#note: i trimmed off some parts where he talked about other topics

[ysphcpb-ii]

Singto's Starlympics plans ⊹ . ݁˖ ˚ ݁₊⋆ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[marvelyningreen]

Andante

[Peter Maximoff x reader (X-Men: Apocalypse)

Summary: When an injury brings Peter’s superhuman speed to a screeching halt, you figure he could use some company and cheering up.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: could be interpreted as romantic or platonic, if that’s more your speed]

           You hurry in from the rain, pausing just long enough to shake off your umbrella on the doorstep before closing the door behind you. You take a moment to wipe your shoes on the mat in an attempt to keep them from squeaking in the tiled halls of the mansion.

           The floorplan of this rebuilt version is practically identical to the original. The design and decor are much the same, too. Still… You feel a bit like a stranger, or maybe the mansion itself does.

           With everything else that’d happened, you hadn’t really had a chance to process your own experience that day. One second, you were trimming the hedges by the mansion’s front steps. The next, you were a hundred yards away, surrounded by the students and staff, and the mansion was exploding, and suddenly there in your midst was your childhood best friend – Peter Maximoff, all grown up.

           It’s funny how someone you knew for such a short time could’ve made such an impact on you. Really, you and Peter only knew each other for two years. It baffled the teachers how a quiet goody-two-shoes like you could be thick as thieves with resident mischief-maker Peter Maximoff, but you were practically inseparable. Perhaps it was partly due to some truth in the old saying about opposites attracting. But there was more to it than that. You and Peter shared a secret.

           Your sporadic telekinesis had nothing on Peter’s incredible speed, but he never seemed to mind. You were both just so happy to finally have someone who understood, who you didn’t have to hide from. Those two years were some of the best of your life.

           And years passed, and you grew up. You kept your abilities hidden, but you kept the memory of Peter with you. You’d think of him often, hoping that he was doing well, wherever he was. You never expected to see him again.

           Lost in thought, Hank hurries around a corner and nearly bowls you over. You both apologize to each other, laughing, and continue on your respective ways.

           It feels strange being back here after… Well, after everything. Everyone is doing their best to settle back into a routine, but it isn’t quite working yet. Maybe it won’t ever feel the same.

           The students either converse too loudly or are oddly subdued, with very little in between. Scott Summers’ group of close friends is never far from his side, and the faculty likewise seem to hover around the professor. It’s difficult not to dwell on how bad things had gotten, and how much worse everything could’ve been.

           And if it’s difficult for you, you can only imagine how it must be for the person you’re here to see. You pause to knock politely at his door, and the voice that answers sounds oddly terse.

           “You can come in.”

           You slip into the room to find Peter scowling morosely out the window. He’s still laid up in bed, his broken leg in a cast and propped up on a pillow. He’s got a wicked case of bedhead, and there are dark rings under his eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so tired.

           There’s an odd sound you can’t quite place – like the low hum of a fan or the purring of a cat – and you realize that it’s just Peter drumming his fingers restlessly on his nightstand at impossible speeds. He turns his head, and when he sees that it’s you walking through the door, his expression shifts into one of relief.

           “Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought it was somebody coming to make sure I’m still “resting.” C’mere! Have a seat!”

           You grab a nearby chair and drag it closer to his bedside. You hate to see Peter cooped up and frustrated like this, but it’s good to see him, period. You don’t like to think about what could’ve happened to him in Cairo.

           When you look back up at Peter, his hair is smoothed down neatly. You snort involuntarily. If he's feeling well enough to be vain, it must be a good sign.

           “How are you holding up?” you ask.

           Peter slumps against his stack of pillows and groans dramatically, letting his head fall back.

           “I’m bored out of my mind. Do you know that they’re not letting me walk for a week? A whole week! Something about a risk of my leg not healing right if I move too fast on it. I said I’d walk like a normal person, but they apparently don’t trust me. Can you believe that? Don’t answer that. So I asked them just to drug me, knock me out for the rest of the week so I can get it over with, but they won’t do that either. This blows.”

           It’s hard not to smile, but it’s just so good to hear his voice. And, damn, people say you talk too fast. You’d forgotten that Peter was the true motor-mouth. Maybe he’s where you picked it up from. Though he still looks annoyed, Peter seems a little more relaxed after all that. Apparently he needed someone to vent to.

           He rolls his head to one side to look at you, and his brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”

           “I look tired?” you say, “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

           “I haven’t, actually, because the mirror’s all the way over there, and I’m stuck in bed. You wouldn’t guess that having to sit alone with your own thoughts would wear you out, but apparently it does.”

           You’d had a feeling that the broken leg isn’t all that’s weighing on his mind. There’s still the whole Magneto business.

           You almost ask him about it, but you think better of it. Peter’s got a lot to mull over on that front. If he wants to talk about it, you’ll be there to listen, but you don’t want to bring it up when he doesn’t have any way to exit the conversation if he needed to. You decide to change the topic slightly.

           “Listen,” you say, “I never got a chance to thank you. You saved my life. You saved so many people. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t turned up at the mansion when you did.”

           Peter ducks his head a bit as he smiles, probably pleased to get a little recognition. There hadn’t been much time for gratitude in the moment. There hadn’t been much time for anything, really. And there certainly hadn’t been time to reconnect.

          You’d chased after Scott and his friends into the wreckage, trying to make sure none of them got hurt, and then things went from bad to worse. Suddenly, you found yourself tagging along with these immensely powerful teenagers on a fly-by-night rescue mission. It’s a good thing you did, too. Who else was gonna fly that getaway plane?

           Your own mutant abilities had never been particularly strong, not in a combat sense. You’d learned to be a pilot in an effort to make yourself useful. You just hadn’t expected it to pay off in a situation like that.

           “What can I say? Right time, right place… Right speed.” Peter’s grin turns rueful as he glances down at his busted leg. “I mean, by all rights, I should be thanking you, too.”

           You’d been trying not to dwell on that whole experience. It makes you feel a little sick to remember seeing that familiar silver streak darting around while Apocalypse was tossed in the air like a ragdoll, and then feeling the hope choked out of you as you heard Peter scream in pain.

           You don’t know how you managed to scramble down out of that second story ruin after Hank and Scott without hurting yourself any worse, but you did. You tried to shake it from your mind – the feeling of shrapnel and energy battering the telekinetic field you’d struggled to maintain around Peter and Mystique.

           You clear your throat, as though that’ll somehow clear out the memory as well. “Yeah… I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of until it’s literally do-or-die.”

           “I don’t just mean Cairo.” Peter shakes his head. “Well, that, too. But I don’t just mean that. I mean when we were kids. You always had my back.”

           Just before middle school, Peter’s family had moved away. You weren’t quite sure why, but it seemed like something had happened and Peter wouldn’t talk about it. He spent his entire last week in town with you, and on the very last day he hugged you tightly and promised that he’d come back and visit if he could.

           You never heard from him again.

           It was only years later that you’d put the pieces together – the Maximoffs’ sudden move, the well-dressed men turning up at the school and asking strange questions. Peter must’ve gotten caught using his powers, and his mother packed up the whole family and fled to protect him.

          “For weeks, months after we moved away, Mom was so scared. She wouldn’t let me out of the house. She thought that, any second, somebody was gonna show up and… I dunno, take me away, I guess. But I wasn’t worried. I was a cocky little shit, y’know?���

           You snort. “‘Was?’ Pretty sure that part of your personality hasn’t changed.”

           Peter laughs, but it fades quickly.

           “I heard that people came to our old school looking for me. And, hey, they never found me and Mom, so I figured you must’ve covered for me.”

           If there was one thing you were grateful to your younger self for, it was your instinctive distrust of these suspicious strangers.

           “I didn’t tell them anything,” you say, and Peter nods.

           “I knew you wouldn’t. But this one day, something hit me. What if they found out that you were a mutant, too?” Peter shakes his head, biting his lip. “I was terrified. I thought they were gonna find you, and… and I don’t know what I thought they’d do to you.”

           You feel cold all of a sudden. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. You’d been so focused on trying to keep Peter safe that you never once considered that you might be in danger, yourself. All those news articles about what Bolivar Trask had been up to ten years ago come flooding into your mind. You brush them aside and focus on what Peter’s saying now.

           “I wanted to run back there, make sure you were alright; maybe – I don’t know – take you with me and run away so we’d both be safe. I actually bought one of those AM radios, if you can believe it. Every night, I’d use the skip to listen to the news back there. I never heard anything about you, so I had to make myself believe it meant that you were okay. Otherwise I would’ve gone crazy, y’know?”

           He laughs again, but it sounds a little shaky.

           “Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. The air in the room feels sorta heavy now. Damn it, you’d come here to cheer Peter up, and it’s about time you get to it. You change topics with all the grace of a sledgehammer. “Speaking of none of this, I brought you something.”

           Peter immediately perks up. You rummage in your backpack and pull out a box of Nutty Buddy bars.

           “I remember these where your favorite when we were kids. I didn’t know if you still liked them, so I brought some Star Crunch, too. But you don’t have to-”

           Peter seems to blur for a moment, and suddenly both boxes are torn open and several wrappers are arcing their way into the trash can. Peter lets out a satisfied sigh. You might’ve remembered his favorites, but you’d forgotten his habit of absolutely inhaling them.

           “Okay, I guess I shouldn’t have worried,” you say.

           “What else you got in that bag?” Peter asks. “It can’t all be snack cakes. Unless it is…?”

           He’s joking, but you can tell he wouldn’t be disappointed if the answer was yes. You heft your heavily-loaded backpack onto the edge of the bed.

           “I figured you’d be bored, so I brought some books over in case you… What?”

           Peter never had a great poker face. You can tell that he’s definitely trying to smile, but that expression is a pained grimace. He laughs ruefully.

           “I might not be able to walk, but my hands still work. And my eyes. Did you know I can read a whole bookshelf in two hours?”

           “Oh…”

           You hadn’t thought of that. You look down, crestfallen. Of course, if something can be done at speed, that’s how Peter will do it. So that rules out all the other usual time-killers – crosswords or jigsaw puzzles or craft projects.

           But you remember Peter enjoying some things that can’t be sped through – live music being the main one. You start to wonder about the logistics of sneaking Peter out to take him to a concert or a play or something, but that’d be difficult to pull off without the professor catching you. Hmm…

           Peter’s brow furrows for a second, and then his expression brightens.

           “Hey, why don’t you read them to me?”

           You blink in surprise. “What, me?”

           “Yeah, you. Who else?”

           At this prospect, you’re suddenly rethinking everything. For all Peter might call himself a loser, you’d always seen him as infinitely cooler than yourself.

           “I don’t know. These are some of my own books, and I don’t know if you’ll actually like any of them.” You can feel yourself blushing preemptively, certain he’ll judge your taste in literature. “Maybe if I run to the library instead-”

           “No, don’t go!” Peter interrupts. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and I’m sick of being alone. Come on, read me your nerd books. Please?”

           He turns those big, pretty, puppy-dog eyes on you, and it’d be almost impossible to say no, even if you wanted to. Which you don’t. You sigh, smiling at him.

           “Alright, you win,” you say, “But you have to at least pick which one.”

           His face brightens into a full thousand-watt grin. “Done!”

           Peter blurs once more as he shuffles through your selection of books. Then suddenly he’s still again, tilting his head as he studies a stout little paperback.

           “Hey, didn’t they make a movie out of this?”

           He tosses it to you and settles back against the pillows, watching you expectantly. You pull up your legs to sit cross-legged on the chair and take a deep breath. Here goes.

           “‘Carl Conrad Coreander – Old Books.’ This inscription could be seen on the glass door of a small shop…”

           You read on, interrupted only by the odd quip or question from Peter. You hardly mind his commentary. You’re just happy that the story seems to be entertaining him. He’s a far cry from the agitated ball of nerves he’d been when you walked in.

           You glance over at the clock and see that two hours have gone by. You wonder if Peter would mind you taking a quick intermission to give your voice a break. But as you turn to ask him, you fall silent.

           Peter’s head is lolled back on the pillows, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths – sound asleep.

           You smile fondly at him. Poor guy. He really must’ve been exhausted.

Telekinetically, you switch off the lamp. The atmosphere in the room softens to the grey light filtering in from the rainy day outside. There. That’s more conducive to sleeping.

           You make note of the page you’d left off on and close the book, picking up your copy of Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Moving as carefully and quietly as you can to keep from waking Peter, you make your way over to a more comfortable spot on the window seat.

           You’d hate for Peter to think you’d run out on him after he fell asleep. You’ll stick around. And if he needs anything when he wakes up, you’ll be here. That’s what old friends are for.

[tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar]

Pass the Time

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader.

Summary: You feel like you spend more time outside of you dorm and so does your neighbor. Why? Both of your roommates are hooking up.

Word Count: 1,548.

Note: It took me longer than it should've to write this since Tumblr was keep messing up so please don't let this flop ( I reached my breaking point with trying but I still like it) and tell me what you think :) I hope you love it! Thank you @snkkat for posting the photo and inspiring me to write this!

Hey," your roommate, Jazmyn, speaks softly from her side of the dorm to see if you are still awake or not. You hum in response, not looking away from the episode of your newest favorite Netflix original TV show- the reason why you are not studying right now- Outer Banks. Jazmyn moves to sit upright on her bunk bed and swings her feet back and forth and gives you puppy eyes, "Can I ask for a favor?"

Knowing what she will ask, for not the first nor late time, you say, "I'm not moving, Jaz."

She jumps off and walks over to you and must go on her tippy toes to learn against your mattress. It is a fail on her part when she tries to grab your throw blanket off of you since you're wrapped in it.

You sing, "told y'all" in a teasing tone and Jaz response is a weak, "shut up."

"Why can't you just go over? I'm comfortable right here in my dorm."

Ignoring your point of view, she easily lies as she says, "I swear it won't be long."

"Really? Two nights ago, Andrew said the same thing to Drew before you went over there for three fucking hours!" Before she can try to deny it, you hold up your hand to add, "I actually mean fucking for three hours."

You roll your eyes as she blushes and gets lost in dream land that is made of all the sex, she and your next-door dorm neighbor, Andrew, have.

Which is a lot.

You knew that going to a University there would be a huge chance to live crazy college stories that one day will blow your kids' minds whenever they accidentally find one out. Getting locked out of your dorm on a weekly basis so your roommate can hookup? That is not one of them, it is annoying as hell.

The first time you got locked out was just last month, three months in your freshman year. After taking two tests in one day, you just wanted to go in a nap coma for the rest of the year. Since the elevator in your building did not get fixed yet, you had to drag yourself up to the firth floor. You could not help to wish the sock on your dorm knob was just a part of your imagination. But it was not. From the noises you could hear from the other side of the locked door, Jazmyn had someone over. You jumped and cursed when the door next to you opened and an extremely attractive and tired boy smiled at you as he tried to fix his bed hair. He noticed the sock and grabbed it to throw it over his shoulder, inside of his dorm. "I was wondering where Andrew went." He holds out his hand and as you shake hands, he told you his name and you told him yours. You agreed that you did need coffee, so you two left the hallway to grab some.

“You know, it’s weird that we are finally meeting.”

You looked over your shoulder and silently wished Jazmyn would open the door so could lay down, “We’ll probably see each other more in the hallway if they keep this up.”

A week after you talked with Drew over two refills of coffee for who knows how many hours, he saw you walking up the stairs after your last class of the day. He kicked himself off the floor to learn against your door.

"Are they...?"

He nodded in response and told you that he does not know how long, or how much longer. He followed you into your dorm after you slightly pushed him away to unlock it.

"I was planning on doing something with Jaz tonight but since you're here instead... have you ever done a face mask?"

He wiggled his eyebrows and used a husky manly tone to ask, “Sexually?"

His laugh echoed after you throw one of your pillows at him.

The third time was a couple of hours later and Drew agreed to go as far away as possible. You two went through a drive through before going to a park to eat in comfortable silence until he tried to be sneaky to grab some of your food. A small food happened before you two acted like big children on the swings, trying to see who could go up the highest. Since he is so tall, it was easy for him to do the monkey bars.

Now what was supposed to be a relaxing and do-nothing day, you let out a fake cough. “You can’t let Andrew come in here, I’m sick.”

“I’m sure Drew would be willing to take care of you.”

“I hate you.” You mutter as you get up to put your shoes on. You try not to think about how he told you he wants to make you his famous homemade chicken casserole soon since you’re been stressed with all of your school work, working part time and being home sick.

“You love me! Have fun whenever you guys do this time to pass the time.” She winks at you as you slam the door closed behind you. You stop knocking on Drew’s door with your blanket still wrapped around you and carrying your laptop when his voice comes the end of the hall, “fancy seeing you here.”

He knows your smile is half fake so he nervously asks, "You can come over if you want? I can let you in before heading to the showers."

 Andrew comes from the end of the hall, looking like he ran up the stairs while holding a plastic bag from the nearest gas station. You can see Jazmyn’s favorite candy and a box of condoms. Classy. You do not think twice before reaching into Drews maroon gym shorts to grab his keys while they have silent conversation. You miss how much his eyes widen for leaving them both in the hallway.

“I swear to God I’ll give up on being your wingman and move out if you do not make your move.”

Drew pushes Andrew out of the doorway and glances over at you to make sure you are not listening. “You are not my wingman!”

“Yes, I am! I am giving you two alone time as I have sex! It’s a win-win for everyone!” Andrew pushes him inside, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

From his bed, Drew hears the confusing in your voice when you say, “it’s only one am?”

“I stopped listening to what he says a long time ago.” Drew states as he can hear Andrew’s and his own voice in head saying, “she’s on your bed” repeating.

You mutter, “same” for trying to do the same thing with Jazmyn.

Over the trim of your laptop, you watch Drew stand in front of you and starts taking off his gray and black long sleeve hoodie in slow motion.

"Oh my god."

"What?" He asks, amused.

"What?" You ask, embarrassed.

“Take a picture, it would last longer.” He teases, sitting next to you. You shove your elbow in his ribcage, “Shut up!”

You should not be surprised when he teases, “make me.” But your skin gets covered with goosebumps.

“Okay, last time we hangout it was two, three nights ago?” You try to change the topic, “I just remember that I beat your ass at Family Feud. Wanna play that again?"

Drew lets out a breathless, “no” as he puts both of his arms around you, his hands resting against the wall. “Let’s play a new game.”

He grins ear to ear when he feels you take a big breath in, the air faming the side of his face. “Let’s see who can the be the loudest, them or us.”

You look at him like he grew a second head when he starts hitting the wall and making grunt noises.

“You want to make it seem like we are having fake sex?”

He laughs, mostly to himself, “It’s not like you are taking me out of my misery and-“

You cut him off by pulling his hands off the wall to put them on both sides of your waist as you to help you saddle his lap. As you trace the outline of his abs, you cannot help to lick the rest the way up until he puts one of his hands under your chin to pull your face upwards to his. Both of you do not know who kisses who first.

When you need to catch a breath, you mutter, “what?” since his smile makes you smile too. “I want to take you on a date and stop using our roommate sex lives as an excuse to hangout.”

“Okay.” You feel like you are on cloud nine when his smile becomes even bigger. “When?”

“We got time to figure that out. For now…” He gives you a quick kiss before setting you to lay on the bed so he can get up.

You watch him grab a sock before opening the door wide enough to put it on the doorknob. “I want to keep on doing what you started.”

He runs his way back to his bed to tackle you while you have your arms wide open.

─────

Tagging the people who reblogged or comment on the post about which college AU to write first:

@ilovejjmaybank @softstarkey @pixelated-pogues @everydayimfangirling @maaybanks @scandalousfemale @thelocalpogue @sunnypogue @sortagaysortahigh @tembo-ndoto @arthiriticcricket @jjsbxtch @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @rudysrings @ptersparkers @obx-saltlife @ssjiara @drewsephsmiles @obbx-tings @jjmaybanksbaby @jjaybank @mahleeyuh @jjcultmain @tcmhollnd @teamnick 

The college AU for Rudy will hopefully be posted tomorrow!

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: This was a request by @fiiiinewine . Mentions of charector death for Hogwarts Mystery and canon. It’s a little angsty, but overall it’s pretty good. Takes place maybe 1-3 years after the seventh book. Hope you like it!

- Molly wraps you up in a warm hug the second she opens the door.

- “Mum I’m here too.” Charlie adds, and she just shushes him.

- She pats him on the shoulder before leading you both inside. The house is completely spotless. Which you don’t doubt is because Molly’s been tirelessly cleaning.

- “Anything to eat dear? Must have been a long journey.”

- And before you can even answer she grabs both of your arms and gives a tender squeeze.

- “Thin as bones,” she mutters. “What are they feeding you in Romania? Broth?”

- “I mean, yeah, there’s always soup.”

- And she clicks her tongue.

- “Soup isn’t proper food dear, it isn’t even proper food before a meal.”

- You laugh and assure her that you’re eating enough and everything is fine.

- “What about me Mum, I eat the same things as (Y/N) does.” Charlie mocks hurt at the lack of attention.

- Molly just rolls her eyes.

- “You’ll be fine, you and Bill once “went camping” with pack of biscuits for a week and came back even plumper then you were when you left.”

- Charlie just rolls his eyes and takes your bags up the stairs. And you go with Molly to the kitchen.

- “Molly do you need help with anything?” Long have the days gone where you call her Mrs. Weasley and she tells you “Call me Molly!”

- “Oh please, call me Mom, you and Charlie have been together long enough.” She says with a wave of her hand and you almost laugh. Somethings don’t change.

- You stand beside her in the small kitchen measuring ingredients for for cookies.

- “So when are you and Charlie thinking of giving me some grandchildren?” She’ll ask, and you stutter to a stop, nearly dropping the measuring cup as you do.

- “I-I think you should ask Bill and Fleur that first shouldn’t you?”

- “Just because he’s the oldest?” She asks, a corner of her mouth quirking up.

- “Well, also because they’re married.” And she scoffs.

- “It’s the 21st century (Y/N), marriage doesn’t mean what it used to.” She shrugs, taking the measuring cup full of flour you’ve extended towards her.

- You never thought that Molly Weasley would have such progressive views. She’s been a fairly traditional homemaker and housewife for much of her adult life.

- “Besides Bill has shifted back to Egypt to work on his curses, not a stable environment for a child right now.” You smile, also too far away for Molly to go visit everyday.

- “Well you’ve always got Percy.” You day with a chuckle, earning a scoff from her.

- “With the formality between those two it’ll be years before I even see them hold hands, let alone a baby.”

- And you both laugh at that.

- Before she can talk more about marriage or babies or any other topic you are completely unprepared for, Charlie comes bumbling through the door.

- “Making cookies?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, pulling out a spoon from the drawer before dipping it into the mixing bowl.

- “Without me? Your beloved son who loves baking more than anything in the world?” He smirks as his mother hits him with a wooden spoon lightly, taking a bite of raw sugar cookie dough.

- “What can I do, you love helping so much you always polish it off before I can even bake it.” Her words are stern, but you can see the cheerful twinkle in her eyes.

- She hits him again with the spoon and he laughs.

- “Well I’ll have to take over for (Y/N), Dad’s outside ecstatic that they’re here.”

- You nod, a grin spreading across your face. You’ve been expecting to talk to him about muggles ever since you arrived.

- You pull of your apron, and hand it to Charlie, exchanging a warm look as you do.

- You vaguely hear: “It’s like they’re already part of the family” and you feel a smile spread across your face.

- Arthur is in the living room, scanning a newspaper. And he smiles wide when he see’s you.

- He stands and envelops you in a warm hug, and you note how he smells like old books and honeysuckle.

- “So good to see you, how’ve you been?”

- And you tell him that you’re doing well. That life in Romania is good, that Charlie seems happy. And he smiles.

- “So when are you two planning on getting married.” And you practically choke on your tea.

- “You know your wife just asked me a similar question in the kitchen.” You laugh, but feel a hear creeping up your neck.

- “Oh she’s my wife and no one to you?” He jokes. “That’s your future mother-in- law you know.”

- You can’t help but laugh.

- Charlie’s in the kitchen, rolling the cookie dough out, sprinkling some more flour on top.

- “Are we the first ones here?” He asks, and Molly nods.

- “Ginny, Harry and George will be here tonight, Ron and Percy will be here tomorrow.” She waves her wand, and the rolling pin begins to move on his own.

- “Spent too long in Romania, you’ve forgotten you can use magic.” She chuckles, and Charlie laughs as well as he blushes.

- “(Y/N) always does it by hand so I didn’t realize.” He murmurs, and Molly smiles.

- Charlie’s freckled face is practically glowing red, his dark red hair cut clean, his beard well trimmed. He looks good.

- “You know, (Y/N) would make someone a fine (Daughter/Son) in law.” And Charlie has to stifle the urge to roll his eyes.

- “They don’t want to get married yet Mum.” He mumbles, grabbing a cookie cutter to press shapes into the dough.

- Molly Weasley’s mouth purses into a long straight line.

- “They don’t want to get married yet, or you don’t?” It’s a pointed question, but her tone is soft.

- A long moment of silence falls between them.

- “They feel strange getting married without Jacob or their parents being there.” Charlie finally breaks the silence.

- “And I feel strange getting married without Fred being there too.” This part leaves much softer, and Molly’s mouth begins to relax into small smile.

- “I suppose I should just be glad Bill had the common sense to get married before.” And Charlie almost scoffs.

- “Is that what we’re calling it? Because at the time I remember seeing you tangled in Christmas lights, muttering “the things you do for love””

- Molly lightly shoves her son and they both laugh.

- When the others arrive is when the fun really starts.

- Warm hugs are passed all around.

- Ginny practically squeals when she see’s you.

