch," he said, feigning hurt. 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "I mean I’m still debating whether or not you laughing at my intense embarrassment has been worth it or not yet for the current conversation."

"Uh huh," he replied. "So where are you landing with that? On a scale of one to ten?"

You pulled a face, head tilting to the side. "How would I even rate that on a scale?" you asked him curiously. 

"Well, one would be 'Oh shit I'll just stop talking and slip away since he can't see me’–'"

"Jeez, has that happened to you before?" you asked, cutting him off.

He shook his head, bringing his beer to his lips again as he answered. "No, but I get the feeling you might."

Your face reddened further as you watched him take a drink, eyes lingering on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "No," you corrected, "I'd at least blurt out something weird and then sprint out of the room. You'd at least have some warning."

"Oh, well I appreciate that at least," he teased. "But really, scale of one to ten how much are you regretting staying for the drink?" 

You eyed him, bringing the bottle to your lips and thinking over your answer for a moment as you studied him and took a drink. He was charming, that was obvious, and he didn't seem even remotely put off or like he was struggling with conversation no matter how awkward you'd been so far. In fact, you'd go so far as to say that you were surprisingly having fun.

"Okay I'm pretty sure you just told me you'd at least blurt something awkward before you disappeared on me," Matt joked.

You grinned, unable to help it. "A seven," you answered. 

His eyebrows shot up onto his forehead again, an amused smile still on his lips. "A seven isn't bad but I was hoping for higher," he mused. "Why so low?"

"You could do with some better jokes and your lines are terrible," you told him.

"Duly noted," he answered quickly. 

"So what about you?" you asked somewhat nervously. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret asking me to stay for this drink?"

You anxiously took a sip of your beer while he cocked his head to the side as if he was in thought for a moment. 

"An eight," he answered. "But only because I'm still waiting to find out how far you can shove your foot in your mouth."

You choked on the beer you were drinking, coughing lightly as Matt laughed and asked if you were alright. It was a moment before you recovered but his next question had you reeling again.

"You want to stay longer than that one drink? Meet my friends?" he asked when you'd recovered. 

Your cheeks flushed as you bit your lip, taking only a few seconds to think over your answer. "Yeah, sure," you said. "I've got time."

"Considering your friend said you could write your article in a half hour with your hands tied behind your back using only your tongue," he mused, "I imagine you do. You need any help with the restraints for that, by the way?"

You threw your face in your hands, groaning loudly as Matt let out another bark of laughter beside you. "I cannot believe you just said that," you mumbled.

"Really?" he asked curiously. "In the probably fifteen minutes you've been conversing with me you really can't believe I would say that?"

You began to laugh behind your own hands, turning your face to peek at him through your fingers. He was smiling wide, perfect teeth exposed, as he gazed in your direction. 

"Okay, yeah, maybe I can," you answered. 

"But you seem a little more relaxed now," he pointed out. 

He was right, too. Somehow after all the awkward tension and comments you'd found him funny and a little disarming. And he still hadn't run off, instead he seemed like he was also enjoying your company and he clearly didn't want you to leave yet. Which you certainly hadn't expected.

"Yes, maybe marginally less embarrassed," you agreed.

"Good," he responded. He slid off the bar stool, knees briefly grazing yours before he grabbed his cane and began to unfold it. "So, would you like to meet my friends? Stay a bit longer?"

You smiled, shrugging a shoulder. "Sure, let's give my anxiety a bigger audience," you joked, sliding off of your bar stool. 

"I have a feeling they're going to like you, too," he assured you.

You smiled nervously, feeling your palms sweating a bit again and trying to discreetly wipe them against your dress pants as he led you towards the pool table. He'd just said he liked you and you felt yourself becoming a bundle of nerves all over again.

But he couldn't possibly have meant it like that , right?

[akirameta84]

idk when or if ill finish this and ive had a habit of sharing my unfinished wip fics lately so heres the sequel to the werewolf au oneshot i wrote (and that i also shared the first part of months before i finished and posted it to ao3 lol)

id say its a bit under halfway done? idk. it follows directly after the last oneshot and may be confusing without it. and its an unfinished fic so you wont be missing anything if you just wait for it to eventually be finished and published (even if it might be a year rip)

but yeah. this is the first half or so wip of "Howling Harassment" sequel to the kubosai werewolf oneshot "Lycanthropic Liasons"

has not been edited or proofread obviously cause its not even done

its 5.3k words, and warning for vomiting mentions. if you want to skip the mini scene where kusuo is sick (he doesnt puke in the scene but talks about having done so) ive bolded the start and end of it. you wont be missing any plot details with it, but this wip preview does end shortly after it with just a paragraph so if you plan to skip that scene you can just stop reading at the first bolded part and be fine

enjoy i guess

also my italics didnt copy over so :shrug: place them where you think they go

Kusuo had been enjoying a very nice nap, relaxing peacefully and soaking in some warm sunshine, when the feeling of something wet dripping onto him slowly roused him from his slumber.

He blearily opened one eye but then immediately snapped both open when he caught sight of the tan wolf, shockingly with a normal looking chin, leaning over him and drooling all over his face. Recoiling and lurching to his paws in the same beat, he stumbled a good few meters away from Nendou, standing tensely in the grass.

They were right outside the makeshift and, honestly, poorly constructed hideout of Kaidou and Aren’s, and Kusuo had thought that if he took a nap outside he could both enjoy the sun on his fur and separate himself from Nendou, since the idiot would likely be enthralled by Kaidou and Aren attempting to play card games with paws.

Apparently Kusuo had been very very wrong. He sat down hard into the dirt and reached a back leg to scratch painfully at his head, like it would help get all the saliva off of him even though he knew it wouldn’t.

Nendou had been staring at him the whole time until a deep bark from the hideout entrance sounded, calling his attention. Aren’s deep purple and very furry but scarred head stuck out from the door made of blankets and glared at Nendou, having heard Kusuo’s mental distress. Nendou whimpered but strutted over to the entrance and headed inside.

In regards to the werewolf telepathy, since they were unsure if Nendou could hear them, attempting verbal communication without the ability to speak words was necessary to try and talk to the idiot who had also found himself lycanthropic by unknown means. At least they knew where he was now and Kusuo could fix any problems his disappearance has started to cause.

Kusuo was slightly worried as well that, due to the fact that he was missing all of the last week, Nendou couldn’t turn back like Kaidou and Aren had at first. Kusuo had been able to teach them by just instructing them through how he usually activated his shape-shifting, and it had thankfully done the trick.

He was still hoping that Nendou could hear their trains of thought even if they were blocked from his. He’d shown no signs of it, but this was Nendou. He could be hearing everything and not give a single clue.

Either way, it was still absolutely bizarre to have someone (Or up to three someones) reading his mind for a change, even if the fact that he didn’t have to bother with proper communication as much was pleasant.

‘It’s still bizarre to me that you’ve heard all of our thoughts up to now from when you met us, Kusuo.’

Yeah. That was fair. Kusuo lifted his head and gazed at the darkening sky that was many shades of orange and pink as the sun gradually lowered into the horizon. It was rather pretty and almost soothing to stare at. It’d been decently bright and blue when he’d gone to sleep, so he’d gotten a good few hours in.

That was good. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep once he went back home and dealt with what would be waiting for him. There was no way his brother had already gone from England to Japan in under twelve hours, even if their mom calling about limiter issues was fairly serious, but he’d still get harassed via television video call from his brother and either wait in dread for his brother to fly over or just teleport himself and get it over with.

Both sucked.

‘I think you’re over reacting. Surely your brother didn’t literally create something that turns people into werewolves. That sounds impossible. To be fair, so does being born an esper, but still.’

‘…B-but how else did it get…created?’

Kaidou was very bad at hiding his excitement at the concept of a mad scientist making something like lycanthropy, even if he posed his question as.

And also how he wondered if Kusuo’s brother could make him into a vampire instead, because when he watched a movie series called- ‘Hey stop stop sto-’

Kusuo snorted but obliged and cut that train of thought off, standing up and padding over to the hideout entrance.

Regardless, the answer was very much no to Kaidou, there really was no other potential source, and yes to Aren. Kuusuke was most certainly behind this and Kusuo was either going to make him fix it or commit fratricide.

‘…Can you…m-maybe-’

‘If he makes a cure I’m not letting you stay like this, Kaidou.’

Kusuo arrived at the blanket covering and stepped inside right on cue to see Kaidou’s best attempt at a canine frown and puppy eyes…the latter of which was quite a lot more effective in a literal dog form than it normally was for the boy seated on a pillow in the very corner of the hideout, front paws splayed over a bunch of cards on the carpeted ground in front of him.

He looked away before the eyes could take effect. He was getting far too soft and was not about to consider willingly keeping one of his friends a goddamn werewolf when he could reverse it.

When. Not if. Kusuo kept making sure he left no room for doubt in his mind. That way it would be easier to kill Kuusuke if he failed to make a totally guaranteed cure.

Aren was padding back over to the light blue wolf, a sulking Nendou in tow, and though Kusuo’s thoughts had already spelled out for the two of them that he was about to go home and get the confrontation or whatever over with, he still had one more pressing issue to attempt to solve beforehand.

‘Nendou,’ He projected outwards, staring at him as if it would help get his message across, taking a few more steps on the frankly uncomfortably textured carpet.

To his slight shock, the tan wolf spun his head around so quickly he feared Nendou would break his neck (A familiar sight, Nendou did that far too much, even if it had less of an impact without the…mildly disturbing human face), tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched Kusuo expectantly.

Aren and Kaidou looked up, intrigued, their minds similarly surprised that Nendou could hear their minds just fine.

…Could he? There was a chance that had been Kusuo’s own inherent telepathy as it was hard to tell the two versions apart, unlike the ease at which he could separate the lycanthropic ability and his own shape-shifting.

If it was his own and the idiot couldn’t hear Kaidou or Aren that wasn’t that much of an issue. Kusuo was the one who needed to help him turn back, after all.

(Considering the fact that Nendou didn’t visibly react to any of Kusuo’s ambient thoughts about that, actually, Nendou was not connected to the werewolf telepathy. He can only hear projected thoughts from Kusuo’s. Kaidou seemed utterly fascinated by that, while Aren was just mildly annoyed at how it was so complicated. Kusuo was in agreement with his boyfriend, and not just because of that status).

Nendou’s head tilted after the good few moments of staring, and Kusuo realized he should probably elaborate on why he got his attention before he was licked or pounced on again.

‘Do you want me to show you how to turn back tomorrow?’

He almost offered to do it right now but remembered, bitterly, that they were all stuck like this for a good while longer thanks to the moon cycle.

To his surprise, Nendou responded by shaking his head no, slobber flailing from his tongue as he did so. He heard Kaidou yelp as a drop landing in his eye, according to his thoughts.

That was…not the expected or desired answer at all. Kusuo wished he could just ask why straight up, but he would just go through the options instead.

Aren had sat down facing the two of them, even though Nendou was still turned away from Kusuo and looking back with his head, face far too amused to be anything but smug.

‘I bet he’s going to already know how to-’

‘You’re jumping ahead in the narrative, shut up.’

‘…I’m what?’

Kusuo firmly decided to ignore him. Kaidou could probably use some help putting all the playing cards away, he not so subtly thought of but didn’t directly project as he looked over and saw the small wolf in question pushing around the cards with his paws to try and get them all in a small stack again.

Aren just rolled his eyes but turned away to assist, and Kusuo gave his attention back to the ever still and rapt Nendou.

Seriously, he kind of wished that Nendou had lost interest in their one-sided conversation during the decently sized breaks in it. That would be less creepy.

‘Are you saying no because you already know how?’ He asked next, using purely his own deductive reasoning and nothing else.

‘You are really something special, babe.’

Kusuo shifted in place, annoyed, as Nendou nodded. There was no bothering with asking why the fuck he had stayed like this a week when there wouldn’t be a reply. He just huffed out a breath of air and asked one last question.

‘Will you please turn back and be human again by tomorrow?’

Nendou unflinchingly nodded at the downright angry tone of Kusuo’s, finally spinning around fulling and raising a front paw up, curling it and uncurling it awkwardly.

Was that supposed to be a thumbs up? Probably. He could only guess that it was because the idiot tended to give so many of those normally.

Kusuo nodded to himself and walked away, putting as much space between him and Nendou as he could in the small hideout, ending up next to the other two slightly less idiotic wolves.

‘Slightly!? It’s more than just slightly!’

Aren just chortled.

‘Do you want help getting home before I go, Kaidou? I can teleport you and then make your family perceive you as human if they happen to see you before you’re able to change back. And, of course, make your disappearance today nonexistent.’

There was a worrying hesitation before Kaidou replied, his snout twisting awkwardly as if he were trying to bite at his lip, and he paused in gently nudging a few cards to the side and merging them with the growing stack. Kusuo used his telekinesis to grab them all and order them neatly into a stack, floating them straight into the box.

Kaidou blinked at him, startled but grateful, but refocused his mind quickly.

‘A-actually I want to. Uh…t-tell them. I don’t want to hide it forever and it would just be…easier. To tell them.’

Huh. Kusuo had heard Kaidou’s mind dance on that possibility, but it had been thought about so little that he hadn’t expected the boy to actually decide on that course of action in the end.

‘…I hope it goes well, then. Do you still want help getting home right now or will you wait?’

‘I’ll w-wait with Aren. Get some nerves out. And go home when we’re back.’

‘Very well.’

Kaidou and Aren had taken to keeping spare clothes in the hideout, so that plan would work just fine for them. Kusuo had no need, he could just teleport freely around those two since his secret wasn’t secret between them. And, in all honesty…it felt nice to have have a friend closer than Aiura or Toritsuka know, as well as someone even closer but not family.

But for now he also was definitely not telling any other friends. Not until he was ready to actually do it on his own terms for once.

Kusuo turned around and walked towards the exit of the hideout despite not needing to in order to head home, but it somehow felt more polite to leave this way and then teleport.

‘I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then.’

Kaidou and Aren seemed baffled that he’d said farewell which was rather fair since he never gave those or said hello much at all, but responded in kind themselves.

Before he could make it all the way out, though, footsteps sprinted towards him, and he didn’t have much time to react before Aren shoved his face against Kusuo’s, rubbing them together like he was a cat instead of a wolf.

Aren’s expression was far too innocent afterwards as he drew back and somehow grinned, and Kusuo rolled his eyes and turned away, keeping his body but most importantly his stupid tail with a mind of its own still as warmth bloomed in his chest, grateful his face couldn’t flush like this.

He continued walking moments after, only not doing something to be polite and reciprocate because he needed to leave and not because the prospect of doing so like this was embarrassing.

He briefly wanted to strangle Aren when he heard his mental chuckle at his denial.

As soon as he had fully crossed through the blanketed doorway, tail and all, Kusuo gathered his energy and teleported to his bedroom, a location so familiar he didn’t even need to conjure the image in his head to travel to it.

And, as soon as all four of his legs landed on his bedroom floor, his television turned on and his brother’s ugly face filled the screen, telepathy canceler adorning his long blonde hair, some of it covering his left eye and the rest of it in a ponytail, despite Kusuo being nowhere close enough to read his mind. He bared his teeth at the image and intentionally raised his hackles.

It took less than a second of being home for his brother to make an entrance.

Fifty six milliseconds, to be precise.

Kuusuke sniffled, feigning sadness as his tinny voice sounded through the speakers, “I can’t believe my own baby brother is so angry at me paying him a pseudo visit. How upsetting, after mom called me so worried about you and everything…”

Kusuo just sat on his floor and glared at the television, making eye contact not with Kuusuke’s image, but with the camera perched very visibly on top of the television.

His brother knew he’d be slaughtered if he had cameras permanently installed in Kusuo’s or their parent’s bedrooms. But he’d been barely spared when he added one to his TV that only activated when he was video calling, and the living and dining rooms got actual full-time cameras.

“Hmph, no response? Not even a rude comment?” His brother paused purposefully and smugly, “Oh, wait, you can’t respond! Without your telepathy, since even with my lovely canceler I’m still far out of range, you can’t speak like that.”

A teasing glint entered his brother’s visible eye as Kusuo continued to glare, unimpressed, “Or can you? Come on, can you speak, Kusuo? Speak? Like a good dog?”

He had to put physical effort into swallowing his growl, because that would have almost given Kuusuke exactly what he wanted. His bedroom sat in silence as they had an impromptu, or really, with his brother, expected competition to see who’s resolve gave first.

Kuusuke didn’t bother to try very hard, giving up with a shrug quickly because as much as he liked to make fun of his brother and attempt to win at every little thing, proper competition or not, they shared the same trait of impatience.

Kusuo’s patience was better overall, though. It had to be, growing up with his powers and all.

“I will say, it is a lot harder to decipher what you want to say like this. I’ve mastered your blank human expression, obviously, but I am very much not a canine person. Maybe I should have made werecats instead…”

Kusuo didn’t even bother to hide his growl that time, narrowing his eyes and translating his words clearly enough that his brother was easily able to garner the meaning when given more information than an empty glare.

“Oh? Am I responsible for you and your friend’s predicament? Obviously. To be completely truthful, though, you were never supposed to find out, and you were especially not supposed get infected yourself.”

Kusuo tilted his head to the side, keeping his eyes narrowed to hopefully keep his skepticism clear.

His brother laughed at first, “Aw, you look adorable like that. It barely looks like you’re angry,” Kusuo snapped his head back up instantly, “But no, I am not lying. That’s why I kidnapped and gave the virus to your brainless friend initially, so you wouldn’t hear any thoughts about it.”

Kuusuke paused to wave a hand dismissively at the question Kusuo didn’t even try to ask, anticipating the obvious.

“I never left London and your friend never left Japan, either. I had robots kidnap and inject him with the serum I had mailed to a private lab I own in the area beforehand. It was easier and I had no risk of getting infected myself. What I failed to realize is that your little pet idiot could break out of a room made of solid steel walls and take off the tracking collar in the process.”

The screen briefly flickered to an image of, presumably, the room Nendou had been held in. There was a large hole in one of the gray, metal walls, opening straight into the outside, and the image barely lasted a few seconds before his brother was back in view.

Ah. Kusuo didn’t think that was possible either, but this was Nendou they were talking about, who has done countless other inhuman feats like his stunt in the school marathon. If Kusuo didn’t know any better, he’d say that Nendou also had psychic abilities.

“Anyways, I’m sure you’re wanting my help with this…issue of yours?” Kuusuke questioned, not leaving room for Kusuo to respond before continuing.

Not that Kusuo would have replied anyways, but the implications were still rude.

“Why don’t you teleport over here right away and let me have a look? I have to admit, much to my shame… I have no way of making a cure without seeing the biological structure of the transformed state first. Otherwise I might be reverting things that are actually a part of your human body.”

That was the biggest pile of bullshit Kusuo had ever heard, and his eye roll only conveyed a tiny fraction of how pissed he was.

“Ah, you’re too smart for that, huh, Kusuo? Yeah, I actually don’t know if I can revert the lycanthropy at all, haha! I never planned to in the first place.”

…Sometimes, the truth hurt significantly more than the lie he had tried to get fed. Kusuo sighed, quite displeased, and stood with a stretch, walking right past his television and heading for the door of his bedroom, which he swung open telekinetically.

He couldn’t see his brother anymore, but he could, unfortunately, still hear him, “Cold shoulder, huh? I never said I wouldn’t try, Kusuo,” He paused mid-step, body halfway out of the door, “Teleport over tomorrow before school, since I really don’t think you’ll get anywhere near me transformed and you’re stuck like this until around six in the morning tomorrow, and I’ll see what I can think of. I won’t keep you anymore, mom’s about to call you down for dinner. Goodbye!”

Kusuo heard his television forcefully shut off with a faint click at the same time his mom’s thoughts grew in volume as they targeted him with ‘Ku-chan, dinner’s ready!’

He’d known dinner was ready. That was why he’d teleported home at this time and had started leaving the conversation when he had. Hmph. Maybe it was a little bit of intentional cold shoulder, sure, but it was mostly dinner.

Or at least that was what he’d tell his mom if Kuusuke whined to her about Kusuo being mean, because he was just being mean for the fun of it. It wasn’t like his brother didn’t deserve it. Sure, he said he was going to genuinely try and fix the whole stupid werewolf thing, but it was his fault in the first place so the effort overall amounted to nothing.

…Did Kuusuke say six in the morning? That probably meant the initial shift had been at six this morning, which added up. That was utterly ridiculous. It was from sunrise to sunrise on the day and night with the fullest moon. How irritating. Kusuo was very good at tuning out Kaidou and Aren’s train of dialogue at this point, helped by his seventeen years of experience tuning out telepathy in general, so much so that he could even forget about them, but their exclamations of horror at that time-frame brought them back into the forefront for a moment.

They’re going to be waiting in that hideout much longer than anticipated… Kusuo sent them a brief condolence. He sent himself a reminder to set an alarm for tomorrow morning so he could shift back promptly.

Abruptly done, Kusuo turned back into his room instead of stepping all the way out, finding and grabbing his dinner telekinetically and bringing it straight to himself, ignoring the silverware for obvious reasons. Upon seeing his plate float away from his table, his mom’s thoughts became rather worried, but he reassured her that he was fine, just still. Having issues.

“…And I’ll be going to see Kuusuke early tomorrow,” He tacked on as well, rolling his eyes at how that statement fully calmed her down in the end.

Setting the plate down on his desk, Kusuo did his best to hop onto his desk chair, grumbling as he landed and the chair teetered precariously before balancing. Doing that was much easier as a cat, considering he weighed around ten pounds as one compared to now in which he was probably a good bit over a hundred.

Mildly annoyed, he huffed again tonight, and started eating (And being a bit disheartened at how dull the normally delicious tonkatsu tasted. He didn’t have anywhere near as many taste buds as a human did, so it was like the flavor was distant and sad), debating on if even trying to sleep when he felt wild awake and irritated was even worth it.

Well, even just lying restfully in his bed would be nice, and Kusuo decided listlessly relaxing was how he’d spend the rest of the night. School tomorrow would probably be a pain after having to deal with his brother, and a mental break would be necessary.

If only he had his germanium ring to truly relax in silence, properly removing both forms of telepathy. As much as he was fond of his nuisances, it was socially draining to always be either in a conversation or hearing one, as the werewolf telepathy was louder than his.

‘Are you telling us to shut up?’

‘Of course not. I’m complaining to myself, not you.’

‘…Right.’

Back on track, even if he could wear a ring on paws, it was no longer functional. The initial transformation had taken his ring with it, just like his clothes, and it’d been warped and broken beyond repair due to Kusuo’s innate strength. If it hadn’t, he likely would’ve tied it to a string and placed it on his neck.

As it stood, it was one wrong tap from Kusuo away from shattering, which wasn’t good when one weak tap from Kusuo could kill a person.

At least in the fading hours of daylight as dusk transitioned to night, people were settling down; and while most people weren’t going to sleep, they were going from a busy day to a mellow night routine, and their minds quieted as a result.

Finishing his meal and barely stopping himself from zoning out and letting his brain decide to lick the rest of the plate clean, he squinted at the empty dish and activated his clairvoyance to see if he had any coffee jelly of equal value in the fridge.

Fantastically, he did. Thank god his parents didn’t splurge on fancy dishes and silverware. This cheap ceramic plate had the same value of a slightly high in value convenience store coffee jelly, and so he apported the two of them, not caring at all that his empty plate was now in the refrigerator.

Kusuo could put it up later, before his parents noticed. Probably.

The lack of hands was making Kusuo actually appreciative of the full scale of his ESP for once, as ripping the seal off of the cup of jelly was as simple as a flex of his mind.

His tail thumped against the side of chair from where it dangled downwards as he shoved his snout straight into the cup. The taste may be watered down and nowhere close to how divine it was normally, but there was still enough of it present for him to enjoy it blissfully.

When he finished it and licked the entire inside completely clean he apported the empty cup for a significantly cheaper but still good brand of coffee jelly, since eating the contents regrettably lowered the value.

He deserved two for this whole ordeal. Maybe three…

…Perhaps not three, actually, since it wouldn’t do if he ate too much coffee jelly while being unable to truly enjoy its delectable flavor…yeah, two would suffice. That reason was why he had avoided his favorite treat even when dealing with being miserable and shape-shifted against his will, but a whole day stuck as a dog warranted it.

----

Kusuo should not have eaten any coffee jelly.

His head and stomach burned fiercely but, at the very least, he heard little to no mental voices due to it being the middle of the night. Even Kaidou and Aren were fast asleep, evidently, since there was no trace of them in his mind. So he did get the reprieve of his headache was significantly less than it could have been in this moment.

His mom rubbed his back (Basically petting him but the comfort was something he would have gotten the exact same way in a human form, so whatever), kneeling down on the floor to be next to him as he sat on the same, chilly, bathroom tile, right in front of the toilet.

Caffeine was toxic to canines, as well as most other animals. Technically it was still toxic to humans but that was irrelevant due to humans having the constitution for it.

Wolves did not have the constitution for it. It made them very ill instead.

Yes, he’d known that, but he’s eaten coffee jelly in his cat form with no repercussions despite his biology being just as altered as it was now…but, on retrospect, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever spent the next few hours after those moments remaining in a cat form and letting that body start to digest it, instead turning back before that could happen.

His mom’s mind was frantic with distress which was fair considering she’d found her normally invulnerable son still transformed and heaving the contents of his stomach into the toilet in the middle of the night after waking up from the noise of him teleporting and landing loudly into the bathtub at first because he’d been disoriented and nauseous, but she’d refused to let her mind come up with and ask questions until she was sure Kusuo was going to be alright.

She was a godsend, and so he decided to explain of his own free will so she wouldn’t start crying, which she was far too close to for comfort, flicking his gaze to the side so that it met hers.

“I’m okay. Or getting there. Dogs can’t have coffee or they get sick. I ate two cups of coffee jelly after dinner…I think I forgot to take the plate I apported into the fridge back out as well. Sorry.”

“Kusuo…” The use of his actual name was usually a bad sign, but now it was more out of exasperation and worry than anything of the scolding variety, “Can you still not turn back?”

He just shook his head, not wanting to explain that he wouldn’t be able to until a time frame that was far too specific for what he was still pretending was a power malfunction.

Kurumi just hummed sadly at that, continuing to stroke his back even as his scooted a bit away from the toilet. His stomach was still rolling queasily, but Kusuo was fairly sure that his body was done being absolutely disgusting.

He almost shuddered remembering how it had felt. He was beyond glad his ESP made him neigh immune to disease, because vomiting was the most unpleasant thing he’d ever experienced so far in life.

As he continued to pull himself back together, staring blearily at the white bathroom floor tiles, his mom asked him another question, “Would medicine help?”

“Even if it did, given my powers, I can’t take it like this. Human medication is a very big no-no for animals,” He sighed mentally and slowly raised himself off the ground, taking shaky steps past his mom and towards the open bathroom door. It was dark in the house, and so the hallway outside looked pitch in contrast to the illuminated bathroom, even with his ability to see in the dark.

The bathroom was, fortunately, rather close to his bedroom, so he decided against teleporting and padded slowly back to his room, pausing as his mom rushed ahead to open the door for him, leaving the bathroom light on in the process.

That was sweet of her, even if he probably could have used his telekinesis fine. He sent a quiet thanks to her and closed the gap to his bed agonizingly slowly, as his stomach lurched ominously whenever he tried to speed up more than a tiny bit.

Kusuo had actually managed to drift asleep briefly before this incident, lulled sufficiently by soft mental voices as he laid on his bed, and now he was even sleepier feeling. It seemed like getting sick had actually assisted in granting him some much needed rest.

He didn’t bother to shut his bedroom door, nosing under the covers of his bed until he was completely buried and comfortable, wondering faintly where his mom had gone when he heard her footsteps go downstairs, but overall not that concerned about it.

It was only when he had nearly fallen asleep again that his heightened hearing noticed her approaching his bed, and she called for him as she approached the lump of covers he’d become, “Ku-chan?”

He stuck his head out from under his blankets, the rest of his body curled up tightly behind him, looking curiously at his mom as she held a bowl full of water out at him, setting it down on his end table once she’d confirmed that he knew of its presence.

“If you feel up to it, you should make sure to drink some water, okay? Otherwise you’ll get dehydrated, since you just threw up,” She reached a hand down and stroked his head gently, and Kusuo nodded both to signify that he heard her and to dislodge it politely.

He knew that. He just hadn’t felt like getting himself water when he would have survived the night regardless. But, now that it had been brought to him, he crawled up on his bed until he could stick his muzzle into the bowl and drink as his mom turned to leave, wishing him a good rest of the night that he almost forgot to return.

Drinking from a bowl like this was mildly demeaning, but it was significantly less of a hassle than using telekinesis to drink from a cup was. So, since he was feeling very icky and wanted to exert as little energy as possible right now, he decided he didn’t care, tucking his head right back under his blanket once he’d had enough to satiate his thirst.

----

Waking up to an alarm at six in the morning when he didn’t have to be at school until closer to nine would usually be a miserable experience, but for once, Kusuo was downright filled with joy when he remembered why he was startled out of a deep sleep so early.

[brokeitwiththepowerofmathamatics]

Holiday Truce Fanfic - Pharaoh of the Kitchen

This is a gift fic for @mostlikelynothuman this isn’t what I usually write but I hope you like it!

Pharaoh of the Kitchen (Ao3)

Tucker might not be the most popular guy around, but that's a very different story compared to when he's in the kitchen.

Tucker usually didn’t feel like a king. He, along with his two best friends, were not in the popular crowd. Unlike his previous incarnation, he didn’t have dozens of people waiting on him, nor legions of devoted subjects desperate for his attention. Even when it came to tech, he didn’t feel like a king. That was more like being a kid in a candy store.

But here, in this place, he wasn’t just a king.

He was a god.

Tucker wrapped the apron around himself and tied it behind his back before reaching for the pans and placing them on the stove. He was careful not to make too much noise. Sam was a creature of the night, not a morning person, and Danny needed as much sleep as he could possibly get.

Jazz walked into the kitchen, pausing as she passed through the threshold. “Oh, Tucker, you’re up?”

Tucker winced at the volume of her voice. “Yup!” Tucker responded, making a point to whisper and pointing at the stovetop. “Working on breakfast before everyone wakes up.”

Jazz hesitated, looking between the fridge and the cupboard where the cereal boxes were. She smiled hesitantly at Tucker before lowering her voice as well. “Any chance I could ask you to make enough for me, too?”

Tucker pointed at the drawer that every kitchen winds up with eventually, the junk drawer, and said, “If you’re cool with making sure the sausages and bacon don’t come alive again, then sure!” She didn’t need to know that he always planned on making enough for everyone. With meat that could potentially bite back, he needed all the help he could get.

A god never shares everything he knows, after all.

Jazz smiled and made her way over to the drawer. She tended to act more mature than her age, but Tucker could see that she was moving a bit faster than usual in her excitement, a more childish swing in her step.

Everyone in the Fenton family knew he was a damn good cook, especially when it came to breakfast meats.

Once there, she pulled out an ecto-pistol from underneath a pile of tangled string, loose scissors, and a jar of dubious green fluid. Every house may have a junk drawer, but only the Fentons would keep theirs stocked with anti-ecto weaponry. Jazz flicked the power on, and the weapon began to let out a hum.

Tucker stopped and looked back. “Keep the power down,” he ordered, “Don’t want to wake up Sam or Danny.”

Jazz rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, sounding more put out than she actually was. She twisted a dial on the side of the gun, and the hum stopped ringing out. She then made her way across the kitchen and opened the fridge door before actually putting her finger on the trigger.

And proceeded to fire three shots.

“We really need to fix that ecto-contamination problem…” Jazz muttered before letting out an undignified squawk and then firing another shot. She shot Tucker a glare, “Wouldn’t have needed to do that if I kept the gun on full power.”

Tucker held out a hand and made gimme motions. “Yeah, well, you’re the one saying Danny needs to get a better sleep schedule.”

Jazz huffed and pulled out the now, once again, dead sausages, along with the other various breakfast packages left with them, like the thankfully normal bacon, and handed them over to Tucker before shutting the door. “And you’re the one who asked for my help. Is that all you needed?”

“Can you hand me the almond milk too?”

Jazz hesitated at that, glancing over at Tucker, taken aback at him requesting the vegan option, but went back into the fridge and got what he requested. He measured out a cup and put it on the counter. “Mind putting the carton on the table, and then getting started on coffee?”

“At this point, I’ll be making the entire meal,” Jazz complained but obliged. “Danny’s coffee? The hyper-caffeinated stuff? Or the family’s?”

“Well, it’s for Sam so…”

“That doesn’t answer it as well as you think it does, but I want coffee too.” Jazz said, laughing. She moved around him to get the coffee.

Tucker hummed and went back to his task at hand. It wasn’t long until the kitchen began to come alive (and for once, not because of ghosts) with the sound of bacon sizzling and the coffee dripper running.

“Ah, the smell of roasting dead flesh in the morning,” Sam said sardonically, wandering in. She was still wearing her PJs, thick cotton pants, and a threadbare sweater. She shuffled over to the kitchen table and slid into a chair, and groaned as she laid her head out on the table.

“You’re up early,” Jazz acknowledged.

“You left the blinds open in your room,” Sam groaned. “Jazz, why did you leave the blinds open? If I had known you were going to do that, I would have put up with Danny and Tucker’s snoring!"

Tucker scoffed. “You can sleep through ghost attacks, but not Danny’s snoring?”

Sam turned and fixed Tucker with a glare that made him fear he was about to get added to her body count, along with Danny. “His snoring? Yes. Yours? No.”

“Oh, I left them open? My mistake,” Jazz said brightly, her apology not at all convincing. “Well, it’s good you’re moving toward a normal sleep schedule.”

“I am a creature of the night. I don’t do mornings.” Sam sighed and started moving to get up.

“Don’t bother,” Tucker interrupted her, moving to get a mug out of the cupboard. He poured her a cup of coffee and put it in front of her. “Here you go, coffee as black as your soul.”

Jazz smirked and shook her head, standing up. “I’m grabbing the newspaper,” she announced.

Sam hesitated. “Is this Danny’s coffee or…”

“No, it’s the family’s coffee,” Jazz said, shaking her head.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and then took a sip of the coffee before letting out a contented sigh.

After she left, and when Sam knew Tucker wasn’t going to turn around, Sam reached for the open carton of almond milk and poured a dash into her coffee and then another. She took another sip and then smiled before looking up.

“You know that a lot of those processed meats can cause cancer, right?” Sam snipped from the table.

Tucker laughed. “Well, I’m here for a good time, not for a long time.” He knew she had a few more off-handed comments to make before it was out of her system.

“Too early for me to break up this argument again,” a voice cut in. Both Tucker and Sam turned to see Danny stumbling into the kitchen. He floated, quite literally as his feet were about a half inch above the ground, to the cabinet and pulled out a chipped mug with a fading NASA logo stamped on it before making his way to the coffee machine.

He poured himself a mug and then took a sip. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at the mug in disgust. “This isn’t my coffee, is it?”

“Nope,” Was the reply from Sam and Tucker in stereo.

“Rude…” Danny muttered, sitting down at the table.

“Danny…” Sam began, “Tucker made everyone coffee. You’re being rude.”

Danny’s sleepy face scrunched up as if to argue before relaxing, seeming to realize his error. "It’s not my coffee…" Danny grumbled under his breath.

Tucker rolled his eyes and pushed Danny to the table and out of his way. "Sit down and drink the weak coffee. We can make your pot when this one finishes."

"'kay…" Danny muttered, sitting at the table. He yawned and tried covering his mouth, though he couldn't quite hide it with the way it stretched unnaturally.

Sam glanced up at Tucker with a frown before looking at Danny. "You okay there?"

Danny shook his head. "Just really tired. Box Ghost was being a bigger annoyance than normal. I shoved him back into the ghost zone twice while you two were asleep."

Jazz walked into the kitchen holding a newspaper and her laptop. At the mention of the Box Ghost, she looked back to the foyer and up the stairs toward their parents’ rooms to ensure that they were still asleep. After seemingly being satisfied with the lack of motion upstairs, she opened the newspaper and handed Danny the comic section. "Just twice? I thought I heard you moving around more than that."

Danny shrugged with a small smile. "Third time, I left him in the thermos." He sipped the coffee and sighed wistfully.

Tucker rolled his eyes and grabbed a couple of thermoses from one of the cupboards and poured the remains of the coffee pot into the two of them. He then reached in the back of the cupboard, past the teas and the large Folgers coffee can to find a small 1-pound bag of coffee in a black bag with a strip of masking tape on it, with “Danny’s. DO NOT DRINK” written on it in sharpie.

Tucker measured out several teaspoons and put it in the coffee maker. He didn’t have time to start it before he had to jump back over to the stove to flip the pancakes. He then jumped into the cupboard and grabbed the rosemary that Maddie kept near the front. It was a little old, and back from her experiments of trying to figure out a ghost poison. She had read the stories from Jack Fentonightingale’s diary that it was supposed to calm and relax spirits, and she assumed it was a poison.

It wasn’t poison, and it did relax the ghosts as Fentonightingale said, but she and Jack believed it was a trick and so she wrote the experiment off as a failure.

But it turned out Danny loved the stuff (for obvious reasons), so she kept the stuff around. He sprinkled some of that into the coffee grounds before starting to brew Danny his own coffee.

It didn’t take long before Danny started to sit up. He sniffed the air, trying to catch what exactly had changed, but using his human senses didn’t help him identify the change in the room at all. His tongue ran over his lips and then muttered. “Tucker… what are you cooking?”

“Breakfast,” Tucker said, plating a bunch of bacon and pulling a couple of pancakes out of a pan. He put them in front of Danny, which caused Jazz to perk up and put away the newspaper. He turned back to the coffee dripper, which had just finished outputting the over-caffeinated coffee. He poured a mug of it and then put it and the pot next to Danny. “Here you go, for I am a generous god.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “If he thinks making us breakfast makes him a god…”

Danny cut Sam off with a cackle and grabbed the mug. “Oh, thank goodness! The stuff you drink is so weak.” He took a sip and let out a happy sigh before pausing and tilting his head.

Tucker filled up another plate, but this time he placed it right in front of Sam. Sam blinked a couple of times, staring down at the plate in front of her, completely uncomprehending what she was seeing. She growled and glared at Tucker. “Tucker, you know I’m vegan.”

Tucker tilted his head. He could take the high road, but Sam literally had walked into his domain and started giving him crap about his eating habits. So instead, he just smirked and said, “I know.”

In retrospect, the smugness he put into that was probably not a good idea. Sam folded her arms and snapped. “Tucker, is it really that hard to respect me? I mean, come on!”

Tucker held up a finger. “I mean, I could say the same thing. After all, you were very happy to tell me that I’m gonna die of a cancer this morning.”

Sam blushed in anger, but before she could say anything, Danny slammed his hands down on the table. “Hey! No fighting this morning!”

Sam and Tucker both jumped as Jazz put a hand on Danny's shoulder. Tucker chewed on his lip as Danny rubbed his face. “Seriously, guys… how many times have we been over this? I’m so tired. Play nice, okay?”

“Sorry, Danny,” Tucker apologized immediately. He held up a hand to cut off anything that Sam would have said. “That’s my bad. Sam wasn’t being mean earlier. I escalated.” He shrugged and pointed at the food in front of Sam. “Also, that’s all vegan.”

Sam blinked and looked down at the food. “Seriously? You can cook vegan?”

Tucker chuckled. “I mean, it’s not that hard. The sausages are just prepackaged things anyways.”

Sam pointed past Tucker at the stovetop. “Yeah, sure, those are, but I saw you make the pancakes from scratch.”

Tucker smirked. “Well, yeah. But I am a man, and that means I can provide for my family! Be that bringing home the bacon or cooking the food my food eats, either way, I can do it!”

Sam groaned. “Oh great, now you’re spewing internalized societal expectations… want me to go gather berries and raise some babies while we’re at it?”

“Wait…” Danny interrupted. He pointed at Tucker and narrowed his eyes. “You think of us as your family?”

Tucker felt his own cheeks heat up in a blush. “I mean.. Yeah? You’re my bro, bro. And Sam’s the annoying sister.”

Jazz raised her hand to get his attention before pointing at herself. “What about me?”

Tucker scoffed. “You're the sister of my bro. You're my sister too, by transitive properties.”

“Awwww….” Jazz said, quickly moving around the table. “Come here, my little bro,” she said, the word sounding clumsy and unpracticed. “Let me give you a hug!”

Tucker jumped away from her reaching arms. “Nuh-uh! I am not a hugger!” He couldn’t help but laugh as he wielded his spatula as a defensive weapon. “I should never have upgraded you all from subjects to family!”

Sam groaned and rolled her eyes. “We never should have gone to that stupid museum…” She stabbed into one of the pancakes Tucker popped it into her mouth. “Wow… this is really good.”

Tucker ducked under Jazz’s arms and shoved a thumb into his chest. “Of course it is! I cooked it!” Before he let out a shriek (or manly yell if you asked him) as Jazz attempted to take advantage of his distracted state to ensnare him in a hug.

Jazz laughed as she continued to encircle Tucker. “Yes, yes, we know you cooked, and we love you soooooooo much for it!”

Danny laughed as his sister continued to fight to give her newly claimed brother attention. He sat down and went back to drinking his coffee. Sam looked at his empty plate and then at him. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna eat?”

Danny’s eyes flashed glowing green for a second, and he smiled softly. “You know ghosts can feed off emotion… There’s enough…” he paused and chewed on his lip as he tried to think of how to describe it in words. He sighed and gave up, “joy, happiness, family, safety here…” He said, just throwing several feelings in as one mishmash soup and hoping to get his point across. He waved his hand about the room as he settled in his seat.

“I’m full.”

[copiasghoulfriend]

Sinfully Yours,

Summary: In this enigmatic tale, Nurse Penelope (Penny) awakens next to the alluring Terzo in an unfamiliar room, leading to confusion and intrigue. Amidst her nursing duties, Penny grapples with her attraction to Terzo and her commitment to her distant boyfriend, Mary. Mysterious gestures from an anonymous admirer and Terzo himself further complicate her emotions. While Penny navigates the complexities of her feelings and her role in the intriguing Emeritus family, she remains torn between the allure of the unknown and her unwavering connection with Mary, resulting in a captivating blend of romance, mystery, and personal growth.

Rating: Mature, Explicit, Eventually 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore / Emeritus Family / Copia

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Infidelity, Emotional Turmoil, Mature Language, Suggestive Imagery, Alcohol Use, Romantic Tension, Implied Nudity, Intrigue and Mystery, Personal Struggles

Word Count: 3.2K

AO3 Chapter One

Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters

The early hours of the morning saw a few Sisters seeking my attention before I embarked on my way to the town for the scheduled meeting. Just as I was locking up the clinic, an unexpected encounter transpired. Cardinal Copia entered the office, prompting me to pause. "Ah, Copia! I'm actually heading out for a meeting soon. Is this urgent, or can it wait?" I inquired, intrigued by his sudden appearance. He appeared somewhat flustered and offered an apology. "I just wanted to check in on you. You seemed a bit distressed when you left the dining hall last night."

The realization that he had noticed my departure from the dining hall surprised me. Recollecting the previous night's events, I confided, "Oh, it's just some personal matters. I miss my boyfriend, that's all. I asked him to visit soon." Copia's expression shifted, a mixture of concern and something else I couldn't quite place. He nodded in response, bid me well for my meeting, and hurried away.

With the clinic door securely closed, my attention was drawn to Terzo, who was engrossed in conversation with a fellow Sister in the hallway. His gaze, however, seemed to intermittently drift in my direction as they conversed. This observation added another layer of curiosity to the enigma that was Terzo, a sense of attention that both intrigued and unsettled me.

As I prepared to depart for my meeting, assistance arrived in the form of one of the Ghouls named Sodo, who volunteered to drive me into town. The day was unfolding with a series of puzzling encounters, each interaction offering a glimpse into the complex dynamics of the world I'd entered, leaving me to navigate the intrigue with a mix of anticipation and caution.

Sodo's assistance brought me to the local town hall, where nurses from various ministries gathered to discuss protocols. The meeting stretched on, leaving me weary by its conclusion. Yet, even in my fatigue, my thoughts oscillated between the enigma of Terzo and the memories of Mary. Terzo's potential involvement in the mysterious gestures hinted at a romantic disposition that held a certain allure, while Mary's protective nature and rebellious reputation had always been an intriguing combination.

Mary's involvement with his band and his charismatic role as a guitarist and lead singer often had him mingling with other girls, a fact that I grappled with. The internal struggle between trust and uncertainty continued to be a source of inner conflict. Lost in thought, I was abruptly pulled back to reality when I realized that all eyes were on me, awaiting my input. Apologizing for my distraction, I shared my insights to improve our collaborative efforts.

As the meeting continued, a familiar face suddenly appeared outside the window, a sight that caused my heart to skip a beat. "Mary?" I whispered in disbelief, my gaze fixed on the figure that had materialized. The abrupt appearance of my boyfriend added an unexpected twist to an already eventful day, leaving me questioning what might have prompted his unexpected visit.

Gathering my belongings, I hurried outside to meet Mary, my heart light with anticipation. "Baby!" I exclaimed, rushing into his arms, only to find his reaction surprisingly muted. His embrace lacked the usual warmth, leaving me puzzled and concerned. My eyes shifted to Sodo's still-running car in the background and the additional passenger seated inside—an unfamiliar face that only added to my confusion. "What are you doing here, Mary?" I questioned, seeking answers from his eyes.

His response came hesitantly, accompanied by a distracted gaze. My patience waned as I tried to regain his attention, snapping my fingers and attempting to draw him back to our conversation. His absent-mindedness was infuriating, especially as I noticed the source of his distraction—an infatuated nurse who had his full attention.

"Excuse me? Earth to doofus?" I snapped, hoping to redirect his attention back to me. It worked, albeit only momentarily, as he seemed to register my presence. However, his behavior was unsettling; he wasn't acting like himself. The realization that he might be under the influence of substances hit me like a punch to the gut. "Are you high again? I thought you were sober?" I hissed, stepping back in both anger and disappointment. His attempts at making excuses only deepened my frustration.

But then, Mary's slurred words took a shocking turn, shattering my heart into a million fragments. He confessed to cheating, his words ringing in my ears as my tears began to flow. The revelation left me stunned, the pain a visceral ache that overwhelmed me. His confession cut deep, and my voice trembled as I struggled to find words. "Is this payback for what Terzo did? Are you punishing me?" I choked out, my voice laced with sorrow and confusion.

"No! I promise it's not," he protested vehemently, his desperation echoing in his tone. But the damage was done, the trust we shared fractured by his admission. Tears streamed down my face as I grappled with a flood of emotions, unsure of how to proceed. "Goodbye, Mary," I finally managed to say, my voice laced with a mixture of sadness and anger. Pushing him aside, I fled to Sodo's waiting car, aware that Terzo was seated in the front. His gaze bore witness to the painful scene, adding yet another layer of complexity to the situation.

Silence filled the car during the drive back to the ministry, the weight of betrayal heavy in the air. My heart ached, torn between the shattered pieces of what had once been and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The events of the day had taken an unexpected turn, thrusting me into a whirlwind of emotions that left me grappling with a sense of loss and the need to make decisions that would shape the path forward.

Arriving back at the Ministry, I hastily disembarked from the car, abandoning my meeting notes without a second thought. Sodo and Terzo's presence went unnoticed as I made a beeline for my living quarters. Slamming the door shut, I sought refuge in the solitude of my room. Collapsing onto the bed, I succumbed to the wave of emotions that had been building throughout the day, letting my tears flow freely.

The persistent knocks on the door went unanswered, my determination to isolate myself from the world unyielding. The ringing phone was an unwelcome intrusion, its persistence finally compelling me to pick up, my frustration evident in my tone. "What the fuck do you want, Mary?" I snapped, only to be met with an unexpected response. "eh, oh! Penny? This isn't Mary... It's Terzo."

Terzo's voice, a mix of concern and uncertainty, caught me off guard. His words tumbled out in a ramble, and I could sense his genuine worry for my well-being. "Terzo, you don't care about my love life, so why are you curious? Because I could be single? Don't worry about me," I retorted, the turmoil within me seeping into my words.

Interrupting my tirade, Terzo's voice gained a measure of seriousness. "Listen, Penny, we all go through this. Lovers come and go." His attempt to console me carried a weight of understanding that surprised me. His next words, however, revealed a gesture of kindness that I hadn't expected. "I left you some dinner outside of your door whenever you decide to get out of bed."

His mention of the dinner left me momentarily puzzled, until realization struck. "Terzo, you're the one who was leaving me flowers?" I asked, seeking confirmation. He stumbled in his response, caught off guard. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry," he replied, his tone evasive. It was evident that he didn't want to admit his actions.

The conversation came to an abrupt end, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. Terzo's unexpected concern and his underlying gestures left me questioning the complexity of his character. The day's events had taken me on an emotional roller coaster, revealing layers of intrigue and unexpected connections that I had yet to fully comprehend.

I opened the kitchen door, finding the warm dinner Terzo had left outside. The gesture, though unexpected, struck a chord within me. It was a small act of kindness that contrasted the turbulence of the day. My thoughts lingered on Terzo, contemplating the depth of his character revealed through these moments.

Setting up a makeshift dining area in front of the television, I attempted to distract myself with a movie while I ate. However, the food hardly seemed appetizing amidst the emotional turmoil. The upcoming weekend loomed with the responsibility of being On-Call for emergencies, a duty that now seemed both overwhelming and isolating.

The movie failed to divert my mind from the heartache, and my tears began to fall once again. A sudden knock interrupted my sorrow, and I mustered a weak response. "One second!" I called out, my voice tinged with sadness. I wiped away tears, trying to regain composure before opening the door.

To my surprise, Cardinal Copia stood before me. His presence caught me off guard, and his compassionate gesture of wiping away my tears only added to the unexpectedness of the moment. I hesitated, caught between my reluctance to expose my vulnerability and the genuine concern he seemed to offer. "Cardinal, this really isn't—" I began, only to be cut off by his words.

"Penny, please don't cry. I brought you some wine… maybe we could drink some together? I would hate for you to be alone," he offered, his words laced with empathy. His gloved hand wiping away my tears, I found myself leaning into the comfort he offered, a gesture I hadn't anticipated.

"I don't want you to suffer with me… it's bad enough that you're seeing me cry," I replied, conflicted by the mingling emotions. Inviting him inside, I closed the door behind us, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

As the phone rang, startling Copia, he offered to answer it on my behalf. I watched as his demeanor shifted upon hearing the voice on the other end. "Penny," he addressed me, relaying the message. "There's a young man named Adam. He's requesting to speak with you." With a sigh, I approached the phone and took it from him, bracing myself for whatever news awaited.

The connection crackled with static as Adam's voice reached me, his urgency palpable. His words revealed a disturbing truth—Mary was spiraling out of control. Drunk and consumed by self-destructive behavior, he had even damaged his beloved guitars. My heart ached at the realization that he was hurting himself. Adam's plea was punctuated by the admission that Mary loved me deeply.

"Put Mary on the phone," I demanded, my voice a mix of anger, sadness, and concern. After some rustling, I finally heard his slurred words. "Baby… I'm so fucking sorry. Please… forgive me. I love you…"

Tears flowed anew as I grappled with my emotions. I glanced at Copia, who had come closer, his presence a source of unexpected comfort. "You have to give me time... You broke my heart, Mary. I understand you're sorry," I replied, my voice wavering.

As the conversation continued, the emotional roller coaster carried on. Mary's attempt to salvage our relationship was apparent, his words slurred by the effects of alcohol. Copia's calming presence by my side became more pronounced, his touch grounding me in the midst of the chaos.

Mary's voice came through once again, seeking clarity. "Wait… eh… errm… are you breaking up with me?" he asked, his uncertainty palpable. I exchanged a fleeting look with Copia, who now stood at my side, his gaze empathetic.

"Personally, I'm not sure… right now I just need some time to reflect—" I began, only to be interrupted by Mary's desperate plea. "Penny, baby, I'm coming to see you tomorrow. I don't give a shit. We have some serious talking to do. I love you."

The weight of his words hung in the air, my heart torn between pain and the remnants of a once strong connection. "I'll believe it when I see it," I responded, my voice tinged with skepticism.

Hanging up the phone, I turned to face Copia, who had been silently observing. Our eyes met, a silent exchange of understanding that transcended words. "Would you like some wine, Cara?" he inquired, offering solace in a simple gesture.

As Copia gracefully opened the bottle of wine and poured its contents into our glasses, I observed his every movement. We settled on the couch, a noticeable space between us, and I sipped the wine awkwardly, attempting to navigate the newfound intimacy of the situation. His initial comment caught me off guard. "So, you've definitely created a stir within the Emeritus family. You definitely make people crazy here," he remarked, his tone casual as he took a sip of the red wine.

Perplexed by his statement, I questioned, "What do you mean...?" My own nervousness was masked by sips of the wine, each gulp making the atmosphere more comfortable.

Copia cleared his throat, his gaze briefly averting as he seemed to search for the right words. "You're very gorgeous, Penny... er, I'm just saying that with your, uh, boyfriend out of the picture... you'll have plenty of other choices." His voice held a tinge of nervousness, and he turned away slightly.

The implication of his words slowly registered, and I met his eyes with a mixture of surprise and confusion. He was addressing the void left by Mary, suggesting that I might have other romantic opportunities. We continued talking as the wine flowed, discussing topics ranging from outside life to ministry duties. Copia's presence provided a refreshing change of pace, allowing me to momentarily escape from the shadows cast by Mary's actions.

As the evening progressed and the bottle of wine emptied, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Laughter echoed through the room, and the lingering butterflies in my stomach became more pronounced. A glance at the clock jolted me back to reality—it was nearly 2am. I cursed under my breath, apologizing for keeping Copia here for so long.

Copia shared my concern, realizing the lateness of the hour. "Oh mio dio! It's extremely late. I apologize for being here so late. I shall get going. It was such a pleasure getting to know you personally," he said, standing up and adjusting his clothes.

Turning from the sink, wine glasses in hand, I looked at him with a hint of sadness. "Do you have to go? You can sleep on the couch if you'd like. No pressure. I would even let you sleep in my bed, I could take the couch," I offered, hoping to alleviate the loneliness that had become so overwhelming.