- “You’ve gotten so thin! And your hair is so shiny!” She looks at you with wide eyes, expecting to divulge all your secrets but you just shrug.

- “Air in Romania is very clean.” Is the best you can offer.

- Harry offers a polite hug, and George practically wrestles you into a headlock with his bear hug.

- “I’ve got some Products I need your advice on!” He says with a big grin, and you smile back.

- “We’ll stay up after they’ve all gone to bed” You nod.

- There’s hot cocoa, and games of wizard chess, jokes and laughter.

- And you smile when Charlie grabs your hand and gives a tight squeeze.

- You and Charlie are split up when the sleeping arrangements are being made. He’s taken away by a grumbling George, who’s wrapped his arms around his shoulders

- “(Y/N) would be better but you’ll have to test out some new products I’m working on.”

- You and Ginny share her room, sleeping side by side on the bed.

- “Are you and Charlie ever going to get married?” She asks, and you can’t help but let out a groan.

- “Oh not you too!”

- She props up on an elbow

- “It’s a serious question you know, how long have you been dating anyway?”

- And you have to use your fingers to count the years.

- “Hmm eight? No maybe nine.” And Ginny huffs

- “Don’t you think that’s long enough?”

- You sigh, Ginny’s so much younger then you. She may not understand.

- “Well for a few years we were long distance you know.” You tell her, through the dark room you can make out one of her bright red eyebrows raised.

- You sigh again. Might as well be honest.

- “For a while we actually were thinking about it.” You admit, and even through the dark you can see her perk up. “But then-“ you have to still your breath.

- “But then Jacob passed away,” you finally manage, and the words don’t hurt like they used to. “And then my parents,” And this doesn’t seem to hurt as much either. “And then Fred.” You whisper. This one, this wound is still fresh. And you know it’s fresh for her too.

- She doesn’t say anything back.

- Her hand tangles in your own and gives it a firm squeeze.

- The silence is only broken when she says:

- “So no nieces or nephews either then? You don’t need to be married to have kids you know.”

- They really are family

- You just roll your eyes.

- “Maybe we’ll bring home a dragon or something. Molly can knit it a sweater and everything.”

- The next day starts late and lazy, all gathered around the table having a simple breakfast of toast and fruit, glasses of juice and coffee traded along the table.

- You practically run towards him when Bill comes home.

- “You smell like a tomb.” You tel him and he grins.

- “Better than when we were in the cursed vaults at least.” He grins back.

- Fleur kisses both your cheeks and you giggle.

- “‘Ow ‘as Romania been?” She asks, squeezing your arms. “You ‘ave lost weight, yes?”

- Everyone in this family,

- you suppress a giggle as she moves to Charlie. His perplexed expression as she kisses each of his cheeks as well.

- “You know Bill, I still don’t get how you pulled that one off.”

- “Neither do I.” He admits.

- Percy arrives last with Ron, and gives you an awkward hug. Ron giving you a slightly warmer hug, blushing and asking you about the cursed vaults.

- You all stay up until midnight, reminiscing about your days at school. Sharing mugs of tea and cocoa, smiling and joking.

- You exchange gifts at midnight. You get another sweater from Molly, but you don’t miss the way she snatches the significantly smaller sweater she knitted with “W” on it, out of the bag before you notice.

- You give Arthur a stack of muggle encyclopedias , and a warm coat from Romania

- George gives you a bag full of candy and several “Weasley’s Fire Crackers”

- You give him a bag full of Romanian prank shop goods.

- “Hey Charlie what does this say?”

- “I donno mate, but if you use it you’ll find out yeah?”

- You give Ginny a chic overcoat she can wear for colder days on the quidditch pitch.

- “How come this says it’s from you and Charlie?” She asks, and you shrug.

- “Charlie just put his name on it after you got it didn’t he?”

- “Yeah, pretty much.”

- You give Percy a first edition copy of his favorite book, and almost smile when you see his expression. He almost reminds you of the boy you knew in school.

- Ron gets a quidditch jersey, and you give Harry an enchanted pen.

- “A pen?” He asks, he’s not complaining. It’s a nice pen, he’s gotten quite tired of the quills these days.

- “An enchanted pen, you need a strand of hair from someone. And wherever you write on your body, will show up in the same spot on them.”

- “So you know, if you and Ginny are ever apart, you can always send her a message.”

- You did it more for Ginny then for him really. You remember the thrill you felt when you first saw Charlie’s chicken scratch handwriting on your arm after being apart for months.

- Bill gives you an enchanted mirror from Egypt, so you can see whatever it is you want to look at.

- “Let’s be honest Bill, this is really more for Charlie so he can look at the Dragons in the middle of the night without waking me.”

- “It’s for you too, now you won’t have to get up and go with him”

- Fleur give you French perfume and hand cream.

- “Something you ‘vil actually use.”

- You laugh and smile, and grin as you exchange gifts and try them on. Tease each other and blow up fireworks in the backyard.

- It’s only at three in the morning, when everyone else is snug in bed, that you tip toe out of bed. Careful not to wake Ginny.

- Charlie’s already waiting for you downstairs, his eyes bloodshot as he takes a sip of Father’s fire whisky.

- “How is it, that even though we are in the same house, I feel like I’ve seen you for about thirty minutes in the past two days.” He mumbles, his face in your hair, letting out a deep sigh as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

- You settle beside him, your head on his shoulder.

- “Maybe I’d spend more time with you if you actually got me a Christmas present.” You smile teasingly as you rest your chin on his chest, gazing up to look at him.

- You feel his hand tangle with yours, his hands playing with your fingers.

- “I thought you said no gifts this year?” He grins back teasingly, but his eyes are focused on your hand.

- “Well we kinda broke the bank with everyone else’s.” You chuckle, and take a deep breath, taking in his scent.

- Even after all these years he still smells like honeysuckle and grass. He smells like home.

- You shut your eyes, taking in his scent and his warmth. Nearly humming in pleasure. When you feel something cold and hard touch the tip of your ring finger.

- Your eyes open, as you feel it slide down to the base of you finger, where your finger and palm meet.

- you glance down to see a rather remarkable diamond ring sparkling on your finger.

- Charlie holds you close, one arm around your shoulders, while the other hand rests over yours.

- “So what do you say? I feel like we’ve been married for a while now really, why don’t we make it official.”

- You just smile.

[flowerfan2]

A Wonderful Christmastime

Klaine, 1600 words, A03.

Summary:   Sometimes being up in the middle of the night together is an act of love.  A moment of holiday peace for Kurt and Blaine.

Note:  This fic incorporates the first seven words of Klaine Advent 2020 (abashed (a classic fic word if ever there was one), brake, careless, dispensable, event, farm, and gray).  It also marks my sixth (non-consecutive) year of writing for Klaine Advent.

The inspiration for the story came from a conversation with @mildly-allergic-to-life  and is a gift for her - I hope you like it!   Thanks also to my wonderful beta,    @perryavenue.

********

Blaine snuggles deeper into the blankets and turns over, reaching out to pull Kurt against him – it’s chilly on this December night, and he knows Kurt’s feet will be cold, but he doesn’t mind.  Sadly, his hand flops onto their soft flannel sheets without finding his husband.  Moments later, Blaine’s half-asleep brain registers the sound of Kurt’s voice through the monitor and he smiles despite the late hour.

He drags himself out of bed and steps across the narrow hall to Taylor’s room.  Kurt is lying on the floor next to her crib, singing quietly with careless grace, one hand resting gently on their baby’s back.

“Hey,” Blaine whispers.  “How long have you been in here?”

Kurt twists his head to look at Blaine.  “Most of the first act, and part of the second, but I skipped some of the songs.”  He glances at their daughter and back at Blaine.  “Legally Blonde is inspirational, but not entirely age appropriate.”

“Come to bed, you must be exhausted.”

“I can’t,” Kurt says.  “Every time I take my hand off her back she wakes up.”

“Bring her with you,” Blaine says.  Since they brought their newborn home six months ago this has been the topic of constant debate in their house, and with everyone they know, who all apparently feel qualified to share their opinion on how to get babies to sleep.  They waver back and forth between keeping her in bed with them and trying to get her to sleep on her own, and various compromises in between.  (And as they told Tina, who insisted that their very lack of routine was the problem, maybe as long as the three of them are happy and healthy she should just keep her opinions to herself.)

“You have rehearsal all day tomorrow,” Kurt says.  “You need to rest.  I can stay here, I don’t mind.”  Kurt has built himself a little nest on the floor out of a spare quilt and throw pillows, and he’s wearing his fluffy slippers on his ever icy feet, but he still can’t be all that comfortable.

“I’ll sleep better with the two of you in our bed,” Blaine replies.  Kurt shrugs, and accepts Blaine’s hand as he reaches down to help Kurt up.

As predicted, Taylor blinks her gray-blue eyes open as soon as Kurt stops touching her, but Blaine scoops her out of bed and nuzzles her little face before she can make a noise.  When he looks up, Kurt is gazing fondly at the two of them.

“She has your eyelashes,” Kurt says, and Blaine grins.

“She’s a baby, they all have eyelashes like this.”

“That’s a lie, she has the best eyelashes of any baby ever.  And she’s definitely going to have your enviable curls,” Kurt goes on, touching the still wispy dark hair on their daughter’s head.

“If she does, you’re in charge of hair care.”

“As if I’d let you get your gel anywhere near her.”  It’s a running joke, but Blaine is serious – his hair looks so much better now that he let Kurt take charge of his products.  Of course, these days he’s lucky to catch a shower before running off to rehearsal, let alone have time to style his hair, but that’s another story.  Taylor comes first, and no amount of bedhead is going to change that.

Back in their own room they slide under the covers, carefully settling Taylor between the two of them, Kurt reaching across to lay his hand on Blaine’s waist.  There’s a soft reddish glow to the light, coming in from the Christmas decorations in their living room.  It feels peaceful.

“So what made you choose Legally Blonde to sing tonight?”  Blaine asks, keeping his voice quiet as Taylor settles back into sleep.  “With all the Sondheim you’ve done lately, I would have thought you’d have picked one of those.”

“I know, right?” Kurt replies.  “I think it started because I had the part about the department store stuck in my head.”

“First take a deep breath, take it all in.  Feel all the halogens warming your skin,” Blaine sings.  

“I always loved that song.  I mean, who would have thought there’d be a song about how amazing it feels to walk into the fragrance section of a department store?” Kurt says reverently.

“Right?”

“Don’t tease, you know I’m serious about the value of personal service for some things,” Kurt says.  “Websites are good for certain products, but you can’t discover your personal scent on your computer.”

“Did you know that Harry Gordon Selfridge started putting the perfume counter by the front doors in part to cover up the, um, less pleasant odors outside?”

Kurt frowns.  “No, but if that’s true, it makes sense.  I figured it was just to entice people into spending money on scent while they were on their way in looking for clothes.”

“That too.”  Blaine sighs.  “So, what made you think about department stores?  Have you been worrying about holiday shopping?  Because we said we were going to go easy on that this year.”  He inclines his head towards the baby lying between them.  They love their child more than either of them can express, but she is a money pit, and they have had to revise their current budget several times to identify dispensable items.

“I think it was more that I’m so used to searching the web for deals at night…” Kurt breaks off and glares at Blaine, “and no, I was not online shopping just now.”

Blaine smirks.  “I know.  Your phone is still on your nightstand.”  For the first few months of parenthood Kurt had spent way too much money keeping himself awake during midnight feedings by scouring the web for deals on fabric and craft supplies.  After a frank review of their credit card bills, Kurt had agreed to put the brakes on his nighttime online shopping sprees.

Kurt taps his finger against Blaine’s hip.  “I may have purchased a few items yesterday,” he admits, abashed.  “But they were all for Taylor.  Mostly I just send my dad and Carole links.  If we leave them to their own devices who knows what they’ll buy her, and they���re happy to farm out the task to me.”

They lapse into silence, listening to the even, soft breaths of their little girl, who has finally loosened her grip on the silk-trimmed blanket she can’t bear to be without.

“I do understand the urge,” Blaine says.  “Like wanting to stop and shop for unnecessary plastic objects…” Blaine says, a snippet of another song passing through his brain, and Kurt looks at him questioningly.  “You know, from Nanci Griffith’s intro to that song, when she talks about the need to go into a Woolworth’s and buy unnecessary plastic objects?”

Kurt gazes at him, charmed.  “No, I don’t know that one.”

“It’s called Love at the Five and Dime.”  Blaine hums it for a second, remembering driving in the car with his mom, singing along.  

“Rita was sixteen years, hazel eyes and chestnut hair.  She made the Woolworth counter shine.  And Eddie was a sweet romancer, and darn good dancer, and they'd waltz the aisles of the five and dime.”

”And they'd sing -  "Dance a little closer to me Dance a little closer now Dance a little closer tonight Dance a little closer to me 'cause it's closing time and love's on sale tonight at this five and dime."

The melody is soft and sweet, and Blaine does his best to echo the singer’s gentle, swinging style.

Kurt rubs his thumb along Blaine’s hip.  “That’s really pretty.”

“I’ll play it for you sometime.  She does this neat thing where she plinks her guitar string to sound like the ‘ding’ of the elevator. I think it would work on the piano.”

“It’s a nicer shopping song than the Legally Blonde one,” Kurt says.

“It’s about love, not shopping, really.”

“So is the Legally Blonde one,” Kurt insists.  “Elle is taking Emmett shopping for clothes so that he has exactly the right look to give him the confidence he needs.  That’s an act of love.”

“I know.”  Blaine smiles at Kurt, thinking of all the hours they’ve spent selecting outfits, Kurt never failing to offer his opinion on what Blaine should wear for an audition, or an interview, or some other career defining event.  Kurt always does everything he can to help Blaine feel prepared to face the world, and Blaine appreciates it more than he can say.  

“Anyway, I like the song,” Kurt says.  “Sing some more.”

Blaine smiles and sings the rest of the Nanci Griffith song.  By the end, the hand Kurt had rested on Blaine’s hip has gotten restless, and is moving enticingly towards Blaine’s ass.

“Honey?”  Blaine asks, catching Kurt’s eye.  “Is me singing about shopping turning you on?”

Kurt runs his hand back over Blaine’s hip, then walks his fingers up Blaine’s chest over his pajama shirt, his touch light and teasing.  He catches Blaine’s gaze.  “You should know by now, you singing about anything turns me on.”

They both look at Taylor, who is sleeping deeply now, her whole body lax.  They obviously can’t get intimate with her lying in between them, but…

“Wanna go fool around by the Christmas tree?”  Blaine asks, grinning.

They extricate themselves from the bed carefully, arranging the blankets just the right distance away from and around their daughter, and creep out to the living room.  Kurt takes an afghan off the couch and spreads it on the floor.  They lie down together, gazing at each other under the twinkling lights, until Blaine pulls Kurt into a fervent kiss.  

At one point they roll a little too close to the tree, and they freeze, giggling, as Kurt re-positions a sparkling ornament so it doesn’t fall on them during an inopportune moment.  And if Blaine has a bit of tinsel in his hair come morning, no one minds a bit.

End notes (sorry, I seem to have a lot of notes for this little fic)

The songs mentioned are Nanci Griffth’s very lovely Love At The Five And Dime, and Take It Like A Man from Legally Blonde.  I really also wanted to work in the Barenaked Ladies ode to shopping, too, (just called Shopping) but it didn’t fit.  Title is from Paul McCartney’s song A Wonderful Christmastime, covered by the Barenaked Ladies on their holiday album (which is great and includes some really fun Hanukkah songs too).

Note also that Blaine and Kurt are also tired of people asking about their baby’s name, as well as poking their nose into her sleeping habits.  They picked Taylor because it’s gender-neutral and they like it, and not because Blaine knows the words to every Taylor Swift song.

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

IMPORTANT NOTE: Also, there’s a very small part in this chapter that turned out a bit more spicy than planned. It’s not explicit and definitely not enough to change the fics tags, clothes stay on and nothing happens under them. But since it’s a bit more steamy than I had planned I decided to mark where the spice starts and ends for anyone wanting to skip it.

Chapter 97

Teris stepped into the great room surprised to see Yami there. “I thought you were going to tend to the wolves.”

“Is that why you chose now to leave?” Yami asked, closing a book and getting to his feet.

“And just where do you think I’m going?” Teris tossed back.

“So you are leaving.” Yami said, both aggravated that she had attempted to sneaking off and proud at how well he knew her. “I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” Teris questioned.

“What? I helped save them.” Yami said.

“I didn’t claim otherwise.”

“Then?”

“It’s just--” Teris released a breath with a slight shake of her head. “Never mind. You’re more then welcomed to come.”

“Good we can talk about what you did down there on the way.” Yami said.

“What did I do?” Teris asked.

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

Teris sighed. “I knew what you would say and made a choice.”

“You’re damned right I would have stopped you. Alowishus said it was trying to decide if you were you, what with him having given you some of his mana.” Yami’s fist clenched at the memory of it.

It wasn’t so much that Alowishus had pressed his lips to Teris’. Though Yami certainly hadn’t likedthat. It was the fact that the man had forced his mana upon her. According to Julius, Alowishus forcing his mana into Teris’system had born sizable risk to Teris’ life if her system hadn’t accepted it but was too weak to expel or assimilate it. The fact that Teris had gone along with Alowishus’ plans for them to open the vault doors without fully explaining the risks involved,made Yami cross with her. Sure he understood why she’d done it. But even so, Yami never would have allowed her to take such a chance with her life. The fact that Nozel and Fuegoleon would have agreed with him, even knowing what it would mean for the them, made Yami all the more adherent to his stance.

Yami stepped in front of her, grasping her arms. “Teris, look at me.”

Teris stared back at Yami, impatient and annoyed by the continuation of the topic. Sorry as she was that she had in essence deceived Yami, she wasn’t sorry about what she did. Mana only knows what Alowishus would have done to them if she refused. Nozel and Fuegoleon certainly would have been put to death.

Seeing her petulant expression, Yami snapped. “I need you to listen. This is important.”

“Fine.” Teris snipped back.

Yami ground his teeth, the two staring at each other. Finally he told. “Don’t you ever take a chance like that with your life again. You hear me? I need you to promise me, Teris.”

“I can’t promise you that. I’m a Magic Knight, same as you. Could you promise me such a thing?”

Yami was silent.

“Well?” Teris pressed.

“That’s different.” Yami rumbled.

“Why? Cause you’re a man?”

Yami scoffed. “No.”

“Then why?”

“Cause I’m not half as important as you.”

Teris frowned. “Yes you are.”

Yami gave a mirthless smirk. “I’m a poor, foul mouthed, ill tempered, irreverent foreigner.”

Teris cupped his cheek, other hand resting on his chest. “Yami. You are so much more than that. You are… You’re everything to me.”

Yami clasped her neck, palm lifting her chin. He pressed his forehead to hers, her dark eyes filling his vision. “That’s why you can’t ever chance your life like that again, Ikigai. You’re my everything. The reason I get up and do what I do, and go on. I can’t lose you. I refuse to lose--” He stopped and swallowed, remembering how he had lost her for a few seconds that had felt more like an eternity the morning of the Summer Solstice.

Finger tracing his stubbled jaw, Teris looked sadly at him. “Yami, I love you. But even in a world without crazies interested in us,I can’t promise you that.” Her hand lowered, joining the other one on his chest. Pulling her forehead from his, she went on. “But I promise I’ll try never to take such chances. Will that work for you?”

“Hardly.” Yami huffed. His thumb tenderly caressed her cheek. “But I’ll take it.”

Teris gripped his wrist, pulling his hand down from her face. “Will you promise me the same?”

“Are we exchanging vows here? Can I make you mine, Princess?” Yami grabbed her waist, pulling her against his solid frame.

Teris knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to get out of making the same promise she’d made. Annoyed, she tried to come up with a response but was too flustered by his words and desirous gaze.

Yami smirked crookedly. “I got all sorts of promises I’ll be making you the day you fully give yourself to me. Fair warning, most aren’t be for public ears.”

Teris’ own ears warmed, blush deepening. Swallowing her nerves, she met his gaze and tried to match his toying, lustfulsmile with one of her own. “I hope you plan on giving more than words if such a day ever comes to pass.”

Yami pressed closer his hands sliding down to her hips and around to her ass. Pulling her into him, his large hands squeezed and lifted her to her toes. “Just you wait, Princess. I got all sorts of things planned.”

Teris shivered at the low rumble of his voice. Though the lady she had been taught to be told her to shrink away and scold him, she instead listened to her inner wanting, reveling in the trusted freedom she had with Yami.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Teris pulled him down and kissed him.

Yami’s hands panned up her butt to wrap around her waist. Leaning over her, he returned her kiss with hungry excitement.

Teris sighed into his mouth, hands tugging at his hair.

It wasn’t long before Yami had to pull away. Breaking the kiss, he turned his hip to her. It was his own fault. His thoughts and words, coupled with the feel of her had excited him enough to make things stir.

“Done already?” Teris asked, looking disappointed. She gave a playful pout. “You’re not giving me much hope for these so called plans of yours.”

Yami gave a throaty growl. Taking her words as a challenge, he told himself would surpass his limits of self control and deny his wanting till he left her dizzy and breathless. Leering over her, he backed her up, large hands on her hips.

Teris lowered her hands, reaching back to feel for the wall that she knew was there.

“Why do you suddenly look nervous?” Yami teased with a predatory smile.

“I—I’m not--”

Yami swooped down and kissed her,cutting off her words. His bodypressed into hers as hedeepenedthe kiss, tongue dancing with hers.

Teris’ lips became delightfully sore from the pressure. Her face raw from his sandpaper like stubble. Still, she kissed him back. Heady relief that she, Yami, Nozel, and Fuegoleon had made it out alive two days ago mixed with her love and desire for Yami.

**** extra spicy bit starts ****

She pressed back against Yami as he pressed her against the wall. Just when she thought she would faint from lack of air, Yami pulled away only to dive to the curve of her neck. He kissed and nipped as he slowly made his way up to the tender point just below her ear. His tongue leaked out to trace its way up to her earlobe which he flicked and nibbled.

“Yami...” Teris’ hands ran up his arms, trimmed finger nails pricking his skin ever so lightly.

Yami gave a low hum in reply. He nuzzled deeper into her neck when she tried to turn and return the favor. His hand lifted, clasping her just beneath the jaw. Gently, he turned and tilted her head, better exposing her neck.

Taking his hand, Teris kissed it. Her teeth plucked at the calloused skin of his fingers. Yami laced his fingers with hers, knowing that if she took one of his fingers between her lips he would be finished. Just the thought of it made things below his belt twitch. At that he gave another throaty hum which turned into a soft, low growl of frustrated wanting when Teris arched her back her breasts pressing into him.

He took her other hand and pinned both her arms to her side. Teris strained against his hold wanting to touch him.

Yami lifted from her neck wearing a grin. “Let’s see how long you can keep your hands off me.”

He slowly releasing his hold. Teris reached for him, but Yami gripped her wrists pressing them back against the wall.

“You’re not even trying.”

“Where’s my incentive?” Teris questioned, hips swaying. There was that familiar pulsing warmth in her core that Yami often caused, her legs squeezed together trying and satiate the need.

Yami slowly looked her over. Seeing the slight dance of her hips, his lips curled upward. The year and a half till her twentieth birthday seemed painfully far away. But he was set on waiting until they were wed. Even if he thought he had a chance of convincing her otherwise, which he didn’t, they were faced with so much as it was.

Seeing her like that. Realizing that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. It should’ve been enough to make him step back and let them both calm. But he didn’t.

Smirking, Yami told. “You keep your hands to yourself till I’m done with you, and you can have anything you want.”

“Elaborate what you mean by anything.”

Yami’s eyes pulled over her form. “Anything.”

“That certain you’ll win this little game of yours?” Teris grinned, warming to the idea.

Yami didn’t reply. In all honesty, her tone only heightened his wanting and made things all the harder on him. But he didn’t caring about winning in this case. He simply didn’t want to stop yet and thought this tactic might help his cause.

Teris’ arms relaxed in his hands. “Fine. Have at me.”

Yami groaned. Her words. The huskiness of her voice. The look in her eye. She wasn’t playing fair.

Teris gave a surprised squeak and bliss filled laugh when Yami pounced.

Yami’s lips latched onto her collarbone. Arm snaking around her waist, his other hand gripped the back of her thigh lifting it his side. His hip pressed against her core.

Teris’ laughter ceased with a hitched in take of breath. Her head fell back against the wall further exposing her neck to him. Yami gladly took the invitation, lower lip pulling up her bared throat. Her hands moved to touch him; but she wasn’t about to lose this game so easily. Pressing her arms against the wall, her fingers curled into fists.

Yami tugged at her raised, held thigh. A soft, short moan escaped her. Lashes fluttering against her cheeks, Teris pressed her kiss swollen lips between her teeth trying to stifle any further noise.

Yami began to gently pull at her thigh and hip in time with every forward thrustof his hip.

Teris’ hands lifted, grasping her wrists above head. Breath uneven, she trembled with desire.

“Yami...” Teris exhaled in a needy moan.

Nipping along the line of her jaw, Yami made his way to her lips. He kissed her just as she released another moan. His chest reverberated in a responding groan. He released her thigh, his hand lifting to cup the back of her neck. Deepening the kiss, his other hand trailed up from her hip and curved around her ribs. His thumb came to rest just beneath her breast. He felt the tension within her change slightly. But when his hand didn’t move any further she relaxed and melted back into him, giving herself over to the heady feelings and sensations he caused.

His hip ceased thrusting and began to grind against her. Teris rewarded him with a long throaty moan, her body both tensing and easing at the same time. Yami’s hand pivoted, fingers sweeping up from her side to cup her breast. He followed her as she tried to break the kiss. His other hand, still cupping her neck, holding her in place.