Copia's response was kind, albeit hesitant. "Penny, please don't take this the wrong way. It would be inappropriate for me to sleep here. We're obviously both not sober... I wouldn't want you to do something that you'd regret in the morning," he explained, his actions and words reflecting his respect and concern for my well-being.

Though disappointed by his decision, I nodded slowly, tears welling up as I looked away. Copia's comforting touch brought my gaze back to him as he cupped my face with his gloved hands. He wiped away my tears gently, his compassion evident. "I just thought you would want to spend the night with me. We bonded so well," I admitted, my voice quivering with vulnerability.

Copia's eyes held mine, and his response was tender. "Penny, I know... I'm just looking out for your well-being. You have a good night, okay? Eh, if you need anything at all... please give me a call. I don't care if you wake me up." His words were reassuring, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on my forehead before heading towards the door.

With a final nod, he left, and I closed the door behind him. Changing into an oversized shirt, I settled into my bed, the weight of the day finally catching up to me. My tears flowed freely as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, releasing the emotions that had been building within me.

The morning air was crisp, a reminder of the previous night's indulgence. My head throbbed as I stepped into the common area, Mary's presence a sudden shock to my senses. "Mary... I didn't expect to see you here," I greeted, my voice laced with both surprise and unease.

He stood and closed the gap between us, planting kisses on my lips that felt both familiar and distant. His words carried the weight of regret, and I could see the genuine pain in his eyes. "Penny, I miss you so much. I'm so sorry for what happened. I tried so hard."

His forehead touched mine, and I closed my eyes, taking a moment to just breathe. It was good to have him near, but the complexity of our situation couldn't be brushed aside with kisses and apologies. "Do you forgive me, princess?" he asked, swaying us gently.

I held his gaze, torn between my feelings for him and the need to address the issues that had surfaced. "Mary... you being here doesn't automatically change things. But I appreciate you making the effort to talk."

His lips found mine again, and I let myself get lost in the sensation, just for a moment. "Please, baby... I don't want to lose you. Please," he pleaded, his voice a mix of desperation and longing.

The depth of his emotions tugged at my heartstrings, and I found myself softening. "Mary, let's grab some coffee from the hall. It's early, and my head is still pounding," I suggested, hoping that a change of scenery would allow us to have a more coherent conversation.

He nodded, and together we made our way down to the dining hall. Whispers and curious glances followed us, given Mary's unexpected presence and his unconventional attire. He fetched us coffees while I searched for an unoccupied table. As we sat down, my eyes drifted to the front table, where the Emeritus Family was gathered. Primo, Secondo, Terzo, and Copia were all seated, and it seemed like something was amiss among them.

Engrossed in my thoughts, I found it hard to fully engage in Mary's conversation. His attempts at light-hearted chatter seemed distant as my attention remained on that front table. Terzo and Copia were engaged in an intense discussion, their expressions strained. I couldn't make out the details, but it was clear that tension simmered beneath the surface.

Suddenly, Mary leaned in and captured my lips, snapping me back to the moment. "Sorry... I was just caught up," I apologized, trying to recenter myself.

He brushed my hair away from my face, his touch both tender and possessive. "I noticed... I don't like it. Which one of those freaks did you accidentally hook up with?" he whispered, a mix of jealousy and concern in his tone.

My heart raced, and I shot a quick glance at the front table, hoping they hadn't overheard. I whispered urgently, "Please... not here."

Mary's jaw tightened, his frustration palpable. I realized he wasn't here to make amends; he was here to stake his claim and assert his dominance. As we sipped our coffee, I knew that the tangled web of emotions, desires, and misunderstandings would only continue to deepen.

[f-ferrari-forever]

Thank you Elle (@il-predestinato) for tagging me! Loved the Audie photo btw, she’s definitely giving Charles a run for his money on who is the most adorable wearing that Monaco cap.

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not that I know of, although my parents wanted it to be bit of an uncommon name. Fast forward to elementary school, there was girl in my class with the same name. Fast forward to now, turns out it’s a pretty darn popular name in a different part of the country. Oh well...

2. When was the last time you cried? 

Oh boy...Uhm, let’s just say that last month has been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster at work, but it’s all good now, at least I hope it is. 

On the other hand, I also teared up a little yesterday while reading one of the new entries in the Lestappen tag. I’d rec it here, but the author doesn’t want it shared outside AO3. Nevertheless, you’ll find it in the tag quite easily I think.

3. Do you have kids? 

Nope. Think I might want one eventually, but definitely not any time soon.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

It usually comes out the strongest when I’m pissed off, and when it does...let’s just say I’m not anybody’s bestie then 😅. 

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

I have a confession to make...I’m a bit like our beloved boys Maxy and Charlie when it comes to sports (that may also include driving, but I hope I can fix that soon). I did try dance for a hot minute, but I kind of/sort sucked at it. What else? Oh right, had one swimming class before I caught pneumonia. Fun times.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

I have a bit of a sweet spot for fashion, so definitely how they’re dressed. Charlie baby, I’m definitely judging you.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Definitely happy endings. Although recently I’ve been the tiniest bit more exposed to scary movies. I still think they suck though.

8. Any special talents?

Definitely not. Although I’m going to take a page out of Elle’s book and say that at least I am fully aware about things I suck at. Self-conscious, right? That can easily slip into underestimating yourself, but that’s a another story...

9. Where were you born?

Romania, my frenemy, the land of choice. King Charles apparently likes it here. If only it were a different Charles...ahem.

10. What are your hobbies?

Reading, writing, watching silly little sports about silly little tax-evading men and down-right abusive federations and coaches who exploit their athletes...also spending time with the people I love. Balance, right? 

11. Do you have any pets?

I do! Two kitties and one dog. But they’re not as cool as Audie!

12. How tall are you?

164 cm, and I am very adamant that it’s 164, not 163, okay? Also, I have no idea how inches work. 

13. Fave subject in school?

It would have been Math if I had had less...Russian coaches like teachers (to a much more smaller scale, but still). English definitely, and I guess also Romanian (but our literature is...not the most entertaining and my teachers were weird).

14. Dream job?

I’m starting more and more to realise that it’s being a university professor. Which is a bit of bummer financially, and also it doesn’t help that in my field and in my country it’s generally perceived that only people who fail in the industry turn to academia. But I really like working with students and helping them succeed.

15. Eye colour?

I’m going to step away from the poop joke and instead use the Stephenie Meyer description of chocolate brown ✌🏻. 

Tagging: @xiaoluclair, @alestire, @pressradio, @coconutshygame, @the-last-jedis, @dnfstrategist, @just-an-inchident, @karlmarxverstappen if any of you guys want to this or haven't been tagged already!

[bouwrites]

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 54

Beginning Research

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

“My, my, is that you, Veery?”

That can’t be. Veery audibly gasps as he scrambles to his feet turning towards the voice. When he catches sight and scent of her, he grins from ear to ear. “Professor Manuela! You’re back! When did you get in?”

Professor Manuela laughs heartily. “I’m hardly your professor anymore, Veery. And I seem to recall you always insisting you were never a student to begin with.”

“I wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a Deer. And we call Professor Byleth Teach, still, too.”

Manuela just shakes her head indulgently. “As it happens, I arrived in Garreg Mach while you were in Brigid. Recently, I went to visit some refugee camps, and just got back today. How have you been doing, Veery? I do hope you’ve been being responsible.”

Veery’s mind flashes immediately to him downing a whole bottle of painkiller to use Albinean-method healing well past his limit. “Of course,” he lies.

Manuela fixes him with a look that says just how little she buys it.

Veery clears his throat awkwardly. “Anyway, where were you? I thought if you were going to come, you’d be with the Church of Seiros. And, what about Professor Hanneman?”

Manuela’s face falls a bit. “Believe it or not, I was actually in Enbarr most of this time. I spent a lot of time taking care of the girls in the Mittelfrank Opera Company.” She sighs. “At first, I was resolved to stay out the war entirely. I knew it’d eventually come to Enbarr if Edelgard doesn’t win, but… it was either stay put with the opera or fight my former students to the death.”

Veery winces. “You… it might help both of you if you and Teach talk about that. I don’t know, but… I know she feels the same way.”

“I might just do that,” Manuela says. “Anyway, what actually changed my mind was this little resistance Claude is putting together. And, of course, the fact that Dorothea is part of it. I know it’s terrible for teachers to play favorites, but Dorothea is really something special.”

“I know,” Veery says honestly.

“Her and… and Hanneman,” Manuela trails off, shaking her head. “Hanneman decided to join Edelgard.”

Oh no. Edelgard already has Linhardt on her side. With Hanneman, too, she has possibly Fódlan’s most brilliant Crest Scholars backing her, and frankly, a lot of information about noteworthy people on the resistance side, including Veery. Who knows what she can do with that information, if either of them are so cruel to share those kinds of secrets with her.

“Considering what happened to his sister,” Manuela says, almost offhandedly, “I don’t really blame him. And I don’t want to kill him, either. Still, if an old geezer like Hanneman can do his part in this war, so can I. That’s another reason I decided to join you here. I got tired of being helpless, I suppose.”

“You, Professor? Helpless?” Veery can’t help but gawk. Since when has Professor Manuela ever been helpless?

She laughs. “You flatter me, Veery. Careful. I might get used to it.” After a moment to let the joke pass, she smiles again. “Oh, but it is so good to see you again. Already, I’m so much more sure about my decision than I was before. Now I just need to find Dorothea.”

“She sort of took over your infirmary along with Marianne,” Veery says. “She’s there most days.”

Professor Manuela chuckles, a wry smile stuck on her lips. “I see some things haven’t changed. I’m going to run and find her, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. She’s going to be delighted to see you.” And Veery is planning on doing something right now besides catch up with Manuela, anyway.

When she runs off, he gets started on that, carefully making his way through the market, slipping behind now-overgrown shrubbery into a hidden alcove where a hole in the wall awaits.

It’s been a long time since Veery has come to Abyss. Even five years ago, he tends to avoid the place. It’s not so much that he finds the environment inhospitable – he comes from Albinea, after all, and the Abyssians’ “mind your own business” attitude is actually a welcome change compared to the usual monastery inhabitants. He doesn’t even particularly mind the underground part in principle. The dank and the mold are just fine with him.

It’s just that, when the sun is right there, he really doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t take advantage of it. If he has no specific reason to come down here, he’s going to favor enjoying the sunlight while it’s around, even if it’s always around here in Fódlan.

But today, he must accept the darkness of Abyss, because today, he is doing research. First and foremost, he wants to browse for hints as to where Maurice’s Relic may lie, for Marianne. Secondly – Marianne’s request actually reminds him of this – he wants to see what he can find about the Crest Stones. Ideally, he’ll have Linhardt or Professor Hanneman to consult about it, but with both of them on Edelgard’s side, Veery is going to have to make do with what notes he can find in their old rooms and workspaces, and what Abyss’ library has to say.

Something is wrong with the dragons of Fódlan, something that is warping their Crest Stones long after death. Sadi wants to fix it, so Veery needs as much information as possible to have a hope of achieving that.

He makes it to the library without interruption and spends some time in there fruitlessly pulling volumes off the shelves and carefully replacing them. Unlike the library upstairs, this one is not organized – or not well, at least, probably due to people returning books to the wrong places – which just makes everything more difficult. It’s only after some time of doing this that anyone interrupts to speak to him.

“That you, Kitty? Not often we see you down here.”

Only one person calls him “Kitty”. Anyone else who wouldn’t think it’s too overtly rude are calling him much worse things. (And, honestly, Veery mostly doesn’t mind it only because she calls everyone by weird nicknames – how Yuri is a bird, Veery has no idea. At least “Kitty” makes sense.) Veery looks up from the scroll in his hands to smile. “Hi, Hapi.”

“What are you up to? Helping out with Marianne’s thing?”

“Partly,” Veery says. “I’m also interested in the Crest Stones and Heroes’ Relics as a whole. There’s something wrong with them, and I’m hoping to fix it.”

Hapi rolls her eyes. “Good luck with that. How would you even start?”

Veery shrugs. “Well, someone made the Relics. Whatever happened was done to them. If people did something, then there has to be some way to undo it.”

“That’s real optimistic of you, Kitty. Not everything can be cured.”

That… is true, unfortunately. Death, if nothing else, is something there is no return from. Still, Veery promises Sadi that he’ll try, so he won’t give up until he has at least done all he can.

Veery hums. He’s been giving it thought ever since Sadi mentions it, and he has a few logical deductions, but little else. “You’re right. Not everything can be fixed. But I think more can than we expect.”

“Okay, so what’s your plan, then?”

Veery smiles weakly at her. “Learn, first of all. All I’ve got so far is that the Crest Stones were made to power weapons. If something was done to them, there’s a good chance it was done to either make them more powerful, or to make them respond more easily to the wielder of the Relic.”

Try as she might, Hapi can’t disguise the way her face wrinkles at his words. When he asks, she says, “When I was little, a lady locked me up and kept me captive for a long time. She did all sorts of weird experiments on me. That’s why monsters come running when I sigh, now. Apparently, my Crest makes it easy to befriend animals, or something, and whatever she did made it so strong just sighing brings dangerous beasts around.” She breathes in deeply like she’s about to sigh, but catches herself, shaking her head. “Well, I’ve just about given up on a cure, anyway.”

Oh, wow. Veery does sigh. “I wish Linhardt or Hanneman decided to join us instead of Edelgard. I’m not a Crest Scholar, but I can try to look into that, too.”

Hapi gives him a small smile. “I appreciate that, Kitty. Honestly, I’m not counting on it, but if you’re trying at all, you’re still better than the church. Anyway, if you’re looking into Relics, B might let you take a look at his. No promises, though.”

Huh? “Balthus has a Relic?”

“You didn’t know?” Hapi purses her lips for a moment. “I guess he did only get it while everyone was gone from Garreg Mach. Yuri-bird has one, too.”

What? But they have the Crests of the Apostles, right? “But… that… there’s no way there’s just no mention of the Apostles having Relics. How…?”

“Oh, it’s not a real Relic,” Hapi says, like that makes perfect sense. “That’s what B says, anyway. Just a replica created after the War of Heroes. Same kind of power though. Even if he says that, I still don’t see the difference.”

Created after the War of Heroes? If Veery’s old theory about the Agarthans being behind the Relics is right, it does make sense that they wouldn’t just stop making them after the War of Heroes. “So, it’s a Relic,” Veery concludes, “but not a Hero’s Relic. And Yuri’s?”

“Who knows with him? He and Coco disappeared one day and when they came back, he was wearing that thing. I don’t know a thing about it.”

“Huh. Well, it’s Yuri, so that’s hardly surprising.”

“True.”

They stand, for a moment, in silence. “You and Constance haven’t dug up Relics too, right?”

Hapi smiles wryly. “No.”

“…You think if I check the Holy Tomb, I’d find your Crest Stones? If we put those into a Relic, would you be able to use it?”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.”

“But it is an idea.”

“No offense, but I don’t feel like turning into a demonic beast anytime soon.”

“You shouldn’t, though. It’s the Crest Stone which transforms you, not the Relic. So, if the Crest Stone matches your Crest, you should be fine.”

“…Yeah, no, I’m out.” And she’s already walking away. “If you’re going to do this, bother Coco with it.”

Claude coughs, somewhat awkwardly, in the face of the spread laid out on the grass before him. “…So…” he says, stretching out the word. “What are you doing?”

Flayn giggles positively deviously. “We are-”

“We are not,” Veery says quickly, interrupting her, “trying to make a new Hero’s Relic.”

Flayn continues cackling to herself, and frankly Constance’s muttering about how they’ll all be killed for blasphemy isn’t helping, and Hilda and Balthus both with their smug grins definitely isn’t helping.

After a long, long moment of silence, Claude says simply, “I’m going to need a lot more than that.”

Can Veery blame Hapi for this? Because he is very tempted to. “So,” Veery begins, “a few days ago, I went to Abyss to look in the library for stuff on Maurice and the Crest Stones. You know, for Marianne and Sadi’s things.”

“Uh-huh,” Claude says, eyeing the priceless artifacts strewn in the dirt in the middle of their little circle. “Go on.”

“I ran into Hapi, and she mentioned Balthus and Yuri have Relics now.”

“So I’ve heard.” Claude pointedly looks to Vajra-Mushti, laying dully in the grass.

“But apparently, Balthus’ Relic was made after the War of Heroes. He calls it a replica, but I think whoever made the Relics just made a few more later on.”

“Seditious talk such as this will surely bring the most deserved of punishment down upon us…” Constance says.

Right.

“So,” Veery continues, “I wondered if Relics were made for Hapi and Constance’s Crests, too.”

“That’s a no,” Balthus says.

“Right,” Veery says, “because I actually found the Crest Stone of Noa in the Holy Tomb. Timotheos is nowhere to be found, unfortunately.”

Constance putters. “The Crest Stone was likely returned to the church at some point by House Nuvelle. Timotheos died in seclusion, so that Crest Stone is likely, at best, in Hapi’s hidden hometown. Or lost completely to time.”

“Yeah,” Veery says. He doesn’t know or care much about why, but that makes sense to him.

“Wait,” Claude says. “You went back into the Holy Tomb? To steal a Crest Stone?”

Veery shrugs. “I’m going to put it back. Besides, I’d feel worse about it if I didn’t already promise to meddle with these things. If I’m going to keep my promise to Sadi, I’m going to have to disturb them sooner or later, anyway.”

Claude opens his mouth but seems to find no words. After a moment, he says, “Okay, so how did we get here?”

“Come on, Claude, that’s easy. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you of all people.”

“Humor me.”

Veery sighs. “Balthus’ Relic is the most recently made that we know of. Hilda’s is one of the Heroes’ Relics, which are sort of the baseline we’re working with. Flayn’s Caduceus is a holy artifact, just as ancient and powerful as the Relics, but clearly made completely differently. And then we have the Crest Stone of Noa, which doesn’t have a Relic at all.”

Claude hums for a moment. “And you’re definitely not trying to make Constance a Relic.”

“No,” Veery says. “Do you really think I would willingly make one of those things? They’re gross. Whatever was done to the hearts of the dragons here most likely has to do with the creation of the Relics. That’s why it only affects the dragons – the dragons are the only ones used to make these Relics. So, to reverse whatever happened, I need to know what happened, first. I’m trying to figure out how the Relics were made. You know, so I can undo it.”

“…You’re completely insane. I love you so much.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.”

“Well, carry on, then. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do, Claude.”

Claude takes his leave, and Balthus immediately says, “Wow, I cannot believe you got away with that.”

“I can,” Hilda says. “Claude will let Veery get away with anything.”

“Really? Are those two… you know?”

Hilda snorts. “Those two? No, they’re more like brothers. Although, hey, Veery, I still can’t figure out if you’re with Caub or Hoarvug.”

Veery scrunches up his nose. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“You know, who are you with? It’s got to be one of them, right? I mean, Caub pines so much I swear it can’t be him, but then sometimes you turn around and act like you’ve been lovers for years and I think maybe he’s just that smitten with you. And Hoarvug is – where do you even start with that?”

“Oh, you mean together like a life partner?” Veery returns his attention mostly to Freikugel, even as he talks gossip with Hilda. “Only one I’ve got right now is Hoarvug.”

“Only one right now, huh?” Balthus laughs. “You planning on getting more?”

Veery shrugs. “Not planning, no. I didn’t even plan on Hoarvug. But we aren’t… what was the word? I know Dorothea told me… monogamous! That’s it. Although I think that’s sort of wrong, because Hoarvug and I are partners, but our relationship isn’t the same as your human dating relationships, and I think that word is mostly used for that context?”

Flayn gasps eagerly. “Ooh, to take multiple spouses would be very naughty indeed. But to compare your relationship with Hoarvug and human marital relationships is something of comparing apples to oranges, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah,” Veery says. “I mean, the closest thing we have to your marital relationships is also not really considered a one partner only kind of thing, but that’s not what I have with Hoarvug, anyway. He’s a different kind of life partner.”

“I fear the gulf of my ignorance is too vast to understand your meaning,” Constance says.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I get it, either,” Balthus says. “You got more than one kind of relationship you commit your whole life to?”

Veery frowns. “What’s strange about that?”

“Nothing at all,” Hilda coos. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s only natural to make connections to people for your whole life, and not all of those connections are romantic.”

“Fair point, Hilda. I’m certainly not about to go kissing Holst.”

“Which is a real shame,” Hilda says. “Honestly, I’m not convinced he wouldn’t go for it.”

Balthus gapes for a moment, cheeks flushing red, then asks, “Seriously?”

“Although, if Holst gets too attached to you, making a Goneril heir would end up my responsibility, so… no. No, I’m not serious at all, and he definitely wouldn’t.”

“Hilda!” Balthus protests. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“What other way could you have possibly meant that, Baltie?”

“I just meant- you know- he’d probably be killer in the sack, is all.”

“Ew, gross! That’s my brother you’re talking about! I don’t need to hear about that!”

“You asked!”

“Speaking of,” Flayn says as the two continue to bicker, “what is the relationship you have with Hoarvug? Does it include those sorts of intimate activities? Or is it a more chaste sort?”

Hilda and Balthus stop arguing to listen, but Veery just wrinkles his nose. “While I have no objection to answering that question,” Veery says, “I’m pretty sure Seteth will kill me if I so much as mention sex around you, so I think I’m going to not do that.”

Balthus hisses. “Oh, no, I did not think about that.”

“And yet, it has already been mentioned,” Flayn huffs. “Need I remind you that I am far older than you, Veery?”

“Need I remind you that you mature slower than me? And you were asleep for most of that time? You are, technically, still basically a teenager, you know. Seteth explained it all to me, so you can’t get around it.”

“Should I ask…?” Balthus whispers to Hilda.

“No,” Hilda says with a wicked smile. She also directs that look to Constance, but being in the sun is already making her so meek she doesn’t even raise her eyes to meet it.

“It is not as if I am asking for details!” Flayn whines. “I merely want to understand the extent of your relationship! As your friend.”

“Mhmm.”

“I am curious, too, though,” Hilda says. “And I think as long as we keep that part of the answer simple, Seteth won’t be too mad.”

Veery sighs. “If he does get mad, I’m blaming you.” Hilda suddenly looks nervous, but soldiers on bravely regardless. The things she will do for gossip. “The simple answer is no,” Veery says. Hilda definitely looks disappointed. “I’m not against it, but neither am I interested in it. Our relationship is… intimate, but… that doesn’t mean the same thing to us as it does to humans, I think. For sex, specifically, it does happen, it’s not strange at all, but it’s not assumed. It’s sort of just up to the particular people whether they want to. So far, Hoarvug hasn’t wanted to, and I’m not interested in that in general, so we haven’t.”

“Wait,” Balthus says, “you’re not interested in sex at all?”

Veery shrugs. “I’m not against it. I’d do it. But I’m not really interested in it, no.” Sort of like getting petted, now that he thinks about it.

“Huh. Weird,” Balthus says. “…That’s kind of too bad. Wonder what it’d be like to take a cat for a go.”

Hilda snickers. “Oh, Goddess, I wish Sylvain were here.”

Veery rolls his eyes. “You and Dorothea are never going to let him forget that, are you?”

“Are you joking? Of course not.”

Balthus looks between them in confusion. “Did I just make a mistake?”

Hilda giggles devilishly. “Definitely.”

For a moment, Balthus purses his lips, looking like he’s ready to regret his whole life up until this point in the face of Hilda. Then he shrugs. “I stand by what I said.”

“And that’s going to make you so much less fun to tease,” Hilda sighs. “Oh, well. At least that’s not the only thing I can use against you from this conversation.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like you turning into a schoolgirl with a crush when I mentioned Holst might be interested.”

Balthus freezes, blushes, then mutters softly, “Fuck.”

“I fear we have gotten somewhat off topic,” Constance says. “The Relics and Crest Stones are-”

“Constance is right!” Balthus says eagerly. “…Sorry for talking over you, Constance.”

“I am sure anything you have to say is more important than my paltry contributions.”

“Oh, she’s definitely going to remember that when we get her back in the shade.” Balthus shrugs. “Anyway, you never explained the rest of your deal with Hoarvug. So you aren’t rolling in the hay, but I still don’t get what you are.”

Veery bites his lip in thought. “Well… the relationship we have is specifically formed around strife. We fight as one unit. That’s the idea, anyway.”

“The agell are able to share their souls with each other through their Crest Stones,” Flayn says, elaborating mostly for Balthus and Constance’s sake. “Do you mean to say you share in that way while you are fighting on the battlefield?”

Veery nods. “We do that. There’s more to it, too. Affection, and the like, as I said, it’s an intimate relationship, and it also applies more generally to any sort of problem that needs to be overcome. But the best I can explain it is that it’s the bond between people who fight together no matter what. He’s always going to have my back when the fighting starts, and I’ll always have his. Uh… but it’s not strictly about battle. How about… people who are bonded through a shared struggle, who choose to face the rest of their lives’ struggles together, too.”

“To my uninformed ears,” Constance says, “that sounds very Faerghan.”

Snickers erupt, even from Veery. “I can’t deny that,” he says. “It is pretty Faerghan, from what I understand of how you humans work. But that’s as well as I can explain it. I don’t know any direct equivalent in humans.”

“Makes sense to me!” Balthus laughs. “It actually is a lot like me and Holst!”

“I think I get it, too,” Hilda says. “And it’s really cute.”

“Uh, if you say so,” Veery says. “Now, actually, Constance was right. We should get back to the Crest research if you’re done interrogating me about Hoarvug.”

With a put-upon sigh, Hilda moans, “Oh, I suppose.”

When Caub wakes Veery from his nap, Veery’s stomach immediately drops. He knows this meeting is coming – he’s prepared for it, but now it’s happening.

Caub tells Veery that Claude wants him in the war room. Waiting, planning, is over. It’s time to act again, and as Lorenz tells Veery explicitly, the battles from here on will likely bring them face to face with their old friends.

Veery never even really got close to Ferdinand, but imagining fighting him at the Great Bridge of Myrddin brings to mind those precious few moments they did have. Some bonding over shared love of the arts, and indeed of the differences in the arts between cultures. The kindness to take the time to bring Veery blankets, food, and water in the short time Edelgard held him imprisoned within Abyss.

He didn’t need to do that. Veery definitely didn’t expect it. But it’s the kind of man Ferdinand is, and though they aren’t close, Veery does respect him, and like him, and Veery does not want to have to kill him.

And after Ferdinand? Caspar, Linhardt, Bernadetta, Hanneman, Hubert, Edelgard… Every one of them will need to be defeated, likely killed, before this war can end. If this resistance is lucky, and plays their cards cleverly, and proves strong enough to handle this war – if everything goes perfectly in their favor, then of those Veery has a bond with, losing only those is the best possible outcome.

But that’s what war is. It’s the deaths of half a dozen of his friends and who knows how many soldiers and civilians being the good outcome.

…Why did Veery come back to Fódlan?

He knows, of course. He won’t be letting go of his resolve until and unless doing so is necessary to survive. But that doesn’t stop Veery from being terrified, or feeling stupid, knowing that he can simply go home and not have to risk himself here like this.

“Are you okay, Veery?” Caub asks.

Veery shakes his head. “…Lorenz thinks Ferdinand will be at the Great Bridge of Myrddin.”

Caub is quiet for a moment. “Dorothea mentions a Ferdie sometimes. He’s one of your old classmates?”