Teris’ hands had dropped to Yami’s chest. But all thought of pushing at him to stop, fell away when Yami’s thumb swiped across the perk sensitive bud covered by her top and bra. Her body thrummed at the pleasurable jolt. She tired to suck in a breath, but with Yami’s mouth still attached to hers, was unable to.

Teris’ fingers clawed at Yami’s bicep. She wanted more. Needed more. And Yami gave her exactly that. His thumb traced around the pebbled peak as his hip moved in tandem against her core. Though she clearly enjoyed it. It wasn’t the response he had been hoping for. Experimentally, he ran the pad of his thumb back and forth over her excited flesh. Teris’ chest heaved, giving another mewling moan.

Changing his dance, Yami’s hip and thumb swiped in opposite directions as they pressed into her. He felt Teris’ body shudder, her muscle clenching and releasing only to tighten and release again and again. Not wanting to drown out the perfect sounds she was making, his lips moved onto her neck.

Teris whined, breath coming in starts and stops. “Yami.”

There was a growing tightness in her abdomen. The wetness in her underwear so that, if she weren’t lost in the throws of the moment, she would’ve worried it had seeped through and showed on her pants.

Teris pulled at Yami’s shoulder, other hand running up the back of his neck. All that existed was Yami, and the feeling his movements caused within her.

Her head rolled forward to rest on his shoulder. “Yami...”

The coil in her center tightened further. Yami’s strong body pressed harder against her as if trying to become one. What was left of Teris’ thinking mind wondered if this was what was meant when they said man and wife would become one flesh. The thought brought on a completely different kind of jolt. They had said they were going to wait. Yami had said he wanted to wait just as much as she did. They had to stop.

“Yami.” Teris said, voice more sober but still heady.

Her eyes fluttered open, mind caught between the unthinking tide of pleasure and wanting to tell him to stop. Only she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to continue until the coil within her snapped.

“Oh, Yami.” Teris mewled, melting back into him.

**** extra spicy bit end****

A burst of light from over Yami’ shoulder pulled at her attention. Teris blinked, seeing a darkened silhouette. Her muscles tensed for a completely different reason. Her hand dropped from Yami’s neck to push at his chest, other hand patting at his shoulder. They were no longer alone.

“Yami.” Teris whispered.

Still, Yami continued.

Eyes adjusting to the brightest of the incoming light, Teris recognized the figure. “Nozel!”

Nothing could have brought Yami out of the moment quicker. His head pulled back, movements instantly ceasing. “Nozel?”

Yami saw Teris’ wide eyes trained over his shoulder. A short, angry growl rumbled from his chest. Now that his focus wasn’t drawn to better things, he could sense the other mans raging Ki. For mana sake, why couldn’t he and Teris get a moments peace? What was the damned Ball of Pride doing here anyway? Wasn’t he suppose to be recovering at Healers Hall or something?

Yami let Teris push him back a step. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he balled them into fists to better hide the tent in his pants.

His eyes trailed over Teris wondering again how much she knew about sex or a mans body. Even if her mother had lived, Yami didn’t know what the ranking class taught their young unwed daughters. It wasn’t as if he could ask Julius about it. He considered just asking Teris. But even with them both wanting a relationship of free and open communication, some topics would have to wait until they were wed.

Nozel stood as still as a statue. Boiling inside, he wanted to lash out and end Yami Sukehiro. He wanted to demand to know what the hell Teris, his Intended, thought she was doing. But he couldn’t find the words. He was so shocked he couldn’t even move enough to tear his eyes away from the scandalous disarray of Teris’ hair.

Jax entered the great room from the back hallway. He lifted Teris’ report, squinting. Mana he swore her scrawl was worse than Yami’s. It was almost as messy as Julius’. He shook his head. Julius better get use to writing in a neater hand. The Magic Knights would find themselves in a bad way with a Wizard King whose penmanship no one could decipher.

“Yami. Can you read— Nozel?” Jax stopped.

The Black Bulls Captain blinked in surprise. They had said Fuegoleon’s injuries were worse; but still, even after two days of constant healing spells he would've figured the Silver Eagles Vice Captain would still be at Healer’s Hall or at least convalescing at home.

Nozel didn’t even turn to acknowledge the Black Bulls Captain.

Jax followed Nozel’s gaze. First he saw Yami and wondered what the man had said or done to antagonize the royal this time. Then he caught sight of Teris, who he had thought had already left to visit the Crimson Lion and Silver Eagle Vice Captain's. Taking in Teris’ somewhat disheveled state, Jax instantly pieced together what Nozel had walked in on.

Sighing, Jax muttered to himself. He felt annoyed on Yami and Teris’ behalf. Given all of Julius’ rules, meant to keep Yami safe from further attempts by Nathyn Silva, this was the only place the young couple could truly be a couple. And now Nozel had walked in making them, well at least Teris, feel uncomfortable at even that. Granted it wasn’t Nozel’s fault; but it didn’t change how aggravating the situation was.

“Yami. I need your help with this.” Jax called, lifting Teris’ report.

Yami turned to the Captain. It would probably be best for all of them if he left Teris to handle this anyway. He gave Jax a nod. Still facing Teris, back to Nozel, he lowered his head and uttered. “Go ahead and visit the Lion Cub without me. See you later, yeah?”

Teris nodded, mutely. Yami ran his hand down her arm as he took another step back and followed Jax down the hall.

Nozel watched Yami’s fingers trail across Teris’ stomach as the man walked away. Saw Teris’ slight tremble at the contact. He told himself it was because she found Yami’s touch revolting., but knew better.

As badly as he would rather turn away and leave, Nozel stepped fully inside. His hand slapped the front door closed, flinty blue eyes never leaving Teris’.

Teris jumped slightly at the slamming door. She shouldn’t feel guilty; but she did. Frowning at the feeling, her kiss swollen lips pressed together. She wondered if her mouth and neck looked as hot and red they felt, tender from the pressure of Yami’s kisses and scrapped by his stubble.

The awkward discomfort grew turning seconds into minutes.

A small wicked part in Teris heartlessly thought that maybe Nozel would finally believe that she wouldn't obey Fyntch and marry him. She hated herself for the thought. Nozel was her friend. She didn’t want to hurt him. If only he didn’t care about her that way.

“I’m glad to see you’re up and released. We,” she glanced over her shoulder down the hall where Yami had long since disappeared with Jax, “were just going to visit you and Leon.”

Nozel stared at her without word.

Teris cleared her throat. “Are you alright?”

“I wouldn’t have been released if I wasn’t.” Nozel clipped, coolly.

“And Leon?” Teris asked.

“Likely released tomorrow.” Nozel answered, shortly. He began to turn back to the door.

Teris took another step toward him, hand reaching out.

Nozel eyes lowered to her hovering hand. Unlike usual, there was little inclination to bridge the gap and connect with her. He had known, had imagined the things she and Yami did. Having seen the marks Yami once left on her neck, it was all too easy to picture the allowances Teris let the foreigner have. Even so, Nozel had scolded himself. Told himself that his imaginings were so much worse than what actually went on. He had been wrong. So very wrong.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I was so worried.” Teris said. The unwelcome memory of him and Fuegoleon hanging from the tree, blood dripping from them, filled her mind. Nozel’s stifled screams followed by his cry of pain echoed in her ears. She shook the image and remembered sound away, unable to bear it.

“Fine.” Nozel’s voice caught. He coughed lighted and stepped away, turning. “I should go.”

Teris stepped after him. “Nozel. But—you just got here. Don’t you want to--” Want to what, she wondered feeling foolish. Stay here and draw out this clear discomfort between them? She wasn’t going to apologize for what Nozel had walked in on. Sure she and Yami had once again gone too far; but that had nothing to do with Nozel. Guilty as she felt for whatever hurt it may have caused him, she wasn’t ashamed. She wished Nozel didn’t like her. Why did he have to like her?

Nozel stopped but didn’t turn back to face her. He couldn’t bare to look at her anymore. Couldn’t bare the sight of her kiss swollen lips. Couldn't stand the sight of her reddened mouth and neck which had been scratched raw by Yami’s few days growth; because the ill bred peasant foreigner refused to regularly shave like a civilized person.

“I was just released from the healers.” Nozel said, not mentioning that this was the first place he had come. He had needed to see Teris. Needed to know she was alright. Well now he knew, she was more than alright. He swallowed the bitter bile that rose in his throat. “Several Crimson Lions were visiting Fuegoleon when I left. If you’re truly interested seeing him, I’d wait a couple hours for him to rest and recoup some energy.”

Teris fidgeted, plucking at her fingers. “Of course I truly want to see him. I wanted to see the both of you. To see for myself that you were truly okay.”

Nozel’s eyes closed. He hated how her words both soothed and stung. Why did he have to love her? How had he even fallen for her? They were so different. It wasn’t as if she had led him on or given him hope. Was he really that in need of affection that what little she had given him as a friend had sparked an interest that grew into this love that was now his doom? If so, how did he get over it? How did he get over her?

“Nozel. I’m so sorry about what happened. You and Leon being taken by the Agents of Chaos because of--”

“Stop.” Nozel silenced. He couldn’t say what upset him more; the fact that he first thought her apology was for the allowances she afforded Yami, or that she was blaming herself for what those lunatics had done. He turned on his heel, blue eyes piercing her dark ones as he avoid looking anywhere else on her. “What the Agents of Chaos did wasn’t your fault.”

Teris’ mouth clamped shut. She wanted to argue; but her guilt would only make him feel worse, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Nozel’s head lowered in shame. He was the reason Fuegoleon was still at Healer’s Hall recovering. They had tortured the Vermillion until Nozel had broke and answered their questions. His shame built at having broken and answered their questions. But Fuegoleon would have died if he hadn’t. But he had told them things about Teris… It was a spiraling cycle that would bury him and seeing Teris made it that much worse. Why had he come? Why couldn't he have just trusted the reports that said she was alright? Why did he love her so much? Why couldn’t she love him?

As if reading some of his thoughts, Teris told. “It makes no difference what you told them, so long as you and Leon are safe and alive.” Unbidden images from two nights ago flicked through her mind once again. Overcome with relief, she rushed the rest of the way to him and hugged him. “I’m just so thankful that you’re alright. I was so worried.”

Nozel stood there trying to resist the urge to hug her back. He lasted all of a second before his arms lifted and returned her embrace. “You’re not the only one who was concerned. Promise me you’ll never bargain your life and safety like that again.” Though his tone was stern he silently pleaded, even if you never promise me another thing again, promise me that.

Teris exhaled, annoyed and amused. “You sound like Yami.”

Nozel bristled. He pulled away from her, voice rising in temper and volume. “I beg your pardon!”

“No Magic Knight could make such a promise.” Teris said.

Nozel wanted to argue that she wasn’t just a Magic Knight. That she was his Intended. His beloved. His friend. But he held his tongue. “I need to check in with Captain Kess and work on my report. I have a full debriefing tomorrow morning and would like my report ready to hand over by then, if not sent in later today.”

“Please don’t over do it. You were only just released from the healers.” Teris said.

Nozel gave a curt nod but didn’t make any promises.

97.2

Without invitation Yami plopped down in one of the chairs in front of Jax’s desk. Jax closed the office door and made his way around the desk easing into his seat.

“Did you really need me, or were you just trying to get me out of there to spare the Royal Bird?” Yami asked.

“It’s unlike you to sound so petty and jealous.” Jax commented.

Yami scoffed. “What do I have to be jealous about?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m not jealous. Just pent up and aggravated.”

“I noticed.” Jax’s eyes darted down to the bulge in Yami’s pants, quickly lifting back to meet the mans gaze.

Yami growled and crossed his arms. “I just want a moment of undisturbed peace. Is that too much to ask?”

“Until you can better control yourself, I don’t think you and Teris should be spending a sizable length of time alone. That is unless you changed your mind about wanting to wait for certain things.” The Captain’s brows rose in silent query.

“No. I mean, yeah. I was in control of myself.”

Jax sat back sighing. This would be so much easier if Teris wasn’t Julius’ sister. Sure he looked out for every member of his squad no matter their rank or age; but Julius being his closest living friend added a whole other level of responsibility.

“Nozel’s scheduled to be debriefed tomorrow morning. I want you there with me.” Jax told.

Yami sat forward, remembering Alowishus had said he had tortured the Silver Eagle and Crimson Lion into answering his questions. Given the state Fuegoleon and Nozel had been in, Yami figured neither had been all that forthcoming. But Alowishus had said they eventually broke. “What kind of questions were they asked?”

“I don’t know. But considering who was doing the asking, is there any doubt it was about you and Teris?”

Yami’s teeth pressed together. He was tempted to march back out to the great room and demanded answers from Nozel now.

“Ellara will be there. So I need you to do whatever it is you do to relax and calm that temper yours.”

“I’m fine.” Yami rumbled.

“No. You’re not. You’re clearly angry, and rightly so. But on top of that you’ve been more easily annoyed than usual.”

“You’re annoying me.” Yami stared across the desk telling himself that he couldn’t hit the Captain. That Jax had a point, and if he was thinking clearly he wouldn’t even want to hit him.

“That’s exactly what I mean. You have a short enough fuse as it is. But for the passed month or so that fuse has been near nonexistent.” Jax said.

I’ve been struggling with this heightened temper for well more than a month, Yami thought, anger bubbling near the surface. It’s just that he had begun to lose his battle with controlling the shortened temper this passed month.

“Either you get a handle on whatever’s been bugging you by tomorrow morning or I’m not taking you.” Jax went on.

“You’re not taking Teris!” Yami stormed, feeling an overwhelming swell of protective possessiveness that wasn’t like his usual self.

The only reason Jax didn’t say he was the Captain and could do whatever he wanted was because he could see Yami’s inner struggle to control himself. “Of course not. The last thing Teris or Nozel need is for her to be there while he relays what he likely feels is a betrayal.”

“Any answer he gave them was a betrayal.” Yami said.

Jax almost spoke in Nozel’s defense; but realized that in the state Yami was in, it wouldn’t make a difference. Shaking his head, he told. “Just get this extra aggression out of your system and be ready to go before breakfast.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me?” Yami asked.

Jax’s eyebrows furrowed. “Tell you what?”

Yami shrugged. “Don’t know. But there’s something you’ve been hiding for a couple weeks now.”

Jax thought of the journal sitting in his desk drawer that he had found thanks to Iban’s very belated confession about his family’s past. The journal Marx had used his magic to copy; and Julius had asked him not to tell Yami and Teris about just yet. Even Greywright had agreed with the Azure Deers Captain; though the Knights Commander hadn’t ordered him to keep quiet. After the Agent of Chaos, Flic, had turned himself in, Jax had decided he was going to tell his Vice Captain's about the journal. But that was before Fuegoleon and Nozel, and Yami and Teris had been taken. Even with it over and the four Vice Captain's safely returned, Jax had changed his mind and decided to wait for at least a few days.

“That Ki of yours tell you that?” Jax asked.

Yami shrugged a shoulder. “Ki, knowing how things work, and a tiny bit of guessing.”

Jax huffed. Thanks to Yami’s sense of Ki, he was able to read him almost as well as Bronn had. “I’ll tell you--”

“Jax.” Commander Greywright’s voice sounded from the communication orb sitting on the bureau behind him.

“I’m in a meeting with one of my Vice Captain's.” Jax said, so the Knights Commander knew he wasn’t alone should anything be confidential.

“Good. Bring whoever it is too.” Greywright responded.

“Bring where--” Jax’s question died on his lips as Cob stepped through a portal and into his office.

“Hidy ho.” Cob waved.

Yami and Jax shared a look.

Pushing out of his chair, Jax exhaled. “You heard the Commander. Let’s go.”

97.3

Disappointed that Fuegoleon had still been asleep but glad to see he had been resting peacefully, Teris turned the corner and nearly bumped into Mereoleona.

“Leaving Leon’s?” The Crimson Lion Captain asked.

Teris nodded. “He was resting but it was good to see him just the same.”

“Then maybe I should wait before going in. I’d likely tell him to wake up and get to work, and we both know he needs the rest.” Mereoleona took in her cousin’s downcast face. “Hey. You’re not being stupid and thinking this is all your fault are you? I’ll knock some sense into you if you are.”

Even though she was, Teris shook her head. “I just wish Leon and I hadn’t argued at Nebra’s party.”

Mereoleona’s eyes narrowed. “I thought I told you to enjoy things while you could.”

“Yeah, well that’s easier said then done.” Teris snapped.

The Captain arched an eyebrow.

“Sorry.” Teris apologized. Looking down at her feet, she mumbled. “But it is.”

Mereoleona sighed. “I could use a drink. You look like you need one too. Come on.”

“What kind of drink?”

Mereoleona looked at Teris out of the corner of her eye. “I know you’re not that stupid or innocent.”

“There is something I would like to ask you about.” Teris said, more to herself.

Hearing, Mereoleona smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re in trouble, again.”

Teris bristled. “What do you mean, again?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself, but I’ll say it again, you’re not that stupid.” Mereoleona threw her arm around Teris’ shoulder and led her down the hall. “You can ask all you like at the pub. I’ll even let you pay first round.”

97.3.2

Seated in a corner table at the Boiling Brew, Teris looked about in interest. She might not have been a perfect royal lady; but she was upstanding enough to stay away from pubs in Black Magic Alley. Taking the place in she didn’t see the difference. Was it just the pubs location that carried a stigma? Because it looked like any other bar she had been in.

Mereoleona clearly came here quite often as the waitress asked her cousin if she wanted the usual. Even though it was a bit early in the day and there was no occasion for it, Teris ordered a stout thinking the drink would help settle her nerves.

Teris tried to pay for the drinks after they arrived. Mereoleona laughed and waved her off.

“I was joking about you paying first round.” Mereoleona turned to the waitress. “Put it on my tab, Lisbet.” Looking back at Teris, she teased. “Unless you’re wanting to open up a monthly tab of your own.”

Teris’ eyes widened. “No, no.” She gave the waitress a polite smile. “Not at this time. Thank you.”

“You can be so cruel, Leona.” Lisbet chuckled, shaking her head at the Magic Knights Captain. She patted Teris’ forearm. “No worries, lass. We’ll be happy to serve you if you ever come again.”

Back straight, Teris watched the waitress turn and go.

“Ease up. It’s just us. There’s no older brothers, stuffed up royals, or Silva’s here to judge you.” Mereoleona told, sitting back in her seat.

The tension in Teris’ shoulders eased.

“Take a drink and tell me what’s going on.” Mereoleona ordered.

Teris took a small sip. Looking at her cousin over the rim of the mug, she took another, longer draw of alcohol.

Mereoleona chuckled when Teris took a third quaff. Picking up her own mug, the Vermillion took a swig. “Better?”

“A bit.” Teris took one more sip before placing her half empty mug on the table.

Mereoleona sobered. If half a pint of beer wasn’t enough to fully relax the her then what Teris wanted to talk about must really be troubling. “What’s going on?”

“I—I wanted to ask— I want to ask about...” Teris stopped and fidgeted.

“Spit it out.” Mereoleona commanded, impatient nature getting the best of her.

“It’s only—with my mother gone I never learned such things.” Teris said. Sighing, she muttered. “That’s if mother would have told me about them at all.”

Mereoleona frowned. Teris wasn’t looking for sympathy. Even if she were, she had come to the wrong person and they both knew it. “What things?”

Teris lowered her gaze trying to summon her nerve.

“Teris. What things?” Mereoleona asked, impatience growing.

Taking in a breath, Teris lifted her eyes and questioned with more volume than intended.. “What happens when a man and woman are married? What makes them one flesh?”

Caught off guard by the question for a moment, Mereoleona grinned. “Ask the whole pub why don’t you.”

Teris blushed beet red seeing that her unintentionally raised voice had garnered a number of looks.

“I’d be happy to show you, lass!” A patron called to her.

Mereoleona looked over her shoulder ready to tear the man apart. Seeing he was an old man who wore a humored expression that bore no hint lewd intent, she chuckled along with him.

“Leave the ladies alone, Merv.” Lisbet told the man.

Mereoleona looked back at Teris seeing her color. “You sure you should be asking such things if you can barely make yourself voice them, and redden so once you do?”

“I— It—it’s only—just— It’s not like we’re doing anything.” Teris finally managed to get out. “We both want to wait. It’s just--”

Teris might feel like a fool; but she wasn’t completely innocent. She had touched herself. Doing so while thinking about Yami until the coil in her belly snapped and left her floating on a wave of mindless ecstasy. But there was a difference between her creating those sensations and Yami doing so. Wasn’t there? She had to make sure that what she and Yami had been doing wasn’t what was meant for marriage. Yes, it was still more than what they should be doing. But she had to know that she hadn’t been about to give herself and become one with Yami if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Mereoleona sighed when Teris didn’t go on. Thinking about a long ago Captain's meeting, she said. “Well, I already told everyone you and I had this talk so I guess it’s only right we have it in truth.”

Teris stared wide eyed, the color draining from her face. “What do you mean ‘told everyone’? Who did you tell?”

Mereoleona waved her off. “Never mind that. Lisbet!” She yelled, signaling to the waitress for another round.

The waitress gave a nod.

Looking back at Teris, Mereoleona asked. “How much do you know? Our should I just assume you know nothing?” Before Teris could answer the Crimson Lion downed her drink and went on. “Well I guess you know the basics. I saw the marks on your neck the morning after the Lava Springs party last year.”

Mereoleona sighed thinking it fitting that she hadn’t hosted one this year. Since Bronn had been the one who gave her the idea in the first place, it wouldn’t have felt right having it without him. Or maybe it would've been a way to honor the bastard...

“Stop your blushing.” Mereoleona snapped at Teris.

“Leave the girl alone.” Lisbet scolded, setting the drinks on the table. Smiling at Teris kindly, she asked. “Are you aware of the male form, lass?”

Maybe it was a mistake to ask Mereoleona instead of Venice. Teris had thought her cousin would be up front and straight to the point without all the teasing Venice would likely do. But now…

“I—I just don’t want to—you know. Have sex.” Teris mumbled.

“Ever?” Lisbet blinked.

“She and her beau want to wait till they’re wed.” Mereoleona told her friend. Looking at Teris, she thought that it didn’t matter whether Yami and Teris wanted to wait or not, they had to and sure as hell better.

Lisabet huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sure he does.”

“He does.” Teris said.

“Actually, I think he does.” Mereoleona told Lisbet. “At least as much as any young, excitable man is able.”

“Well isn’t that sweet.” Lisbet cooed.

“So you know next to nothing of the way of things and are afraid of unintentionally having sex.” Mereoleona stated, wanting to be sure she understood.

Lisbet sputtered, both at how preposterous such a worry sounded and Mereoleona’s bluntness. Mereoleona gave the waitress a look.

“It might sound silly and completely stupid to you; but yes.” Teris said, a bite to her voice.

Lisbet sobered, sorry she had laughed. “It’s alright, lass. Innocence is nothing to be ashamed of. We all gotta learn sometime.”

“What brought this on?” Mereoleona asked.

“Ah...” Teris drew out unsure how to respond. If she and Yami had truly come as close as she worried they had she wasn’t sure what Mereoleona would say or do.

Mereoleona felt herself becoming truly concerned. “Have you done anything below the waist?”

Teris thought of Yami’s hip pressed against her and how the coil within her would’ve snapped from his rutting if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Beneath your clothes. Skin on skin. Things going in places.” Mereoleona clarified, growing worry when Teris didn’t answer, making her bluntness turn crass.

Teris’ eyes widened. “Certainly not!”

“Don’t be crude, Leona.” Lisabet chastised.

Teris wiggled in her seat, distressed and uncomfortable. Things going in places? What was that about? Sure she had once taken Yami’s finger into her mouth...

Mereoleona exhaled, relief making her smiled. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Lisbet swallowed a smile. “I’ll leave you ladies to it. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“A piece of lead and scrape of paper.” Mereoleona told.

“What?” Lisabet scoffed. “You gonna drawn her a diagram?”

Mereoleona shrugged a shoulder. “Should be the easiest way. Unless you wanna give her the talk.”

Lisabet shook her head. “Even if the lass didn’t want to wait. You’ll probably scare her off sex by the time you’re through. Just… Try to draw things to scale. Wouldn’t want her being too afraid. Or worse, disappointed when the time comes.”

97.4

It was just happenstance that Jax and Yami came across Julius in the large courtyard that connected the headquarters of the four divisions.

Walking up to the fellow Captain, Jax stormed. “Where the hell have you been? Where’s your communication crystal?”

Julius patted his pockets.

Standing beside him, Jon told his Captain. “You left it in your office saying we’d only be out a moment, Sir.”

“That’s right.” Julius nodded.

“Though it’s been far longer than a moment.” Jon muttered.

“How was I to know I’d get caught up?” Julius asked.

“Cause you always do.” Marx said, though in this case it was partially his fault.

“You look upset. What’s wrong?” Julius asked Jax.

“The Agents of Chaos traitor, Flic.” Jax said.

Julius tensed. “What about him?”

“He’s ill.” Jax said.

“How ill?” Marx asked.

“Deathly.” Yami rumbled.

“The Healers can’t do anything for him. They can’t even say what’s wrong with him.” Jax said.

“Ellara?” Julius questioned, softly.

“Hasn’t been anywhere near him, according to Greywright.” Jax said.

“But if she used her magic to tamper with the guards memories.” Julius pressed.

Marx shook his head. “The day Mister Flic arrived I recommended to Commander Greywright that he only assign guards he knew to have a memory block. Though the number was few, he readily agreed.”

“Could the Agents of Chaos have another follower in place at Headquarters?” Jon wondered.