Solemnly, Veery nods.

“I’m sorry.”

Veery sighs. “From this battle on, we won’t be able to avoid running into the Eagles. I was just thinking… so many of them are going to have to die. And that’s only if this war goes well.”

“That’s war,” Caub says. “I’m lucky enough not to have any attachments here. I don’t have to see friendly faces on the enemy’s side.”

“…Caub, could you do me a favor?”

“Anything for you, Veery.”

“You’re trained to help people who are changed by war,” Veery says. “Just… keep an eye on Dorothea. Her, Petra, and Teach are the ones I’m really worried about. Manuela too, she was the Black Eagle’s primary instructor, but thankfully I don’t think she’ll be in the thick of the fighting. They’re going to take killing the Eagles the worst.”

“I know,” Caub says. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks.” Veery takes a deep breath and sighs. “I should get to the meeting. See you soon.”

Veery stalks off, striding with purpose to the war room. There is no sense in dragging this out. Veery… is strong enough to face this, he thinks. Only time will tell for certain, but he believes he will overcome it.

And one way or another, it’s going to have to happen. Whether by his claws or someone else’s, this is going to happen either way. The path was determined when Edelgard declared war and burned all other paths to this point. It was decided when Ferdinand put his duty above all else and chose to join her.

There is no more use complaining about it than there is asking the sun to stop in the sky.

(That doesn’t mean he has to like it, but Veery does not make a habit of picking fights he can’t win. A fight against the inevitable? That’s definitely one he can’t win.)

“Preparations are finally complete,” Claude says when everyone is gathered. (Except Marianne, for some reason. Veery figures she’s busy with something.) “Now we just have to time this carefully. Remember, good things come to those who wait.”

“If we are a moment too late or early,” Lorenz says, “my father will have time to sniff out your little ruse. If he does, conflict with him may become inevitable.”

“That’s why we won’t mess up,” Claude says confidently. “Now, for everyone who wasn’t in the planning of the fine details of this operation, let me walk you through it. Count Gloucester can’t afford to allow us to openly move forces within his territory while the Empire is breathing down his neck. To even have a chance of gaining his support and opening important trade routes throughout the Leicester Alliance, we have to take the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Once we do that, the Empire will pose much less of a threat and Count Gloucester will be able to act with much more freedom.”

“So, how do you plan on getting an army through Gloucester territory to take the bridge without fighting Count Gloucester?” Leonie asks.

“We’re going to threaten him,” a lady Veery knows only by scent and name – Claude introduces her five years ago, actually, but Veery never talks to her because she’s frankly kind of intimidating – Judith, says. “Claude’s retainer, Nardel, has a force of Riegan and Daphnel soldiers. They’re going to gather on the northern border and threaten Gloucester territory.”

“Drawing his attention,” Leonie concludes. “While we sneak along the Airmid? Do we have the men to take the Great Bridge of Myrddin if we split our forces like that?”

“We are confident that we do,” Seteth says.

“Well. Sounds good to me,” Leonie says. “When do we march?”

“In a few days, once everyone has time to prepare,” Claude says. “Just remember, if our plan succeeds, we’ll arrive at the Great Bridge of Myrddin unscathed. The important part is what happens next. With the Empire distracted by the Kingdom, we’re evenly matched in terms of military power, more or less, so if we can just launch a surprise attack…”

“It could go either way,” Professor Byleth says, frowning.

“Agreed. The bridge is basically a fortress, so the defense will be rock solid. There’s no avoiding that we’ll need you on the front lines, Teach.”

“I have another concern,” Lorenz says. “The Weathervane. Though we’re taking the bridge to free my father from the Empire’s threat, it is Acheron’s territory which is immediately north of the bridge. There is every chance that he will not recognize the winning side when he sees it and choose to fight against us alongside the Empire.”

Claude releases a weary sigh. “Honestly, Lorenz, I’m of half a mind just to get rid of him entirely. Now we’ve finally got an excuse to do it, I doubt anyone would complain.”

Seteth glowers. “Surely you are not intending to use this attack as an excuse to eliminate an Alliance nobleman?”

Judith snorts. “Clearly, you haven’t been in the Alliance much.”

“All I’m saying,” Claude says, “is that Acheron poses a very real danger to this plan. We spare just enough soldiers – they’ll all be Leicestermen so don’t get your church trousers in a twist – to put the heat on him. If he attacks us, then those reserve troops take his land – he’s betraying the Alliance anyway by siding openly with the Empire and attacking members of Leicester’s nobility in open war. Losing his land is a tame punishment. If he doesn’t attack us, then he’ll sweat for a bit until the reserve troops rejoin us at the bridge. No harm done. His land is so tiny, it’s not like we can’t spare the men.”

“Even a bridge as big as Myrddin can’t support our whole army crossing at once,” Catherine shrugs. “The reserve troops would basically be on Acheron’s doorstep, anyway. I have no problem with this.”

Seteth sigh wearily. “Leicester…” he mutters, shaking his head. “Very well, I suppose it is true that something needs to be done to keep an eye on him. And as he is a lord of the Alliance, that falls on you, Claude. I will defer to you on this matter.”

“Thank you,” Claude says. “Now, obviously we still have to win at Myrddin first, but I also want to revisit something we talked about a while ago, before the Brigid campaign and before we gathered all our troops.”

“What to do after we have the bridge,” Flayn says. “This is what you are referring to, yes?”

“That’s exactly right. The final decision doesn’t have to be made until after we have control of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but we also can’t afford to sit around debating what to do next once we take the bridge from the Empire. I just want to make sure we’ve all been thinking about it and open up a little bit of a discussion to hopefully cut down on the arguments when the time does come.”

“I was not here for this conversation,” Petra says. “What are we debating?”

“Whether to immediately invade Adrestia, and go straight for Enbarr,” Dorothea answers, “or to hold the bridge and turn the bulk of our forces around to support the Kingdom on the front lines.”

“Ah.” Petra’s countenance darkens. “Had you left Brigid to fight for ourselves, we would still be under Edelgard’s control. I… wish to end the war as quickly as possible, but I cannot in good conscience abandon a people who need our help. Personally, I would support the Kingdom.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you,” Claude says. “But consider this: our odds may actually be better working independently. As it is, the Kingdom is keeping the bulk of the Imperial army occupied. Between enforcing control in the Dukedom and the actual battlefront, even the Empire’s massive army is stretched thin. If we back the Kingdom and try to push the frontlines back to Adrestia that way, we’ll be fighting the full force of both Adrestia and the Faerghus Dukedom. I’m not sure even our combined forces is enough to survive that.

“Last time we talked about this I said it’d be the safer option. Clearly, I’ve revised that opinion. Now that we have our own army at our disposal beyond just the Knights of Seiros and the Cult of the Cat Saint, I think it’s actually safer to fight here where Edelgard’s forces aren’t concentrated.”

“Leaving the Kingdom to fight that battle without our support,” Dorothea hisses.

“The Kingdom is starting to crumble,” Lysithea says. “I believe they can hold the line long enough for us to end this war, and personally would see us invade Adrestia directly from the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but it’s also true that, left alone, the Kingdom will fall sooner rather than later.”

“And how far will the supplies and resources from opening up Leicester carry them?” Catherine asks. “All they need to do is hold the line and keep the Empire distracted. We can do the rest.”

“This isn’t about the army,” Petra says calmly. “It is about the people. Supplies will not help them when war is at their doorstep. Brigid knows this already because we have lived it.”

“I find it difficult to justify abandoning the Holy Kingdom when there is yet something we can do to ease their suffering,” Flayn says.

Catherine grits her teeth. “Finding Lady Rhea-”

“I love Lady Rhea, too,” Flayn snaps, “but as representatives of the Church of Seiros, I believe that we should prioritize the faithful in all things. Lady Rhea has surely survived this long and will survive a little longer.”

“Who knows what kind of twisted things they’re doing to her? You would leave her to that?”

“Do not forget that I was also kidnapped and subject to horrible experiments. I believe Lady Rhea would gladly commit that sacrifice to protect the faithful. As would I. I believe that being loyal to Lady Rhea would mean being loyal to her ideals, not just her person.”

As if Veery believes Rhea would actually sacrifice herself for anyone or anything but her precious mother. But Flayn and Seteth have always believed the best in her. Veery casts his gaze to Professor Byleth. She has yet to speak. Not unexpected, but Veery is interested in her take on what they should do.

“I agree with Flayn,” Cyril says, surprising most everyone there, perhaps Catherine most of all. “I want to find Lady Rhea as much as anyone, but she would want us to take care of people. We got to stay true to what she believes in, not just throw ourselves after her.”

“But would joining the Kingdom really help the people there?” Ignatz asks. “If we can’t pull off a decisive victory and move the frontlines quickly, we’ll only be prolonging the war. As you said, Petra, it’s not about the army. Those people would be trapped in our stalemate. If we go straight for Enbarr and stop the war at the root, that may be better for the people there in the long run.”

“People are going to keep suffering as long as the war continues,” Raphael says. “If it’s not the civilians in the Kingdom, it’s the civilians in the Empire. They don’t deserve that any more than the Kingdom does. Seems to me the easiest way to stop that suffering is to put an end to the war as quickly as possible.”

“I agree,” Shamir says. “The only way to minimize the suffering from war is to end it. We should strike decisively.”

Leonie hums. “If it was one of my jobs, I’d go to the Kingdom. Have to protect as many people as possible. But the reality is that nothing’s going to stop people from getting hurt. Ending the war sooner may be the only way we can protect anyone at all.”

“Well, we’ve got a lot of opinions,” Claude says, calling attention back to him. “I know Hilda’s with me – we’ve talked a lot about this. Alois, what say you?”

Alois putters a little but speaks confidently. “Why… even if it’s for the sake of ending the war faster, it just doesn’t feel right to leave the Kingdom to suffer while there’s something we can do about it.”

Claude nods. “Seteth?”

“I agree wholeheartedly with Flayn.”

“Alright, then. Manuela?”

“I’m with Dorothea,” Manuela says. “We should do all we can for our allies.”

“Judith?”

“Invade.”

“Noted. That leaves Veery and Teach. Any opinions?”

Professor Byleth looks to Veery, clearly signaling him to answer first, so he sighs and does so. “I’m probably not the best person to ask,” he says. “But I don’t think anything is going to get better during war time. I agree with Raphael. No matter where we move the battlefront, there will be civilians suffering from it. If we can survive doing it, we may as well just go straight for the kill.”

He nods to Professor Byleth, who nods back and starts speaking herself. “Now that the weather is warming, the Empire will be able to move more freely through Faerghus, so the Lions are in a worse position. They’re going to need the supplies as soon as we can send them. But as much as I want to see the Lions and support them myself, I think it’s more logical to invade Adrestia directly. The sooner we can stop the war, the fewer people will inevitably die.”

“Morally, I cannot justify anything but directly aiding the Kingdom,” Seteth says, “but, logically, I see your point. All of you have made a convincing argument for invasion.”

Claude clears his throat pointedly. “It does seem that our primary disagreement is moral versus practical.”

“Framed like that, I feel like the bad guy,” Leonie groans. “But I don’t see it like that at all. It’s practical to try to end the war as quickly as possible, yeah, but it’s also the right thing to do for the people. It’s the thing we can do that will minimize the pain this war has caused.”

“It will stop the pain from spreading,” Petra says. “It will not minimize it for those already hurt. You are sacrificing those in direst need of help to prevent others from suffering pain as well.” She sighs. “I do not know what is right in this situation, but it is wrong to say that ending the war will minimize the pain.”

Leonie winces. “…You’d know better than me. You’re right.”

“Sounds like we still can’t come to an agreement,” Catherine says. “When it comes down to it, we may end up just having to take a vote.”

“Ah, the way the Alliance!” Claude chuckles. “We can vote around the round table, if everyone is okay with that. But if that’s how we decide this, we can leave it be for now. As I said, we can’t afford to waste time once we take the bridge, but the decision doesn’t have to be made until then. I’m actually already planning for either option.”

“Of course, you are.”

“If there’s nothing else anyone wants to bring up,” Claude says, “then everyone is dismissed. Prepare yourselves for the march to the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and the battle. And remember, we’ll be meeting here again before we leave to go over battle plans, so if you any ideas on that front, be sure to bring them to the table then. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and Veery gladly takes his leave of the war room. He better go make sure Sadi and the others are ready for battle.

[laawlesss]

;; State of Repair ..

— ;; minific monday ! a oneshot (almost) every monday, usually under 5k words.. (.. usually .. )

>> in which law comforts you.

; words ? ; 2.1k.

; warnings ? ; description of a depressive / overthinking episode.

; genre ? ; fluff/comfort.

; request ? ; no.

; pairing ? ; trafalgar law x reader.

; notes ; hooo boy this one was written bc. why not. we all need a lil bit of comfort. no pronouns used for reader, so can be presumed however! ily, please make sure to eat and drink when you can <3 i might make this a mini series with some of the other one piece fellas, who knows ! i do wanna eventually tackle one for ace too :33 crossposted on ao3!

   You felt entirely numb. Your heartbeat was slow and heavy, an aching pain present in your chest. There wasn’t a specific name for the emotion— or lack of— that you were feeling, you just felt empty. You didn’t have the energy to feel anything, you couldn’t even get yourself to cry. Curling up in your boyfriend’s borrowed sweatshirt, you continued your doom-scrolling through social media, trying to find something that would hold your attention for more than a few seconds. 

    Soon you tossed your phone to the side, bored. Nothing was interesting, and there was nothing to do. You felt exhausted even though you hadn’t done anything that day. Your back had been glued to the couch, only ever moving to make yourself more comfortable amidst the plush cushions. The inner turmoil you were feeling was nearly bubbling over, you cursed yourself for being so lazy. You wanted to get up, to find something productive to do, but you couldn’t get your legs to move. The apartment you shared with your boyfriend was messy and could use a thorough cleaning, something you’d promised yourself you’d do the day before. But now the task seemed daunting and impossible, something that you’d never be able to do on your own. 

    Your thoughts began to spiral, taking you to even darker places. You were pathetic, not even able to get off the couch and do something as simple as a load of laundry. What was wrong with you? You were perfectly capable of getting up and doing the things that needed to be done, so why wouldn’t you? Too lazy to just stand up and get started. What a garbage excuse for a human being you were. 

    You were startled out of your thoughts for a short second when you heard the opening of your front door. Though your eyes never moved from the spot on the ceiling where they fixed, you knew who it was by the person’s footsteps and his relieved sigh as he came in the door. His gaze fell on the still-messy apartment, a slight frown on his face. Pulling his fluffy hat off his head, he hung it on a hook by the entry, before pacing towards you. You were still laid out on the couch, your breaths slow, not bothering to move even as your boyfriend approached. 

    “I thought you said you were going to clean the apartment?” He questioned, his dark mop of hair coming into view. He wasn’t mad, he was just confused as to why you’d been so determined to clean the day before, only to ignore the mess the next day. The second your eyes met his golden ones, you felt a pang in your chest, and you pulled your knees to your chest. You felt guilt and shame burning in your gut, and you turned to face the back of the couch. Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, you couldn’t get yourself to form a full sentence. 

    “I—“ Was all you could manage before your throat felt tight and painful, tears finally beginning to well up in your eyes. You shrunk into his sweatshirt, craving nothing but to disappear. “‘M sorry—“ You mumbled, covering your face with your hands. The man furrowed his eyebrows, before realizing what was happening. The way you hadn’t even reacted to him coming home when usually you’d race to him with a wide, warm smile should’ve been the first tell that something was wrong, but he’d been so distracted with his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed. 

    Sitting down on the couch next to you, he scooped you up and pulled you into his lap with ease. “You don’t need to apologize, I’m not mad.” He gently moved your hands away from your face, his expression soft. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t mad. Sure, he was confused at first, but he recognized the signs of your episodes, and was happy to help you through what you were dealing with. 

    Your eyes widened and you peered up at your boyfriend with watery eyes. Law’s expression was stern but kind, his gaze soft. One of his tattooed hands came up to brush your cheek, his loving caress breaking the dam behind your eyes. Fat tears rolled down your face, and he pulled you into his chest, supporting your head as you let yourself cry. Law stroked your hair and let you release your built up emotion, holding you firmly. 

    Once you’d let out your tears, you pulled your head away from his chest, wiping weakly at his shirt. “Sorry, I.. I got your shirt wet.” You mumbled, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he helped dry your face with his thumb. As a second wave of tears threatened to spill from your weary eyes, he gave you a light kiss on your forehead. 

    “I can wash it. It’s not a big deal.” Law began to stroke your back, pulling you back into his chest. “Tell me what’s going on.” He said in a softer tone, shifting to get more comfortable as you curled up in his lap. Your hands gripped at his shirt, a quiet hiccup leaving you as you tried to verbalize what exactly you were feeling. It was like you felt everything and yet nothing, all at once. You felt bare and empty, and yet overwhelmed, out of your element. How were you supposed to describe the way your mind was making you feel? There weren’t accurate words, nothing would convey just what you were dealing with. 

    “…Just… A lot.” You finally breathed, letting your head drop onto Law’s firm shoulder. Every analogy you could come up with seemed cliche and stupid, nothing to really fit your situation. Your body felt weak and slow, your mind raced and battered you with destructive thoughts. Focusing on your boyfriend’s steady heartbeat, you let yourself be lulled into a state of placency, not quite healed, but not quite as shattered as you were. The surgeon’s presence was comforting, putting you slowly back together as you lay in his warm embrace. 

    He hummed softly, his hands still tracing slow circles on your back. “Alright, let’s start with how you feel physically. We can take it a step at a time.” Law nodded, ever the picture of calm and rational thinking. He was a rock in your chaotic river, unmoving and strong. After inhaling a shaky breath, you began. 

    “Nothing hurts, well, my throat does a little. So does my chest and my heart. It’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s not too bad.” You paused to regain your courage, swallowing thickly as tears threatened to spill again. “‘N my eyes hurt. My throat is starting to sting again.” Your fingers brushed against your throat, your cheeks burning as you slowly began to describe how your body was feeling. You couldn’t meet your boyfriend’s gaze, no matter how hard you tried. 

    He stayed quiet, his hand moving to massage the back of your neck as the other cupped your thigh, pulling you closer to him. Taking another deliberate deep breath, you continued. “Other than that, I have a little headache. But mostly my chest keeps aching and it won’t stop.” You murmured, fiddling with the hem of your sleeves. “It’s letting up a little now that you’re home, but it’s still there.” Your words were little more than a whisper, your body slowly relaxing and letting go of the tension that was wound so tightly in your muscles. 

    Law waited for you to continue, but once he realized you had finished speaking, he gave your thigh an affectionate squeeze before speaking up. “Good. Now what you’re feeling emotionally.” He encouraged you to continue with a soothing tone, so different from his usual aloof demeanor. You saw a side of him that he showed to very few people, so kind and genuine. Nodding slowly, you moved your tongue around in your mouth before you were ready to speak again. 

    “I don’t feel… anything. And it’s scary. I don’t like it.” You whispered, your heart starting to pound again. Law noticed your tells, seeing that you were starting to get worked up, and he placed one of his large hands on the small of your back, a sign to tell you to focus on your breathing and steady it. You did so, matching your pace to his, and soon you were breathing in time with him. “I just feel numb and empty. Not even sad, I don’t know why I have the urge to cry.” You sniffled, your tears pushing at your eyes and beginning to spill over your lash line. You didn’t bother wiping them away, though your boyfriend made a move to. 

    Gently tilting your head back, he wiped your tears away, pressing feather-light kisses to your eyelids. His gaze was half-lidded, but full of admiration as he calmed you down, each movement slow and cautious. “It’s okay to cry.” He mused, cupping your face. “It releases oxytocin and natural opioids, it’ll help you feel better.” Law nodded, his medical knowledge coming in handy. “Keep going, what’s going on in that head of yours?” He mumbled softly. 

    Sniffling and no longer bothering to hold back your steady streams of tears, you slowly began to speak up again. “It’s like… my brain is mad at me. I wanted to get up and clean the apartment, but when I woke up and made breakfast I just felt so… deflated after.” You trucked through your voice cracking with emotion. “I couldn’t even clean the dishes, I’m sorry, I—“ 

    Law cut you off for the first time since you’d begun your explanations. “Don’t apologize. Continue.” He urged you onward with a light tap on your back, only speaking up to say his small piece. His expression was still stern, but he wore an affectionate smile, his golden eyes full of care. Moving one hand, he laced his fingers together with yours, watching as you traced over the dull ink in his skin as you spoke. 

    “I… I wanted to get up and do stuff but I couldn’t. I tried, I promise.” Your voice grew hoarse and thin, and you smushed your face into your boyfriend’s chest. Law simply stroked your hair and back, letting you lean into him. He had no issue supporting you, he was proud that you felt comfortable enough to rely on him. He’d had his own share of self-doubts and he knew how difficult they were to manage on his own, so if he could offer you a shred of comfort, he’d be content. 

    “I believe you.” He ruffled your hair, and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. The surgeon kept you securely in his embrace, even as you shifted to get more comfortable. “How about I help you with the dishes from earlier, then I can make dinner?” He offered, giving you a chance to back out. Though he phrased it as a question, a small part of you recognized the little cheat code he was using to help you out of your slump. “Do you wanna wash, dry, or put up?” He smiled, sweeping your hair behind your ear. He was breaking down the daunting task into smaller, easier steps for the both of you to conquer. 

    “I can dry?” You replied hesitantly, a bit unsure about how you’d react to the feeling of soap and old food. You really did want to help, but your overstimulated state was begging for an excuse to get out of the chore. At your words, Law pressed a kiss to your forehead, and affirmed what you said. He knew what you would pick before he asked, but figured you would feel more helpful if you got to choose. He was right, acting more like a psychologist than a surgeon, but it was all in the intention of helping you feel better. 

    “You can dry.” He nodded, pushing back his sleeves as he moved to get up, only to be stopped by your hand on his arm. Glancing down at you, he watched as you snuggled deeper into his embrace, leaning your head in the crook of his neck. You wrapped your arms around his abdomen as best you could, your next words slightly muffled. 

    “Can we have five minutes?” You asked sheepishly, wanting to stay in his arms for just a few more minutes. The comfort he offered you was second to none, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he rested his head atop yours, breathing a soft sigh as he rubbed your back. 

    “Sure. However long you want.” 

[outercrasis]

Maybe It’s A Sign

Pairing: Modern!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 9.3k+

Warnings: alcohol, implied age difference, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

Summary:  You and Mando have been driving across America together for months. You're happy to be with him but part of you longs for something more.

A/N: I don’t really know the time period for this, probably like anything pre-2010s. There’s no use of y/n and let me know if I missed a warning :)

Read it on AO3

The breeze from the open truck window is cool against your heated skin. It's your only relief as the sun beats down on you through the windshield, the busted A/C offering no help. You're headed down some freeway in the middle of nowhere America, riding shotgun in an old beat-up truck that's seen better days.

You've been keeping your eyes on the flat landscape surrounding you, watching as field after field passes you by. They really weren't joking when they'd named them the Great Plains. Music filters through the air, some classic rock song you've heard a thousand times before. You still hum along mindlessly, enjoying the small amount of entertainment.

Bored of the vast sameness outside your window, your eyes drift over to your companion, driver, and owner of the truck. Mando. You study him, finding him far more interesting than the fields outside.

His worn baseball cap has been pushed up, presumably from scratching his scalp underneath and not bothering to fix it. Soft brown curls peek out around the edges of the hat. He has his sunglasses on and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, as they should be. The patchy scruff along his jawline has grown out a bit from your recent days on the road and you can see a few gray hairs mixed in with his darker natural color.

He shrugged off his jacket earlier in the day, leaving him in a worn gray t-shirt that hugged his lean muscles all just right. His faded blue jeans are on and you wonder how he can stand to wear them in the oppressive summer heat. You gave into shorts days ago.

All in all, he was a far better sight than anything outside the truck. As you look him over, you muse how everything he owns seems to be worn in. His rusty truck, his old hat, his distressed clothes. They all carry a sense of being lived in, nothing new and shiny on him. Well, except for his jewelry. His silver necklace and rings always shine brightly, a dramatic contrast to the rest of him.

"Stop staring," Mando suddenly says, breaking you from your observation of him. You're a little embarrassed to have been caught, but you aren't going to let him know that.

"Why? Nothin' else to look at around here."

That rewards you with a chuckle. At least he isn't irritated by your staring then.

"Don't you have a book or something?" 

You look over at the book you had thrown on the dashboard. A used copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger that you picked up a couple states back. You aren't sure you like Holden, but it's a good read at least. "Yeah, but I can't read it for long before I start feeling sick. So I guess I'll just have to look at you instead."

"Sure that I won't make you sick?" Mando teases.

You smile. He's in a good mood today. There are days where conversation with him is like pulling teeth, but it makes days like today all the more worth it. 

"Nah, you aren't so hard on the eyes." You say it cool and casual, genuine but not needy. As though you don't often think of his looks when you have the time and privacy to satisfy your needs.

Mando shakes his head slightly but you can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Sure, sweetheart."

He never seems to believe you when you compliment his appearance. It breaks your heart a little. Sure, he has some years on you, but you aren't blind. You know a good-looking man when you see one and Mando? He was it. If the man wasn't oblivious, he'd notice the looks plenty of women and some men throw him when he strolls into town.

Not sure of what to say next, but not wanting the conversation to end, you take to a habit that's been slowly forming over your months with him. It had begun out of boredom one day, but continued due to a desperate urge to learn anything and everything your mysterious companion will tell you about himself.

"When's your birthday?"

Mando isn't surprised anymore by your random questions. "May eighteenth."

Your eyes go wide at his answer. It was July now, meaning he'd let the day come and go without telling you. You had just assumed his birthday hadn't come around with you yet. "Mando! Why didn't you tell me? I would have at least said something if I had known."

He shrugs. "Birthdays aren't a big deal where I grew up."

"Were you raised Jehovah's Witness or something?" you ask.

"No, nothing like that." His fingers drum slightly on the steering wheel. You noticed a while ago that he did that when you got close to something he didn't want to talk about. His childhood always seems to be a touchy subject.

You want to know more, want to learn all of his secrets, but you don't want to jeopardize his good mood. Mando had shared bits and pieces of those more intimate details with you over your shared months with him, but always on his own time. His own terms. You won't push it now. Instead, you pivot to something more innocuous.

"If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?" 

You're surprised when he barely takes any time to consider the question before answering. "Tacos."

You raise an eyebrow. "Tacos? I took you for more of a burger and fries kind of guy."

"Nothing compares to a good authentic taco from down by the border." He says it with such confidence that you can do nothing other than believe him.

"I wouldn't know," you say.

Mando cocks an eyebrow at you now. "We'll have to fix that then."

A warm flush runs through your body at his words. You know he isn't looking to get rid of you, but hearing him make plans for the future with you, no matter how tentative, makes you happier than you care to admit. Small promises that you know he'll make good on eventually given the time and opportunity.

"What about you?" he asks.

"Easy. A full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast. Doesn't matter how they're cooked or the specific options, you can't go wrong."

You stretch yourself out in the cab as you answer, throwing your feet up on the dash. Your eyes close for a moment and you miss the way Mando's eyes rake over your extended frame.

"You're never awake for breakfast," Mando comments. He's right. You enjoy your sleep and when left to your own devices you easily dream through breakfast hours.

"That doesn't matter," you retort. "Breakfast food isn't only good in the morning."

You continue that way for a while, gathering small bits of information about him and sharing your own in return. You learn that he prefers hot weather over the cold, soft pillows over firm ones, showers over baths, and most surprisingly that he has a soft spot for musicals. That fact had made you giggle, imagining Mando singing along to The Music of the Night. With all of his mystery, he wouldn't make for a bad Phantom you think.

As the afternoon wears on, you can feel yourself growing tired. Between the warmth of the sun, the lulling rumble of the truck, and the comfortable environment of the cab, you're fighting to keep your eyes open. Mando notices your struggle and reaches a hand out towards you.

You aren't really sure when this began, but you aren't complaining about it. Mando would hold your hand whenever you fell asleep in the truck, thumb gently rubbing against your skin. His hands were rough, callused from years of work, but they felt nice. They felt strong, comforting. In those moments nothing else in the world mattered. And if you thought about his hands later, touching places other than your hands, then that was your business and no one else’s. 

You wake up a couple hours later, Mando calling your name to pull you from your sleep. The sun has moved down in the sky and you guess it’s somewhere close to five o’clock. You’d check the time on the radio, but Mando never seemed to bother keeping it right due to regularly changing time zones with all the cross country traveling. 

You’re sitting outside of some 24 hour diner on a random roadside. Mando seems to be fond of these little dives, preferring them to any of the big chain restaurants you always pass. Fast food is the only exception to that rule and even that’s rare, these food stops often being one of few chances to stretch your legs when you’re on the road.

“What do you think? Do they have the best pie in America?” you joke, pointing at the sun-worn sign hanging below the restaurant’s name. You can’t count how many ‘best blank in America’ signs you’ve seen at this point. While you can’t credit their authenticity, it usually did mean there was something good waiting for you on the menu.

“I suppose we’ll have to be the judges of that,” Mando replies.

You tug on your socks and shoes that you pulled off earlier in the day and hop out of the truck. The easy conversation and warm nap have you in a great mood, one that makes you a little bolder than you might otherwise be. Walking into the diner, you grab onto Mando’s arm, smiling at him when he looks down at you in surprise. He doesn’t pull away from you though and your heart beats a little bit faster.

The diner has plenty of open seats and you seat yourselves, grabbing one of the booths. The stiff vinyl isn’t the most comfortable, but you can’t say you’re surprised. The place looks like it hasn’t been renovated in a decade. If the smell from the kitchen is anything to go off of though, the food will be just fine.

A waitress comes over to take your orders. She’s exactly what you would imagine a waitress to look like in a diner like this one. Slightly heavyset, a kind face, and a big smile to offer you. “Hi there, what can I get the two of you?” she asks.

“I’ll take a coke, ma’am,” Mando says. He seems oblivious to the flush on the waitress’s cheeks at his baritone. 

“I’ll take a coke too.”

“I’ll be right back, folks.”

You reach over to grab a sticky menu from the end of the table. The stickiness grosses you out a little, but it really does add to the ambiance of the place. Your conversation from earlier drifting back into mind, you immediately look for the breakfast section. Perfect. Their ‘two eggs and more’ option is exactly what you were looking for.

The waitress returns with your drinks and takes your orders, Mando getting himself a burger and fries. You smirk at him, taking the wrapper off of your straw. “I thought you said you weren’t a burger and fries kind of guy?”

Mando watches as you carefully make a wrapper worm, dropping the smallest amount of soda on the paper to make it move. “I just said tacos were my favorite, never said I’m a guy who doesn’t enjoy a good burger and fries, sweetheart.”

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug.

You fall into a comfortable silence together at the table. Silence isn’t an uncommon occurrence between the two of you. When you first joined Mando you talked all the time. Trying to fill up the empty space, feeling like if someone wasn’t talking then the situation was awkward. Slowly you learned though. The silence was never awkward until you made it that way and unless Mando had something to say, he’d stay quiet. He’s not incapable of conversation, he just doesn’t like to force it.

You softly hum a tune that’s been stuck in your head, looking out the diner window and enjoying the sunset. It’s a gorgeous one today, the sky looking like an oil painting with its gradient of colors. The flat plains allow for a good view of it too, only a small building in the distance blocking any part of the horizon. You kick yourself for not picking up that disposable camera at the gas station this morning. The photo would never do it justice, but at least that way you could have a small piece of the gorgeous sky to hold onto.

Plates being set down on the table brings you back down to earth. You happily dig into your meal, pleased to have been right about the quality of food here. Nothing could beat a good meal at a greasy diner. Mando seems to enjoy his burger as well, scarfing it down well before you finish your plate.

He always ate like that and you aren’t sure why. It’s as though he thinks if he doesn’t eat it fast enough then someone is going to come and steal it from him. Early on you’d tried to speed up your eating, feeling awkward every time he finished and was forced to wait on you. Now though, you don’t care. Mando rarely ever stops moving and a meal with you is a time you can be certain that he isn’t doing anything for once. You hope that eventually it might encourage him to actually enjoy his food as well, but that still seems a long way off.

Mando picks at his fries and sips at his coke while you finish up. The waitress comes by to refill the drinks, another flush on her cheeks when Mando thanks her. There must not be many attractive men who roll through here if a simple thanks has her blushing, you think. Poor lady, she seems quite nice.

“So, what’s the plan?” you ask Mando between bites of egg and toast.

“Plan?” 

“Yes, plan. We’ve been driving west for two days now and you seem to have some destination in mind. So, what’s the plan?” What plan, of course Mando has a plan. He always does. Was it always well thought out or complete? No, but there is never a time where he doesn’t have some sort of plan, some idea of where he’s off to next. You’re the one without plans, content with travelling alongside him.

Before Mando can reply, the waitress returns to the table and clears his now empty plate. “Can we get a slice of your pie?” Mando asks.

“Of course, what flavor would you like?” she replies.

“Whatever flavor you think is best, ma’am.” That garners yet another blush on the waitress’s cheeks. Wow. Things must be really bad around here then. One good-looking customer shouldn’t have that big of an impact on anyone, much less a woman who’s clearly made this job her life’s work.

She leaves and you prompt Mando again. “So? Plan?”

“I’m going to meet someone tonight, pick up a new job. Then we’ll go from there,” he finally tells you. 

You aren’t pleased by his half-cryptic half-telling answer. He’s always doing this to you, giving you answers but never quite the whole thing. You bet he already knows what the next job is, he’s just being coy about it for some ridiculous reason.

You decide not to push it and slide your plate over to Mando. There are some hash browns left and he won’t just ask for them despite the fact that you’re clearly done. He doesn’t say thanks, just picks up the fork and shovels them in. This by now is routine too so it doesn’t bother you, but it’s still odd. Mando is just weird about food.

He finishes the last of your meal and the waitress returns with the pie. “Blueberry, winner of the county festival five years running,” she tells you.

You grab a fork and dig in, suddenly finding the room in your stomach for dessert. Best pie in America might be a stretch, but you believe their claim to the best pie in the county. It’s delicious, eliciting a small but satisfied groan from you on the first bite. You go to take a second bite when you realize Mando hasn’t moved yet, he’s just watching you with an expression on his face that you can’t quite make out.

“Earth to Mando?” you say, waving your hand. “Try the pie, it’s delicious.”

He breaks from his stare and takes a piece of the pie. “‘S good,” he says around the mouthful.

You laugh at his terrible manners. “Gross, finish chewing before you talk.”

He doesn’t have a witty retort, but he gives you a grin that makes you feel like you’ve won a million dollars. It’s one of the ones that reaches his eyes, making them just shy of sparkling. Now you really wish you had bought that disposable camera.

Finishing the award-winning dessert, you and Mando go up to the counter to pay. He’s left a tip on the table, a sizable one in your opinion, but you aren’t going to say anything about it. Mando is always leaving big tips at places like these.

You take in the diner for one last moment, not paying attention to Mando’s conversation with the waitress until she says something that catches your ear.

“-shift ends in a half hour.” Did you hear that right? Was she really propositioning Mando right now? Christ, things must be downright desolate around here. 

Your heart stops as you wait to hear Mando’s reply. He could easily accept. She’s an attractive woman with that classic middle America charm about her. Any other man would probably take her up on the offer. Would it shatter your heart into a million pieces if Mando did? Most likely. But do you have any right to feel that way? Most likely not. 

Mando isn’t tied to you, at least not in that way, and he’s certainly still a man. You haven’t known him to chase after any women the whole time you’ve been with him, but surely he has needs and the waitress is beautiful and willing. You wouldn’t be able to fault him for it. 

“I’m flattered, but the lady here and I need to be getting back on the road,” Mando says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. You do your best to keep your face neutral, not wanting to come off as rude while also trying not to make it obvious the way your heart swoops at Mando’s reply. You know he doesn’t mean anything serious by it, but the implication is still very much there.

Embarrassment washes over the poor woman’s face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I just assumed…” she trails off, not finishing her thought. You want to feel bad for her, but you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself.

You have a good idea of what she assumed. You’ve heard a multitude of mistaken relationships by now between you and Mando. Everything from some kind of family relation, to something more perverted that’s assumed by greasy motel attendants who cast odd glances when you ask for a double instead of a single. It’s never any less uncomfortable.

 Mando brushes it off. “It’s fine ma’am, no harm, no foul.” The waitress doesn’t blush at his words anymore.

Bill paid, you and Mando leave the diner. His arm leaves you and you climb back into the truck. The radio flickers back to life and neither of you speak. You wish you could know what’s going on inside of his head. Probably just thinking about the next job. That seems like him, always focused on what’s coming next.

You can’t help but be consumed with thoughts of him. Situations like the one with the waitress always left you distracted. There’s no real way to describe your relationship with Mando. You had helped him with a deal and he had helped you with a way out of your one-horse town. Originally neither of you planned on staying together for this long, but at some point Mando stopped asking you where you wanted to go and you stopped asking if he was going to leave.

You’re comfortable around each other, content to drive across America while Mando picks up job after job. At some point your feelings deepened for him, you aren’t exactly sure when, but now you can’t imagine leaving Mando. It’s no longer just about the adventure of it for you. It’s something more, a deeper tie than you’ve ever had to anyone. However, you have no idea if he feels the same way and you don’t intend to find out. Better to love your mystery man from afar then reveal yourself and get left in the dust.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Mando reaches over and turns down the radio. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You’re a bit surprised to hear an apology. After all, he had nothing to really apologize for. The waitress had come onto him, not the other way around. You know Mando isn’t the type to flat out refuse and insult someone like that. What he had done was… fine. You had hardly even considered it.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Mando,” you tell him. “If anything she did, propositioning you like that.”

A small, relieved smile works its way across his face. “It was quite bold.” 

That makes you laugh. “I’m not surprised, she was sizing you up since we walked in.”

“She was not,” Mando argues.

You shift in your seat to face him. “Are you kidding? You really didn’t notice her blushing every time you spoke to her?” If Mando was this oblivious maybe you didn’t need to worry about him catching onto you.

“Now you’re just lying, sweetheart.”

“Am not. You just don’t pay attention.”

Mando rolls his eyes and turns the radio back up. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. You let it slide and allow yourself to relax. Your hand falls to the center of the bench seat as you look out the window. The stars are coming out now, another gorgeous sight in the vast expanse of the sky. So far away from the city, it feels like you can see every pinprick of light the universe has to offer. It’s a bit disorienting honestly. Nothing makes you feel smaller by comparison and yet, you don’t really mind.

You startle as something wraps around your hand. Looking down, you realize that it’s just Mando, holding your hand as he does when you’re close to falling asleep in the truck. You look up at him, confused. You aren’t anywhere close to nodding off. He should know that, so why…? 

Mando doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. His thumb softly rubs against the back of your hand. You relax into his touch, turning your eyes back to the stars. Confusion about Mando’s actions doesn’t compare to the way your stomach flips at his gentle touch. It feels nice, domestic almost, if one can consider a life lived out of the front seat of a rusted out pickup domestic. His hand doesn’t leave yours until he pulls into the pothole filled parking lot of some dive bar.

Mando parks and turns the truck off. You move to get out of the truck with him when he squeezes your hand to stop you.

“Stay in the truck,” Mando says. His hand leaves you and he opens his own door, jumping out onto the cracked asphalt. 

You look over at him, incredulous. “Excuse me? You know I am old enough to go in there, right?”

“I know. Stay in the truck.” Mando closes the truck door, giving you no more room to argue with him. It pisses you off. 

What is this? Soften you up by holding your hand only to leave you behind? You hate when he does this, treating you like a child that’s just tagging along with him. You suppose you are tagging along, which stings a bit more, but you could be helpful, useful even if he would just let you in. Instead he keeps you at arm’s length at times, treating you like you can’t take care of yourself. He has no right to boss you around like that, telling you where you can and can’t go.

You watch his figure enter the bar, temper rising. If this place was good enough for him, it was certainly good enough for you. A bar like this had been where you met Mando months ago, working as a bartender and server. It didn’t bring back the best of memories, but you can handle yourself. At worst a fight might break out or patrons might get a little handsy. You can avoid the first and as for the second, it’s not as though Mando would need to put someone in the hospital for getting a little too flirty with you.

After fuming in the truck for a couple minutes, you make up your mind. You look yourself over in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance to look like you hadn't just spent the last two days in a truck. Pleased with yourself, you pull your shirt down slightly to reveal a bit more cleavage. The discovery of the power a pair of tits held in dive bars was one you made a long time ago. You flip the mirror back up and get out of the truck.

You practice your walk as you approach the bar door, trying to keep it calm and confident. Mando is going to be pissed at you for this, you already know, but you refuse to be treated like a child. If coming in here without his permission is what it takes for him to view you differently, then so be it. Younger you might be, but incapable you are not.

The moment you walk in the door, you spot Mando. He’s in the corner, talking to someone with his back to the door. He doesn’t even notice as you walk in and stroll up to the bar.

The man behind the counter is old, his white shirt spotted with stains and a towel thrown over his shoulder. It’s almost too stereotypical a look and you want to laugh. The stiff look he gives you though stifles your amusement.

“What can I get you?” he asks gruffly as you take a seat at the bartop.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” 

Whiskey is not your favorite drink. Not by a long shot. Really, you would have loved to order something fruity that you can’t taste the alcohol in, but whiskey is something you’ve learned to tolerate. You know that appearances matter in a place like this and a fruity drink would mark you as someone lost, not as someone who belongs here. You aren’t looking to get trashed anyway, just something to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t take long before someone is sidling up next to you at the bar. You don’t acknowledge him right away, instead staring up at the small CRT TV that’s playing the local news above the bar. Some murder case from a couple towns over is currently being highlighted. Lovely.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” he asks you.

You glance over at him, enough to get a look, but you don’t let your eyes linger. Lingering eyes would mean an invitation that you certainly don’t want to give. You have to admit, as far as seedy dive bar men went, he isn’t hard to look at. Not much older than you, clean shaven, bright blue eyes. Another time you might have gone for someone like him. Not now. These days your thoughts are only occupied by scruff, dark hair, and warm brown eyes.

“Came in for a drink,” you reply simply.

He leans in a bit closer. “Can I buy you another?”

You take a sip of your drink. “I think I’m alright, thanks.”

He pushes in even further, placing a hand on your thigh. This guy didn’t take no for an answer apparently. “Aw, come on now, don’t be that way sweetheart.”

Hearing him call you sweetheart makes you want to punch him more than him touching you does. It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth, harsh and manipulative, not the smooth and warm way Mando says it. For a moment, you do seriously consider punching this guy square in the jaw before deciding against it. You came in here to prove a point and not being able to handle a pushy guy would just prove the exact opposite of that.

You turn in your chair to move your thigh away from him. He has the decency to let his hand fall at least. “Don’t call me that,” you tell him.

“Alright then, what do I call you?”

You turn your attention back to the TV. Now they were highlighting a feel good story about an animal adoption from the nearby shelter. Odd shift in tone. You don’t reply to Blue-eyes and hope he gets the message. 

“Playing hard to get, that’s fine,” he says. You take another sip of your whiskey. The news shifts to the weather. There’s more warm weather on the way for the next week, no storms in sight. That’ll be nice to drive in you think.

Blue-eyes’ hand returns to your thigh, creeping up higher than it was before. “I don’t mind hard to get, sweetheart.”

That one garners a slap. You do it before you even give it a real thought. It’s a good one at least, making a very solid sound as his head spins. It’s a testament to the bar that no one even spares it a second glance. Blue-eyes turns back to you, furious.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch,” he hisses at you, roughly grabbing your arm.

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t take your hand off of her.” 

You’ve never been so happy to hear Mando’s voice in your life. Could you handle this guy? Probably. Do you want to? Absolutely not. You know on your own there's a near certain chance you'll end up with bruises before this guy gives up.

Somewhere in your mind you register the very real possibility that Mando is pissed at you right now. You shove it down, choosing to focus on the fact that he did just come to your defense. 

Blue-eyes is more stupid then he looks and doesn’t read the very obvious threat Mando poses. Instead he doubles down and tightens his grip on you. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it, old man?”

You can't say you're surprised when Mando punches him in the face instead of answering the question. You also can’t say that you feel bad about it either. The surprise and hurt of the sudden punch makes Blue-eyes release his grip on you, giving you enough time to move out of the way as Mando moves in. Mando grabs a fistful of Blue-eyes' shirt and pulls the guy in towards his face. 

“Do you regret it?” Mando grits out. Blue-eyes sputters something that sounds like an apology and pushes himself away. 

Satisfied, Mando now turns on you. You were right, he's pissed. His typically soft, warm eyes are hard on you now as he pulls you away.

You flounder to tell him you haven't paid for your drink but he just ignores you, dragging you out of the bar. If you were smarter, you would think to be a little scared about making a man like Mando mad at you. Instead, your thoughts are occupied with how he's barely even trying to overpower you and yet you couldn't break free of his grip if you tried. You wonder if there's something wrong with you for how much it's turning you on.

Arriving back at the truck, Mando releases his grip. "Get in," he demands.

You do as you're told and climb into the passenger seat as Mando goes around. Nerves finally settle in. Mando would never hurt you, you know that, but he could decide to ditch you somewhere. Whatever this situation is with him, it's far from formal. He has no obligation to you and could easily choose to end it. With the trouble you’ve just caused, you wouldn’t be surprised if this all comes to a swift and sudden end.

As Mando climbs into the cab, you stare down at the floorboards, terrified that he's going to tell you he's dropping you off somewhere and leaving you behind for good. You can't imagine your life without him now. There's nowhere for you to go, nothing for you to do without him. Right back to square one.

He doesn't speak right away, which only makes you more nervous. He peels the truck out of the parking lot, headed back in the direction you came from. You still don't look at him. It's obvious you fucked up and there's nothing you can really say to fix that. Your only hope is that he forgives you.

You're headed back through the small nearby town when he finally speaks. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

You don’t say anything in response. Anything you can come up with sounds childish in your head. The exact opposite of what you'd been trying to prove. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence as an answer.

“Why would you even do something like that? Do you know how stupid that was?” His hands are tight on the wheel, glancing between you and the road as he yells.

You mumble back to him. 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“He called me sweetheart,” you say a little louder.

“What?” He isn't going to let you off the hook with this and it gets under your skin. Some part of you thought he might be proud of you for smacking that creep and here he is berating you for it.

“He called me sweetheart, alright?” you half-shout.

Mando gives you a confused look, clearly not the answer he was expecting. “Do you- do you have a problem with that?” The heat is still present in his voice, but you can hear a little worry in it now. Shit. This is not what you wanted out of this whole ordeal.

You've never wanted the ground to come up and swallow you more. Why didn’t you just say that you smacked him for touching you? That would have been simple. How do you answer this without making everything weird? No, Mando, I don’t have a problem with that. I smacked him because I only like it when you call me that. Sure. That won’t be weird or awkward at all. 

After cursing yourself for a few seconds, you manage a response. “No, I- I just didn’t like it when he said it.”

"Oh." That's Mando's only reply.

You know he's still angry about you coming into the bar, but apparently your answer has sidelined him. If it wasn't so embarrassing, you might even be rejoicing at his reaction. Instead you just feel like a fool.

The silence remains as you pull into a little local motel with the vacancy sign lit up. Mando hands you forty dollars, way more than you need, and tells you to get a room.

Okay. So he isn't getting rid of you… yet.

You barely even listen to the attendant as they tell you they only have one single available for the night. Now is not the time to be arguing about sleeping arrangements. You take the key, room 104, and make your way back to the truck. 

You grab your bag from the flatbed and let Mando know the room number. He nods and goes to pull the truck around. You kick yourself as you walk over to the room. Why didn’t you just stay in the truck? Why didn’t you just lie to Mando about your reasons? He’s smart and it won’t take long now for him to put two and two together. Especially if he asks anymore questions.

You have no idea how Mando might react. If learning about your feelings towards him combined with what happened in the bar might be enough to leave you. He’s certainly not cold with you, but you’re not sure you’d call any of his actions romantic either. Holding your hand after the diner today is the closest he’s ever come. You wish you knew what that meant to him. You know what it meant to you.

Mando parks the truck outside of the room as you unlock the door. It’s not a fancy room, just one big square with a bathroom attached. There’s a full bed, a dresser with a TV on it, and a small table with a couple chairs. You toss your bag on the table and sit down on the edge of the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t upset, Mando can always see through your lies. Might as well just get this over with.

Nervous, you hide your face in your hands, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. You’re ready to deal with it, but not while actually looking at him. You can’t handle seeing his face as he figures things out; the way he might look at you while he rejects you. Suddenly you feel a wave of sympathy for the waitress earlier today. You hope Mando will let you down easy like he did for her.

You don’t look up when Mando comes into the room. His boots enter your line of vision and you close your eyes. You can’t look at any part of him right now. It’s too painful.

Mando says your name softly and you can sense as he kneels down in front of you. You don’t reply. Gently, he moves your hands away from your face. You still refuse to look at him and he cups your chin, lifting your head up to his.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You wish you could resist, but you can’t. Not when he speaks to you in that soft tone. Not when he calls you that.

You meet his eye and see all the concern and worry he holds there. “I’m sorry, Mando. I should have listened to you.”

His hand slides up to hold your cheek. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I could have at least told you why I didn’t want you coming in with me.”

You’re surprised at his apology. Two apologies he didn’t need to make in one day. This isn’t something you ever expected. You assumed he would still be full of heat and anger, not this careful kindness.

“Why didn’t you want me to come in?” you ask. You need to know the reason, need to know why it is he told you to stay behind. No matter how much the reason might hurt.

Mando sighs. “I didn’t want you to come in because I didn’t want anyone else looking at you.”

You pull back out of shock. “What?” Did you hear that correctly? Could that mean what you thought it might?

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “What can I say, sweetheart? I’m a jealous man.”

A thousand thoughts run through your mind. There are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask, and yet none of them can find their way out. As a result, you do the only thing you can.

You lean in towards him, slowly, giving him enough time to stop you if he so chooses. He doesn’t though, instead following your lead and moving in closer. You carefully search his eyes for any answers they may hold. Your noses bump and you both pause. “Mando, I-”

He cuts you off. “Din. My name is Din.”

You close the gap and kiss him. The kiss is careful at first, as though you’re both still looking to confirm that yes, this is what you both want. Mand- Din’s lips are soft and sweet against yours and you melt as it’s everything you could have imagined and more. A small moan escapes you, one that you’re embarrassed about until it causes Din to deepen the kiss. Caution evaporates, quickly turning into passion as your tongues meet.

Din moves, getting up from the floor and pushing you back against the bed. His lips never leave yours, devouring you as though you might slip away at any moment. He gives your bottom lip a small nip, quickly soothing it with his tongue. You pull away, needing a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this okay?” Din asks, his voice low with desire. You respond by pulling him back down into another bruising kiss. Your positions shift as the kiss continues, Din’s knee finding its way between your legs as his arms wrap around you. Both of your hands have worked their way into his hair, something you’ve been fantasizing about for months now.

Din begins to kiss his way down your neck, leaving little love bites along the way. You gently tug on his hair, pulling a heavenly sound from him that only intensifies your pool of desire. Desperate for more, you move a hand down, seeking the hem of his shirt and slipping your hand underneath. His skin feels remarkable under your fingertips.

Din pulls away from your neck and quickly divests himself of his shirt. He allows you a moment to take him in, his lean physique flexing as he holds himself above you. Scars litter his body in various shapes and sizes, but you think they look beautiful against the glow of his honeyed skin. 

Taking the opportunity, you remove your top as well, leaving you in your basic everyday bra. You wish you had worn your other bra, the sexier one, but with the way Din is looking at you, you’re not sure it matters. His lips return to your body, working his way across any and all of your newly exposed skin. One hand splays on your waist, holding you, grounding Din against you.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart,” Din murmurs against you. His lips find their way up to your chest, placing careful kisses against the globes of your breasts. He pauses and looks up at you, seeking your permission. You arch your back, allowing Din access to slip a hand beneath you and undo the clasp.

He pulls the bra away from you and you flush under the intensity of his gaze. “Perfect, you’re perfect,” Din says before reoccupying his mouth with your breasts. It seems that he has a real oral fixation, not that you mind in the slightest. His warm mouth feels heavenly against you, licking and sucking wherever he can.

Din takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. It’s the best thing you’ve felt in months, better than any of your late night fantasies when you would try to satisfy your growing want for the man currently giving you so much pleasure. As though your attempts could ever come close to the real thing.

Din releases your nipple with a pop and returns to your mouth, licking his way inside. His kiss alone is enough to make you see stars. It makes you forget any other kiss you’ve ever shared, enveloping you in him and him alone.

You pull back slightly from the kiss, unable to take more without further relief. “Din, please, I want you,” you pant into his mouth. Din growls, actually growls, at your words. It's a far hotter response than it should be.

“Yeah, sweetheart? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.” His knee comes up and presses his thigh against you where you want him most, causing you to moan out his name. “Use your words, sweet girl.”

He’s trying to kill you, you think. Calling you a name like that. Sweet girl. It loops in your mind until Din’s fingers ghost over your nipples again. “I want you to touch me,” you tell him.

“I’m already touching you,” Din says. He’s a tease, you think, growing slightly frustrated with him. His thigh moves against you again though and he’s immediately forgiven.

“Please, Din,” you whine, hoping he’ll take pity on you. Thankfully he does, moving his leg away and quickly removing your pants. You already know you’re soaking, your panties feeling cold against you with the loss of the other cloth barrier.

Din pauses for another moment to take you in before moving. You’re nearly bare before him, almost entirely on display. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his hands parting your thighs. “So perfect, so beautiful, and all mine.” You can feel yourself clench at his words. No one has ever made you feel this way before. His stare only relaxes you more, his words feeling like a warm blanket wrapping around your fears and quieting them.

Din’s fingers brush against you through the thin cotton. “Is this all for me, sweetheart? I can already feel how wet you are.”

He continues to tease you, only leaving you capable of nodding your head back at him. His eyes catch yours, watching your reaction as he pushes the near useless fabric off to the side and pushes one finger between your folds. Just the small touch sets you aflame, pushing yourself down onto his hand, wanting more. 