“Let’s not go there.” Julius told his Vice Captain. Looking back at Jax and Yami, he said. “If Alowishus’ magic truly is death magic, then that combined with the fact that he obviously uses Black Magic would be enough for him to kill Flic from afar if he had some piece of the man on hand.”

“That would explain why the healers can’t figure out what’s wrong or how to help him.” Jax said, finding it as good an explanation as any. He certainly liked it better than the option Jon had put forward.

Yami scowled thinking about the pieces of him and Teris the Agents of Chaos had taken during the first time they were attacked. Voicing the concern, he asked. “What about the bits they took from Teris and me our first year as Magic Knights?”

Jax’s eyes widened. He stared at Julius in silent query.

Julius made a face, considering a moment. “Most, if not all of what they took would’ve been used to make the personalized mana blocked cell they held you in during the Summer Solstice.”

“You said most.” Yami grumbled.

“It’s difficult to say without knowing exactly how much of each piece they took from each of you.” Julius said, not liking it any better than Yami did.

“It’s doubtful they would even bother with such attempts.” Marx said.

“Why? Because they still need Yami and Teris for their plans.” Jax said, finding small comfort in that.

“Also because of the way the pieces were taken and their age.” Marx said. When everyone looked at him expectantly, he explained. “Such spells are not only determinate on the skill of the Mage; but the freshness, as it were, of such items.” He cleared his throat in distaste. “Then there’s the fact that you and Teris didn’t give the pieces of yourself willingly.”

“Damn right we didn’t.” Yami growled.

“Though not impossible, it’s always easier when the item for the spell was freely given. Just like it is with my memory absolute spell. I can force my way in. But it’s far easier and requires less time and mana if the person willingly accepts. Those factors, coupled with what Captain Jax said, and the likely limited ingredients that Julius mentioned make it highly unlikely that such a thing will ever happen to you or Teris. Especially when they have proven on several occasions that they can reach you by far simpler means.”

Though true, Yami and Jax glared at the Investigations Mage.

Trying to draw the two Black Bulls heated attention away from Marx, Julius said. “Suffice it to say, there’s no cause to worry they’ll do such a thing to Teris and Yami.”

Jax turned away from the group. “I need a drink.”

“Same.” Yami turned, following his Captain.

“Yami, wait.” Julius called, walking after him.

Jon trailed behind. Marx turned back and made his way to Magic Investigations. He would see the men tomorrow morning during Nozel Silva’s debriefing, and then later tomorrow night for a planned meeting at the Black Bulls base. Given all that had happened, that secret meeting couldn’t come soon enough.

Julius fell into step beside Yami. “Has Teris talked to Nozel or Fuegoleon? Has she said anything to you about what they said? What questions the Agents of Chaos might've asked?”

“No.” Yami told his mentor, wondering if Teris was still in the great room visiting with Nozel.

“I’m bringing him to Nozel’s debriefing.” Jax said.

“Is--” Julius lengthened his steps to walk beside Jax. He looked over his shoulder at Yami and lowered his voice. “Is that wise?”

Jax looked at Julius out of the corner of his eye. “When has wise ever been an apt description of me?”

“But…” Julius cast another backwards glance at Yami.

“If they haven’t killed each other yet, especially after this afternoon, it’s safe to say they’ll be fine in the same room debriefing room tomorrow.” Jax said, still surprised Nozel hadn’t attacked Yami then and there in the great room. So long as Yami followed his command to get rid of his pent up aggression, Jax figured everything would be fine at tomorrows debriefing.

Julius’ brow furrowed. “Why? What happened this afternoon?”

“What were you doing at Investigations?” Jax asked, dodging the query.

“You’re not taking Teris to Nozel’s debriefing are you?” Julius asked.

“Mana, no.” Jax said.

“Then why are you taking Yami? What are you thinking?” Julius questioned, suspiciously.

“Nothing. You should know me well enough by now. I rarely think.” Jax said.

Julius’ eyes narrowed. “That’s why I’m asking. Cause I do know you well enough. You may pretend not to have schemes and ideas but are full of them.”

“Those bastards killed my Vice Captain nearly six months ago. If they think they can continue messing with my two new ones, they got another thing coming..” Jax said.

It wasn’t an answer; but he clearly wasn’t going to get one, so Julius let it be. The four walked the rest of the way to the Boiling Brew without word.

Upon entering, Yami’s eyes skimmed the pub. Seeing Teris, he blinked in surprise. There was a man standing over her, his hand on the back of her chair, other on the table, boxing her in. Leaving Julius, Jax, and Jon; Yami made his way to the table.

Stopping behind the man, Yami told him. “Walk away.”

“Yami!” Teris looked up at him in surprise and relief.

“Find another woman. I saw this one first.” The man called over his shoulder. He smiled drunkenly at Teris. “Pretty, innocent little thing. What do you say I take you out back and I give you the answers to all those questions of yours with a hands on lesson, eh?”

Yami reached for the mans shoulder to spin him around, fist already primed, when a fiery lion paw gripped the top of his head and pulled him back a pace.

“We’re you really gonna start a fight? The man is clearly drunk.” Mereoleona glared.

“I wasn’t gonna start anything. I was gonna end it.” Yami said, glancing spitefully up at the magical paw that still held him.

Mereoleona didn’t doubt that Yami could knock the man out cold. And she might've liked to see it, if not be a part of it, if it wouldn’t have caused Lisbet any trouble. “You and I both know Teris can fend for herself.”

The man reached out to touched Teris. Both Yami and Mereoleona made for him. Teris grabbed the mans arm before he could touch her.

Twisting his wrist in on itself, Teris told him. “I said, no.”

Though she wasn’t putting much pressure, the man tried to turn his body to lessen the painful wrenching of his wrist.

“You’re drunk. Go home and sleep it off.” Teris told.

The man nodded vigorously.

“Make sure to leave your waitress a good tip.” Teris said, releasing him with a push.

The man took a couple unsteady steps back. Turning he looked for his table, but couldn’t find it with the way everything spun around him. Instead he merely tossed several coins in the air and stumbled to the door.

The fiery paw on Yami’s head disappeared. Smiling proudly at her cousin, Mereoleona told Yami. “See. Told you she could take care of herself.”

“Never said she couldn’t.” Yami said.

Mereoleona plopped back in her seat across from Teris. “I leave you alone for a couple minutes and you get yourself into trouble.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Teris argued.

“You’re right. That was unfair. It isn’t always you who finds trouble. Half the time it’s trouble that finds you.” Mereoleona teased.

Teris was too annoyed at the truth of it to find her cousin’s words amusing.

Stopping behind his sister, Julius demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Teris spun in her seat, eyes wide and anxious. “Julius!”

“Leave the girl alone, Julius. I brought her.” Mereoleona told, leaning back in her seat.

Julius’ eyes leveled on the Crimson Lions Captain. “Have you no care for my sister’s or family’s image? The women that come to bars in Black Magic Ally are--”

“What?” Mereoleona sat forward, forearms on the table. “What kind of woman am I, Julius? You are referring to women like me, aren’t you? Given that I frequent this place.”

Julius swallowed thickly, reevaluating the wisdom of his argument.

“You come here quite often too. Don’t you, Julius?” Mereoleona pressed when he didn’t answer.

“Let it go.” Jax told the fellow Captain's, taking the seat to Teris’ left.

Yami pulled out the chair to Teris’ right, sliding it closer to hers as he did so. Sitting down he gave her an appraising look.

Teris blushed, feeling self conscious after everything Mereoleona had told her.

Yami smirked thinking her blush was from remembering what they had gotten up to earlier today. “How was the Lion Cub?”

“Sleeping when I got there. He looked good though. No lingering sign of outward injury.” Thinking about everything Mereoleona had told her, Teris tentatively touched Yami’s arm, eyes darting over him.

Yami quirked a brow, wondering at the way Teris was looking at him.

Knowing what she now knew, Teris felt silly for her earlier worry. Making love was so much more than she had imagined. Her eyes fell lower. Though rudimentary, Mereoleona’s drawings had given her an idea of what Yami was concealing. The thought of seeing him naked. Of him seeing her naked. Of Yami touching her where no other but she had seen or touched before. It both made her nervous and excited. No wonder it was customary for such an act to be put off until marriage. It was just so personal. So private. So meaningful and intimate. To share such a thing with someone you hadn’t yet promised your life and love to seemed nigh to impossible to her. Not that she judged Venice or anyone else who didn’t wait or had more than one partner in their lifetime; she just couldn’t see herself doing so.

Julius clasped his sister’s shoulder.

Teris jumped, startled out of her thoughts. Her hand jerked back from Yami’s arm, blushing at where her mind had gone. She ducked her head wondering if Julius had been able to tell and that’s why he was frowning at her.

Julius shook his head. He wondered if there was a set number of times he had to tell them before they listened. Though not an excuse, at least Teris didn’t know the full reasoning behind it all. Yami on the other had faced two attempts on his life because of Nathyn Silva, and yet he still tempted fate being close and alone with Teris when out in public.

Looking down at Yami, Julius ordered. “Scoot.”

Yami growled under his breath and moved his chair a couple inches away from Teris’.

“Scoot over a seat.” Julius clipped, irritated. Had Yami forgotten about the two attempts on his life? Or did he just not care?

“Let the man sit next to his girlfriend.” Mereoleona said.

“Not so loud.” Julius hushed, eyes darting to the surrounding patrons.

Teris stood up. “It’s alright. I’m leaving.”

Julius looked after her, expression pained. Why were they making him out to be the bad guy? He was just trying to protect them.

Getting to his feet, Yami told Julius. “There you can have your choice of seats. Happy?”

“Sit down.” Jax ordered.

Yami stared at his Captain. “After what we learned about the crazies traitor. Are you really fine with her going off alone?”

“I’ll see her home. Shall I, sir?” Jon asked his Captain.

“Thank you, Jon.” Julius nodded.

Jon turned and made after his Captain's sister.

Sinking into the chair Teris had vacated, Julius told Yami. “This was your doing. When are you going to learn? Unlike Teris, you are all too aware of the full reasoning for such discretion.”

Mereoleona’s lip twitched, remembering the threat to Yami’s life that she had spoken to her father about. Looking at Yami, she told. “Much as I hate to admit it, Julius has a point. You should have more care; for both of your sake's. If you truly are interested in marrying, you’ll have the rest of your life to be as free as you want after. Well,” she lifted a shoulder and grinned, “as free as Teris will let you be.”

“Is this the fine young man that’s willing to wait?” Lisbet asked Mereoleona, glancing at Yami.

Jax turned to the waitress. “Why would we have to wait? It’s not like you’re full up with patrons.”

Mereoleona smirked and nodded at Lisbet.

Lisbet’s smile widened. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

“Ale.” Jax and Julius ordered.

“Same.” Yami said.

“Yours is on the house.” Lisbet told Yami.

Yami took in the woman’s curious expression. He wondered at her generosity but wasn’t going to question the good luck.

“This one drink.” Mereoleona told before Yami could get any ideas. She had seen the man drink and didn’t want Lisbet’s pay going to cover Yami’s tab.

“How’s Leon?” Julius asked as the waitress went to fill their orders.

“They say he’ll be released tomorrow morning.” Mereoleona said. She looked at Yami giving him a nod of thanks for going along with the Agents of Chaos’ sick game. No doubt they would've killed Nozel and her brother if Yami and Teris hadn’t obeyed.

Yami looked away from the Crimson Lions Captain. He had nothing against being praised and recognized. But in that case he hadn’t even have a choice.

“I’m just glad that the Future of Chaos wasn’t there. Who knows what ill a man like Alowishus could do with such knowledge.” Jax said.

“I’m just glad it’s not cluttering up my or Teris’ grimoire.” Yami said.

Despite the thing likely being a single magical page like the History of Chaos, Jax understood Yami’s meaning. The Black Bulls Captain was also grateful that Teris didn’t have such a thing to focus and fuss over.

Lisbet returned with four ales. Sliding one to Mereoleona, she gave her friend a wink.

“Thank you, Bet.” Julius said as the waitress set a mug in front of him.

Jax noted that Lisbet didn’t give the Azure Deers Captain her usual flirty smile. As soon as she left, he quietly asked. “She still have a thing for Julius, Leona?”

“Who’s that?” Julius questioned.

Jax gave his friend a look. “Don’t play dumb.”

“That ended long ago. Though I’m sure she’d change her mind right back if Julius ever offered.” Mereoleona said.

Julius’ ears heated. “Can you two please stop.”

While Lisbet was good company and certainly attractive enough, she struck Julius as the type that was looking for a relationship. With his work as Captain, all that was going on with Yami and Teris, and his endeavors to become the next Wizard King. Relationships were something Julius didn’t have the time or inclination for. Even if Lisbet wasn’t Mereoleona’s friend, he wouldn’t have wanted to chance hurting the waitress.

“You and Marx come up with any ideas on who, where, and when the Future of Chaos was moved?” Jax asked Julius.

“Too many and none worthy of mentioning.” Julius sighed, aggravated disappointment showing.

Yami set his drink down. “That labyrinth really was two hundred thousand whatever--”

“297,353.” Julius nodded. “Yes. It was.”

“Crazy Happy Killer Voice said the Future of Chaos would be found there.” Yami said, thinking. “So if Crazy Happy Killer Voice was this Yurist guy and Yurist wrote that the ones who found the History of Chaos would find the Future, does that mean he’s wrong? That the chances of Teris and I finding the Future of Chaos are the same as anyone elses? I mean the damned thing could be destroyed for all we know. Right?”

“Such a magical item would be near impossible to destroy.” Julius said.

“Even so, the thing could be anywhere.” Yami pressed. He didn’t know if he believed in Yurist’s prophecies; but he had hoped Julius would tell him that the Future of Chaos missing from the labyrinth meant that he and Teris were off the hook.

Julius shook his head. “I simply can’t say.”

“Well if you and Marx ever do find out where the thing was moved, be sure to tell me so I can keep Yami and Teris well away from it.” Jax said.

97.5

Calen rose from the chair before Alowishus’ desk. Straightening the orders his Master had given him to pass on to the others, Calen took in a fortifying breath.

Alowishus had been murderous since the night of the labyrinth, but the matter was too important to put off any longer. While Flic hadn’t had any pertinent information about their plans and Sanctuary was magically moved by Alowishus on the night of every new moon, meaning Flic could no longer tell the Magic Knights where they were. The man still had to be dealt with. His crimes of betrayal could not go unpunished.

“Master, if I may. We’ve yet to receive word from Lady Ellara about the traitor, Flic.”

“Nor will we.” Alowishus told. His dual colored eyes lifted from the book he’d just open. “Ellara cannot be anywhere near Flic. It would only give those already suspicious of her what they so desperately want.”

“Then--”

“Iam handling it. Have you learned why Flic abandoned us yet?” Alowishus asked.

“It would be easier if we could bring Ellara to search the lesser members memories.” Calen said.

“Ellara will not be of help with this.” Alowishus said, irritation growing.

“Then if you would allow me to question them more openly.” Calen said.

“No.” Alowishus said, shortly.

Calen inclined his head. “As you wish, Master. I will continue my endeavors.”

“Do more than endeavor.” Alowishus told.

“Yes, Master.” Calen bowed.

Alowishus watched the man exit, closing the door behind him. Left alone, he pushed to his feet and turned to the bookshelf behind his desk. Placing a hand on the now quiet skull, he slid it to the side revealing a small saucer-like dish made of obsidian.

He smiled, seeing the fingernail in the dish was almost fully dissolved. Flic would be dead before the night was through. Pushing the skull back in place, he returned to the desk.

After Captain Shadow Banashe had killed his sixth iteration, Everard Spade, Alowishus had taken the first hundred or so years of his seventh life to work alone. When he had finally decided to rejoin the group he had started in his third life, he took his time to win over the members that called Alric Halvor Master before challenging him for the right to be Master of the Agents of Chaos.

After seeing the dead Alric Halvor’s family expelled, graciously allowing them to seek refuge in the Clover Kingdom, Alowishus had made all the existing members go through a ritual of cleansing and loyalty. Though all of those members were now long dead, Alowishus had made the ritual a prerequisite for joining the Agents of Chaos. It wasn’t the pomp that he was interested in; but the right thumb nail that each person willingly gave during the ritual. Such a thing was hardly necessary for a cleansing and promise of loyalty to him, Chaos, and their cause; but it was a simple way to get what he wanted without anyone asking questions.

This was hardly the first time he had needed to use a followers given nail to find, or kill them from afar. At least Flic’s treason had come at a time when their Sanctuary was routinely moved so Alowishus had not needed to expend any excess energy in moving their base should Flic have told the Magic Knights were to look for them.

With a sigh he looked over his grandfathers final journal. Many said Yurist had gone mad well before the journal was written. And given how jumbled and lacking of sense most of the phrases and sentences were, Alowishus would agree. But that didn’t mean the writings didn’t contain helpful truths.

Considering how many times Alowishus had read the journal that was nothing but snippets about Chaos, Death, Light, and Darkness; he doubted he had missed anything. Still, he hoped Yurist had written something in there that would tell him where his father had moved the Future of Chaos. Surely Yurist’s prophecy magic had shown him that the page would be moved from the labyrinth he had placed it in. And if Yurist's magic had shown him that, then surely he had made some note about it.

Alowishus refused to believe he would never find the Future of Chaos again. Not when having it would guarantee the success of his aims.

Unlike the History of Chaos which was a set spelled page that could only show Chaos’ passed; the Future of Chaos was a volatile, changeable page that could answer questions. It wasn’t alive but imbued with some of Yurist's prophecy magic. And since the future of Chaos wasn’t yet set, like Yurist's prophecy magic, the answers given could often be unclear or altered depending on events and how close those events were to fruition.

Alowishus had had the Future of Chaos for all but half a day before his father stole it; and most of that time with the page had been trying to get somewhere secure so his father couldn’t take it back. As such he had only been able to ask the page how to awaken Chaos and end existence. While such an answer wouldn’t or shouldn't change, it would have been extremely helpful to have the page in hand.

As troublesome as the Spade Kingdom Magical Scientist Rayla had been. Her taking Yami and Teris had ultimately been a help. With his having taken a portion of the overflow of Yami’s mana, Alowishus had been able to track him. It meant Ellara hadn’t needed to use her magic to affect Jorah to assign Yami and Teris to a set area to search for the royal princes.

With two Magic Knights Captain's suspicious of Ellara, her not adding to their suspicious by affecting the Wizard King for something that had ended in failure was the one good thing to come out of all this. And it hadn’t been a complete failure either. While the questions he asked the royal Prince’s had been purposefully all over the place, he now knew what type of mage the Black Bulls were sure to want come the next Magic Knights Entrance Exams in three months.

A spatial mage, Alowishus thought with a smile. Was poor dead Vice Captain Bronn that missed yet so easily replaced? Well if giving up one of his spatial mages would make Yami happy, and get one of his Agents of Chaos welcomed into the Black Bulls, Alowishus would gladly do so.

97.6

“Commander Greywright?”

Seated at the desk in his office, Greywright looked up and blinked in surprise. “Vice Captain Nozel.”

Standing outside the open office door, Nozel glanced at the empty assistants desk in the anteroom. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Sir, but there’s no one here to check-in with.”

“Unless there’s something going on, I insist Luca calls it a day by six at the latest. I see no sense why at least one of us can’t have a life and rest outside work.” The Knights Commander lowered his quill. “Speaking of getting rest. You were just released from Healer’s Hall this afternoon, you should you be at your home or base recuperating.”

“I will, Sir. But I wanted to hand in my report.” Nozel said, lifting the paper.

Greywright beckoned him in with a wave. “One. This report didn’t have to be done until your debriefing tomorrow. Two. You didn’t have to personally hand it in. You could have sent it through secure magical carrier. But having been a Magic Knight for nearly four years, you know that. Take a seat.”

“Thank you.” Nozel sat in one of the two chairs in front of the Commander’s desk.

Greywright noted Nozel’s stiff movements and slight grimace as he sat. The royal really should be at home or the Silver Eagles base convalescing. So why wasn’t he? “What can I do for you, Vice Captain?”

Nozel noticed the untouched touched dinner, pushed aside on Greywright’s desk and felt a margin of guilt. The Magic Knights Commander was clearly busy if he had ignored his supper. But the matter he wanted to discuss was important, and after he and Fuegoleon had been taken and tortured by the Agents of Chaos, he felt that he had a right to some answers.

A knock sounded before Nozel could speak.

Greywright looked to the door. Without waiting for leave, one of the guards who worked at Magic Knights Headquarters entered.

“Commander.” The stony faced man greeted, handing Greywright a slip of paper.

Greywright read the short note and sighed. “Sir Jorah has been informed?”

“Yes, sir. And someone was sent to inform Advisor Ellara as well.” The Guard said.

Greywright nodded. “Dismissed.”

“Sir.” The Guard saluted and exited the office.

Folding the missive and setting it aside, Greywright told Nozel. “Your time just got considerably shorter, Vice Captain. I’d hurry up and speak if I were you.”

“Sir?” Nozel’s brow furrowed, not understanding.

“Flic has died.” Greywright said.

“The Agents of Chaos traitor!” Nozel blinked.

“Yes. And the Wizard King will likely be sending for me shortly, so speak.” Greywright said.

He would’ve gone to the Wizard King’s office immediately; but Greywright couldn’t see what harm Ellara could do in this instance. Ellara had been strangely uninterested in the traitor Flic after that first day. And they had already known Flic would likely die sometime before tomorrow morning. Greywright couldn’t help a dead man; but he could listen to and hopefully help one of his Magic Knights.

That would be nice, Greywright thought. To be of actual help again, instead of just trying to stave off and mitigate disasters.

Nozel stared, wondering why the Knights Commander wasn’t rushing to the prisoners body or Sir Jorah now.

Seeing his wondering pause, Greywright told. “Flic’s death was sadly expected, Vice Captain. He had grown considerably ill at a rather alarming rate and there was nothing the Healer’s could do for him. But that isn’t why you came, so why have you?”

“I--” Nozel faltered when the Knights Commander held out a hand. Mind still whirling from the news he just heard, it took him a second realize Greywright was asking for the report he still held. He passed it over. “I was hoping for answers, sir.”

“Answers? To what?” Greywright asked, looking over the report.

“The Agents of Chaos.”

Greywright’s eyes lifted, all hope of being of help to someone crumbling to dust. “The Magic Knights Captain’s were told what information they were allowed to give their squads. Seeing as Kess seems like a fairly open Captain and you’re her Vice Captain, I would imagine she told you all she could.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were there when Vice Captain's Yami Sukehiro and Teris Nova convinced the now dead Mister Flic to yield to my interrogation.” Greywright said, lowering Nozel’s report.

“Yes, sir.”

“So what else is there for you to know?” Greywright asked, disappointment making his tone stern.

“With all respect. Everything, sir. What did Mister Flic say during your interrogation of him? What has Magic Investigations learned of the Agents of Chaos and how the group plans to go about their aims? What are we doing to find and combat them and those plans? What exactly happened during the Summer Solstice that lit up the sky almost a year ago? Why is Alowishus Spade seemingly fixated on Lady Teris and Yami Sukehiro?”

Greywright didn’t miss the bite to Nozel’s tone when he said Yami’s name, but didn’t comment on it. “Those are a lot of serious questions, Vice Captain.”

“Being taken and tortured is a serious matter, sir.”

“Is that why you think you deserve answers when you have the same information we are willing to allow any other Magic Knights Vice Captain?”

“Lady Teris and… he have more information.” Nozel said, unable to say Yami’s name again when the image of Yami pressing Teris against the wall refused to leave his mind no matter how far back he tried to bury it.

“Sir Jorah has only allowed them more information relatively recently, and that is only because the matter involves them.” Greywright said.

Nozel lifted his chin slightly. “Fuegoleon and I were taken and tortured. It involves us now too.”

Greywright lifted and skimmed Nozel’s report as he spoke. “Yami and Teris’ report stated that Alowishus Spade said you and Fuegoleon were taken as means to force them to do his bidding; and from what I see here, you say pretty much the same.” He lowered the paper and sighed. “I understand you’re upset and want answers. None of us here are happy you and Fuegoleon were abducted and used as pawns.”

Nozel’s eye twitched at being called a pawn. Yes, that’s what he and Fuegoleon had been to Alowishus and the Agents of Chaos; but it didn’t mean he liked it.

“But, upsetting as it is, being taken and tortured does not equate to being involved in this.” Greywright continued, thinking that he would seriously consider quitting, his promise to Sir Jorah be damned, if any more of his Magic Knights became the focus of these crazies.

“Teris is my Intended.” Nozel stated.

Greywright paused briefly at that. “I am aware. But I do not understand what you think you’ll gain by saying that.”

Nozel’s eyes shifted down and away from the Knights Commander. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he had hoped to gain from saying it either. He knew full well it meant nothing in this instance. It was just that after seeing Yami and Teris this afternoon a part of him had needed to say it. Had needed to hear someone in authority acknowledge it. As if saying and hearing it would somehow fix everything and erase what he had seen.

“I’m sorry, Vice Captain.”

Nozel’s gaze lifted. For a moment he thought the Knights Commander was apologizing for what he had witnessed between Yami and Teris.

“I know this can’t be easy. But until Sir Jorah says otherwise, I cannot tell you any more. You will have to be satisfied with the answers that you have.” Greywright straightened at the sudden appearance of Cob outside his door. “Ah, Cob. I was wondering when you would show.”

“Good evening, Commander. The Wizard King wishing to meet with you immediately.” Cob said, jovially.