His finger leaves you and you frown until you watch as he brings it to his mouth and licks your slick off of it. Din moans at the taste. “You taste better than you do in my dreams.”

He leans down to kiss you, sharing the taste of yourself while he pulls your panties off completely. They’re thrown haphazardly into the room, lost to be found for later. 

Din then moves himself between your legs, slowly working kisses down your body as he slides back onto his knees on the floor. He grabs your waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed with ease and starts nipping and kissing your inner thighs. Your hands wind back into his hair, while you lie in disbelief that this is really happening right now.

Gentle kisses are placed along your folds, Din moving back as you try to grind your hips down onto him. His eyes catch yours again, mouth hovering over your clit as he speaks. “I’m going to taste you until you cum on my face and then I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

This time you manage a response, frantic to let him know that’s exactly what you want. “Yes, please, I want you so badly, Din.”

It’s all he needs to hear. His mouth comes down on your clit, carefully playing with the bundle of nerves, making you cry out and clench around nothing. He pulls away slightly and then licks a long stripe from bottom to top, pausing again at your clit to give it a teasing suck. Your hands pull at his hair from the attention.

He moves back down, teasing your entrance with his mouth. He moans, lapping up your pussy, acting every part a man dying of thirst who’s found oasis at your core. You buck into him and his hands quickly wrap around your legs, holding your hips in place. Din wants to pleasure you, but on his own terms, at his own speed.

You can’t make a coherent thought as he continues to eat you out. Small snippets of words make their way out of you, none of them making any real sense in conjunction with one another. It’s not until his thumb finds your clit as he continues to lick, suck, and nip at you that you find complete words to shout. “Din, oh god, yes, right there, I’m so close...”

Moments later you feel the tension within you snap, crying out as your body shakes from the overwhelming pleasure. Din continues to work you through your orgasm, only stopping when you physically push his head away from you. He trails hot kisses along your inner thighs again, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you taste, how perfect your pussy is.

As you come down from your high, Din removes the last of his clothes, finally freeing his stiff erection. Your breath catches as you take him in, your Adonis in the flesh. He’s gorgeous, you think, wondering what you did to get so lucky.

Then he’s back over top of you, kissing and sucking at your skin. Some of those are bound to leave marks for tomorrow but you don’t mind. You want everyone to see, for everyone to know that you’re his. No more mistaken assumptions about your relationship, you want it on display for the world.

You look down to catch a better glimpse of his cock, satiating the curiosity that’s plagued you for so long. He’s big. More than enough to fill you, possibly even more than you can handle. As wet as you are, you know you’ll need him to go slow, to slowly stretch you out before he can truly fuck you.

You tilt your hips, bumping against him, letting him know that you want him. “Do you want my fingers first?” Din asks. You know you should say yes, but you can’t imagine another moment without knowing what he feels like inside of you.

“No,” you tell him. “Just go slow.”

Din places a quick searing kiss against your lips and positions himself. The head of his cock presses against your slick entrance and you feel like you’re already seeing stars. Din is muttering in your ear, holding you tightly against him as he pushes into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart. So tight and wet for me. I can’t wait to fill you up, to feel every inch of your sweet pussy.”

You nearly forget to breath as he slowly pushes in further. You can feel every inch of him and you only want more. Din’s stream of compliments are interrupted when he finally bottoms out in you, holding himself still as your walls clench and stretch around him. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You turn your head and pull him into a blazing kiss, loving the way he feels filling you up. You wonder how you were ever satisfied with your fingers before when this had been next to you for so long. Din is apparently thinking along the same lines, whispering to you, “I’d have done this long ago if I knew you felt this good.”

You don’t even have time to consider the words as he slowly begins to move in you. The pleasure borders on agonizing as you begin to move your hips, encouraging him to move faster. Din responds quickly to your urging, setting a furious pace as he begins to lose all control. You know you’ll still be feeling him tomorrow and the thought makes you smile. You never want to go another day without a reminder of how he feels.

His thumb returns to your clit and you don’t have time to warn him before you’re thrown into another orgasm. Your walls clench around him and you lose yourself in the feeling of cumming on his cock. Din quickly follows, pulling out of you just in time to paint your stomach with ropes of his spend. You mourn the loss of him, but once Din finishes he buries himself back inside of you, causing another shock of pleasure to zing through your body.

Din rolls the both of you over, keeping himself sheathed in you, and allowing you to collapse on top of him. You’re both sweaty and panting, trying to come up with words. Din’s fingers lightly trace along your back, causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. You lift your head up from his chest in order to look at his face.

He’s completely debauched, sweat causing hair to cling to his forehead, the rest completely wild from your hands. His eyes are still blown wide, happily looking back at you. His lips are pink and swollen from all the kisses and licks he’s pressed into your skin. You know you can’t look much better than him.

You give a small clench around him and smile at the expression that runs across Din’s face. “I love the way you fill me,” you tell him. Din presses a loving kiss against your sweaty forehead.

“I never want to leave this perfect pussy of yours.” You can tell he means it too. If he could, he would stay buried in you forever. You love the way that sounds. His eyes flutter closed, reveling in the feeling of having you surround him.

“Din,” you say.

His eyes pop back open and refocus on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

A smile blooms across your face. “Nothing, I just wanted to say it. Din. It suits you.” 

His name suits him in a different way than Mando does. Mando is the rough exterior, the front he puts up to the world. The one who punches men in bars for touching you and calling you pet names. The one that strikes fear into others, knowing that if he’s hot on their trail that they’re screwed. Din is the soft inside, the place where all of his ‘sweethearts’ originate, the cause for the hand holding and sparkling smiles. The man behind the armor that he presents to the world, the one who kisses and fills you up just right.

Din’s arms wrap around you tightly, clearly intent on never letting you go. You’re fine with that, letting it sink in that you’re finally laying in bed with the man who’s consumed your thoughts for months. A small, joyous giggle escapes you.

“What’s so funny?” Din asks.

“I thought you were going to leave me earlier. Now here I am, laying on top of you with your cock still inside of me.”

Din chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest. “I’m never letting you go sweetheart, no matter how much you piss me off.”

You fold your arms across his chest, letting your chin rest on your hands. “I am sorry. I just wanted you to notice me. I felt like you were treating me like a child,” you confess.

Din’s eyes widen a bit at your admission. “I always notice you, mesh’la. I never meant to treat you that way. I only want to keep you safe.”

“I know that now. Honestly, I feel so silly about it all.” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair back from your face. 

“Next time, I’ll take you in with me. I’ll show everyone that you’re mine.” He grinds his hips up into you to prove his point. It makes you squeal, causing a smirk to settle on Din’s lips. You give his cheek a small flick in retaliation but make no attempt to move.

You lay there for a little while longer, laying your head back down against Din’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath you. His hands trace anywhere he can touch on you, intoxicated by having you so close against him. Eventually though, you feel the call to use the bathroom and can no longer ignore it.

Din is almost painful sliding out of you, but you’re more upset about the loss of having him buried in you. Your legs are shaky as you stand, managing to make it to the bathroom on wobbly knees. You take a moment to clean yourself up, running a damp cloth across your body. Exhaustion hits as you return to bed, crawling under the covers and into Din’s arms.

You begin to drift off when Din asks, “Why’d you get a single? Not that I’m complaining.”

“All they had left. Maybe it was a sign,” you mumble back.

Din chuckles and presses a kiss against your head. “Yeah, maybe, sweetheart.”

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 1

Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less. 

AO3 mirror

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.  

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Unknown Number:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

 Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

[dp-marvel94]

Below the Greenhouse

For Phic Phight 2021. Prompt by @ave-aria: Maddie discovers the depths of Vlad's obsessions when she stumbles upon his secret lab. Despite the shock, part of her almost isn't surprised by the stolen Fenton Tech, the ripoff ghost portal, or the eerie Holo-Maddie—but the clone she finds floating in the pod at the back of the room? That's another matter entirely.

Word Count: 7,951

Also on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

Note:

Me: *sees a prompt with the word clone*

Me: Oh no.

We all know why this happened.

 Maddie knew Vlad Masters was a creep. She did. And she’d known this for a while, even when she, Jack, and Vlad were in college. Before his accident, she had known he'd been preparing to profess his “love” and ask her out, even though he’d known full-well she and Jack were dating. And while, that might have been forgivable back then, when all of them were young and naive and Vlad didn’t hold such bitterness towards her husband, it wasn't now.

Now, Maddie knew Vlad was hopelessly bitter. After his accident, he’d refused to talk to them. He’d shut them out of his room when they visited the hospital and after he’d been released, he’d refused their phone calls and ignored their letters. Eventually, she and Jack gave up and they moved on with their lives.

That was, until Vlad chose to reconnect. And unfortunately, Vlad was worse than ever. More smug. More arrogant. More creepy. He ignored the fact that Maddie was happily married with children and he still insisted that she should leave the love of her life for him. 

Maddie really only tolerated him for Jack’s sake. Her husband still enthusiastically loved the man who’d been his best friend in college and she couldn’t bear to crush his spirit, though the woman was increasingly doubting her choice to stay silent now.

And now, Maddie realized that Vlad was much more despicable than she thought.

It started with a series of strange phone calls. The voice was robotic, yet strangely familiar sounding. It reminded her of her mother or maybe her sister? Either way, the sound somehow tugged at her heartstrings just as much as it made her shiver anxiously.

“Please save him.” The woman’s voice asked, an oddly flat plea.

“Tell me who you are.” Maddie demanded, not for the first time.

The speaker ignored the question, continuing. “I cannot get Number 6 out myself. Please save him.”

“You keep saying that, every time you call this number.” The woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was the fifth time she had gotten a call like this. All from an almost emotionless, staticky voice. All begging her to save someone or something called Number 6. Something she couldn’t seem to get anymore information about. “But who is number six?” Maddie asked, trying, probably futilely to learn more.

The answer surprised her. “Number 6 is just a boy. He should be free. He does not belong in a laboratory.”

Maddie frowned, brows furrowed in confusion “A laboratory?”

“That is correct.” The robotic voice answered.

“I’m sorry, are you talking about an actual child? What is a child doing in a laboratory?” The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Number 6 is physically younger than the age of majority and therefore meets the definition of a child.”

“Okay?” Maddie furrowed her brow and repeated herself more severely. “Why are you keeping a child in your laboratory?”

There was a pause. “I am not permitted to share that information.”

That made the woman’s stomach flop. “And why not?”

“My dearest has forbidden me from discussing the details of his experiments with outsiders.”

Maddie frowned again. “Then why are you talking to me?”

“You are a loophole.” The speaker said without hesitation.

That gave the ghost hunter pause. She opened her mouth to ask more when there was a mechanical whirl across the line.

The fast, choppy words cut through. “Dearest will be leaving on a trip tonight and be away for the next three days.” 

“Wait, what are you-” Maddie started.

“The address is 600 North Maple Drive. Enter through the trapdoor in the greenhouse. I will be waiting.”

Across the line, a male voice called from far away. “Pull up the data from the last test, dear. And prepare the subject for sample collection.”

Maddie shivered; there was something familiar-

“Please hurry. Save him.” The robotic female voice whispered before the line cut off.

Maddie sighed, dropping the phone. She put her head in her hands. She didn’t know what to make of that. At first, she had thought these mysterious calls were pranks. Maybe even a ghost trying to trick her. Except…. That didn’t feel right. It had been a week and no ghost had acted against her or her family. No ghost would wait this long to act and no human prankster would continue this charade for this long either.

So who had been calling her and what do they really want? Could the speaker really be asking for her help? The idea made dread pool in her stomach, especially now. Now that she had more information. Now she had a location. And that was Vlad’s address. And that other voice...it had sounded like… Vlad, as if the speaker was in fact in Vlad’s mansion. Her stomach flopped. He’d been talking about data from a test and preparing a subject for sample collection. That in and of itself wasn’t necessarily that alarming. Vlad had a background in science. He could be conducting research, just like she and Jack did out of their own basement. Except…

Number 6 is just a boy. He should be free. He does not belong in a laboratory. The words rang in her head, making her feel sick.

Maddie sat for a long while, staring at the phone. So many questions clashed in her mind and she wanted answers. What was really happening here? And how would she learn the truth?

An idea started forming in her mind. A surely bad, horrible idea. She still had no idea who had been calling her. It probably was a trap. So why did she want to follow the instructions? And the prospect of sneaking onto Vlad Master’s property? She could get in serious trouble. And for what? Vlad would never do anything as immoral as what the speaker hinted at. Except...what if? Doubt grew in her mind. What if?

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

That was how Maddie found herself pulling up to Vlad’s mansion in Amity Park. The woman sighed, putting the car into park and taking the key out of the ignition. She was really doing this, wasn’t she? The scientist could hardly believe her own actions. But it was the middle of the night and she was alone, in the small forest behind the mansion. 

Silently, Maddie got out of the car and started sneaking across the yard. She hadn’t told Jack where she was going. Maybe that was a mistake but the woman somehow knew he’d try to talk her out of this. And he would have a point. Yet the woman was still driven forward despite her better judgement. 

Arriving in front of the greenhouse, the ghost hunter stopped. She looked side to side, checking to see if anyone was watching. The yard was quiet and bare, only the sound of night insects cutting through the air. Maddie looked back into the building. To the left of the door was a blinking red light but other than that, inside was dark. Tentatively, Maddie jiggled the greenhouse’s door handle. It didn’t budge at first but then there was a buzz and a click. The door unlocked and the woman frowned, watching the blinking light turn from red to white. Was that a security system? And...had the door just unlocked for her?

Maddie bit her lip. She considered turning back but...she wanted answers. Instead, she pulled her ectostaff out of her belt. A blow to the head from it would be just as effective on a human attacker as it would be on a ghost.

The woman opened the door, quickly stepping though. She closed it and cautiously crossed the room. From what she could tell in the dark, this was a normal greenhouse. She breathed deeply, taking in the wet earthy smell of dirt, the soft perfume of flowers, and… She sniffed. That scent, old batteries, ozone, and citrus. That was familiar. Was that ectoplasm? 

Maddie turned, eyes searching for the tell-tell glow of a ghost. Her gaze fixed on something a few rows over. The huntress continued forward, brow wrinkling at the sight. Unsurprisingly, these were plants but….a faint glow enveloped the snow white leaves, the orange and black fruits. Tentatively, she reached forward and cupped one of the fruits. Even through her gloves, she could feel the ghostly chill. 

Maddie’s frown deepened. She’d never seen anything like this before. Was this some kind of ghostly plant? And in Vlad’s greenhouse of all places? Where did it come from? How did the billionaire procure it? And why hadn’t he said anything to her and Jack?

With that thought, the ghost hunters’ stomach flopped with nerves. There was actually something here, something out of the ordinary. Her mind turned back to those phone calls, the reason she was here in the first place. The speaker had said something about a trapdoor.

With that, Maddie pulled a flashlight out of her belt and flicked it on. She looked down, searching, and her eyes widened. Oh….well then. There, not three feet in front of her, was the door. The woman approached. Crouching down, she put down her staff and grasped the flashlight between her teeth. With both hands, she pulled the door up, revealing a short ladder leading to a narrow passageway.

The ghost hunter furrowed her brow, hesitating for a moment. She braced herself, forcing her shoulders to relax to dislodge some of the anxiety. Maddie stood up straight. She grabbed her staff and started lowering herself down the ladder. Once she was at the bottom, the woman turned and pointed the flashlight down the passageway. There, maybe ten feet in front of her was a metal blast door.

Dread rose in Maddie at the sight but she tried to push it down. This was probably an old cellar, or maybe even a bomb shelter. Rich people tended to have those, didn’t they? It could be…..

The woman stepped forward. Tentatively, she placed a hand on the opening mechanism. It looked like a wheel that she’d need both hands to open. She moved to return her staff to her belt but before she could, a mechanical whirl sounded. The wheel started turning. Paling Maddie rapidly stepped back. Her heart pounded in fear of being caught.

Then the door swung open with a groan. The ghost hunter registered bright light pouring through the opening. She blinked for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the change. Then she registered the translucent figure floating across the doorway. 

Maddie scowled, acting on instinct. “Take that ghost.” She swung her staff but the blow never connected, instead sailing through the blue clad figure without resistance.

“I am not a ghost.” A familiar, robotic voice responded.

It was then that Maddie finally registered what she was seeing. She gasped in shock. It was herself, except floating, translucent, and...glitching around the edges? “What are you?” She breathed.

“I am the MADDIE program, an artificial intelligence meant to emulate Dr. Madeline Fenton.”

The ghost hunter stared for a long moment in confusion. She hadn’t expected a response and now her mind couldn’t catch up, barely processing what she was seeing.

The hologram floated backward, motioning into the door. “Come inside.”

Maddie blinked, registering the words. Her eyes flitted from her strange double to the interior of the room. Concrete floor, metallic walls, sturdy work tables, and….a soft green light. It looked familiar, very much like the Fentonworks lab. The woman’s heart skipped a beat. She’d already come this far….

The huntress took a few steps forward and crossed the threshold, all the while keeping her eyes on the hologram. The other figure was unmoving and silent, not even blinking. After another long moment staring, Maddie warily looked around. As she’d glimpsed, there were shiny metal work tables and shelves. A station with a microscope, centrifuge, and table top incubator. She frowned, eyes falling on glowing vials of ectoplasm. 

This was a lab, obviously. A ghost research lab, based on the ectoplasm. But below Vlad’s greenhouse? Her eyes flickered to another table, this one holding familiar looking devices. Ectoguns, slim and silvery with a design Maddie knew intimately, despite the unfamiliar logo and red accents.

The woman walked forward, tentatively hefting the gun. “This looks like our model 35.” She stated seriously.

Maddie then turned, facing the source of the soft green light. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the swirling green. “That’s a portal. A ghost portal.” She muttered. 

The scientist took in the design of the frame, of the ecto-filtrater and the control panel. That was her and Jack’s design as well. Her mind swam, information bouncing around senselessly as she tried to make sense of all this. This was a lab. A ghost research lab. A hidden, secret research lab in Vlad Master’s backyard, below his greenhouse. Vlad’s secret lab. But...why?

She bit her lip, her eyes falling on the Fenton Works designed weapons and the portal. Their stolen designs. Maddie could barely believe it, yet she wasn’t as surprised as she should be. Vlad still having an interest in ghosts? The creepy billionaire stealing their blueprints? Why did that seem all too plausible?

“Dr. Fenton?” A staticy voice asked behind her.

Maddie turned, frown deepening as she took in the hologram again. Her mouth felt dry. “He….Vlad...made a hologram that looks and sounds like me.” She felt sickened at the thought, at the evidence in front of her. 

“Yes. I was modeled after Dr. Madeline Fenton.” The hologram replied.

The ghost hunter put a hand on her head, feeling a headache grow. It made sense, in a sick kind of way. Vlad had a fascination with her. He was not exactly subtle in his ‘affections.’ Of course he would create this creepy copy. “Why?” She groaned, in rising anger.

“I was created to serve as a digital assistance and security system.”

Maddie looked up, blinking in confusion. She hadn’t been expecting an answer. The woman then frowned, realizing something. A security system? Did that mean… “You unlocked the greenhouse door for me...and turned off the security system.”

“That is correct.” The hologram replied.

The ghost hunter wrinkled her brow. “Why?”

Somehow, almost imperceptibly, the figure’s expression softened. “You came to take Number 6 away from here.”

That gave Maddie pause, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the AI with new eyes. “You were the one calling me.” 

It finally hit her. The voice on the phone, the monotone one that reminded her of her mother and sister. It was this AI, this AI which sounded very much like Maddie herself. Of course she hadn’t recognized that. Most people don’t know what they really sound like outside of their own head and Maddie herself was no exception.

“Yes, I did.” The AI confirmed. “Please save him.”

“Him?” Maddie bit her lip, feeling that familiar dread again. “Number 6? Who is this person?”

The hologram floated toward the other side of the room, towards a tall cylindrical metal tube that Maddie hadn’t noticed yet. “Come.” She motioned the ghost hunter to approach.

The huntress did so, fixing a studious gaze on the tube.

“Viewing panel opening.” The AI announced as the whirl of gears sounded throughout the room.

In front of the cylinder, metal paneling slid apart. Slowly a gap opened, making the inside of the pod visible. Maddie first registered neon green ectoplasm swirling in some kind of solution. Then her jaw dropped. There, suspended in the chamber was a lithe figure. It looked male, the form of a young teenager. For a moment, the ghost hunter registered white hair and a black and white garment. Phantom? Had Vlad managed to capture Phantom? No...that….

Her brow furrowed, stepping closer. She examined the glowing body. The figure’s appearance was shifting. Its skin was a mosaic of ghostly blue and a pale, more human color in ever changing, shifting patches. The black and white garment also shifted, seeming to grow and spread over the body before retreating, leaving bare skin. On the head was a mop of black and white hair, the patches rapidly changing color and appearing to move across the skull.

Maddie frowned. There was a resemblance to Phantom. (How? How in the world?) But this wasn’t the same being. “This is a ghost.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion, despite her confidence of the fact.

“Yes.” The MADDIE program answered plainly. 

The scientist turned. “I am not letting a ghost out of here.”

The hologram frowned. “Number Six is a boy. He deserves to be free.”

Maddie pointed. “But….that is a ghost.”

“Yes.” The AI confirmed again. “But he is also a boy. Observe.” The translucent figure waved a hand over one of the computers. “Display subject’s vials.”

Instantly, readings appeared on the screen, a rhythmic beeping commencing. The ghost hunter studied the words and numbers. “Oxygen saturation, Blood Glucose, Blood pressure, Heart Rate.” Her brow furrowed. “These are vials for a human.”

“Yes. These are Number six’s vials.” 

Maddie scrunched her nose in disbelief. “But...this is a ghost.” 

But the sound of the heart monitor pounded in her head. She turned, facing the figure in the tube again. The readings could be fake. But why? And why did Vlad have a ghost captured in his lab? And why did it resemble Phantom? Or at least, it seemed to. Not that she’d ever been this close to Phantom before but the white hair, suit, and lithe figure were the same. She took in the shifting appearance. And what was that? An attempt at shapeshifting?

Maddie turned back to the screen, reading again. At the top, it read Clone Six, 100% stability. “Clone?” The woman questioned. “Clone of who? Of Phantom?”

“Yes.” The AI answered. In response, the ghost hunter turned sharply. The hologram continued. “Subject Six has completed the gestation period and is now viable and capable of living outside the artificial womb.”

Maddie blinked rapidly. There was a lot of information there. “Clone? Vlad cloned Phantom and...it’s ready?”

“Yes. He is stable.” The hologram turned. “Please save him. Take him away from dearest.”

“Look.” The scientist pinched the bridge of her nose. “I am not letting this ghost go.”

“He is a boy.” The AI insisted.

“You say that but-”

“And a ghost.” The hologram continued. “He is a living boy and a ghost.”

Maddie’s heart skipped a beat. “Living?”

She turned back to the chamber, something in her resonating at the word. The strands of black hair, the human colored skin, the patches that did not glow. She looked up into the face and something itched in the back of her mind. It looked familiar, not just because the ghost looked like Phantom.

Maddie took another step. She reached forward until she was touching the glass. The heart monitor steadily beeped as the figure in the chamber twitched.

The huntress shook her head, denying. “That’s just...not possible. Someone can’t be a ghost and a human.” What the AI was saying was nonsensical, completely impossible. So why did Maddie not feel certain?

“Initiate wake up sequence.” The AI declared.

Startled, Maddie’s head whipped to the side. “What are you-”

In the chamber, something thumped. The woman’s head turned to see flailing limbs. The figure’s eyes suddenly popped open, one blue and one green panickedly flickering around the room. The rate of the heart monitor increased. The being thrashed, chest spasming. A hand pounded against the glass. 

“What did you do?” Maddie demanded of the AI.

There was no answer, just fearful flailing within the tube. The ghostly figure’s gaze shifted down and fell on Maddie. The eyes widened, silently begging. More pounding of hands on the inside of the glass. The beeping increased, pounding into the woman’s head. The ghost boy blinked and the eyes were blue, icy blue. The gaze, the familiar gaze stabbed Maddie in the heart.

The woman panicked, her own heart race. Her eyes ripped away from the boy. What do I do? What do I do? Her mind raced. Her gaze fell on a large button marked, Emergency release. She acted without thinking, slamming her hand down on the button.

There was hiss and a beep from the chamber. In the blink of an eye, the glass wall of the chamber parted. Maddie yelped, jumping back as water and ectoplasm poured out. The liquid soaked her anyway. Then, the boy inside the tub was falling. He tipped forward and the woman reached out to catch him on instinct.

A surprisingly heavy body fell onto the ghost hunter. Her knees threatened to buckle under the sudden impact. Instead she wobbled and wrapped one arm around the lithe body. Shakily, Maddie lowered herself to her knees, taking the ghostly figure with her.

Numbly, hardly believing what she’d just done, the woman huddled on the floor. She tensed at the being reached towards her. A part of her brain screamed that it was unsafe to be so near to a ghost, yet she didn’t move as ungloved hands weakly grabbed onto her jumpsuit and the ghost pressed into her chest, as if it was hugging her. 

Maddie looked down at the being, marveling at the sight. Its appearance was still shifting. Black and white hair. Black jumpsuit and bare skin. Patches of ghostly blue and pale human skin. The woman could feel the ectoplasmic energy, the ghostly chill radiating off the being as well but..... Its glow...there was something off. The glow was dimming. It flickered like a light bulb before cutting off.

In front of her came a whine as the ghost buried its head into her shoulder. Soft cold breath caressed her check. Breathe? Maddie’s heart skipped a breath. She could feel the chest rising and falling with fast breaths, pressed against her as it was. And that beeping. Maddie glanced up at the display. The heart monitor was still keeping pace with a rapidly fluttering heart.

The scientists breath lodged in her throat. No this was...ghosts didn’t breath. They didn’t have heart beats. They didn’t…. She looked down at the shaking figure again and her world turned upside down. The black suit was receding, evaporating. It disappeared off the arms and chest, every part of the body she could see, leaving bare skin below. And that skin, it was changing. Pale peach-tinted skin was rapidly replacing the inhuman blue. A warm breath blew over her check, the ghostly chill quickly vanishing. The weight pressed into her increased, the fingers holding onto her becoming warm and solid. And on the head, black overtook white until she was staring down at the full black head of hair.

Maddie’s mind stopped unable to process. This was...she was...in front...of her...this was... She blinked rapidly, as if the sign would change but...the lack of glow, the human skin tone, the warmth, the breathing, the black hair. That..that damn heart monitor. This...this was...no...no way. The ghost hunter shakily, wrapped her arms around the now hyperventilating figure. She winced feeling the warm, solid skin under her gloves. This was impossible but….

This...this was a human. No ghost...no ghost could fake this. No shapeshifting would give a ghost human warmth and a heartbeat. And she could feel it, the rapidly fluttering heart pressed against her own. 

The ghost whined again. No. no. The boy. The boy who had just been a ghost but had changed. The boy who’d just been inside that pod. Who was shaking and hyperventilating in front of her. Another whine. A tear fell onto her shoulder.

Maddie’s mind finally caught up. Her arms shifted into a more proper hug, hands reaching up to run through the black hair. “Shhh. Shh. It’s okay.” The woman whispered. “Breath with me. In.” She breathed in deliberately. “And out.” She pushed the air out of her lungs. “In and Out.”