“Yes.” Greywright stood, taking up his transportation charm. “Please do me a favor and see Vice Captain Nozel either home or to the Silver Eagles base. He has a long morning ahead, and needs to rest and recuperate.” Greywright looked at Nozel. “If you must. Consider that an order, Vice Captain.”

Nozel’s hand twitched at the twinge of his still tender side as he slowly got to his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“See you tomorrow morning.” Greywright said andactivated the transportation charm.

97.7

Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Teris got to her feet and told Yami. “I’ll meet you out by the picnic table.”

“You barely touched your plate.” Yami commented.

“Can blame her.” Tobin muttered, chewing around the overly dry food.

“Hey.” Gendry scowled, offended on Abril’s behalf.

“Then tell your girl to learn how to cook.” Tobin shot back.

Ignoring the two men, Jax looked between his Vice Captain's. “Where you two going?”

“Taking Pilfer and No Name out for a run.” Yami said. It was actually a date; but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Jax shook his head. “No.”

Yami glowered. “What do you mean, no?”

“Exactly that.” Jax said.

“You’re the one who told me to get this aggression outta my system.” Yami stormed.

“Find another way to do it. You’re not going out. And if you can’t you’re staying tomorrow.” Jax warned.

Still standing at the table, Teris looked between the two. “Why? What’s going on tomorrow?”

“Nothing.” Jax and Yami said. A sure sign that it was definitely something.

“What’s the harm in taking a ride?” Yami asked. The anger building in him might've been a bit out of proportion for the circumstance, but Jax’s order was just as overdone.

“I. Said. No.” Jax clipped.

Muttering a curse, Yami grabbed and lifted the tables edge, slamming it back down.

Teris stared wide eyed.

Tobin’s drink fell over onto his plate. He cursed then shrugged; it couldn’t have made the meal any worse.

The rest of the Black Bulls sat silently, watching out of the corner of their eye.

“Are you finished?” Jax questioned, calmly.

Though the outburst had helped his growing temper, Yami snarled. “It’s just a damned ride.”

Jax threw his napkin down. “It’s never just anything when it’s the two of you. Damn it, Yami! Why must you tempt fate? I swear, Julius is right. You never learn!”

“If fate has plans for me and Teris, I’ll kill the bastard along with the Agents of Chaos.” Yami growled. He looked at the Captain, sudden temper further diminishing. He needed space to breath. The base and people making him feel as if he’d been caged in for far too long in a too small enclosure. “I just want a moments peace. That’s all. Just an hour out and away. Two at most.”

Jax’s expression softened. He felt for Yami; but that didn’t change the fact that his squads safety was far more important than their wants or needs. Mereoleona had been right when she told Yami he had the rest of his life to be as free with Teris as Teris would allow once the mess of Nozel being her Intended was over with. Then again, the loss of his love Belinda, and Bronn’s death had proved that fate was cruel and laughed at such hope filled plans.

Jax shook his head clear of the depressing thoughts. “With you and Teris being taken only a couple days ago and the Summer Solstice so near--”

“They have no plans for us for the Summer Solstice. Alowishus said so himself.” Yami argued.

“Which could be a lie.” Jax said.

“That sick lunatic has done a lot to us, but he’s yet to lie.” Yami said.

“Yet.” Jax stressed. “He hasn’t lied yet. Come on, Yami. With what’s going on with Flic you should’ve seen this coming.”

“Tch.” Yami turned away, making a face.

Teris looked between the two. “Why? What’s going on with Flic?”

Jax glanced at Teris, then back at Yami. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Teris questioned.

Jax explained about Flic’s unknown illness and the likelihood he would be dead by morning.

Not sure which Vice Captain he was apologizing to, Jax apologized. “Sorry. I thought Yami would've told you.”

“One would've thought.” Teris frowned down at Yami.

“I was going to.” Yami said.

“Sure you were.” Teris spun on a heel and stormed away, leaving her dirty plate.

“Teris, come on. Teris!” Yami called, watching her disappear through the dining room door. Getting to his feet, he cursed and grabbed the table lifting and slamming it back down.

Jax lifted his hands watching his drink tip over. Maybe taking Yami tomorrow really wasn’t the smartest thing.

97.7.2

Climbing the stairs two at a time Yami caught up to Teris as she reached the second floor landing. He grabbed her arm, stopping her from continuing on up to the third level girls wing.

Pulling her back down the two steps she had climbed, Yami griped. “Will you just wait a dang second and listen.”

Teris tried to pull free, her voice angry and wounded. “Why? So you can explain away why you’re still not telling me stuff? I thought we had moved passed this after— Iban.”

Yami opened his mouth to say that they had, but followed Teris’ gaze to see the Blood Mage watching them from the ground floor. “Go away before I kill you, Creepy.” He turned back to Teris, not waiting to see if Iban complied. “Come here.”

Teris’ eyes widened when Yami tugged her down the hall toward the boys wing. “No. Yami. I can’t go down there!”

Growling, Yami bent and lifted her over his shoulder.

Teris yelped. Squealing, she kicked out. “Yami! It’s not proper!”

Yami gave another rumbling growl, feet staggering slightly from Teris’ squirming and kicks. Shifting the balance of her weight, he continued down the hall, giving her butt a sharp smack. “Settle down.”

He kicked his bedroom door open and stepped inside. Setting Teris down on her feet, he closed the door and leaned against it.

Teris blew her hair out of her face, wide eyes darting around the space.

Yami crossed his arms and smirked. She looked like a trapped hare. As cute as he found it, he didn’t want her to be nervous or afraid. “Calm down. It’s not like I haven’t been in your bedroom before.”

Teris stepped backwards. “That’s different.”

Yami quirked a brow. “How so?”

She bumped something and gasped, spinning around.

Yami chuckled. “That’s my bed. You can have a seat if you want.”

“No. Thank you.” Teris took a sideways step.

Yami’s smile grew. It was cute how the royal politeness of her upbringing so quickly and easily came forward despite her clear ire and nervousness. He pushed away from the door and stepped to the bed. Falling back into the mattress, he pillowed his head with his hands and stretched out with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll take it then.”

Teris watched Yami kick out his legs, crossing his ankles. “Why didn’t you tell me about Flic?”

“I was going to.”

Teris huffed.

Yami lifted his head, looking at her. “You doubt me?”

“Just when were you planning on telling me? After he was dead?”

Yami laid his head back down. “I was gonna tell you after our ride tonight. Didn’t wanna ruin it with the news. Instead, Jax ruined it all anyway.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, but he’s just worried about us. Besides, he has a point.”

Yami sighed. The dark, brooding feeling within him that was constantly simmering wanted to bubble up in anger at Teris for agreeing with Jax’s point. But he knew that wasn’t really him. It was the thing inside him. The thing he had been battling since the sun set on the night of the Winter Solstice. He wondered if Teris had struggled with the same when the supposed primordial force inside her was on the rise, but didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to worry her if it hadn’t been the same. Surely she would've said something if it had been like this for her.

He sat up and pushed back in bed leaning against the headboard. “Sorry. I should've told you sooner.”

“You wanted us to enjoy ourselves without all that mess. I’m sorry I got angry. I never should have doubted you.”

“Jax wants to take me to Nozel’s debriefing tomorrow.” Yami said.

Teris sighed. It was an easy enough thing to figure given the way Yami and Jax had responded to her questioning in the dining hall. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already known about Nozel’s scheduled debriefing. She wondered if and when Yami had originally planned on telling her that. Possibly after their date this evening too. She’d never know for sure now, she sullenly thought. She was just as frustrated by all the rules and restrictions as Yami was. Would they still have to face house arrest and escorts? They were Vice Captain's for mana sake.

She turned away, her disgust at the situation switching to curiosity as she took in Yami’s bedroom. Yami smirked and watched her look about in interest.

“Is it was you imagine?” He asked.

Teris looked back at him, the slight tint in her cheeks belying the surety of her tone. “I thought it’d be messier.”

Yami smiled crookedly. “Yeah well, I haven’t been spending much time in here and the clothes were just sent out for washing so...”

Teris gestured to a box on top of a chest of drawers. “May I?”

“Look through whatever you want.” Yami said.

Teris tentatively opened the long, thin box. It contained instruments used for detailing his katana.

“Don’t stop there.” Yami told.

She could hear the taunting smile in his voice and took it as a challenge to continue, knowing he thought she wouldn’t.

Yami lazily sat back watching her open and close various drawers and cupboards. “Looking for your bra?”

Teris’ eyes slid to him without amusement.

“You’re nowhere close.” Yami taunted.

She closed a drawer overly hard.

Yami watched her walk around the bed to his desk and smiled. “You’re getting closer.”

“Shut— I’m not looking for it. So just—stop.”

Yami chuckled at her temper. “Fine. Forget I mentioned it.” He swung his legs off the bed closing the nightstand drawer she had just opened. “Not that one.”

“What happened to, look through whatever you want?” Teris teased.

“Whatever you want but this one drawer.”

Teris shook her head. “That’s not what you said. You said--”

“I know what I said.” Yami interrupted, hand lifting off of the drawer as he stood.

“Then?” Teris stared up at him, fingers wrapping around the knob and slowly pulling the drawer open.

The side of Yami’s leg pressed against it, closing the drawer back up. “So I misspoke. What of it? You don’t see me going up to your room looking through everything.”

“No. Just stealing undergarments.” Teris humored brow raised.

Yami smiled proudly at that. “If I remember correctly you threw them at me.”

“And if I remember correctly, I never gave you leave to go looking about my things, where as you gave me permission to look.”

Yami grabbed her wrist, arm wrapping around her to pin it to her back. “You’re a greedy little brat, you know that.”

He looked her over, eyes lingering on the rise and fall of her chest. His other hand skimmed up her free arm to cup her face.

Teris’ teasing smile faltered. “Yami. I—we--”

“Shh.” Yami’s thumb brushed lightly across her lips. “Leave what’s in that drawer alone. You’ll find out was in there soon enough. Think of it like sex.”

Teris’ eyes widened, heart quickening.

Yami smirked at her expression. “Something to wait for.”

“You still do, right?”

“Still do what?” Yami asked.

“Want to wait.”

Yami’s brows furrowed. He had told her as much. Why was she... “Are you asking cause of what we did earlier today?”

Teris became defensive. “I know it wasn’t sex.”

“Who would think that was sex?” Yami chuckled.

Blushing at her naivety, Teris pushed him back. “Shut up.”

Yami laughed louder. When she tried to pull away from him, he grew serious. He stared a moment, confused at how upset she had become. “What’d I say?”

“Nothing.” Teris shook her head, crossing her arms when Yami released her.

“If I don’t know, how am I to not do it again?” Yami asked.

“It’s nothing.” Teris said, temper in her tone lessening.

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

“And you can show me anything.” Teris said, eyes flicking to the nightstand drawer with interest.

“Alright then.” Yami grinned, mischievously.

Teris’ eyes brightened then closed tightly shut when his hands went to his belt buckle. “Yami!”

Yami laughed, looking freely over her.

“Is it safe?” Teris timidly asked.

“Hardly.” Yami’s deep voice rumbled, eyes raking over her form.

Teris’ eyes opened.

“What?” Yami asked, innocently.

“What?” Teris echoed. Her eyes darted down, both glad and slightly disappointed his buckle and pants were still done.

Yami smiled crookedly. “You’re too easy, Princess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Teris asked, a hint of temper in her tone.

Sitting in bed, Yami gripped her hips and pulled her closer, his legs spread to either side of her. Teris stopped, unable to get any closer without falling into bed with him.

“Don’t worry, Ikigai. I’m far too easy when it comes to you too.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” Teris asked.

She saw a bit of color peeking out from under Yami’s pillow. With a blink she realized it was her bra. And here she had been certain it had been hidden in the nightstand drawer he wouldn’t let her open. Now she really wanted to know what was in the drawer.

Yami’s eyes lowered to the front of her upper left thigh. “Let me kiss that birthmark of yours and I’ll consider telling you want it means.”

Teris’ eyes shot back to him. “Yami!”

“Alright then, just let me see it.”

“Yami.”

“What? It’s not like I haven’t seen it once before.” And a million other times in my head, Yami thought.

“No.”

“Fine. Then can I touch it?” Yami asked, hand already sliding down from her hip to do so.

“Yami! No.” Teris squeaked and laughed, slapping away his hand.

Yami bent, lowering his head. “You sure I can’t kiss it?”

“Yami!” Teris put her hands on his shoulders holding him at bay.

There was a quick knock followed by the bedroom door opening.

Olsen poked his head in. Seeing Yami sitting on the bed. Teris standing between his legs. Yami’s head bent, face so near Teris. And Teris gripping the mans powerful shoulders. The Water Mage quickly ducked his head back out. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“No. No.” Teris called. She stepped back, Yami’s hands falling to his knees.

Olsen peeked back in, apologizing once more. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“There was nothing to interrupt.” Teris said.

“Says you.” Yami grumbled. Turning to Olsen, he demanded. “What do you want?”

Olsen continued as if neither Vice Captain had spoken. “It’s only Iban said I could find you up here. But, he said nothing about Teris being with you.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Yami muttered and asked again. “What do you want?”

Teris made of the door. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Teris, wait.” Yami reached, but she was too quick in her steps.

Olsen inclined his head as Teris passed.

Yami listened to her footfalls as they hurried down the hall and up the stairs. He eyed Olsen murderously. “What have I told you about entering without leave?”

Olsen held up his hands in a placating surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But whatever was going on would've come to a halt whether I waited for a response or not.”

“Nothing was going on.” Yami said.

Looking back over his shoulder, Tobin pushed his way passed Olsen and entered Yami’s room. “Was that Teris I saw rushing from this way?”

“Shut up.” Yami snapped.

Olsen gave Tobin a nod.

“What happened to wanting to wait?” Bran asked from the doorway.

Tobin smirked lewdly. “I knew you couldn’t wait. You--”

“If you want to keep your tongue, stop using.” Yami growled. He got to his feet and frog-stepped Tobin and Olsen out of his room. “Bran! Go feed the wolves.”

“Gendry took them out for a run.” Bran said.

“Then go do something else useful.” Yami said.

“Like stepping in here and stopping what you and Teris were up to?” Olsen asked.

Yami glowered. “I told you, nothing was going on.”

“You should take more care.” Olsen said. “That is if you truly wish to wait. A year and a half may not seem like much. But it can be a very long time indeed.”

Tell me about it, Yami thought.

“A word of advice. Holding out for such a time would greatly be aided if you didn’t enter each others bedrooms.” Olsen went on.

“What he said.” Tobin said, backing into Bran as he was backed out of Yami’s room.

“Didn’t ask for your advice.” Yami told the two men, slamming the door in their faces.

Exhaling, Yami ran a hand through his hair. He turned around and leaned back against the door. He saw Teris in every area she had been, and several places she hadn’t. Namely his bed. Closing his eyes, his head banged back against the door.

Unwanted advice or not, Olsen was right about one thing. A year and a half seemed like a very long time indeed.

***Important question***

So I have what would be some longer chapters like this one. Currently, they have been cut in half to cut down on length and give me a buffer between what I’m writing and posting. The question I have for you all is, do you like these weekly updates, which would mean those longer chapters would stay cut in half? Our would you prefer longer chapters like this one, which would mean switching from weekly to every other week updates?

Also I got a couple asks this past week that might interest some readers. One is a reader theory and the other is about the fic length and how I section it. There's links on ao3, or you can just go to my tumblr's honepage.

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day. Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

“If all the History of Chaos covered was strictly just the history of Chaos why would it even make an attempt at showing you the image of Alowishus Spade or the Master of Master's? No matter how old Alowishus Spade is, I seriously doubt he’s old enough to have been alive and around during the time of Chaos’ reign and defeat which brought about Order.”

Teris frowned, having never thought of that. Her eyes lifted to Marx realization dawning. “You think the portrait is of Yurist.”

[artemiseamoon]

Refuge pt 2

Chapter Title: Burned Pancakes 

Read part 1 here

Dedicated to the Anon who requested this. Your hug comes this chapter! 

Gif @coredrive​

Words: 1,063   | Rating: Adult 18 *   Mature content. | #Anon request

Summary: Javier Pena provides shelter for one of Pablos ex-mistresses

Story notes: One shot turned short fic. You got my wheels turning Anon. Thank you for the request! Here is part one of maybe 4 parts. 

Warnings: Aside form the general topic being intense, none

Javier didn’t know what to do.

Night after night, you tossed and turned in the bed. Plagued by nightmares and replays of your life. Along with that, on some nights, you could still feel Pablo; see his eyes, hear his voice. You were being haunted. Despite never talking about this out loud, you knew what was happening, the same as Javier.

It was week three, the night before you had one of the worst nights in recent memory. Javier was out, you assumed with work or a woman. When he finally came home, sometime between 4 and 5 am, you were in the middle of an anxiety attack from a terrible nightmare.

Javier rushes into the room, his silhouette defined in the darkness as you sat up in the bed, head in your hands. He sits beside you, on hand soft against your arm as the other rubbed small circles on your back.

“It’s okay, I’m here-” his voice comforting you, despite the tinge of worry. You lean into him, his arm comes up to hold you as you take a deep breath in.

A few minutes pass this way, his presence helping you find your breath and slow down the anxiety invading your every cell. Javier holds you, quiet as you find your way back to the room, to the moment.

It’s only then that he speaks, “Y/n.” Your name soft on his lips, the softest you’ve ever heard it said.

“Yes?”

You look up at him, his arm still tight around your body; your faces only inches away from each other. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see the puppy dog look in his eyes.

You were so close, you could smell the mixture of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips. The leather of his jacket dancing up into your nose, topping off the scent of Javier Peña. A scent that has become comforting to you over the last few weeks.

“What can I do to help?” He asks.

“I don’t know, I guess I just- it will take time. Maybe,” you adjust your position, careful to keep close to him. Almost as if he could read your mind, Javier keeps his arm where it is; like he knows you need this.

“If there’s anything else I can do. Tell me.”

“You’re already doing so much. Just by helping me, giving me a place to stay. I’m so afraid he’ll find me. I never thought I could feel safe again, but with you...with you, I feel safe.”

Javier's eyes soften and he pulls you a little closer. His free hand finding your cheek and caressing it. You let your eyes fall closed again.

“Javier, thank you for not pushing me. I haven’t been ready to talk about a lot of it, I know I've only given you very little.”

“You don’t have to talk about anything until you are ready.”

“What if I stay too long? I’m sure you want your life back.” You sit up and fuss with the trim of the bedsheet, avoiding his eyes, afraid of his answer. “I feel like I’m a shackle on your life…” your voice trails off.

“Y/n,”

He says your name and you don’t look up. He gently places a finger under your chin and lifts your gaze to his. He sees the tears in your eyes.

“You are not a burden. You can stay here as long as you wish. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Overwhelmed by emotion, you quickly wipe the tears escaping your eyes.

“Can you stay? At least until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” Javier gets off the bed gently. Removing his jacket and boots.

You lay down and pull the sheet over you. When Javier joins you, he lays down with a respectable amount of space between your bodies, but his warmth still wraps around you like a second blanket. You rest your head on the pillow and roll onto your side to face him. He’s already watching you.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, this is your bed, your home.”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’d prefer if you were next to me, it feels better.”

“No more couch then.” He says with a smile.

You force a matching one and close your eyes, hoping to find sleep.

You feel his weight shift on the bed, and soon his lips meet your forehead. The kiss felt sweet, like a blessing. Soon sleep follows, you sleep the best you had in weeks.

…

When you wake in the morning, the smell of burned pancakes meets your nostrils. Making your way into the kitchen, you find Javier flustered and the kitchen a mess. Pancake batter is all over the place, batter handprints on his shirt and pants.  

When he turns to see you, he even has batter on the side of his face. You start to laugh, the first laugh you've had in longer than you can remember. You hold your stomach and curl over. Unable to stop, the laugh deepens and gets louder.

“What?” He asks, with wide eyes and genuinely confused.

“It’s just - you have-” you try to catch your breath and hold on to the side of the table for support. After a deep breath, you manage to regain some composure, “you look five years old!”

He lowers his head, grinning as he looks around at the mess.

“I know you had a hard night, I wanted to make you breakfast. I burned the pancakes.”

“I can smell that, but,” you stand behind him, placing a hand on his back, “if we smoother them in enough butter and syrup, they might be edible.”

Javier looks back at you, a smile in his eyes. You don't know what overcomes you, but you wrap your arms around his torso and hug him tight. Resting your head against his back.

Javier leans into it. You can hear the softest of sighs leave his lips, his arms wrapping over yours, reinforcing the embrace.

You both stand like this for a while, just being with each other. Javier turns to you, taking your hand into his.

“Let’s eat this before it gets cold.”

“Next time, let me make breakfast.” You say with a smile.

“You got it.” Javier winks at you, then pulling out a seat for you at the table.

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[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Persephone Will Have Her Fill 

Pairing: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: Here’s part two of my little hannigram verse. You should absolutely read the first part before you take a peak at this one. Word Count: 9.4K Warnings: There be some cannibalism and talk about killing. Oh, also - Will suffers from encephalitis, so there’s that, too!  Summary: 

After meeting the mysterious darkness that is Will Graham, Hannibal finds himself snared by the presence he brings into his life. When a question sparks up the need to truly be seen, Hannibal sets out to do just that. Earth-rocking realizations ensue.

Read on AO3 here.

“Have I ever seen any of your work?”

Looking up from the cutting board in front of him, the chef’s knife in his hand stalled through the rough chop he was treating the cilantro to. Hannibal took a second to draw in breath, then tilted his head – a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m surprised you haven’t pieced it all together already,” Hannibal replied smoothly, his body shifting to turn in Will’s direction. For a second, Hannibal let himself soak the other man in. His hands were covered in blood from the preparation of the organ on the butcher block in the middle of Hannibal’s kitchen. The man’s latest acquisition, a heart that would make great steaks for their dinner that evening, and then a lovely addition to a stew that blew Hannibal’s mind the last time Will shared it with him.

There were so many hidden components to Will Graham that Hannibal still didn’t completely grasp, but this one, the element that brought freedom and dropped the masks – Will flourished in it. The pinch of his shoulders eased and the fluid motion of hand to knife created art; a sort of relaxed talent that Hannibal only ever knew of himself before the whirlwind of Will swept into his life.

And, while they didn’t indulge the other in shared secrets of recipes and know-how in the kitchen, they each brought their own pieces to the game and let the innate connection between them bring about the result. The last few months of collaboration were some of Hannibal’s greatest culinary triumphs.

A coy smile directed Hannibal’s way brought him from his thoughts – the killer gleam in Will’s eyes reminding him of the existence of the wild animal the other man only barely kept at bay. He watched Will drop his knife, hands still covered in blood and viscera, and make his way directly into Hannibal’s space. There was a beat of shared breath, and then Will was suddenly behind him – his arm wrapping around Hannibal’s upper arms, pulling him until they were flush together, back to chest.

A blood stain in the shape of Will’s hand on the bicep of Hannibal’s shirt contrasted the stark white of the color – Will’s mark on him tangible in that moment in more ways than one.

The slightest height difference between them made it easy for Will to hook his chin over Hannibal’s shoulder, his lips already pressed delicately against the sensitive shell of his ear.

“I’ve thought about your design since the second I met you,” Will muttered, the words kissed into the soft skin just below Hannibal’s ear. “You’ve been killing most of your life – probably started young, caught the bug and had the talent to back it up. You’re knowledgeable in anatomy, so your dissections are precise. You only take what you need and use the rest to send your message.”

Each word felt like a direct hit to the walls in Hannibal’s mind. The palace that existed there, while generally untouched by outsiders, called out to Will. From the day they met, Hannibal felt himself making expansions, rooms being added on in an attempt to fit Will Graham’s infiltration.

“What I can’t decide on, though,” Will continued, the hand not gripping Hannibal already drifting down svelte sides until it settled on the middle of a trim stomach, “is whether you make a grandiose display, or not. You already play with your food, but do you reconstruct it, too?” There was another shift, Will practically plastering himself to every part of Hannibal he could reach.

Hannibal, unable to resist the temptation of the delectable heat behind him, pressed back, his right hand reaching up to grab onto Will’s forearm. In this position, he could feel warm breaths against his neck and the gentle rise and fall of Will’s chest. Despite the topic of conversation, the rate of Will’s heart didn’t pick up – the lack of acceleration more thrilling than a flare of excitement would’ve been. Finding someone so similar to himself was disarming, and yet, Hannibal didn’t know what he might do without it now that he understood the taste. His palette was redefined, covered and shaped by his darkness and its interaction with Will’s.

“And now? After getting to know me – what do you see?” Hannibal questioned, his back pressing more firmly against Will’s chest. The thickness of Will’s erection was there against his back, heat and want adding to the odd intensity they found themselves in.

A nip to the neck tore a sigh from Hannibal’s throat, the answer to Will’s interest now smashed up against the zipper of his pants – the well-tailored suit slacks for once a nuisance, hindering his pleasure. Not usually so submissive, Hannibal fought against the urge to turn around and pin Will to the counter – these moments where Will shed the façade were few and far between. These interactions acted as gates opening to the empathetic mystery.

Will’s hand on his cheek had Hannibal turning his head, their lips joining in a warm kiss. He could feel the patches of Will’s hand that were still wet with blood – the liquid smearing wherever work-rough hands touched. The scent of copper and sweat were prominent in the space between them; an aphrodisiac if Hannibal ever knew one.

Tongues tangled in a desperate attempt to draw something from each other. When Will kissed, or touched, or even looked – the air went a little thin and every part of Hannibal was on display.  Empathy or not, Will’s ability to look past the heavy walls and see within was unmatched and equal parts confusing and tranquil in its own right.

Parting for air became necessary – in their tussle to be as close as possible, Will pressed him hard against the counter. There was no space between their chests, no room to draw in a breath, even if he wanted to. Hannibal used his extra weight to lean forward, effectively cutting their kiss off. His chest heaved, and with every pulsing beat, Hannibal felt his cock throb – the timing of it eerily close to the pace of Will’s huffed out breaths.

Sure hands were quick to grab onto him again, Will used his leverage to turn Hannibal around – the two men practically nose to nose. The easy way Will stripped him down to this person that just did what was prompted, it was disarming and intoxicating all at once.

Those same hands were cupping his face then, Will’s thumb lightly running across Hannibal’s bottom lip. Will took his time looking Hannibal over, the tender brush of the man’s empathy caressing his skin. “I think you’re an artist, Hannibal. Sometimes you like the audience,” Will peppered kisses around the skin of his mouth as he spoke, “and sometimes, you keep your brutality all to yourself. I’m willing to bet that several names in the media over the last few years apply to you.”

“Such a clever boy you are, Will,” Hannibal said in reply, both hands wrapping around Will’s hips. “My most recent hunts have been underground, but one day – very soon, you’ll truly see me.” There was a soft breath shared, and then their lips were upon each other again.

It didn’t take but a few steps to get down the hall and into the study – the idea of walking up the stairs completely out of the question. In their time together, Hannibal was quick to understand that the physical urge to own and connect would come whenever and wherever it wanted. Will carried chaos with him and used it to his advantage – his impulsive, yet completely strategic actions were off putting and wild – absolutely delicious in its juxtaposition. Each of the rooms in his house now stored lube in at least one of its drawers.

There was only so much expensive olive oil Hannibal could let go to the cause.

Hands fumbled to rid bodies of clothing while trying to keep the tension of lip on lip. Hannibal made quick work of Will’s blue and green flannel; his fingers nimble on the buttons. A gasp left Will’s lips when fingers made their first touch on bare skin – an entire army of gooseflesh overtaking the sensitive flesh.

By the time they made it into the study, Will’s pants were hanging open, the belt flapping wildly with every movement. Hannibal, on the other hand, still wore his waistcoat and shirt, both of which were unbuttoned, yet hanging off his shoulders. His cock pressed ruthlessly against the seam of his dress pants, and every part of him ached to have Will in any way on offer.

Huffing out an exasperate breath, Will stepped back from their embrace. He made quick work of the clothes that still clung to him, his cock slapping his belly obscenely as the last layer fell to the ground. His eyes were ablaze, the usual blue of them completely overtaken by the lusty black that made Hannibal think of paranormal beings – beautiful little monsters with dark eyes and so many tricks under their sleeves.

“Have I told you how much I dislike all the layers you wear? While sexy, the suit takes so damn long to get off,” Will grumbled, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip. “I’m not patient enough right now, either.”

As he spoke, Will climbed onto the couch, his forearms settling against the armrest – the rest of his body a delicious temptation. Knowing how good he looked, Will glanced over his shoulder, a devilish glint in his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything, either – he simply maintained eye contact and reached behind himself, deft, coppery red fingers prying his ass cheeks apart; the cherry pink of his hole on provocative display.

“Take it off, Hannibal – or don’t. Just get over here and fuck me.”

Unable to think any further than that request, Hannibal shrugged off his waistcoat and practically dove onto the couch behind Will. He let his eyes roam over every inch of Will he could before impatient hips pressed back against him. The string between divine and desperate constantly hung in the balance – Hannibal frequently forgot the things he learned over the years; control and patience no longer existing.

Ducking between the delectable spread that was Will in that moment, Hannibal allowed himself to take in a long breath. The earthy musk sat in the back of his nose – his senses overcome with how manly and right the scent registered to be. It was a catalyst, the final notes of reign over himself falling as he tucked in and let the entire expanse of his tongue press against Will’s most intimate spot.

Like a man starving, Hannibal set about claiming his prize. He started with small licks around the rim, Will’s muscles already starting to relax under such simple ministrations. The first taste drove him mad with hunger, his tongue flattening after the first few teasing brushes to press more insistently against the still tight pucker. Pushing Will’s hands away, Hannibal took over the job of spreading supple cheeks, his longer fingers pushed into the flesh. Wanting more width, Hannibal shifted, practically yanking the globes even further apart.

The pleasure-pain of it tore a growl from Will’s lips, the man pressing his hips back against Hannibal’s face roughly in retaliation. Though he could see the redness start to overtake skin, Hannibal continued on – he felt familiar enough with Will’s interests to know that his counterpart appreciated the heat of pain just as much as delicate pleasure.

An abundance of spit both on Will’s skin and around Hannibal’s mouth and chin made the whole process easier – the point of his tongue and the tip of a rogue finger were easily admitted access. Little by little, Will loosened around him. Hannibal’s ministrations, like the rest of him, were precise – dealt with the intention of taking Will to pieces. Yet, Hannibal felt like he was the one falling apart; every rough touch and drawn out moan felt like a hit straight to the soul.

No one – not even Mischa, laid Hannibal so bare to the world. Especially with something as simple as a well-placed look or cleverly worded demand.

Only Will.

Groaning at the thought, Hannibal pulled back, a hand coming up to wipe away some of the moisture from his face. His chest was heaving, the cardiovascular system within him used to heavy lifting, not marathon tongue fucking.

The small gap in movement and Hannibal’s preoccupation was just enough for Will to once again take control of the situation. Where he was splayed against the side of the couch just moments before, Will was now facing Hannibal, his eyes alight.

Strong hands pushed against Hannibal’s shoulders until his own back was resting against the opposite arm rest, his long legs stretched across the entire length of the couch. Will settled into his lap nicely – strong thighs bracketed Hannibal’s, each clench and pulse of muscle bringing them closer, magnifying the feeling of touch and stimulus. Hannibal didn’t even have his pants off, yet, he felt just inches from the delirious cusp of that little death.

Hannibal watched with a contained awe as Will reached for the end table drawer – his brain was so strung out, he completely forgot that lube existed there. The soft slam of it being closed snapped him out of his haze. Hannibal tried to make quick work of getting his pants open – though, was quickly thwarted by Will, who merely let him get the zipper down before he was reaching in and grabbing Hannibal’s cock without any sort of finesse.

Will impatiently opened the lube and poured a decent amount directly onto Hannibal’s length – his teeth gritting against the cold of it. Fingers followed the flow. Will’s hand wrapping around the girth of him brought sharp canines down into a kiss swollen lip – Hannibal never had to fight so hard with the quick to cum trigger reflex that attempted to fail him right that instant. Fingers were tight around him for too short a time; instead, they trailed from his swollen flesh and found their way to Will’s hole, the man fingering himself open just enough to spread the slick.

Before Hannibal took his next breath, or had a second to find some control, Will lowered himself onto Hannibal’s rigid cock – their joint pants of exertion sounding around the room, overtaking the entire space. In an attempt to stop himself from finishing right that very second, Hannibal gripped Will’s hips tightly – his fingernails digging into the skin there, each one drawing up little welts of blood; Hannibal’s mark visible now, too.

“Fuck, Will – don’t move. Please,” Hannibal mumbled, his forehead resting against Will’s breastbone, his chest heaving with short, abortive breaths.

The slightest roll of hips was Hannibal’s answer – Will adjusting their position to better fit his own comfort.

While more movement did not follow, the filthiest words did, instead. With his hands gripping either side of Hannibal’s neck, Will used his leverage to tilt Hannibal’s head up until they were looking eye to eye.

“You look good like this – completely undone. Your clothes are less than immaculate, there’s wrinkles and sweat stains. Your pants are barely open and, in this moment, there’s nothing that could get you to care any less about it. I wonder what you would say if you saw yourself – splayed open like the pigs we hunt, looking at me like I’m both judge and executioner. Do you think you would like what you saw?”

Biting down hard on his lip, Hannibal fought each second to keep their eye contact – the words were delicious, and so eerily on point. Nodding his head seemed to be the best course of action – words were failing him, his brain short circuiting one neuron at a time.

How did Will get to the very core of him? With all things considered, Hannibal constructed walls that no one else came close to touching, let alone blowing apart the way Will seemed to. It felt like losing himself in a way – giving up those pieces to be cared for by this beautiful monster of a man.

Sensing Hannibal’s dilemma, Will started to move his hips in earnest. His rhythm a perfect distraction. There was a subtle roll down Hannibal’s length, then a powerful drive up until only the tip occupied space. Up and down, over and over – Will drove him closer to a new kind of insanity. This one would take everything from him; mind, body, soul – even the heart that didn’t seem to exist until the murderous temptation that Will embodied walked so easily into his life.

For a few exquisite minutes, Hannibal clenched Will’s hips tightly in his hands while the man worked him over. At one point, Hannibal wondered if Will got off more on the power, than the actual physical closeness – but, a particular hard drive into the man’s prostate made the answer obvious. Power over Hannibal drew him to madness. The power of Hannibal’s body and the pleasure he could achieve from it – that gave him strength.

“Don’t hold back anymore, Hannibal. I want you to own me,” Will whispered against raw lips.

With the permission to do so, Hannibal surged up – their barely there kisses turning into something brutal as his grip tightened on Will’s hips, his own finally breaking free of the self-induced confines to pound ruthless up and into the tightest heat ever experienced.

He felt wild and completely undone – his being only used to this adrenaline pumping feeling after the satisfaction of a hunt well done. It was crazy to be so unleashed, and yet, Hannibal let himself go, anyway; what Will wanted, he got.

When finality became something he could no longer hold back, Hannibal leaned forward and dug his teeth into Will’s shoulder – his teeth marks from previous encounters still there, getting deeper and more defined by the bite. He clenched his jaw down and with the skin still between his teeth, came harder than ever before (which was saying something, because sex with Will was always an adventure). The rhythmic pulse and flutter around his length signaled Will’s jump over the cliff edge with him.

Sticky cum in the space between their chests seemed pedestrian after such a connection. Physical representation of their joining didn’t matter – the mental connection overwhelmed it all.

The come down a few minutes later consisted of blood in his mouth, long drawn in breaths, and the feeling of Will’s palms on his cheeks. It felt like too much effort to fight anything from that point on, so he leaned back, his eyes catching Will’s. Their shared look made his stomach clench – the overwhelming feeling of being taken apart more alive in that moment than their entire coupling.

“Will – “ Hannibal tried to say, his voice so thick and scratchy from pulled out moans, new feelings, and heavy sighs.

Will’s thumbs brushed chiseled cheekbones, the flat of his fingers settling on the edge of Hannibal’s square jaw. “Shh,” he said in reply, their lips joining for a surprisingly soft kiss. “I know – me too.”

----

After that night, something shifted. For so long, Hannibal conducted himself as a solitary creature – life was simpler when his plans consisted of his own wants and desires. Even after meeting Will initially, Hannibal figured things would stay separate – work, play, and the occasional murder taking up their own sphere in his life. The sudden realization that neither he, nor Will, wanted any sort of separation, was monumental. In almost fifty years, Hannibal never saw something like this coming.

With the addition of Will in mind, Hannibal went about planning his next tableau. The Ripper hadn’t made an appearance in a while and his sounders were due. Will understood what it meant to take someone’s life – their shared desire to see the light in someone’s eyes fade was apparent. And yet, Will chose to elevate his prey by making them into meals that anyone would drool over.

In his own experience, Hannibal appreciated the consumption of his victims because of the control it gave him – they weren’t worthy of anything in life and as their flesh passed his lips, their sole source of meaning was to feed him, to nourish him – to provide the needed macro and micro nutrients that were essential to life.

Even still, The Ripper’s message took things a step further. The elevation of murder into widespread art truly spoke of Hannibal’s innermost feelings. Most people were beneath him and their only redeemable quality was their ability to be changed into priceless beauty. In his attempt to boost the lowest of low, Hannibal found himself – power of the hammer and all.

If anyone were to truly understand him and the tangible personification of his darkest and most intimate thoughts, Will Graham continuously proved he could be that person. With eyes that already saw so much, Will simply needed a nudge to truly see Hannibal – in every way.

Though completely terrifying, the thought brought about a new sort of excitement, too. To truly be seen and understood – Hannibal never even fathomed the occurrence. Living outside the confines of society came at a price, and no matter how many people graced his dinner table or laughed at his well-timed jokes, a divide between him and them existed. People turned a blind eye to what they didn’t want to see – it was easier to ignore the things in front of them than genuinely accept inferiority.

Will, though – he gripped the chains of normalcy and broke them between his fingers. Still trying to piece together the extent of his empathy, Hannibal didn’t quite know the complete depth of Will’s ability to truly see. In the same breath, Hannibal swore that he could feel the intensity of the unique gift in everything Will did. While Hannibal wore a finely tailored person suit, Will used his ability to become the things people revered and those they feared whole heartedly – so simply, with just the roll of his shoulders and a long, deep breath.

The Ripper deserved the right audience and finally, after so much time of not knowing how much he truly wanted the echoing applause, Hannibal found someone worthy of it.

Planning such a grandiose thing took time. For weeks, Hannibal went about everything as usual. On the nights that Will cooked late, Hannibal made the trip out to Wolf Trapp – his Bentley eating up the miles with relative ease. Winston, who took a liking to Hannibal immediately (he was sure the freshly made sausage had a lot to do with that), expected play time and pets before Hannibal could even think about joining Will in the kitchen.

The weekends, however, those belonged to Hannibal. Unless otherwise occupied with a last-minute client, Will spent both days in the glorious confines of Hannibal’s fancy brick and mortar. Most of that time, admittedly, was spent in the kitchen – Will’s passion for food (and not just that of the human variety) kept things interesting. There was always a new knife technique to try or a rare ingredient to add to the mundane. When they weren’t cooking away, or eating their weight in their creations, both men simply existed together.

Will let Hannibal sketch him in whatever way requested, and in return, Hannibal brushed his fingers through Will’s hair as he perused cookbooks and academic articles. A give and take existed that shouldn’t – not between two very peculiar men who took to murdering others as a hobby. And yet, Will kissed him goodbye when Hannibal mentioned something about hunting on his way out the door. Picture perfect domestic bliss.

One particular weekend a few months after falling into such a routine, Hannibal convinced Will to join him at the opera. After weeks of preparation and recognizance, he finally felt ready to reveal his most coveted persona to the man that quickly became the most important part of Hannibal’s existence. Why not make a night of it?

As usual, they made dinner together – Will’s latest victim’s kidney made for a delicious steak and kidney pie. The crust was buttery and flaky, rolled thin to perfection. When it came out of the oven, Will preened at the proud look on Hannibal’s face.

“Looks amazing, Chef,” Hannibal complimented, his fingers already twitching to scoop a fork into the molten confines of golden pastry.

Will continued to beam as the table was set and Hannibal, in all of his unselfish glory, handed over the serving spoon. Despite being the one to take the lead on most of their meals, Will gave the dishing out honor to Hannibal – even at his own table. There was a power dynamic that existed, and each man understood their role.

Will sent him a genuinely intrigued look, his eyebrow lifting. Instead of questioning, however, he simply gripped the utensil and went about portioning out their meal.

They made small talk throughout the devouring of their joint efforts – Hannibal spoke of his latest client’s swiftly developing obsession with him and watched delightedly as Will grew more menacing by the second. Franklyn never stood a chance, but the opportunity to push at Will’s boundaries wasn’t something he wanted to pass up. Jealousy, though such a base emotion, could lead a person astray very quickly. For the first time, Hannibal wanted the tenacity and rage that came with the juggling act. Someone he craved wanted him just as much and would fight tooth and nail to keep it that way.

And though not entirely thrilled to be amongst the masses in a “penguin suit”, Will cleaned up nicely – the tailored tuxedo was midnight black, enhanced with a single, dark pinstripe down the side of each pant leg. He finished the look with a stark white shirt and black bow tie – elegant and simple, yet dangerous at the same time.

Finishing up his own look, Hannibal retreated from his walk-in to find Will casually seated on the edge of the bed. Merely lounging there, he looked absolutely exquisite.

His eyes were closed and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if he were asleep sitting up. He cleared his throat in an attempt to rouse Will, his long legs carrying him until there was only a couple of inches separating them.

Blue eyes blinked open slowly, a faraway look overtaking Will’s face before finally registered Hannibal’s presence.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked, concern heavy in his voice. He reached to press a hand to Will’s forehead and found the skin there warm, the slightest bit of moisture sitting just barely on the surface. All tell-tale signs of an oncoming fever.

Reaching up to grab Hannibal’s hand and lacing their fingers together tightly, Will attempted a smile – the man’s mask not as secure as usual.

“I’m fine – just a bit of a headache. I haven’t been sleeping very well the last few nights, so it’s probably just some fatigue.” While he spoke, Will got up from the bed, his persona shifting with a soft roll of his shoulders. Now cognizant, the process came easily. His eyes were already a little clearer and any sort of weakness that existed in seconds before, was completely gone. Will Graham, the unsuspecting chef, Hannibal’s partner, stood in front of him once more.

“Are you finally ready?” Will asked, an eyebrow quirking.

Shaking the worry off, Hannibal grinned at the cheeky question. In their time together, certain habits made themselves known. Will drooled when in deep sleep and didn’t always pick up his wet towels. And while completely put together outside of the walls of his room, Hannibal was fussy and took a lot of time to get ready – the construction of his person suit more time consuming and labor intensive than Will’s would ever be.

“Snarky thing,” Hannibal immediately remarked. He pressed forward to press a chaste kiss to Will’s forehead. “Let’s go, darling. I have something for you after the show and am suddenly impatient to gift it.”

Will’s simple nod brought a brief surge of panic to his chest, but he quickly brushed it off. Though not the reaction he thought he’d get, the line of sweat still painting Will’s brow reminded him of the blurriness he encountered just moments before.

Leaning in again, Hannibal tucked his nose into Will’s neck and took a deep breath. Apart from the normal smells of bergamot, vanilla, and the slightest bit of wet dog, Hannibal scented something warm and sweet – the rising fever in the other’s skin taking on the body of over-ripened fruit.

He was met with the same intrigued look from their time at the dinner table when he pulled back. In an instant, Hannibal suddenly realized that was Will’s way of expressing his curiousness. Will usually pieced together the situation before it happened and reacted accordingly. Most people broadcasted their thoughts and feelings unconsciously, and Will’s intelligence made it easy to fill in the blanks. Hannibal, however, kept things locked tight – meticulous thought and effort went into making sure people received the exact message he wanted them to.

Though completely disarming himself, Will found a peculiar sort of mystery in Hannibal – the appeal of the unknown one of the things Hannibal could easily tell attracted Will to him so holistically. Like the true predator he was, Will enjoyed the chase. One that they both knew would probably never dull with the lifestyle they both kept.

The realization made his heart drum rapidly; love never took on a definition before, but in that moment, Hannibal finally understood. How interesting the realization came barreling towards him so out of the blue, yet so naturally. Like companionship – love didn’t ever seem like an option.

A soft touch on his cheek brought Hannibal back to the room – he blinked quickly, smiling to cover up the absentmindedness. The same curious look was on Will’s face, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, his other hand pressing against Hannibal’s chest. “We might be late if we don’t go soon.”

That was all Hannibal needed to get back into gear – they made quick work of getting into jackets and climbing into the car. Hannibal held the door open for Will and before he could sit down, pressed a kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to butter me up – I’m already in the tux.” The words came out of his mouth, yet Will couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks or the duck of his head.

The drive over was uneventful – there wasn’t any talking, but the soft tones of Mozart kept the atmosphere calm and serene. Will’s hand landed on Hannibal’s thigh halfway to the venue – Hannibal dragged his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the megawatt smile from overtaking his face. Instead, he wrapped Will’s hand up with his own, their fingers tangling effortlessly.

Out of all the reasons why Hannibal donated to the arts, the preferred parking had to be one of the best among them. He pulled into his designated space a while later and shot will a playful wink.

Will snorted, his head shaking – “pretentious prick.”

They arrived just in time to schmooze for a few minutes before having to take their seats – a fact that Hannibal was over the moon about. Through months of dating, he never got the opportunity to show Will off. Aside from the fact that the man shone with impressive energy, Hannibal selfishly wanted everyone to see who he managed to attract; a very special man came into his life and despite it all, chose to stand proudly by his side.

With a soft kiss to Will’s cheek, Hannibal gestured to the bar. “I’m going to grab us a drink. I’d like to introduce you to a few people, if you’re not opposed.”

“I don’t mind – you’ve been dying to show me off for ages. I’m surprised you were able to wait this long,” Will retorted, a look of absolute knowing on his face. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets, the needed mask for the occasion slipping into place. “You know where to find me.”

Turning, Hannibal glided easily to the bar, ordering the same vintage chardonnay he always did and a whiskey neat for Will. The bartender recognized him immediately, the gold membership card that sat in his breast pocket unneeded.

“I’ll put it on your tab, Doctor Lecter.”

“Thank you, Tyler. It’s a pleasure, as always.” He saluted the younger man with the drinks in his hand and set off to find Will.

Without even having to try, Will drew people to him. The ever-curious Mrs. Ellen Komeda stood proudly in front of his beau, her eyes cataloguing him sharply. In a lot of ways, the two of them were very similar. Where Ellen lacked the empathy, she made up for it in pure grit and tenacity. She could read a room because she knew just about everyone and everything in it. Someone like Will, a gorgeous outsider, more than likely called to her from the moment she saw him.

“Where have you been hiding this one, Hannibal? He’s an absolute delight,” Ellen remarked the second he was within conversing distance. She eyed him up, then nodded approvingly.

Handing Will his drink, Hannibal let his now free hand wrap around Will’s waist. A moment existed where he thought Will might tense up, but he simply leaned in closer – the doting boyfriend act both natural and highly manipulative. What a delightful boy.

“We’re both busy men. Will here is the mastermind behind that delectable pate from my last dinner party.” The pride he felt carried over in his voice – people knew how Hannibal felt about food; the compliment held a lot of weight.

From the surprise on Ellen’s face, she too understood the sentiment.

“That’s high praise indeed. When I didn’t see you still wrapped in your apron when I arrived, I should have figured something was up.” She turned to Will then, her smile challenging. “Tell me Will, how did you charm the good doctor so?”

Seemingly unable to stop himself, Will chuckled, then pressed himself closer to Hannibal. “I bumped into him in a gourmet cheese shop. My refined palette was the major selling point.”

Before anyone else could say anything, a gentleman making his way into their little group stopped the conversation in its tracks. Hannibal watched Will’s eyes flash, the other man’s arm tightening around him. It was a minute reaction but telling all the same. He pulled at the seams of his person suit, the edges tightening up imperceptibly.

Luckily, Ellen saved them all, her social graces without fail. “Mr. Bowerman, it’s been some time since I last saw you at the opera.” Her mouth quirked as she spoke, like the words were bent nails in her mouth.

“Yes, well – since my wife’s passing, getting out to these fancy shindigs isn’t nearly as fun.” He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes shifting to Hannibal, only to linger on Will a second later.

“Walter Bowerman,” the man announced. The words were spoken into the open nothingness of the air, but his eyes – they were glued to Will.

A rush of murderous rage ran down Hannibal’s spine, his nostrils flaring.

Will didn’t miss a beat though, the brilliant boy he was. Tossing back his drink, Will waved the empty glass at the newcomer, a neutral look on his face. “Walter.” The single word was dismissive, only to be aided with a subtle turn of his body. He flashed a smile at Mrs. Komeda next, his expression softening slightly. “Ellen, it was glorious to meet you. Have Hannibal pass on my information – I’d love to cook for you some time.”

Understanding without any further prompting, Hannibal bid them both an absent goodbye and let himself be led by Will. He watched blue eyes track down a waiter, where he deposited his glass before continuing towards the theater door.

There wasn’t a sound made until they were alone in Hannibal’s booth – Will’s face was sweaty again, eyes slightly hazy. “Is it common knowledge that Walter Bowerman killed his wife?” Will asked lightly, breaking the silence. He swiped at his brow, looking a little off kilter.

Thrown off by the bluntness of Will’s words, Hannibal tuned out everything but the question. A sliver of pride sat in his chest at the other’s deductive abilities – Hannibal instantly knew there was something off but wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what. Will’s mind – it was a beautiful thing.

“Tonight happened to be the first time I’ve made his acquaintance – Ellen seemed put off, but I think the interruption to our conversation played a big part in that. You are very charming,” Hannibal admitted easily. Even he had been impressed.

“He got pleasure from mentioning his wife’s death. There was that murderous glint in his eye that just felt – wrong.” He moved to continue, but the stage lights flickered, and the heavy curtain started to pull back.

For a while, previous interactions fled from Hannibal’s mind – the mind-numbing drift a welcome gift after the stress of the evening. He let Will take his hand before the aria started, the touch the only anchor he wanted to the present. After a beat, the soprano opened her mouth and started to sing. Merely relaxing back, Hannibal let the music wash over him.

About halfway through the first act, a tightening grip on his hand brought Hannibal out of his mind space, a confused look on his face for a split second before it was quickly replaced by worry. Will’s face was covered in sweat and his chest seemed to be heaving, despite the dwindling awareness. He looked at Hannibal helplessly, mouth opening around unspoken pleas.

Finally, Will managed to grab ahold of himself for a second – his words a little slurred when he babbled out – “I think there’s something wrong.”

Acting quickly, Hannibal jumped out of his seat, suddenly glad for the privacy of his usual booth. Getting up wouldn’t disturb anyone, so there was room to get Will out however he needed. The man was cognizant enough to help Hannibal pull him out of the chair, but that only went as far as the hallway outside of their seats before Will went limp. The seizure that followed so nicely allowed Hannibal to get Will to the bathroom, the convulsions starting the second he got them pressed against the solid surface of the door.