The boy copied, his breaths following hers. In and out. In and out. His breathing slowed as did the beeping of the heart monitor. Slowly, so slowly, his shaking subsided but the boy didn’t let go of her suit.

Maddie stayed still, questions bombarding her now that the boy was calmed. This boy, who was he? Where had he come from? Why...why did Vlad have a teenager in his lab? And why did he have a ghost that could change into a human? Or was this a human who could turn into a ghost? Her mind raced, her own heart rate increasing with overwhelming confusion. How was this possible? What was this kid?

She looked down, an idea sparking. That ghost disease that all the teenagers supposedly got. The disease that gave them ghost powers. She and Jack had never seen any of the supposedly infected students. They’d dismissed the claims as absurd. Humans could not have ghost powers. Yet Jazz and Danny’s friend, Sam, had both insisted that they’d gotten sick and both had displayed a ghostly ability. And if...if that was true….. She paled, the overheard words from the last phone call hitting her. Tests, sample collection, subject, experiment. If Vlad was experimenting with that disease, experimenting with ectoplasm on...on….

“Where...where am I?” A quiet male voice asked, directly in front of her. Maddie stiffened at the words, roughly pulled out of her thoughts. “What’s happening?”

The woman’s heart stopped. That voice. That voice. Oh god. Suddenly shaking, she unwrapped her arms from the boy. Gently, so gently, she grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands off of her. The boy seemed to shrink in on himself at that, shoulders falling. 

He sniffled but Maddie shushed it. “Look...look up at me.” She quietly asked. Slowly, the teenager obeyed and again, the mother felt like her world was turned on its head. Familiar, icy blue eyes met hers. The curve of that nose, the round chin, the slightly chubby cheeks. Oh god, she knew...she knew this face intimately. A trembling hand reached out to touch, cupping the boy’s cheek. “Danny?” Maddie asked, before she could really think.

The blue eyes widened, looking at her with the most pure and innocent hope she’d even seen. “Danny? Is that...is that my name?”

The woman’s expression fell, her mind catching up to the question, to what she was seeing. No, this couldn't be Danny. She had just seen him earlier that night. And on the face in front of her….The freckles….the freckles were wrong, laid out in a different pattern. And the scar above his lips, where was it? The mother glanced down, at his collar bone. The birthmark wasn’t there. And...her heart skipped a beat. No, he was too young, maybe two years younger than her son’s current age of 16.

The woman removed her hand. “No. I’m sorry. You’re not….you look like him, like Danny. So I thought….But you’re not...you’re not him.”

The boy’s shoulders fell and his eyes fixed down. The suddenly heartbroken, lonely look broke Maddie’s heart. “Oh. Then...who am I?”

The ghost hunter frowned at the question, her mind trying to form an answer. Who was this boy who looked like her Danny? Wait…. The words on his vitals display flashed in her mind. Clone number 6. Clone. “You’re a clone.” She blinked, mouth falling open. “You’re a clone of my son.”

The boy looked up, raising a brow. “What’s a clone?”

Maddie flushed at the question. It was so innocent. And his eyes, staring up at her like she had the answer to every question in the universe. “That’s...that’s complicated.” She glanced down, cheeks reddening in a sudden realization. “Let’s umm...let’s get you some clothes first.” The mother blushed for a moment. He’d been naked this whole time, while they’d been hugging and she had been comforting him.

“Clothes?” The boy tilted his head and the innocent confusion, the lack of embarrassment, just about killed Maddie. This looked like a teenager but obviously he wasn’t actually one.

The mother pushed the thought away, head surveying the room for something to cover the child with. She gaze fixed on something white hanging on one of the walls. Lab coats. Maddie started pushing herself to her feet.

The boy whimpered, grabbing her hand. “Don’t leave me.”

Maddie’s expression softened. “I’m not. I’m just going to get you something to wear.”

Shakily, she stood and walked across the lab. All the while, the woman could feel the eyes on the back of her head. But she ignored it, focusing on grabbing a coat. She pulled the white garment off the peg and quickly returned. Maddie then knelt down and held out the coat. The boy looked at it with no recognition as if he had no idea what to do with it. He probably didn’t.

“I can put it on you then. Hold out your arms.” Maddie instructed.

The boy, the clone, (this was a clone, a clone of her son. Her son. How? Why? What?). The clone did as she said and the woman dressed him as if he was a little child. (He probably was). The woman tried to smile comfortingly as she fastened the buttons. “There you go. All covered up.”

The boy looked at the sleeves curiously. They hung past his hands as the garment swallowed him. He waved his arms, watching the ends flap. The child laughed at the sight.

Maddie’s heart clenched at the child-like display. But then she turned her attention to the AI that had been silently watching the entire time. Standing, she scowled. “Is he a clone of my son?”

“Yes.” The MADDIE program replied. “Subject Number 6 is a clone of Daniel James Fenton.”

Maddie looked down again. Somehow, despite how impossible this was, that made perfect sense. The appearance was nearly identical, to perfect for strangers. And….she swallowed. Vlad had a sick fascination with her children, with Danny in particular. She knew the man fancied himself something of a godfather, with his pet names, presents, and advice. And Danny despised it, much more than any teenage boy should even if said godfather had a tendency to flirt with his mother.

The woman paled, all sorts of horrible idea coming into her head. What Vlad must want from Danny, what he must really want from her son. And to do the scientifically impossible? She shivered. Tests, experiments. She remembered the hybrid ghostly appearance, the ectoenergy flowing off of him. From some the ghostly disease? But… “Wait...you said that he was clone of Phantom earlier?”

The hologram’s response was cut off by a scream from the floor. Maddie’s eyes flicked down panickedly as the clone looked up at her. “My...my arm...it’s gone.”

The woman’s eyes just about popped out of her skull. His left sleeve with the hand and arm inside of it were gone. Maddie knelt down, reaching towards where the limb should be. Her hand hit something solid and chilly. She rapidly blinked. “It’s invisible. Your arm is invisible.” Panic rose in her. Ghostly abilities. There were ghostly abilities. He had ghost powers.

“Invisible?!” The boy shrieked. 

Maddie’s heart clenched. That sounded just like Danny, her son when he was scared. The boy’s mouth was open with panic, his breath increasing. And all the woman could see was her son. Her son’s face, screwed up with panic and fear. It made her soul ache. She gently wrapped her hand around his invisible one. “It’s still there but you need to calm down. Breath with me. Like before. Okay. In and out.”

The boy copied her action once and his hand returned to visibility. He threw himself forward into her arms. Maddie returned the hug without hesitation. Then a breath later, cold swept over her. The body in her arms disappeared, turning into cold mist. Both the woman and the boy screamed as he turned intangible and fell through her.

Maddie rapidly stood, stepping back. What was happening?! On the floor, the boy returned to solidity, the slightly translucent appearance disappearing. He rolled onto his back, panting. The beeping of the monitor increased with his breathing as his face scrunched up fearfully. 

Then a heartbeat later, just when Maddie thought she was done with surprises for tonight, something else stole the breath from her lungs. A white ring of light formed around the boy’s waist. It spread up and down his body and everything the light touched changed. The scientist blinked away the spots in her vision. And there, writhing on the floor with a panicked expression, was Phantom. Or...he looked like Phantom. White hair, black and white jumpsuit, panic filled green eyes.

It suddenly all hit Maddie like a tractor-trailer. He was a clone of Danny.. .and he was a clone of Phantom. Of Phantom. Danny...it clicked into place. Oh god, Danny’s accident with the portal. Him setting off all their equipment. His badly hidden injuries. Falling grades, skipping class, not sleeping. Oh god. Danny was Phantom. Danny Fenton was Danny Phantom. That...that was a pun, damnit. Of course her son would name himself after a pun. And… her eyes fixed on the boy on the floor. His face even stayed the same! No wonder Phantom avoided getting close to them!

In front of her, the clone was hyperventilating again. “What’s happening to me?!” He cried, tears welling in his eyes. His legs were fused into a ghostly tail which lashed in front of him.

The mother’s brain kicked into gear, her motherly instincts taking over again. She knelt down. “Sweetie. Sweetie. Calm down. I’m here.” 

She grabbed his arm, intending to pull him into a sitting position but he was so light, as light as a balloon. With the slightest tug, he was pulled into the air, floated. Maddie pulled the ghost boy into her arms. She cupped the back of his head.

“What’s...what’s happening to me?” He cried again.

“I don’t know.” Maddie answered honestly. She had only the barest idea of what all was going on. But still... “I’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

The boy wiggled in her hold, crying into her shoulders. “I...I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Who...who am I? Who are you? Where are we?”

Maddie didn’t know. Or rather she didn't know how to answer those questions without making him more scared. She desperately wished she did know. She’d have to have a long conversation with Danny about him being Phantom and about what is actually going on between him and Vlad but for now...she hugged the boy tighter.

A long minute later, light passed over the clone again. He became heavy and warm in Maddie’s arms. His knees wobbled for a moment before steadying as Maddie held him up. “There, you’re doing it. You can stand.” His posture strengthened and the shaking stopped. Finally, the mother asked. “Do you think you can stand on your own?”

“I...I think so?” The boy said, uncertainly.

“Alright. I’m going to step away slowly. I’ll catch you if you start to fall.” Maddie reassured.

The child nodded as the woman backed away. He wobbled, tipping forward but the ghost hunter gently grabbed him. They stood, hands on each other's forearm for a long pause, until the boy steadied himself. He looked down at his feet, lifting one before putting it down and then doing the same with the opposite. Finally, he let go of Maddie’s arms. After hesitating, the mother did the same.

The boy studied her compassionate face, brow furrowed with deep thought. “Who are you...to me?”

Maddie considered, studying his face in kind. Her son’s face. A face so like her Danny’s. He was a clone, a clone of her son. Meaning...he was her own flesh and blood. Her lips pursed in thought. More importantly...he was a child. A confused, scared child who needed her help. And before she was a ghost hunter and scientist, Maddie was and would always be a mother.

“I’m your mother.” She said without hesitation, smiling. “Your mom.”

“Mom?” The boy asked, testing out the word. 

Maddie nodded, reaching forward and gently whipping one of his tears away with her thumb. “I’m your mom.”

The child smiled, his eyes lighting up like that was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. It very well could be. “Mom.” The word rang out with so many emotions, with some much love that Maddie’s heart swelled. The boy stepped forward hugging her again.

The mother ran her finger through his hair. “Yes baby. I’m here to take you home."

“You will take him away from here, then?” A staticy voice asked, beside the pair.

Maddie turned, pulling away to look at the AI. Beside her, the clone tilted his head as he looked between the two but didn’t ask.

The scientist nodded. “Yes. I think I understand why you called me now.” Of course she did. This was an AI made to copy her, something of a digital clone. If Maddie was in her place, she would not so easily agree to whatever Vlad had planned. She would not leave a child here to be experimented on. And as the MADDIE programs 'original’, for lack of a better word, she wasn’t exactly an outsider and therefore a loophole.

The hologram nodded. “I will disable the microchip then.” A light on the monitor blinked out and the beeping of the heart monitor stopped. The AI then turned to the computer. She pointed to a flash drive plugged into one of the ports. “That contains all research data. Take it with you.” 

Maddie obeyed, taking the drive. The AI winked. “Excellent. Delete all research data. Command alpha-06-gamma-58-epsilon.”

There was a loud dial tone and the computer fritzed, the monitor wavering until a blue screen reading ‘System Deletion’ in large print was displayed.

Maddie raised a brow, impressed at the AI. 

Then the clone asked. “What about you? Are you coming with us?”

The program shook her head. “No dear. I am not like you. My purpose is served.” The AI turned to deliberately look at Maddie. “Number 6 has been saved.”

The boy frowned at the statement as did the mother, considering the statement and the depth of it. She didn’t know what to make of it except...it almost felt like one mother was handing off her son to another.

“Go on.” The MADDIE program encouraged. "You may go out the way you came and I will lock the doors behind you." She frowned. "I will distract dearest for as long as I can."

Maddie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I suppose you can't just call him Vlad?"

"No." The AI almost sounded annoyed. "My programming is most inconvenient."

The ghost hunter nodded in understanding. Then she turned to face the clone. "Come on then sweetie." She wrapped one arm around the boy and started leading him towards the door. Before passing through, the women turned back to face the hologram. "Thank you."

The corner of MADDIE program's lip turned up as she offered an accepting nod. The pair then turned back towards the still open door. The clone wobbled slightly, progressing slowly as he gained more confidence. Maddie carefully stepped across the threshold with the boy still at her side. Once they were in the tunnel, a gap sounded from beside her.

"What is it?" The mother glanced to the side, eyes wide with concern.

"The ground's cold." The boy muttered.

"Oh." Maddie looked down. "You're not wearing any shoes." She'd have to get him some once they got home and some proper clothes. "Just step carefully, okay? Actually…." With her free hand, she pulled out her flashlight and shone it on the bare ground in front of them. "There." 

The pair advanced carefully, Maddie helping the boy to clumsily climb up the ladder. They crossed the greenhouse and the mother pulled the boy along as he eagerly studied their surroundings. 

"It smells nice in here." The clone commented, sniffing the air.

"It does." Maddie agreed. 

Arriving at the door, she finally opened it and the two found themselves in the open air. The boy suddenly stopped, looking down. 

He hummed in the back of his throat, pleased. "I like the grass under my feet." Maddie looked down to find the kid wiggling his toes. Then there was an awed whisper. "Wow. Are those the stars?"

The mother looked up again to find him staring up at the sky in wonder. Maddie smiled. "Yes, they are. Aren't they beautiful?"

"Yeah." He breathed.

Maddie let him look up in awe, as she herself marveled. She couldn't help but be reminded of Danny's love of the stars. But even with the resemblance, he was a different person from her Danny, wasn't he? She could already see little difference. This child-like wonder was something she hadn’t seen in her son very often now. But still she wondered. This clone seemed to know the words for things. He could speak clearly and had good coordination all things considered. How was that even remotely possible? And yet he still had the air of someone who had never seen the world before, like every was new. Because it likely was.

With that, Maddie cut off her musing. "Come on sweetie. We need to keep going."

The mother hated cutting off his exploration, especially as his expression fell. But the boy nodded anyway, taking a step forward. The pair continued, cutting across the yard, into the trees, and to the car. Maddie clicked the fob to unlock the vehicle. She guided the boy to the car, opened the passenger's side door, and helped him sit. The mother then walked around and opened the driver's side door and sat down herself.

Maddie turned to find the clone looking at his seat belt curiously. She reached over. "Here let me help you." She buckled him in.

The boy hummed, fidgeting in his seat while Maddie buckled herself in. She put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Instantly, the radio started, a song from their local eighties station broadcasting through. The clone flinched at the sudden sound before relaxing. 

He turned, looking at the woman with wide eyes. "What's that?"

Maddie smiled. "It's music."

"Right. Music." The boy nodded. He tilted his head, listening to the song. After a moment, his head bobbed in time. "I think I like music." He hummed along, wiggling in his seat.

It made Maddie want to laugh so she did. She chuckled as she put the car into drive and pulled away. She turned into the road and started driving back towards Fentonworks. The song ended just as they pulled up at a red light.

The clone turned to face her. "Where are we going?"

She looked at him out the corner of her eye. "We're going home, like I said earlier."

He nodded. "Right yeah. I remember that." He hummed. "What will we do when we get there?"

Maddie paused, considering the question. "Well...we’ll talk to your dad and your….Danny and Jazz….and we’ll figure all of this out.” 

She’d hesitated for a moment, thinking to refer to Danny and Jazz as his brother and sister. But Maddie had no idea how they’d take this. Hopefully well. Those two were good kids but living with a clone of yourself….Maddie could hardly imagine. At least Jack would be eager and welcoming. She knew her husband well enough to be sure….Oh boy, she really should have told him something about all of this before she’d left.

"All of this….you mean the….clone thing and…" He bit his lip. "The flashing light and the floating and disappearing and falling through things?"

"Ghost powers." Maddie said, brow furrowing. "You have ghost powers. As far as I can tell, you're some kind of ghost human hybrid? Not that I knew that was possible until less than an hour ago…." She frowned. "Nor did I know you existed."

The boy frowned, looking worried. His lips pursed. "So...you don't know what my name is then, do you?”

Maddie's heart fell. In front of them, the light turned green. The woman turned back, removing her foot off the gas. The car pulled away before the mother pulled into a parking lot. 

She took a deep breath, the impossibleness of the situation hitting her. She was sitting in her car with a clone of her son. A clone that she’d found in the secret laboratory below Vlad Master’s greenhouse. A human-ghost hybrid clone of her son who was also a hybrid. She had another son now. A son who she now had to tell that she didn't know his name, because he likely didn't have one yet.

Maddie put a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” She gently apologized. “You’re right. I don’t know. And sadly….” She took a deep breath. “And I know this will be hard to hear but...all I know is that hologram called you Number 6 and...that’s not exactly a name, is it? ” 

His lip quivered, eyes starting to water. “But….that’s….”

The mother took his hands and squeezed it. “That will change. Your father and I can pick out a name for you; that’s what parents normally do for their children. Or….if you have something in mind, we’ll happily call you that.”

The clone looked down, biting his lip in consideration. “I’ll...I’ll think about it.”

Maddie’s face softened. “Alright sweetie.”

He turned his head up, blinking at her. “Sweetie? Can that be my name?”

The question was asked so innocently that Maddie couldn’t help but laugh. “No. That’s a pet name. I call all my kids that.”

“Oh.” He blushed in embarrassment. “Well that’s...at least, that means I’m one of your kids.”

The mother nodded her head. “Yes, of course. You’re my son.” It should have been surprising how much her heart swelled with love at the statement but well….Maddie had made up her mind. This was her son. Not Vlad Masters’ experiment. Not just Danny’s clone. Her son and Vlad was not taking him away from her.

They would have a lot to figure out. A name for this boy. His complete origin as a clone. How to deal with having a third child, one who’d just appeared overnight. They’d have to deal with the implications of her revelation that Danny was Phantom. And Vlad...what he’d done was horrible. He’d stolen blueprints and her son’s DNA. He’d experimented on a human or...humans. She internally frowned; he was clone number 6. Did that mean that there had been five others? 

Either way, Vlad was deplorable. There, in the depth of his lab, below something as innocuous and normal as his greenhouse, Maddie had discovered that and the true depth of his obsession with her and her family. And now she knew, Vlad needed to be stopped. He needed to be punished. But what exactly to do with him, considering how taking him down would likely expose Danny’s identity as Phantom? Yes, they had a lot to deal with but….

Maddie leaned forward to kiss her new son’s forehead. “You have a family now. And a home. And everything else we’ll figure out together.”

A soft smile crept across his face. “I like how that sounds.”

“Good.” Maddie smiled. “Now...are you ready to go meet the rest of your family?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed the hand still holding hers. “I’m ready Mom.”

[on-maars]

Another Place

Literally I haven’t been able to stop screaming since ep2 came out and I needed to write something

Read on AO3

Bobby is halfway through the third part of The Outsider when he hears a sharp noise followed by a curse coming from the fire station's kitchen. He sits up straight on his chair and even though the voice comes as a whisper, the door to his office is still ajar and Bobby can recognize some Spanish he learned back when he was in high-school.

It’s Eddie then, who always tends to resort to Spanish when he wants to curse or complain about something to himself.

Bobby puts down his book on his desk, stands up and opens his office door a bit wider so he can take a few steps inside the kitchen. The room is plunged into darkness but Bobby can still catch sight of Eddie’s silhouette, standing in front of a box of herbal tea, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s currently facing the most complicated dilemma of his entire life.

“Can’t sleep?” Bobby asks and makes Eddie jump with surprise, letting go of the mug he was holding in his right hand. And Bobby might be over 40 but his reflexes are still good and he managed to catch it before it breaks on the floor.

“Shit Bobby, you scared the hell out of me. Thought I was the only one awake.” Eddie says but his voice seems sad, almost dejected.

“Nightmares?” Bobby asks. After all, Eddie’s been through a lot for the past few months, it would only makes sense for his sleep to still be haunted by the memories of the shooting.

“More like insomnia.” Eddie corrects him, his eyes still down. “There’s just stuff I can’t get out of my head, you know.”

“Stuff about the shooting?” Bobby says calmly, but that’s enough for Eddie’s face to wince in pain.

“Among other things.”

“Why don’t you go sit down on the couch and let me take care of it?” He offers. Eddie’s hand stops in mid air and his shoulders eventually slumped as his heads nods, retreating back from the kitchen with a heavy step.

Bobby fills the kettle with water and turns it on before opening the box of herbal tea still on the counter. It’s an old box, supposed to help you sleep, one of those things he brought from home a few years ago when he realized it wasn’t much use back there. He places the tea bag in the mug, opens the drawer to grab a spoon and half a sugar cube. His movements are robotic, like he’s done that a thousand times in the past. And he did, back when his nights were filled with nightmares.

He lets out a sigh and leans against the fridge, looking at Eddie out of the corner of the eye. He’s seated on the armchair, his eyes fixed on the ground, the same haunted look Bobby saw him with a few times already during this past few weeks.

The light turns off on the kettle, and Bobby pours the water in the mug, before making his way towards the ‘living room’ area where he places the tray on the coffee table.

“Wanna talk about it?” Bobby asks as he takes on the seat on the couch.

“It’s just-” Eddie starts but marks a pause, like he’s not sure how to say the next few words. “Just stuff I- I try very hard not to think about. Or just bury- bury somewhere in my brain but-”

“It keeps coming back?” Bobby offers and smiles when Eddie just nods quietly as he takes a sip of his herbal tea. “Does it have anything to do with your panic attacks?”

Eddie’s mouth turns up at the edges but he presses his lips together in a straight line just as fast.

“How do you know about them?” Eddie asks, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I have my ways.” Bobby answers with a hint of amusement.

“Let me guess.” Eddie starts. “Buck?” And even though the words come out as a question, Bobby knows there’s no real need to answer. He still nods though, and smiles when Eddie rolls his eyes with a fond expression. “They were because of Ana.”

“The panic attacks?” Bobby asks, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “Were?” He adds. “You don’t have them anymore?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head. “We broke up.” He adds. “I was trying to make it work for Christopher’s sake. Thought he loved her. And he liked her okay but turns out he was only going along with it because he thought she made me happy.” Eddie tells him, a sad laugh escaping his lips.

“And she didn’t?” Bobby encourages him. “Make you happy, that is.”

Eddie opens his mouth like he wants to say something but stops himself from doing so the next second. There’s a small silence after that. Eddie’s eyes are staring into space, his forehead wrinkled in concern, like he’s hopping that if he thinks about it long enough, an answer is going to magically appear in front of him.

“It was nice.” He starts and Bobby raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “It just wasn’t working.” Eddie adds. “Couldn’t have worked.” He precises. “Not when I-” He marks a pause again, and closes his eyes while pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index. “I guess my heart just wasn’t in it.”

Bobby says nothing for a while. He just smiles. Because he knows where Eddie drives at. It’s been a long time coming, after all. All the looks, the soft glances, the sweet gestures. All the signs were there, and they were clear. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that what these two shared went beyond friendship.

“Have you talked to Buck about it, Eddie?” Bobby asks, his voice gentle.

Eddie flushes, and looks away. Because Bobby’s not only asking him if he talked to Buck about his break-up with Ana. No, in fact he’s asking a lot more than just that. And Eddie knows it. He’s just not sure he’s ready to go there.

“I... I did.” Eddie says, and closes his eyes again. “I mean I- I told him about Ana but I think he knows that… That it’s not only about the break up.” He adds. “It’s never been only about the break up, Bobby.” He admits. “It’s never been only about Ana.”

“I know.” Bobby smiles.

“He broke up with Taylor.” Eddie blurts out and Bobby’s not one to gossip about other people’s relationship because, ultimately, that’s their business and he’d hate to interfere with any of that. But as he sits there on that couch, watching Eddie, there’s only one thing that comes to his mind.

Freaking finally.

“So the ball’s in your court now, isn’t it?” Bobby asks.

“I guess it is, yeah.” Eddie answers, darting his eyes towards him before looking away just as fast. “And you know I was- I was waiting for the right time but…”

Bobby’s mouth turns up at the edges once again.

“I’m just so freaking tired of waiting, Cap.” Eddie finally says, and one of these rare soft smiles only reserved to Buck breaks in on his face. “I- I want this. Us.”

“I think everyone’s tired of waiting, Eddie.” Bobby remarks with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Tell him.” He adds. “After all we both know how he’s gonna react.”

“It’s- it’s gonna be good, right?” Eddie asks, his voice uncertain, a part of him still doubting. Bobby rolls his eyes and lets out a small laugh.

“Eddie, it’s Buck.” He reminds him. “He’s gonna be like a kid on Christmas morning.” He adds. “That boy loves you two to the moon and back.”

And, as if summoned, Buck chooses this moment to appear on top of the stairs, his eyes sleepy and his hair disheveled making his blond curls go in every direction. Bobby watches him as he shuffles towards them, and doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up when they fall on Eddie.

“Hey Eds.” He says, his voice soft, taking a seat on the arm of the chair Eddie's seated on. “You okay? I woke up and you- well you weren’t on your bunk.”

Bobby gives Eddie a knowing look and stands up, retreating back in his office once again, only this time he makes sure to lock the door behind him. He can still hear the muffled words coming from the living-room but nothing he can actually make sense of.

He lets his back rest on the backrest of his chair and goes back to his reading. It’s almost five in the morning now, and Bobby doesn’t see the appeal of trying to get a few hours sleep, especially now that they’ve been unbothered by any calls for a bit more than two hours. It’s certainly not going to last forever.

He finds himself so engrossed in his reading that the next thing he knows, a bit more than half an hour has passed and the kitchen is now dead quiet. The first sunbeams light up the fire station and Bobby decides that now is as good a time as any to start on breakfast.

Only, what he sees when he goes back inside the kitchen makes him stop in his tracks and smiles. Because there they are passed out on the couch, their legs intertwined and Eddie’s head pressed on the other’s chest while Buck has wrapped his left arm around Eddie’s waist while his right hand is buried in his black hair.

“Oh god.” He can hear Hen say from the top of the stairs. “Is this really happening?” She asks and Bobby only chuckles while shaking his head in disbelief.

“I guess it is.” He says.

“Holy shit.” This time, it’s Chimney’s turn to curse. “I’m calling Maddie.” He adds.

“Chim, it’s 5am.” Hen remarks.

“Oh trust me if I wait any longer I think she’ll punch me.”

“I’m taking a picture for the group-chat.” Ravi intervenes behind Chimney and Bobby only watches them from the kitchen with an amused smile.

“Guys come on, let them sleep for a while okay? They deserve it.”

“We’re not sleeping.” Buck’s voice comes from behind the couch. Bobby can’t see him but he can only picture the exasperated expression on his face.

“Not anymore.” Eddie adds.

Bobby rolls his eyes and turns his back on them to face the oven while chaos suddenly erupts in the fire station.

With a sigh and an amused smile, he starts on breakfast.

[blazingparker]

tony finds out that peter wants to propose. marriage = very scary thing for tony. tony panics. peter mishears and thinks the issue is that tony doesn’t want to marry HIM. [misunderstandings + breaking up then making up + angst w/ a happy ending].

thanks sooo much for this prompt, anon!!!! i changed it a little so they didn’t break up but they do have a big fight and make up. It’s also a little shorter than i wanted since i can’t really type still due to my wrist injury but i didn’t want to make you wait any longer. i really hope you enjoy this!

read it on ao3!