His hands cupped Will’s cheeks, the grip of them strong to keep the back of his head from smacking against anything. Will’s eyes were open, but the pupils were completely blown – there was no focus or constriction whatsoever. Holding Will as tightly as possible, Hannibal rode out the storm.

When the shaking stopped, Hannibal counted out five minutes before Will came back around – his once slack body clenched all at once, fear and confusion flowing through him. “H-Hannibal?” Will chocked out, the syllables running together.

Bringing his face up to do a quick check of blue eyes, Hannibal let out a breath. There was finally some response in the dark pupils. He ran his thumbs softly over the apple of Will’s cheeks, maroon eyes roaming everywhere at once. “Are you with me, Will? You just had a seizure and you’re burning up. Can you hear me?”

“Hannibal?” Will questioned again, his chest heaving once more.

Unable to stop himself, Hannibal leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Will’s cheek – the contact just as much for him as it was for the confused man in his arms; an earthshattering need for comfort overwhelming. They needed to get out of there while Will was still upright and conscious. The increased heart rate and continued confusion meant there wasn’t much time left to do that.

Instead of forcing Will to respond anymore, Hannibal got them into a position where he could take most of Will’s weight – thankfully, Will was with it enough to walk with the help. The lobby was empty – an absence of sound appropriate to the situation at hand.

Being in the heart of downtown made getting to a hospital quick and easy. Every couple of minutes, Hannibal reached across the middle console to check on Will, his heart slamming into his chest in the scant seconds between touching and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Though the seizures didn’t return, Will’s consciousness diminished with each passing second.

The Bentley skidded to a stop outside the emergency room doors, Hannibal hopping out in a fit of adrenaline – he threw open Will’s door to pick him up bridal style. There was a second where their eyes met, a brief connection before Will slumped into him, his fight with whatever was burning him up coming to a swift end.

----

It took two days for Will to completely regain consciousness.

Throughout those two days, Hannibal worried incessantly, sat by Will’s bedside, and didn’t think once about the tableau he set up that was probably discovered by the authorities, already.

Being so thorough in his work, Hannibal didn’t use a sing brain byte to dwell on it – there wasn’t any evidence. There never was.

After carrying Will into the ER in the most dramatic fashion as possible, the hustle and bustle of brain scans and medication deployment took up all the space in Hannibal’s mind. In the bouts of time that Will got swept away, Hannibal went home to shower and change; once, he made the trip out to Wolf Trapp to get Winston and clear out the remainder of Will’s fridge. No matter what happened, a hospital stay was in Will’s future. The least Hannibal could do was take care of his dog and make the already harvested meat into delicacies to be eaten when Will felt better.

Despite trying to keep busy with arrangements and appointment reschedules, the minutes between Will’s decent into unconsciousness and his waking were long and torturous. The encephalitis diagnosis made a lot of sense after thinking about Will’s behavior over the last few weeks. The increase of headaches and nightmares, a dwindling appetite, and large periods of losing track of time were all there pointing in brain swelling’s direction.

It was pure luck that Will’s body had such a severe reaction to the neurological change. If things were different, he might’ve dived very slowly into madness; both visual and auditory hallucinations were common symptoms of Will’s particular brand of encephalitis. The spike of fever came at just the right time – the majority of his treatment would be minimally invasive and able to be given outside of the hospital.

The most confusing part of the whole situation was Hannibal’s feelings towards it all. Of course, Will couldn’t help the fact that he thwarted plans that were many months in the making. Yet, the anger he figured would sit under his skin, waiting to erupt, didn’t exist. Instead, Hannibal felt the claws of worry drag along his back.

Every second that Will didn’t wake up, Hannibal dipped a little further into unease. Going fifty years without the look in Will’s eyes was one thing, but now that he knew – now that the feeling crept under his walls, there was no going back. How did he exist without the rambunctiousness and intelligence that accompanied the experience that was Will Graham?

His earlier thoughts about love came back to him with a not so delicate slam to the chest. The world felt like it was ending without the shine of Will’s personality surrounding him because of the love he felt for the man. And what a thought – being in love with a soul so similar to his own. The match they made was perfect and for many reasons, shouldn’t exist whatsoever. Yet, Hannibal could barely remember what life felt like without Will in it.

He didn’t want to, either.

When Will eventually completely came to, Hannibal had his forehead pressed against their joined hands – his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to escape to the happier rooms in his mind palace. It was getting more difficult to filter everything out, so the halls were more cluttered than usual. The immense distraction almost made him miss the gentle squeeze to his hand – Will’s fingers tightened around his own for the first time in more than fifty hours.

Sitting up, Hannibal didn’t have a chance to stop the affectionate smile from slipping across his lips. His chest felt a little lighter – Will’s eyes were the same shade of deep blue and shining just as brightly as he remembered. The glassy nature of them was to be expected, the physiological expression of symptoms a reassurance that the body was actively fighting. After what seemed like years of waiting and worrying, Hannibal found comfort in all of Will’s disarray, bed head and sleepy smiles included.

“Hannibal?” Will questioned softly, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being unused. Upon hearing it, Hannibal reached to press the nurse’s button to get Will some water – they would want to know he was awake, anyway.

“Will – I’m so glad to see you,” Hannibal admitted easily, his body ditching the chair to sit on the edge of Will’s bed. He craved the length of Will pressed against him, any sort of familiar weight, really. Just the sign that the man was alive and with him was more than enough.

Reaching up to brush a curl from Will’s forehead, Hannibal spoke up again. “It’s been a couple of days since you last opened your eyes. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Will mumbled immediately, his brows pinching together with every move as he adjusted. “You said two days? Did this happen at the opera? Hannibal, I’m – “

“Don’t even begin to apologize, Will. Your brain was on fire – the last thing I’m worried about is a subpar rendition of Don Giovanni.” There was a beat, then a subtle move forward to press lips to Will’s still clammy skin. “I’m relieved you’re going to be okay, Will. Everything else is moot.”

There wasn’t much talking after that – the exhaustion Will complained about took him under shortly after coming around. The nurses were able to document his stats and get a doctor in to see him before fatigue won out and Will became lost to sleep once again.

To occupy himself, Hannibal let his emotions run wild across the pages of his sketchpad. Despite being exhausted himself, sleep did not come. Memories and things yet to come crept through the halls of his mind – his hand manifesting them on the smooth paper at record breaking speed. With all of his energy drained, Will made the perfect model. Hannibal found himself able to get the man’s lips right for the first time he laid pencil to paper. Drawing his partner in a much happier state of being made coping a little easier – the smile he could replicate brought a warmth that Hannibal couldn’t admit he wanted with him at all times. Though, he so desperately did.

A hand on the top of his sketchbook brought him out of his artistic stupor. Hannibal moved quickly, sliding his fingers between Will’s before the hand could retreat, or suddenly disappear like he feared. The skin there was warm, but not scalding like the days previous. When their eyes met, the blue depth of Will’s seemed much clearer – like the rest was actually doing him some good.

“She looks like you,” Will said, turning his attention back to the sketch pad he reached for initially. “Who is she?”

The feeling of being exposed washed over him for a second, Hannibal pulling in a deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. A Thursday in the middle of the night wasn’t how he figured his past would come to light – dark news needed an ideal setting. And yet, what better way to break down the last wall between them?

“This is Mischa, my sister. Even after all these years, I’ve never been able to do her true justice,” Hannibal replied, his voice just steps away from melancholic. “She was this beautiful spirit – free and intense. Kind of like you, actually.” A soft smile overtook his features, the truth of that statement ringing in his ears.

No wonder.

Will’s hand tightened slightly, the fatigue keeping him weak in his touch. “Mischa – I like that. She’s beautiful. You both have that little curl in your nose.”

A laugh escaping Hannibal’s chest broke whatever tension remained – the depths of his chest finally clear. The days of worry and not-sleeping were catching up to him, and like it was so natural to do, Will cleaned the chaos up, his words sweeping out the cobwebs Hannibal let develop. Sucking in another long breath, Hannibal let that last bit of himself in hiding step out into the light.

There was another clear shift in the air between them then, the softness in Will’s eyes something that didn’t exist before that very moment. While so wrapped up in his own masks and Will’s ability to see through them, Will was sneakily putting himself up for display, too. Breaking down walls brought about a gentleness that didn’t befit ruthless murders, and yet – Will caressed Hannibal’s hand softly, the touch for comfort’s sake alone.

Without being prompted or asked, Will moved until a spot that maybe half of Hannibal could fit into appeared. Taking the offer for what it was, Hannibal dropped his sketch pad on the table, the pencil sitting lovingly over the cupid bow of Mischa’s lip. He climbed in, the two of them rearranging limbs until Hannibal’s arms were wrapped tightly around Will. It took a second to settle – then, sleep came quickly and kept them under for the rest of the night.

Will spent another two days in the hospital before Hannibal could convince the staff of his capabilities as a doctor. They were willing to release him after all of the intravenous drug administration was finished – the rest of Will’s recovery would be based around rest and recuperation, anyway.

There wasn’t any discussion about where Will would end up – the man simply climbed into Hannibal’s car, curled up in the passenger seat with his head in Hannibal’s lap, and slept on the trip back to Baltimore from the hospital. Hannibal made a quick trip home while Will sat in the MRI machine for the last time during his stay – both Winston and the kitchen were ready for Will’s arrival.

It took Will most of his energy to get from the car to the door, but when Winston came jogging around the corner, a burst of joy sent him two steps forward until he could easily wrap the dog warmly in his arms. The whispered “I missed you” into the dog’s fur more than making up for the hair on all the surfaces of the house.

When the reunion was over, Hannibal helped Will walk upstairs, the man already dead on his feet from just a couple of short encounters. That previously unnamed warmth took up space in Hannibal’s chest again – the overwhelming feeling of being so deliriously dedicated to another human being exhausting in its own right.

“I thought maybe you’d like to take a bath,” Hannibal said, his legs already carrying him towards the bathroom to start the water.

“Will you hold me, instead? I know I probably stink like hospital and it’s killing that nose of yours, but all I really want to do is be in your arms.”

Looking over his shoulder, Hannibal stopped in his tracks. There were no masks on Will’s face, in the moment, so raw and open. The man who stood before him was stripped bare and asking for something – when he usually did nothing of the sort. The warmth bubbled a little bit more, the intensity of it growing with every passing exchange. He didn’t need to think about what to do next – instead, he kicked off his shoes and went about turning the bed down.

Hannibal climbed in, reclining back against the nest of pillows. Though he figured he wouldn’t sleep, Hannibal was more than willing to simply sit and catalogue Will a little more. The replica in his mind palace wasn’t quite what he wanted, and the perusal of finer features was exactly what he needed to make the perfect rendering.

For a while, that’s how things went – Hannibal kept Will against his chest until the call of food preparation took precedence. It usually took all of Will’s energy to get downstairs to the table, so the first few meals were taken in bed.

Little by little, Will spent more time awake than asleep, the clarity of his thoughts returning as the days past. Surprisingly, the only thing that didn’t return was the mask Will wore. Maybe it was the lack of energy, or maybe – after all was said and done, there was no need for them anymore. Seeing and being seen – it did something to a person. Especially ones like Will and Hannibal.

Then, a Saturday morning two weeks after his diagnosis, Hannibal woke to the feeling of Will’s hands running down his chest and arms, nimble fingers pressing into skin, fingertips tracing and memorizing with every touch. Hannibal kept himself still, letting Will have whatever he wanted before the realization of having an audience occurred.

The rise and fall of Will’s chest sped up a little, his body heat rising for a much better reason than the earlier fever that ravaged him. Without meaning to, Hannibal shifted back into it – giving himself away in an instant.

“I know you’re awake,” Will mumbled against his spot on Hannibal’s neck, hips pressing forward ever so lightly.

Rolling over, Hannibal used the quick movement to pull Will under him, their bodies lining up from head to toe. Will’s legs opened just enough to allow Hannibal access to gap, the length of them wrapping around Hannibal’s hips in the next instant. There was a clench of muscle, then no space between them at all.

“I see you’re awake, too,” Hannibal whispered, his hips pressing down – erections grinding together with the barest of touches. “Are you feeling better?”

Hips pressing up for a longer drag of cock on cock was his only answer. Unable to ignore the call, Hannibal moved against him, the friction building there absolutely exquisite. They shifted and moved until their lips met and the oxygen in the room steadfastly escaped. Every pull of breath in was more of Will – more of his scent, more of his presence – more.

Though neither made any move to takes thing further along, Hannibal could feel the intimacy building up between them. It wasn’t so much about the heat of the physical, this particular moment more than just a sexual connection. Where Hannibal pulled, Will pushed – their hearts beating in tandem.

A crescendo didn’t carry them away – instead, a sort of peace overtook the room. The feeling so foreign that they looked and touched just to make sure the other existed – that after everything, the other was there and the affection that zinged between them wasn’t one sided. Two psychopaths falling in love was never on the top of anyone’s love story list, yet – it happened without either of them knowing.

When Hannibal pulled back this time, the words on the tip of his tongue, he let them fall effortlessly from his lips.

Brushing his nose against Will’s, Hannibal stayed close, the words “I love you” leaving his chest and sitting in the air. It felt odd and for half a second, he thought Will might not feel that way about him after all. The two, three, four beats of his heart before any sort of response were agonizing, both too short and much too long.

Those warms hands were there, though, Will’s palms cupping his cheeks and fingers digging into the longer hair around his temples. Their eyes met, maroon holding blue – and the worry melted away. No mask, after seeing past it, could hide the devotion existing in the ceaseless pools of gorgeous blue.

“I love you too, Hannibal.”

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part eight ~ the chance to pipe ~

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven) (part eight)

A/N: We are in it now; thank you for sticking around. Messages/Asks are open and greatly appreciated.

Summary: Alex seeks Will’s support and advice for how best to shoot his shot with Y/N. He also takes his first shower in 72 hours.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language.

Word Count: 2.6k

He arrived at Will's apartment, still wearing the mindless grin that Y/N coaxed out of him. Alex walked through the unlocked front door and straight to his friend's bedroom. It was bright, not near as cave-like as his own, and there was the lingering scent of a candle burned recently. Will sat at his desk: a second chair set-up next to him: scrolling through the youtube analytics for his most recent video.

It seemed that CPM was up – good news for the video and its one-million views. Will cleared his throat, causing Alex to freeze just two steps inside. Without lifting his head or dragging his attention from his screen, Will said with a flat and ominous tone, "I warned yous."

"What?"

"About being late." Spinning his chair, Will revealed the blue spray-painted plastic bat sitting in his lap. He kept his stern face for another five seconds before breaking into his usual toothy smile and laugh.

Rather than scrambling together a witty remark in return, Alex chuckled along. To that gag as well as the other usual playful abuse about his laziness and tardiness. Will finished the last one-liner he had prepared in the extra time he was made to wait for Alex to arrive, and his expression faltered. Not that he did not appear cheerful anymore – the smile remained – but it relaxed as a single eyebrow raised.

Will asked, "What's got you all giddy?"

Looking down at his hands, Alex chuckled again, though it sounded more akin to a humorous scoff, and gave no answer. He buried his hands in his pockets and took the seat next to his friend.

"What is it?" Will pestered on. "James Charles unblocked you, did he?"

Alex punched him in the arm as hard as he could (not hard). "Fuck off."

Will rolled his eyes before turning to the camera. He hit record and, putting on his boisterous presentation voice, shouted, "Right! Hello, welcome back to the second channel – welcome back to oddly satisfying. It's been a..."

Top posts for that month included photos of symmetrical flower arrangements, videos of tape-peelings from miniature canvases, woodworking gifs, beautiful block calligraphy, slow-motion capture of a sewing machine, and animation to fulfill the desire to sharpen a pencil to a perfect point every time. Alex gave out ratings of nines and tens like he had a quota to fill. As the video continued, Will argued the scores with him more and more. None so much as he did with the seven Alex gave to a real shit submission of ping-pong trick shots.

It was not an average filming session (unbeknownst to Will); it was a game where with each passing minute, Alex was building up his courage for what he wanted to talk about after the video was over. George had been the one person in the friend group he told about his feelings for Y/N, and that had not gone over well. But Alex thought he might now be able to explain it better – explain himself better – and be supported. Will was, after all, behind the act of snakelike behaviour, a very caring person who had held Alex's hand while he fixed himself several times over.

"What do you give the paw-print painting then, Alex?"

"Hm?" Torn from the bed of his subconscious thoughts into the waking world, Alex darted his eyes to the screen and to the camera. "Uh, ten. Definitely a ten."

"Right. Anyway, we'll end on a good note. Be sure to hit that like button for more reddit videos and go subscribe to Alex's channel—"

"It's really epic!"

"—link will be in the description. And we'll see you guys later!" Will gave a terse salute to the camera and, once the outro was finished, dropped his voice to normal and asked, "Care to do a second one while we're here?"

"Why not?"

Springing from his chair to his feet, Will crossed the bedroom to his cupboard and began to change. Giving the illusion of there being a more significant passage of time between filming. Taking off his beanie revealed his dark unruly hair, which he covered again with his 'crisis actor' hat.

"I was wondering if I could get your advice on something?" Alex began not moving from his seat at the desk. Neither did he turn his attention much from the screen, to give Will some privacy.

"What's that?"

"There's this girl— Well, um, this woman rather, that I am interested in approaching – romantically – and—"

"Why you talking like an android?" Will stripped himself of his black and green shirt. Interestingly enough, the same black and green shirt as Ethan wore when he last had the sidemen member over for a video. "Could you be normal for a minute?"

"I like her. Ok? What now?"

He pulled on a shovel hoodie and grabbing another turned to Alex. Gesturing to the pink zip-up jacket, he asked, "You have a decent shirt under there or want to borrow one of these?"

"I'm fine. But about the girl. Should I even bother?"

"How do you mean? If there's the chance to pipe – you got to take it."

"No. Like if I just end up fucking it up, why—?"

"Stop thinking about the end. We're at the beginning, alright? You're a good-looking lad, even got a decent trim for once in your life." Will ruffled Alex's hair as he returned to the seat beside him. "You're verified. All you got to do is slide into the lass' twitter DMs, and you're in."

"I'm not verified," he said with a bit of a huff. "You're verified."

Will shrugged. Pulling his phone from his pocket to check messages. "Whatever. You ready to record?"

"Not yet. What if she has a boyfriend?"

"Chin him."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. If there's not a ring and a date...well...it isn't really all that important, is it?" Will scrolled through the next ten posts on r/oddlysatisfying, before changing his mind, scrolling back up, and switching to another subreddit. Adding to his previous comment, "Unless it's Mia we're talking about."

Alex sucked his teeth. "Unfortunately, it is."

"Shut it. I'm having none of that." He pushed Alex's shoulder with one hand and wagged a jokingly accusatory finger. "Let's get back to it."

"Alright. Alright."

Will turned to the camera and, as quickly as he had dropped it, picked up his presentation voice, shouting, "Right! Hello, welcome back to this incredibly ad-friendly youtube channel. Instead of rating sand-cutting and slime, today we're gonna be rating dogs again. So this, welcome to r/aww. There should be some decent content here..."

It was nice sifting through the top posts of the week: a golden retriever taking care of baby bunnies, deer fawns sleeping under lawn furniture, an albino skunk, and a lot more ducklings and birds in general than Alex remembered being popular on the subreddit. Their last filming was full of constant challenges and debates, but when Alex gave nine and ten ratings for animals Will agreed whole-heartedly – save for a single dispute over a cat picture. It was cute; Will just was not terribly fond of cats.

Alex simultaneously commentated for the video and pondered – now that he had his friend's blessing – how best to shoot his shot with Y/N. He beamed with excitement and energy, and the evidence was in the light blush of his cheeks. It was not soft happiness like he felt when sitting on the rooftop of his apartment building, with a sausage roll in his stomach and a decent buzz. It was sharp happiness like the entire world had been dragged into photoshop and had the contrast shot right up to one hundred. All the dust from the corners of his mind was gathered, swept up, dumped in a bin, and set ablaze.

Before Alex could think of anything, it was the end of the video.

"Thank you very much for watching! Hope you enjoyed. Check-out Alex's channel and the WillNE main channel, links in the description, and we'll see you guys later." Will stopped the recording, dropped the act, and pulled out his phone again. There were dozens of messages; his fingers flew across the keyboard, shooting off response after response. "Thanks for helping out the cause."

Alex returned Will's fist-bump. He stood from his chair just to walk the single step and sit on the edge of Will's bed. Any distance would do in helping him ease into the details of his situation; after all, it was not just any woman that he was after.

He started, attempting to sound casual, as if the topic was organic, "What do you think about Re—?"

"Red and Sammy?" Will asked distractedly. Believing he had finished the question how Alex meant to, he took it upon himself to answer it as well, "Haven't met Red to be fair, but Sammy is a solid bloke."

"You think?"

"Yeah, Gee wanted to rearrange some furniture, and Josh and I were useless. I rang Sammy, he came round, practically moved everything himself – even brought beers. You did well good picking him, Lex."

At what was likely intended to be a genuine compliment, Alex felt himself shifting a single step closer to his internal self-destruct button. Of course, Alex knew. He knew that it was not healthy for his mind or mood to be so fragile or rather so easily swayed, but there he was – fuming with misplaced anger.

How could he tell Will? How could he explain he wanted a chance with one of their mates’ girlfriends without coming off as a bad person? Was he a bad person?

Did he care? When he came into the world running a race where he was made to wear sandals while everyone else got trainers. Alex stood from the bed and readied to leave.

Attempting to lighten the mood despite likely not knowing why it dimmed, Will added, standing to throw an arm around Alex's shoulders, "And who said you have no friends?"

"You do."

Will chuckled. "Huh, I must be dead smart me."

"Alright, well..." He intentionally trailed off, ducking from under his friend's arm.

"Are you off?"

"Yeah, I'll sees you later." Alex left the bedroom with quicker and heavier steps than was his usual gait; the difference, however, was not enough for someone outside himself to notice. It was frustration. It was: a set jaw. : an unnatural heat rising from his core to all his extremities. : and a mouth pinched smaller than what seems humanely possible.

If he were a 2D cartoon character, as comments under all his videos would suggest, his irises would be redrawn in the shape of flames. Steam might have even come from his ears.

George likes Sammy. Will likes Sammy. James (or at least drunk James who met him) likes Sammy.

And Alex wanted to steal his girlfriend. Fuck.

He raced through the flat to the front door; just through the threshold and into the hall, he stopped. Waiting to hear the latch bolt behind him. Like the clap of a hypnotherapist bringing their patient back from a breakthrough session – the sound drained him of his anger.

It was not helpful to him to be angry at the situation: angry with himself.

Alex walked the hall to the lift and stepped in. During his descent, he looked at the warped reflection of himself in the metal doors: the prickle of hair on his upper lip, the trim which was different but somehow identical to all his previous, a picture in pink – and also red.

It was the reflection of a man. Despite how his followers portrayed him in collages and fanfics, he was an adult man. Confronting that distorted image altered his perception: what he knew himself to look like: his conscious image.

How interesting he must look in the strange light of an average person's perception. How confused. How tired.

DING of the sliding doors opening, ripped his warped reflection in half. Alex exited half-expecting for Y/N to be there on the other side, considering she was everywhere recently. Luckily, she was not. But that fleeting thought of Y/N snowballed as he walked the hall to his apartment. Outside the door, he stopped and stood Blair Witch style facing it but not moving to unlock it or get the key from his pocket just yet.

Y/N. Alex thought of Y/N. Thought of first meeting her with her cute ears and flushed face. How she doted on Sammy. Thought of speaking with her in the foyer with her calm aurora and chin-hugging top. How he wanted nothing more than to be cute with her – for them to have a song.

Thought of when she was making waffles with shaking hands and a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. How she dodged his questions. Thought of ~the dream~ and how different he would act if it were real.

He rummaged through his pockets to find his key. When he did, he shoved it in and pulled it out the lock with an equal amount of unnecessary force.

It was late. 

Alex had been awake over twenty-four hours, and he wanted – needed – he just needed it to stop. Unable to handle consciousness much longer, he dragged his feet along the straight shot to his bedroom. And into his bathroom.

Not particularly a nighttime shower type of person, Nor a morning shower type of person, Alex was more a when-I-want-to-or-remember-to-shower type of person.

During slight depressive slumps, however, the more accurate category for him would be a once-the-grease-starts-to-drip-off-my-hair-that-is-when-I-will-shower type of person.

Stepping under the showerhead, the warm water wrapped around him. Pelted down on the pale skin of his shoulders and back, relaxing the muscles there. Slender fingers racked shampoo through his tangled hair: it smelled like almonds. Like artificial almonds designed by chemists who had never seen or smelt an almond before. It was nice.

He ducked his head to rinse out the suds and lost his balance, falling forward a bit. Catching himself with his hands on the wall in front of him; it jolted him out from under his somnambulism spell.

Hopping out of the shower, he dried off and wrapped his single towel around his waist. There in the mirror above the sink were those little prickles of a moustache. Alex stepped up, took his razor in his right hand, grabbed the shaving foam off the counter with the left, and looked to his right again to find he had dropped the razor in the sink. His brain was too exhausted to focus on more than one thought – more than one task at a time.

With less than six flicks of the wrist, his upper lip was clean-shaven, and he was trudging along to his bedroom. Alex let his towel drop to the floor; he tugged on a clean pair of pajama bottoms and pitched himself from the other side of the room onto his bed.

"Ow," he muttered to his aching bones. Alex closed his eyes, and for the first time since ~the dream~ appreciated the contemplative silence of his bedroom – and of his head.