---

But Your Fears Get in the Way

Peter was going to propose.

Holy shit, Peter was going to propose.

It wasn’t like Tony had meant to overhear, okay? It wasn’t his fault Peter had assumed Tony was in the lab, not in the living room when he got back from patrol.

“Yeah, Ned, I got the ring. No, I don’t know when yet. I’ll let you know. I just-I want it to be perfect, you know?”

Tony had reacted wonderfully, if you must know. He most certainly did not pretend to be asleep on the couch so Peter wouldn’t know he’d overheard, and he definitely did not avoid his boyfriend as much as possible in the following days. It was a shitty move, and Tony knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t marriage material. What he and Peter had - it worked. If they changed it, if they got engaged, Tony would ruin it. He knew that, and he needed Peter to know that before he lost the best relationship he’d ever had because of his own inability to stop fucking up.

It was just a question of how to bring it up to Peter without breaking his heart and ruining everything anyway. Which was why he’d asked Rhodey to come over and help him out. Tony wasn’t the greatest with words and knew he needed to practice with someone before going out and essentially tell his boyfriend ‘Hey, I overheard you the other day. Sweet gesture, but I’m not marriage material.’

“Tony.”

Tony looked up from the Iron Man gauntlet he was in the middle of repairing to find his best friend standing in the middle of the lab, looking very irritated.

“Hey honey bear,” Tony snarked, sitting back in his chair and setting his tools down.

“You do realize you asked me to come over here, right?” “Course I do.”

“Well, then maybe next time you could put down your toys the first time I call your name instead of the fifth.” Rhodey gave Tony a little smirk and crossed the room, sitting down in a chair across from Tony. The genius ran a hand over his face, looking genuinely apologetic - a rare occurrence for him.

“Sorry, Rhodey. I just-this has got me really shaken up,” he admitted. Rhodey tried not to let his shock show, knowing Tony would shut down and shut him out if he looked like he might be mocking him or not taking him seriously.

“You said Peter wants to propose?” He asked, Tony nodding to confirm the information he’d shared over the phone. Rhodey whistled lowly and blew out a breath, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s big stuff, man.”

“I know it’s big stuff!” Tony almost yelled, reining it back in at the unimpressed look the other man shot in his direction. “I just-I can’t let him. I can’t let him propose. But if I stop him beforehand, I’ll break his fucking heart and he’ll know I overheard him the other night. If I say no, that’d be even worse. If I say yes, I’m just prolonging the inevitable break-up.”

“Why would it be an inevitable break-up? Peter loves you. You’ve been together for four years, Tony. That’s plenty of time for someone to decide their relationship is or isn’t going to work and then act accordingly. Clearly he loves you a whole lot if he’s bought the ring and everything like you said.” Rhodey tried to keep any judgment out of his tone, wanting to understand and not aggravate his friend.

“Because that’s what I do!” Tony exclaimed, standing up so fast his chair rolled backwards across the lab floor. “I ruin relationships. It’s honestly a fucking miracle this has lasted this long, you saw how Pepper and I were before.” Rhodey didn’t disagree - Tony and Pepper had been a hot mess. “I ruin relationships, but I haven’t yet with Peter! So everything needs to just-just stay the same so that I can continue to not fuck it up. For once in my life.”

There was silence after that, Tony’s chest heaving as he breathed in heavily and tried to calm himself down. Rhodey stood from his chair as well, crossing the room to his best friend and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Tony almost seemed on the verge of tears, something he’d only seen a handful of times before.

“I don’t think you could ruin what you and Peter have,” Rhodey said, holding up a hand when Tony immediately opened his mouth to argue. “But if you’re that worried about it, tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Tony asked, and Rhodey took a second to think about how to phrase his next words. He thought Tony’s fears about ruining his and Peter’s relationships were uncalled for, but they didn’t come from nowhere. There was real fear there that needed to be addressed. Both men were so deeply engrossed in their own thoughts and their conversation that neither noticed the lab door easing open slightly and a head full of fluffy brown curls peeking in.

“Tell him you can’t,” Rhodey eventually suggested. “Just-tell him everything you told me. Talk it out with him. Tell him you’re not ready for marriage yet but that you still love him.”

“I’m not ever going to be ready.”

“Then tell him that, Tony. Tell him you can’t marry him. But tell him, not me.”

The two men jumped at the sound of the lab door slamming shut and swift footsteps running down the hall.

“Who was that?” Tony asked, thoroughly confused.

“It seems Mr. Parker is leaving the building in quite a hurry,” JARVIS spoke up. Tony’s entire chest filled with dread and the room was suddenly entirely too cold. Peter had heard. How much had he heard? Didn’t matter, he heard enough to just leave. He’d done it again, he’d ruined the one good thing he had left--

“I’ve ruined this already,” Tony wheezed, finding it difficult to breathe. Rhodey’s hands landed on his arms, his best friend coaching him through taking some deep breaths.

“You didn’t. We both made a pretty huge mistake, but we can fix it. Let’s go talk to him, we can explain.” Tony shook his head, placing his hand on Rhodey’s and removing it.

“No, I need to fix this. Thanks though.” He gave Rhodey a weak smile before rushing out the door, following JARVIS’ directions up to the penthouse.

-

“Peter!” He called out as the elevator doors opened. He heard shuffling in their bedroom and ran over to the doorway.

Peter was packing a bag. That feeling of dread in Tony's chest intensified as he took in the scene.

“What?” The younger man asked coldly, shoving clothing into his suitcase in a hurried manner that was so unlike him. Usually he treated his things with more care, folding each item carefully before placing it gently in Ben’s old suitcase.

“Just-stop packing, okay?” Tony walked over to where the suitcase rested on the bed and gently tried to block Peter from placing another shirt inside. Thanks to Peter’s ridiculously good reflexes, he was unsuccessful.

“Why? So I can keep listening to the bullshit you and Rhodey were spewing downstairs?” Peter asked, and Tony sighed as he continued to pack. Eventually, the billionaire just started taking the clothes back out of the suitcase, something Peter squawked at. For a few moments, there was just a flurry of movement as Tony took clothing out and Peter rushed to put it back in.

“Knock it off!” Peter cried out after a few moments, catching Tony’s wrists in his hands and holding them tightly.

“Then hear me out,” Tony said, trying to stay calm for them both. On the inside, though, he was terrified. And maybe a little turned on by Peter manhandling him like that--

Focus, Tony.

“Fine,” Peter practically growled as he released Tony’s wrists and took a step back from his suitcase. “Talk, then.”

“First of all, what you heard was taken wildly out of context,” Tony started, and Peter immediately scoffed and rolled his eyes. The younger man crossed his arms over his chest defensively, taking a few steps back from his boyfriend and fixing him with an incredulous look.

“Oh, so you weren’t talking about how much you don’t want to marry me? How you can’t?” He spat out, the words seemingly spearing directly through Tony’s heart.

“Peter-”

“Don’t Peter me. If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have just fucking said so!” Peter said, clearly distressed but trying to hold back tears. “No, but instead-instead, you strung me along for four goddamn years only to tell your friend that you can’t marry me instead of telling me! Do you not see how fucked up that is, Tony?! The second you overheard me you should have come to me instead of avoiding me like the plague! I thought I’d done something wrong, but I guess the only thing that I did wrong was loving you too much.”

“I-”

“No, I’m not finished,” Peter said, pointing at him. Something in his gaze, in the way he held himself in such a defensive way that he’d never been around Tony before, made the genius shut up. “Four years is plenty of time to tell me you don’t want to marry me. Plenty of time for you to let me go so we can both move on. Why didn’t you? What did you think was going to happen? That we were just going to stay boyfriends forever? Newsflash, Tony, in adult relationships there’s this thing called commitment.”

“I have been wholly committed to this relationship for four years, Parker,” Tony growled, more than a little bit of anger peeking through the fear at those words.

“Congratu-fucking-lations! You’re not acting like an adult though, are you? Committing to a relationship means commitment for the future, too! Not just right now.” Peter yelled - he was yelling now - and something inside Tony broke.

“I never said I didn’t want to marry you!” He yelled, and both of them fell into a shocked silence. Tony never raised his voice - not at Peter, anyway. Sure, they’d fought before, but Tony was usually calmer and when he did get angry he never yelled like that. They both took a few breaths before Tony ran his hands over his face and continued.

“I never said the problem was you,” he rephrased, voice softer now as he glanced down at the floor. “I’m the problem, Peter.”

“You’re the-”

“No, stop. Just let me talk.” Tony’s voice was exhausted, defeated even. He knew this was coming, despite Rhodey telling him otherwise. Despite hoping his days of setting relationships on fire and then watching them burn were over.

“Okay,” Peter agreed in an equally quiet tone. He felt slightly bad for screaming at Tony like that, but given what he’d overheard it had felt justified at the time. Now, after seeing his boyfriend look so utterly broken like this? He wasn’t so sure.

“This,” Tony gestured between them. “This is what I do. I cause problems. My relationships start out great and then inevitably I fuck it up somehow. A suit comes to protect me from a nightmare. I forget an anniversary because I’m too busy tinkering in the lab.” He finally met Peter’s eyes. “I take my fears of losing you to my best friend instead of to you, like I should have.” Something in Peter’s eyes softened slightly at that last admission, and Tony swallowed before continuing.

“Four years with you isn’t enough, Peter. Our whole lives won’t be enough. Of course I want to marry you. But I can’t. I can’t marry you because then when I fuck up and lose you then we’re both going to be in for a world of hurt. It’ll be easier if we just stay like this.” Peter took in a breath like he wanted to say something but Tony kept talking. “I’m not saying dating is going to make it so I never screw this up, but it’ll at least let me enjoy this a little longer. Enjoy you a little longer.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then another.

After a few moments, Peter walked up to Tony and gently took his hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over calloused knuckles.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered fondly, and Tony tried to jerk his hands out of Peter’s grip. His boyfriend was too fast, though, holding on steadily and continuing those soft touches.

“That’s not news,” Tony tried to joke, but his voice was weak.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Peter murmured.

“I just did! Almost. You were packing!”

“Because I thought my boyfriend didn’t want to marry me. I thought-” Peter broke off, taking in a shaky breath as tears came to his eyes. “I thought you wanted marriage, but not with me. Why would I stay and make us both go through a relationship where neither one of us is ever going to get what we really want?”

Tony could almost kiss his stupid, selfless boyfriend. Of course Peter fucking Parker would put his own heart into the line of fire to make sure Tony got what he really wanted.

“Now that I know that that’s not what you meant, I’m here to stay. Of course I’m here to stay. I love you, Tony.” Peter reached up and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s cheek, squeezing his hands lightly.

“So you understand why I can’t?” Tony asked, and Peter rolled his eyes. The action was more fond now than it was angry.

“No, I don’t. But we’re going to work on it. As long as what we both want most is each other, then we can work it out. I’m not going to let your fears get in the way of us.” Peter smiled sweetly up at Tony, who felt slightly dizzy. Peter wasn’t leaving him. They were going to be okay.

“I’ll work on it,” he promised, voice barely more than a whisper.

“We will,” Peter amended. Tony simply nodded before leaning down, capturing Peter’s lips in a fierce kiss. He finally pulled his hands free of that soft grip and wrapped them around the smaller man, tugging him into his chest and holding him close.

As they slowly broke apart, Tony barely held back a whine and tried to chase after Peter’s lips. His boyfriend just laughed, placing a gentle finger on Tony’s lips.

“Wanna help me get my clothes off the bed?” He asked, and the older man groaned at the thought of cleaning up.

“Do we have to?” He asked.

“Well, we can’t exactly have fantastic make-up sex if the bed is covered in all my clean clothes,” Peter pointed out, smirking as he mouthed along Tony’s neck before pulling away.

Tony, ever the genius, simply ripped the comforter off the bed and tossed it aside, revealing sheets with no clean clothing in the way.

“Fixed,” he crowed, picking Peter up and placing him on the bed. The laughter that rang out in their bedroom as he climbed on top of his boyfriend was something Tony knew he would cherish.

They had things to work through, that was for sure. But it was like Peter said. As long as they both wanted each other, Tony had a feeling they would figure it all out.

[v3nusaphr0d1t3]

doin’ that night thing

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: explicit warnings: sex so much sex. just so much horny afab reader, gender neutral. reader is not described.

it was only so long before you texted the number. it was natural curiosity! the number might be hawks’! you let it marinate in your head. the little paper he slipped into his tip to you when you two met at the club that had his phone number sat on the coffee table. you stared at it for a while, eventually just deciding to text him.

you: hey, this is ____

you still used your stage name, since you had decided that you’d trade your real name for his. he replied surprisingly quickly (it was later on in the evening on a sunday so you assumed he was off), with only a couple minutes of anxiously making your way through your carousel of social media before you heard your text tone.

XXX-XXX-XXXX: heyyy. it’s hawks, what u up to?

you would not admit that your stomach did a little flip. this was genuinely his number, or at least you prayed it was. you added him to your contacts. 

you: off day, so i been sittin around. wyd?

birdie: i had patrol today but i’m off the next two days, thank fuck.

you: thats good, bet its stressful as hell to do what u do.

birdie: you sayin that out of consideration or you sayin it to kiss my ass?

you genuinely laughed out loud. you didn't expect him to be upfront, and you had expected to stroke his ego if you wanted into his pants, but it didn’t look like it would turn out that way.

you’d find out soon enough.

---

he said he was off for the next two days, monday and tuesday. you worked evening shift on monday and got out by 11 PM, so you got an idea.

you: pick me up from the club tonight? 11:30?

birdie: is this what i think it is?

you: i don’t know birdie, you tell me

he didn’t reply to that. it made you a bit nervous, but you weren’t gonna fret. if he didn’t come, you could just take the subway. that’s how you got there most nights, just like tonight. the train ride was bustling in the late afternoon, most people just getting off of work and heading home. you instead got off at your stop to walk the few blocks to the club, work bag slung over your shoulder and knife in your hand. the sun was starting to go down and you didn’t play games. being quirkless in this society was an inconvenience at best and at worst you could end up dead.

you went in the back way, readying yourself for your shift and freshening up. you put on your outfit you has chosen for today, did makeup, fixed your hair the best you could, and hyped yourself as well as a few of your coworkers up. eventually it was time for your set. you took a deep breath like you always did, grabbed your wipe you all used to clean the poles between each set, and stepped out onto the stage. and when you looked up at your audience, you met a pair of warm yellow eyes.

---

when you got off, you took a quick shower in one of the bathrooms in the back. you tried not to shower at the club when you had the choice, but being sweaty and covered in other’s people’s germs when you took hawks back to your house wasn’t at the top of your list of things to do. you dried your hair well enough when you got out, putting on some cute underwear that you had packed (because you had planned this in advance). you put on a regular t-shirt and jeans, making your way with your bag to the front of the club to look for hawks. you had your hand in your pocket on your switchblade as you surveyed the street and parking lot with your back to the club wall. you knew he was here, or you were going crazy. you saw him.

so intent on searching for a familiar figure in the parking lot across the street, you didn’t notice someone coming from your side. and when the hand fell on your shoulder, you reacted immediately, pulling your knife out and flicking it out, holding it out and steeling yourself.

instead, it was the stupid fucking bird with his hands up and an amused grin on his face. he looked casual like he did when you first interacted, just considerably less tipsy and more excited.

“god, jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” you put your knife away, sighing. hawks let out a little chuckle.

“sorry, sorry, i just thought you were paying attention to ALL of your surroundings. or maybe, since you were looking for someone…?” he trailed off, and you wanted to knock him upside the head. but you didn’t.

“you seem intent on NOT getting head tonight.” you joked, striking a chord as he spluttered.

“was that on the table? i take it back, i take it ba—” you cut him off with a flick to the nose.

“shut up and take me home already.” you chuckled gently, looking around for some sort of vehicle. and then it hit you.

“you… you didn’t drive here, did you?” you asked, sighing yet again, this time in annoyance at yourself for not remembering that this man had wings.

“no. no i did not.” he almost looked ashamed, if it weren’t for the shit-eating grin that split his face.

“and i’m guessing that you’re not driving me home, is that right?” you asked, letting him take your hand and pull you into the alley?

“where are we going?” your question went unanswered as he pulled you further away from where the people were. it made you a bit nervous, but when he suddenly pulled in close and scooped you up like you weighed nothing, you were in no state to protest. and then he shot himself AND you into the sky.

“where do you live, by the way?” you heard over the howling of the wind.

“you ass! its—” and you gave him your apartment building. you found that he smelled nice, from close proximity, and you made the very smart decision to bury your head in the crook of his neck rather than looking at the very far away ground. 

he touched the ground again on the rooftop of your building, and when you were put down you immediately shoved him.

“warn me! jesus,” you were genuinely mad for about twenty seconds, before bursting into laughter and moving to grab his shirt collar, pulling him into your first shared kiss. it was sweet, and a bit too soft considering that this was a hookup. he reciprocated almost immediately, coming up to cup the back of your neck. he tasted sweet. it was nice.

you grabbed his wrist, pulling him along and wrenching open the door to the roof. you found your way out of the staircase to the elevator (your building had way too many floors for that mess) and pressed the ‘down’ button. you waited for only a few moments before the doors opened with a ding and you dragged hawks in with you. you pressed the button for your floor, and when the doors closed you were on each other again, pressing him back against the wall of the elevator as you licked your way into his mouth.

it wasn’t only the elevator that made your stomach jump. it was the fact that this was the first person you had brought home in a while, and the fact that he was a hot ass pro hero who looked at you like you were the hottest person ever. it set you on fire, made your skin sing and lit you up from the inside. it was like being on stage but ten times better.

eventually you broke away when the elevator doors opened, and you grabbed his hand to pull him along. you approached your door, fumbling with your keys and getting your door unlocked. and the moment you were inside, like the MOMENT, he had you pinned against the door. the speed was almost hilarious if not ridiculously hot. 

he brought your lips together only briefly before pulling away to trail little nips and kisses down your jaw and neck. 

“don’t give me any hickeys, it’s bad for business.”

“i’ll pay for your shit.” he said nearly immediately, and the look he gave you was goddamn predatory. 

“i— okay.” you could only agree, because it felt too nice and that gaze was gorgeous.

and with that, he sucked a dark mark high on your neck, going on to make more.

and suddenly, your earlier promise came to mind.

“didn’t i promise you head?” you say with a pant as he bit down on the junction between your neck and shoulder.

“you mentioned it.” his shit-eating grin from earlier returned. you playfully pushed him away and grabbed his hand to lead him to your bedroom. it was humble but comfy, with your bed in the center of the room and the window cracked, letting in the sound of night traffic. your floor was high enough off the ground to not have to worry about the people below hearing you. you didn’t have a headboard to your bed, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that noise either. but you hoped that you could perhaps make a noise issue with the man you pushed to sit on the edge of your bed as you suck to your knees.

you tugged at his belt, undoing it as he watched you with his intense gaze. you unbuttoned his jeans and pull his pants and boxers down, observing his half-hard cock. you spit in your hand, giggling to yourself and hearing a giggle above you that got choked out as you wrapped your hand around him. you pumped him and leaned forward to take the tip in your mouth, twirling your tongue around it as you teased the slit. you heard his intake of breath and subsequent sigh as you sunk your mouth further down.

it was sizeable, and thick too. it made you clench around nothing as you worked your way up and down his shaft, to the point where the head was hitting the back of your throat. you tucked your thumb into your fist and breathed through your nose, putting your faith in that stupid little trick you heard as rumor from your stupid friends. it surprisingly worked, or at least it placebo-ed itself quite well, because you only gagged when hawks rolled his hips upward into the heat of your throat.

you pulled away to take a breath, looking up and meeting his apologetic expression. it was annoying that you thought that little thrust was hot. you steeled yourself again and went back to it, so the next time he ground upwards, you were prepared. he let out a groan, reaching up from where his hands were stabilizing himself on the bed to instead rest on the back of your head.

“fast learner, huh?” his little quip made you roll your eyes, but apparently he took that the wrong way, because he took a ragged breath.

“roll your eyes back again, s’hot.” you would scoff if you could, but you instead took another one of his little thrusts into your throat. his little whines were enough fuel to let him keep doing this, using your mouth like it was made for this.

“damn, baby, you’re perfect—” his words were more likely to make you blush than his actual cock in your throat. suddenly, he grabbed your head and pulled you off. you looked up in confusion.

“don’t wanna cum yet,” he murmured with a breathy chuckle. there was that little glint in his eyes again. the one that zeroed in on you like you were the only thing on his mind, like you were the most important thing in the world. it was frankly a bit frightening. that little primal part of your brain didn’t like the gaze much. but your much larger brain thought it was fuckin’ hot.

“your turn, get on the bed.” he said, standing up and shuffling out from under you to remove the majority of his clothes. you did the same, peeling off your shirt and jeans to reveal the cute underwear you had chosen. he watched you, whistling when he saw you wearing one of your g-strings. 

“keep that on, wanna pull it off with my teeth.” he said, casually, as if that wasn’t enough to make you clench around absolutely nothing. you made your way onto the bed, sitting up as he joined you, pushing you down to prop yourself up on your elbows. he leaned down to make good on his promise, catching one of the strings over your hips with his teeth and pulling them down your legs, pulling it off all the way and throwing it aside. you laughed a bit, matching his chuckle.

“now, lemme get a look at you,” he grabbed your thighs and pulled your legs apart to gaze at your dripping cunt. he bit his lip, leaning down immediately and licking a stripe over your folds with a flat tongue. he moved to suck on your clit, eliciting a moan from you as you felt your nerve endings catch fire, tingling all the way down your legs and up into your core. he moved to rub his tongue over your hole, teasing but never fully giving.

“hawks! c’mon, god— feels so good,” you were talking just to fill the silence, little murmurs threaded into barely legible sentences. he pulls away from you and you whine. you barely get time to be mortified with yourself before he says something shocking.

“you can call me keigo. just don’t tell anyone that shit, okay? you sound too good and i really want to hear my name from your pretty little mouth.” 

“i— i’m ____,” you practically gape for a minute, before giving him your own name. that was your deal, his name for yours.

“pleased to meet’cha, _____.” he joked and once again you barely had time to react when he leaned down to continue eating you out, swirling his tongue around your clit as he reached up to stroke a finger down your folds. once it was sufficiently wet (kinda gross) he slipped it inside you without much resistance, curling upwards a few times and pulling it out to repeat the process but with two fingers.

“keigo, shit! god, that’s fuckin’ great—” you babbled, the constant stimulation to the most sensitive place making your brain hazy. your eyes were closed without your realization, and once you did open them, you looked down on a gorgeous sight.

his head eyes were fucking immaculate. his golden eyes looked up at you like he wanted to own you, like he already owned you. by god, you wanted that. you wanted it bad. you wanted to do whatever it took to have this man keep looking at you. this was its own type of performance, and you feared it would be addictive. you ate up his gaze, the warmth it brought, like it was the air you needed to survive. with a knock of his now three fingers against that sensitive place deep in your core, you gasped, throwing your head back and breaking his gaze.

he was out-doing you. no one was allowed to out-do you. you decided the stretch was enough, and agonizingly shifted away from his criminal tongue. he gave you a confused look, but you guided him to lay back toward the edge of the bed, up on his elbows so his large wings would hang comfortably off the edge, and began to crawl over him. the fact that your legs were quivering was not one that was mentioned aloud, but it was definitely felt. you helped him roll a condom on and you matched eyes yet again as your plush thighs straddled his hips, grinding against his cock that was laid against his stomach. your smirk was telling as you leaned down to capture his mouth in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. he was panting and flushed by the time you were done with him, leading down to leave playful nips on his neck and shoulders.

your grinding was incessant and reliefless, promising but never giving, and it was driving him mad. any time he would attempt to take the reigns, you would raise your hips, robbing him of any friction at all and making him whine. oh what a sound, it filled you with determination. you were going to put on a show, but you didn’t work for free. he would have to beg. but he was a stubborn ass and you’d have to work him up to it. he was already nearly there, gasping and breathless while his cock jumped against your heat. you held his wrists down so he couldn’t grab your hips, and you leaned down to look him in the eye with a shit-eating grin.

“you know what i want,” you said simply, your voice piercing and thick with lust.

“oh- oh really?” 

“what’s the magic word, keigo?” you asked, watching his pupils pin at the usage of his name. whether it be your tone, or the circular little grinds you were working with your hips, or your penetrating stare, something broke his pride.

“please— please, god, please, ____” his voice was whiney, as it made the simmering heat in your gut roar as you raised up off his cock and used your hand to position it, sinking back down and making a noise low in your throat. it took you a moment to adjust, with little cants of his hips smoothening the transition. but once you had accommodated to the stretch (and by god was there a stretch), you moved your hands to rest on his thighs and set to work. 

you raised yourself up and down, up and down, getting into a rhythm that left your thighs quaking and your core aching from the ceaseless abuse. it felt so fucking good. the sounds of skin slapping and both of your breathy noises filled the room, making you blush even more. the grinds he would meet you with when your hips came together nearly make you drool, mouth hanging open and panting quietly. once again, your eyes had closed by default, overwhelming pleasure making it hard to keep them open. 

but when he sat up, grabbing you by the waist and thrusting up hard into you, your eyes shot open to his gaze again, this time focusing on where his cock was disappearing into you over and over without stop. his wings were tensed, hiked up and spread, shaking slightly from the stimulation. the streetlamp poured light in from the window, casting a strange feathery silhouette all over your room. you gasped loudly as you felt your orgasm start to build up.

“please, god, keigo, don’t stop,” you moaned as he manhandled you to lay back on the bed and started plowing into you hard enough to make your mattress creak. you didn’t think you could ever fuck someone else like this. you couldn’t think at all, actually. you could feel yourself drooling like a dog, running down the corner of your mouth as you choked on air. his hands on your hips were like fire, and you were hot, hot, hot. you burned up under his gaze, under him. you could feel the pressure building, building, building— until you gushed all over his cock. and your sheets, for that matter. the feeling was insane and you were not mentally there enough to think of the consequences. your orgasm rolled over you right after that, hitting you like a train and making you clench down hard enough to trigger a chain reaction. you felt a warm blossom in your cunt as he shot into the condom, groaning roughly a mangled version of your name.

he slowed his momentum to small little grinds until you whined from overstimulation, belittled to noises and half-words. he pulled out and tied off the condom, dropping it into the trash by your bed and laying down next to you to catch his breath. you did the same, eventually catching the rest of your mind as well.

“that was probably the best sex i’ve had in my entire life, no lie.” you chuckled, voice still cracked and airy.

“we’re gonna have to change your sheets.” you looked down to see a soaked blanket beneath you and sigh in slight annoyance and embarrassment.

“i honestly didn’t know i could squirt. i’ve never done it before.” your chuckled elevated to a laugh, and he let out a bark of a laugh along with you.

“well, thanks for the prize money. now hop up, i’ll help you with laundry.”

[babbushka]

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences 

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :) 

Available on AO3

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine. 

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway. 

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.” Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat  conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.  

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

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

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target. 

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

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

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”  

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

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

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.  

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!”                                                  ---------------------

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

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl​ @loverofallthings​