Taglist: (message to join!) @angelbabyivy​

[be-dazzled]

#SIYC

Gray Fullbuster, Juvia Lockser Genre: Multi-chapter, Romance, Comedy Rating: M for sensitive language and content

It gives me sweet little pains in my heart Like a sweet little rain, that falls for a flower And that's love A new kind of love

–       A New Kind of Love, Skylar Grey

The sun had already set when the little party ended at the Home for Boys. The day ended with hugs and high fives, some ugly cries too – from the big guys, not the kids. The team promised to be back the next year. Even with that promise, goodbyes weren’t really that easy. Juvia had to comfort a sobbing Mika all the way to the presidential car. She said it never gets easier.

After a laughter-filled dinner and teasing, Gray invited Juvia to walk off the carbs. He took her to the back part of the house, to the most beautiful flower-filled garden Juvia has ever seen.

Mika Mine hand-grown the flowers in her garden. She started with just some dark pink Geraniums she liked sitting around the house. Not until she found that large blank canvass behind her mansion that the Mine matriarch eventually developed a certain fondness getting her hands dirty, waking up early to water them and most of the time, talk to her plants. She said it was therapeutic, helping her cope with the stress. Gray uneasily admitted he was almost always the reason for her stress. So, her mother named that garden after him.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Juvia was sure Mika Mine’s garden would have been very beautiful under the brightest shine of the sun. She took a note to come visit the “Stressful Gray Garden” in the morning. Tonight, she took the time appreciating the living attraction in the silence of the evening. It was simply magical.

Illuminated by natural moonlight, Gray and Juvia covered the narrow pathway, bathed in cold breeze and silver light. On either side of the pathway were beautiful, fully bloomed flowers on trimmed shrubs. But they cleared the path that led somewhere more beautiful, as Gray promised.

“More beautiful than these flowers borne out of the stress you caused?”

Juvia looked around the backyard garden. Mika Mine outdid herself. Or Gray was just a stressful fellow to raise. Page Six did a good retelling of how Gray painted the town red. Looking around the fully bloomed buds around the ‘stress garden’, Juvia had a feeling she didn’t know the half of it. Different kinds and colors scattered around, giving life to Mika’s green-thumb project, like fresh from a Monet painting. If Olivia Lockser saw this, she would have begged Gray’s mother to become best of friends or maybe died of jealousy. That’s a thought.

“Yes. But not as beautiful as my girlfriend.”

Gray pulled her to a stop. As a gentleman who had his fair share of women, Gray knew that off-hand ‘more beautiful’ comment would read as ‘even than your girlfriend?’ He crossed the small distance between them and got himself that kiss that he’d been waiting for. It was just a brief brush of the lips, like a kiss shared in children’s books, at the end of the story, when the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. One innocent kiss like that came so naturally.

Juvia wiped the stain of lipstick that transferred on Gray’s lips. Then, she took his hand, taking the lead this time. They walked down the narrow path, side by side. Her small hand was clasped in his bigger one, her slender fingers intertwined with Gray’s. She leaned on Gray every now and then, wanting and needing the contact. They exchanged stories here and there, talking about nothing much really, until they reached the end of the paved path and a silhouette of a familiar structure emerged.

“That, girlfriend, is my favorite part of this house.”

The ground they stood on was abruptly cut by a grassy, shallow slope, right before the rectangular pavement began. Gray guided the ballerina down the sloping garden, watchful over Juvia who was trying not to lose her footing, and held her hand as he ushered Juvia onto the flat surface.

“Stay here.”

Gray’s absence was quickly missed. It made the breeze feel colder against the skin. Juvia enveloped her arms around her own frame to fight the chill. Her eyes never left the figure jogging towards a shed. Even through the dimness, Juvia saw Gray pushing a lever. The light coming from the lamp posts standing at each corner flooded the playing surface. In the floodlit view, Juvia could make out the unmistaken round hoop attached to the backboard; the rectangular pavement bordered by freshly cut-grass. Juvia knew enough about basketball to recognize the lines painted on the pavement. Although, it did seem to have seen better days. There were obvious wear and tear, a few repairs here and there. When the mansion decided to move forward, that particular part of the house was left behind.

She lost Gray for a moment, not finding him where has just a minute ago. Next thing she knew, her boyfriend was standing next to a covered cart near the stone bench. He peeled off the cover, bent over to pick one ball out. Gray remained standing, feeling the rubber skin in his palms, taking his time, like some sort of ritual. He then waved his girlfriend to come.

Juvia crossed the paved court, her purposeful steps synced with the bounce of the ball in Gray’s hand. But instead of running toward the ring to show off a perfect shot, as Juvia expected, Gray replaced the ball inside the cart. He met her half-way and led Juvia to rest at the stone bench.

“Man, I spent most of my childhood here.” shared Gray. He turned to Juvia, who remained quiet, and held her gaze. “This is where everything began, you know.” The usual confidence in Gray’s smile was hidden safe for the time being.

Gray left her side and covered the pavement with sprints toward the middle of the court. His absence allowed the breeze to touch on her exposed skin, penetrating through the fabric of her clothes.

“My first shot.” He dribbled an imaginary ball and pretended to shoot the same, flicking his wrist like the pro that he was. Juvia imagined the ball went in perfectly and she clapped, humoring him with his ‘play pretend’ game. Then, Gray scampered over to much nearer the ring, executing the familiar two-step footwork before he jumped off his left foot and shoot with his left arm. The ball would have hit the backboard and went into the hoop without miss.

“My first lay-up.” He made a quick chuckle. “It wasn’t a good one. That I admit.”

Gray dashed back to the center, the tip of one shoe nearly touching the white paint which Juvia recognized as the three-point line. Hoopster had his proper posture down to a T: with feet shoulder-width apart; his dominant foot ahead the other; knees bent at the perfect angle; his toned body and shoulders squared toward the basket. His dark blue eyes were unrelenting, drilling a hole on his target. Juvia has seen it far too many times, but every time Gray fell into that stance, her heart skipped a beat. Like any minute now, something magical was about to happen. That’s how he always made her feel. Gray held the ball above his head, elbows bent in the perfect degree, then he snapped his wrist, ending his signature three-point shot with a perfect follow through. Juvia was back at the lower box of the Fairy Academy Dome, her heart in her throat as she and the rest of the roughly six hundred basketball fans waited at the edge of their seats.

His sharp blue eyes, now staring at Juvia’s mesmerized ones, pulled the ballerina out of her reverie. He resumed his rightful spot next to her at the stone bench, drawing a long, slow breath. That little prancing around the court didn’t tire him out. Gray didn’t even break a sweat but showing off to his girlfriend did exercise his lungs.

“My dad always said, ‘Gray… if you. Want to set yourself apart from the others, you need a signature’. He decided, right there and then, that three-point shots would be mine.” He relayed to Juvia. “He trained me day and night until I perfected that shot.” Those perfect three point shots that eventually earned him his nickname.

To Juvia, it sounded like the Fullbuster patriarch was a believer of putting in the time. She knew now where Gray got his hard-working disposition. She believed in that too… nothing of value was ever borne out if taking it easy. Juvia believed in the hustle, too. His father may have had all the connections to make her dream a reality sooner but Juvia was never one to want everything handed to her.

“Or passed out, whichever came first.”

He tried to play it off as a joke but Juvia could see no humor in Gray’s eyes nor that forced smile – because he was talking about his father. Once, when they were just starting to get along, Silver’s name was mentioned in passing. Juvia remembered how his expression turned serious and how Gray quickly changed the subject. It was obvious back then that it was a touchy subject, one Gray would rather not talk about. Ironic, considering how Gray was considered an open book, his tales of gallivanting making headlines. But Juvia understood, that topic was too personal for Gray. This was the first time that the elusive Hoopster was the first to mention Silver Fullbuster to her, which only meant one thing – he trusted her. She knew better than laugh. Juvia sought his hands, took them in hers and giving them a gentle squeeze – one that told him that she was there. This time, she was going to be there for him, like how he was always there for her. It was Juvia’s chance to show Gray that she was going to be the one he could rely on; the one he could trust with his heart. If she could, Juvia would have eased the pain she knew was still there. A big chunk of Gray’s heart was still missing. But there wasn’t much she could do but to lend an ear. Her soft gaze told him she was ready to listen.

Gray heaved out another breath, preparing himself for the outpour.

“I miss him every day, you know. He was my best friend.”

Gray wasn’t looking at Juvia. He was staring at somewhere at the court, remembering. A bittersweet smile touched his lips, eyes looking out at the empty court as if he was watching the figures play on the paved ground – Silver and an eight-year-old Gray.

“He trained me in this very ground. Sometimes, we’d just play around all day until mom calls us for dinner.”

When Gray turned to the quiet ballerina, his eyes were different. The soul behind them was different. He was showing another side of him, one Juvia has yet to see. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul; that they held the truest, most genuine emotions. Tonight, those windows held his vulnerability.

“He wasn’t just my coach, my strict trainer. He was my dad.”

Juvia knew she was only an audience, merely a listener. She didn’t say a word and continued to listen even through the shy moments of silence that filled the in-betweens. A few strands of black hair fell over his forehead. Juvia brushed it away from his face, tucking them back to that shock of coal-black hair.

“What I am now is all because of him.”

Honor and gratitude equally shone through his dark eyes. But there was another one hiding behind that shine – loss. He lost his father. The tears he was holding back was for that important person taken from him far too soon. Juvia knew of the pain of losing someone she loved but she could never fully understand what Gray went through, still going through. It was something that sticks with us no matter what happens.

“When I was in my senior year, my school was up for a championship in the regionals. He stayed behind because he wasn’t feeling well. That was a first for him because he was always present to all my games.”

It’s been more than a decade but the memory was as fresh as if it happened yesterday.

“The neighbors called my mom. They said dad was… my dad was on the way to the hospital. He had a heart attack.”

His last words felt like a silent whisper lost in the soft gust of wind.

“She hid it from me. My mom waited until I finished the tournament. And when I got there… when I got to the hospital,” Gray shifted in his position, his strong jaw tightening at the memory, at the long-forgotten anger that resurfaced. He faced Juvia, finally letting her see that side of him he never wanted to show people. And she saw the tears in his eyes that he tried to hold back. “It was too late. He was there, lying on the hospital bed. His doctor just…covered him in that… in that white sheet.”

He brushed away the tear that managed to fall and for some reason, an awkward chuckle erupted from him.

“I don’t even know why I’m still crying over it.” He said, harshly wiping the tears with his bare palm.

“It never really goes away.” offered Juvia.

“For years I’ve blamed my mother. I blamed her because I couldn’t even properly say goodbye. Then, basketball.” Gray huffed. “God, I hated basketball.”

Juvia remembered that silent, blank space in his career. When he graduated from High School, everybody expected Gray to be the first to be picked out for the draft season. No one ever heard from him since the news of his dad’s passing.

“I should have stayed, you know. I should have been there for him.”

Regret clouded his dark blue eyes like an unkind storm rolling in.

“It isn’t your fault, Gray.”

Gray visibly gulped.

“I know that. But for so long I’ve been so angry at everyone around me.” He struggled to bit back the sob. “If I hadn’t met Natsu at that orphanage, I would have never went back to basketball.”

“Is that why the Home was so important to you?”

His only answer was a gentle smile followed by a stretch of silence. Juvia thought Gray didn’t want to continue but he did.

“I realized, basketball was only way I can feel closer to him. When I touch that rubber ball, the rough texture of its skin, the smell of the rubber, the beat when it hits the floor, suddenly, I was back here.” He didn’t need to point to the open space. “In this court, with my dad, teaching me how to properly hold my first ball.”

He gave her a small smile, a result of a mixed feeling of gratitude and regret.

“That’s why I can never hate basketball ever again.” He expelled a breath that felt like a finality, like an end. The worst part was over. “Why are you crying?”

Juvia laughed it off, looking like some crazy woman as she frantically rubbed her eyes. She told Gray she didn’t even know why. That wasn’t true. Juvia was crying for him, for all the bad things he went through and for all the good things that came after. She couldn’t feel more proud of him, of how Gray overcame that painful moment in his life. Not all could recover from that loss. But Gray was strong. A warm feeling swelled up in her chest. Juvia was grateful he was able to overcome his rock bottom. Now, he was on top of the world.

Gray reached to Juvia, cradled her wet cheeks between his palms. She leaned into the warmth of his hands. Juvia wished she could be there for him back then, to help him go. Through that darkness. That’s all in the past. All she could do was be here for him now.

“Look at us crying like idiots.”

They made a shared attempt to laugh. Then, Gray gathered her in his arms, lending his girlfriend heat against the night chill. But more so, feeling sorry for having Juvia go through all of that. Yet he was grateful to be able to get it off his chest. It wasn’t easy to be so out into the open, to even admit to any weakness. In his world, in basketball, there was no room for weakness. But even if he covered himself of layers and layers of defenses, at the very core he was still vulnerable. When he saw Juvia struggle through her dance albeit being a professional, seeing the stern, no-nonsense ballerina he first met being bothered by the small things as performance jitters or her paralyzing adoration for Aquarius, Gray realized that he didn’t have to keep up appearances all the time. That he could just be him – flawed and human.

Hoopster rested Juvia’s head against his chest, gently stroking waves of her long, silky hair while Juvia listened to his heart’s every beat.

“Man, after all the ugly crying, you still think your boyfriend is cool?”

He used to think that his pain was his weakness. It did almost ruin his career and his future once. He was never going to let that happen. He was never going to let his emotions get the better of him. So, Gray went through all those superficial relationships, if he could even call them that, and worldly fun, albeit fleeting. But now he decided it was time to break down the wall. He was ready to allow himself be vulnerable.

“Much cooler.” answered Juvia as she snuggled into his hard chest. “Much, much cooler.”

Because now he wasn’t just some fantasy Gray Fullbuster that was perfect at everything. He was real.

---

Writer’s Corner: Allowing yourself be vulnerable in front of that person you love, I don’t think it can get any realer than that. As promised, this is a double chapter posting since, as you noticed, this chapter is a little short.

P.S. We got a new design because we are entering a new age.

tags: @ship-ambrosia @juviaafullbuster @keencreatormuggoop @sasskiiia @anaken101 @mika-milano @icelyn20 @gruviafanficsyo @nay-ssi @shampooneko @hiccstridhumour @shounenmangaotphell @ftmains @sobatsu @freeezingrain @gruvia-galaxy @tinyvoidtrash @juvialockseroff @jetblackrevival @cobblepottantrum

[marinaaniseed]

F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E

Song: F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E from the album Different class by Pulp.

Summary: It’s the morning (well, hours) after the night before, with Steve and Bucky.

Pairing: Female reader x Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Length: 1,500 words

A/N: Mentions of sex/sex toys. A lot of embarrassment. I trimmed this to meet my arbitrary word limit. Not sure that was the right idea, but here we are. Part 9 of Death on the stairs. See here for what this is all about.

***

Bucky can’t sleep, laying flat on his back with you on his chest, and Steve spooned around you. It’s not even dawn, and it breaks his heart to leave, but he knows it’s better to go now before everyone else is awake.

He silently slips out from under you, into his clothes, and out the door.

Steve wakes up at six, like clockwork, hand resting on your stomach. Bucky’s gone, and he understands why, but he can’t bring himself to leave. You’re sound asleep and he doesn’t want to risk disturbing you. He can’t even begin to imagine how exhausted you must feel after what he and Bucky did with you.

Bucky returns with breakfast. Just like he’s been doing for the past few weeks, whenever he’s at home. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing suspicious, nothing for Nat to make a note of.

He lets out a little exasperated sigh when he walks in and finds Steve still spooned around you as you snore softly.

“I didn’t want to wake her,” Steve says, giving Bucky his puppy dog eyes.

“I know, but you need to go. Now. Unless you can give Nat a good reason why you’re leaving Y/N’s room in yesterday’s clothes,” Bucky notes.

“Nat doesn’t know what I changed into when we got back,” Steve grumbles. He gives your neck a soft kiss before shuffling out of bed and into his clothes. He’s less careful than Bucky when he shuts the door, causing Bucky to wince and you to finally stir.

“Brought you breakfast in bed,” Bucky remarks, brushing the hair out of your face. “That’s what you do when you bring a dame home, right?”

“Thanks, Buck,” you tell him as he sets a mug of tea down on the bedside table. “Although you often bring me breakfast, and it’s not really bringing me home, is it? This is my room,” you laugh.

“Still romantic though,” he says smiling.

“Do you do it for Steve?”

“I would if he didn’t wake up so damn early.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, letting you adjust to the world and eat. He knows from previous experience that if he talks to you, you’ll focus on that instead, and he doesn’t want your breakfast to get cold.

It’s the most important meal of the day, according to the milk advert they got Steve - sorry, Captain America - to do.

Bucky cackles every damn time they show it.

You slurp your tea once you finish your toast, giving Bucky his cue to start talking again.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, holding the hand not holding the mug.

“Tired, like I could sleep for years,” you tell him with a smile.

“Take it from someone who’s done it, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Bucky answers. “I meant, how’re you feeling about me and Steve?”

“I've got a slightly sick feeling in my stomach,” you explain. “Like I'm standing on top of a very high building.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Bucky says, holding your hand a little tighter.

“Good, I think. It’s exhilarating but there’s also all of the… risk? Of it not working out? Or people finding out? And not accepting it?” you say, trying to reassure Bucky. “I’m happy, I’ve got no regrets, and I want to keep doing this.”

Relief washes through Bucky, and you can see his eyes light up when you say that.

“That’s good, real good,” he tells you. “Steve and I - well, just Steve, really - we feel a little bad, like we did things the wrong way round. Like we should’ve taken you out for dinner or something first.”

“I think there was a lot of tension we needed to get out of the way.”

“That’s exactly what I told Steve,” Bucky admits, glad that you agree with him.

“So, how’re you feeling?” you say, before sipping the last of your tea.

“It’s all very intense. New and exciting,” Bucky tells you. “It’s hard not to show my feelings in front of the others. I want to touch you all the time, I can’t take my eyes off of you. I see flashes of the shape of your breasts and the curve of your belly and they make me have to sit down and catch my breath.”

Your cheeks turn magenta at his words, and he leans over to kiss you. He only meant for a quick peck, but it soon devolves into full on making out, and he has to pull away from you before he takes it any further.

“How does it compare to starting out with Steve?”

“Well, Steve was the one who couldn’t breathe then,” Bucky says with a laugh. It’s funny now, but Steve’s asthma caused a lot of trouble back then. “It’s similar, exhilarating, like you said, and of course there was the risk of what happened if we were caught. Mostly, I was scared of Steve getting hurt or sick. I took my time with Steve, I had to. But even after all these years, I remember everything about that first time in our ramshackle apartment. If I close my eyes I can visualise everything in it right down… Right down to the broken handle on the third drawer down of the dressing table.”

“What about Steve? Has he said anything?” you whisper, wary of disturbing Bucky’s reverie.

“You’re better off asking him, but you know that,” Bucky observes. “But I’d be very surprised if he feels any differently. He’s worse than me. The man wears his heart - and his dinner - on his sleeve.”

***

The two of you are the last to arrive at the team meeting. Bucky had offered to throw you over his shoulder and carry you down to the meeting room but you were determined to hobble down under your own steam.

“Someone’s glowing this morning,” Nat says as you sit down next to her, looking pointedly between you and Bucky, as he sits down opposite her.

“Yes,” Vision chimes in. “Is it new makeup? Wanda has been explaining bronzers to me,” he says, proudly.

“No, I, um got a new sex toy. I find I sleep better after I, er, y’know…” you trail off, hiding your face in the orange juice that Tony has just placed in front of you.

Bucky makes a mental note to tease you later for call him a sex toy.

“Oh, you should’ve said something. I’m working on a prototype for Pepper right now,” Tony observes, and you can feel yourself blushing even harder. “Which brings me onto the first topic on today’s agenda.”

“What do sex toys have to do with the Hydra debrief?” Bruce interrupts.

“Nothing,” Tony notes. “Before we get to that, I want to know what happened to my sofa last night, because F.R.I.D.A.Y. won’t tell me and there’s a mysterious stain. I don’t wanna sound like your dad, or my dad, for that matter - but c’mon people, use your rooms.”

Everyone’s looking at each other, some embarrassed, some amused.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve mumbles to everyone’s surprise. Bucky tries to murder him, using the power of his mind, while you fiddle nervously with your pen.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I made myself some hot milk. Guess I was more tired than I thought, because I stumbled and spilled it a little. I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. not to show you, because I was embarrassed about tripping over nothing. I was going to clean it up after my drink, but I was so sleepy, I just went to bed,” Steve says softly, all contrition and sweetness. “I’m sorry Tony, I’ll arrange for it to be cleaned and I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Are you sure ‘hot milk’ isn’t a euphemism for what your boyfriend gives you before bed?” Tony remarks, causing you to swallow your juice wrong.

Everyone waits while you cough and splutter, and Nat thumps you hard between the shoulder blades.

“Wrong hole,” you manage to wheeze.

“That’s what she said,” Clint adds with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Capsicle didn’t answer my question.”

“Do you really think,” Bucky starts, making sure to look at everyone in turn so that it’s clear that he’s addressing the room, not just Tony, “that Mr star-spangled, barely out of the closet, 70 year old virgin Rogers would let me fuck him, on your sofa, where anyone could walk in and see us?”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says so quietly that only Bucky can hear him.

“Look at him,” Bucky continues. “He’s got ketchup on his shirt right now.”

Steve looks down. It takes him a few seconds, but there it is. A bright red stain on his sleeve. He really should get dressed after eating breakfast.

“Fine, fine,” Tony sighs. “Just be more careful, and clean it up next time. Wanda, Nat - report on Bratislava.”

You’ve never been so happy for a debrief to start.

[harley-sunday]

A Good Man Goes to War [01]

Summary: Starts right after Civil War. Steve Rogers is done being Captain America and quite happy living a quiet life in a safe house somewhere in Canada. Until Thanos goes after the Infinity Stones. What happens when a good man goes to war? 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (f) but could be read as reader insert.

Warnings: Minor language.

Word count: 4.5k-ish

Entry for @browngirlmagic​‘s writing challenge.  My prompt was “Demons run when a good man goes to war.”

AN: By now you all know I need validation, hence the quick update. Like I said before, this is unlike anything I’ve ever written before, so please let me know what you think. It’s kind of scary to put this out there ♥

I don’t do taglists, but if you follow Harley Sunday x Steve Rogers you should see any update I post.

Masterlist

He sleeps for most of the first couple of days he’s there, as if his body and mind finally allow him to catch up on all those hours of sleep he’s missed over the years. When he is awake he always finds a fresh glass of water and a plate of sandwiches on his bedside table, which he is grateful for because even though he is still so tired, he is also quite hungry. As he eats, he listens for her from his bedroom, more often than not hearing her quietly humming along to whatever song is playing on the sound system while she busies herself downstairs. 

It is on day five that he finally wakes up feeling well rested, but when he sees himself in the mirror in the bathroom they share he has to do a double take because his beard has taken over half his face and he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Still, he keeps it, only trimming the edges. The shower is nice and hot and he comes out of it feeling ten times better. He puts on a pair of dark blue jeans and pairs it with a flannel button down shirt that seems appropriate in this setting.

He finds her in the kitchen, kneading some dough that he hopes will get turned into more of that fabulous homemade bread. “Hey,”

“Well, hello Sleeping Beauty,” she says from over her shoulder, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she smiles.

“Yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck, “sorry about that.”

She tuts, shaking her head, “Please. After what you’ve been through I didn’t expect you back in the land of the living for at least another day or two.” 

“So you know then?”

“It was in the file Nick sent over after he made the call,” she replies almost apologetically. Then, as though she wants to change the subject, “There’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

“You’re the best,” he says with a grin, realizing he actually means it. He wraps both his hand around the mug after he’s poured the coffee, leaning against the counter to her right, watching her as she kneads, and kneads, and kneads. She makes it looks effortless, but he’s sure he’d be able to mess it up if he ever gave it a try. His eyes travel across the kitchen and the living room and he finds more and more evidence of ultra modern technology he hadn’t seen when he first got here. He figures that even though it might look like a simple log cabin from the outside, it is probably decked out with the latest technology on the inside, which, no doubt, is a requirement for a safe house. 

“So, I assume you have some questions?” She gives the dough a final fold before she picks it up and carefully drops it into a bread basket. She washes her hands and dries them off on the towel hanging over her shoulder before she helps herself to a cup of coffee and gestures towards the living room, “Let’s sit down.”

He finds himself pulling out a chair at the dining table, sitting opposite of her, realizing then that yes, he actually does have some questions. Which is strange because he always thought it would be the other way around. But she mentioned a file from Nick earlier, and if one thing, those always tend to be very detailed. He allows himself to really look at her then, instead of those quick glances he kept stealing on the way from the airport. She has kind face, there’s no doubt about it, but there’s also something else there, something he recognizes as sadness and he wonders what her story is. That’s not for now though, he decides.

“Don’t be shy,” she challenges him from across the table, a mischievous grin playing around on her lips.

“Ok,” he starts, “This is your cabin, right?”

“Yes,”

“Right,” he replies. “Please don’t be offended, but-”

“You want to know if I’m going to be here all the time or if I’m actually going to leave you alone at some point?”

“Well,” he sighs then because she seems to have read his mind. “Yeah.” 

She laughs, “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” She looks around the room, “The cabin and I, we’re kind of a package deal.”

“That’s fine,” he’s quick to reassure her. “I’ve been on my own long enough, I quite like having someone around.”

“Good,” she says before she fishes a piece of paper from the pocket of her apron and slides it towards him. “Chores are another part of the deal I’m afraid-”

“Seems fair,” he quickly assures her. 

“It’s just,” she starts, smiling, “you could probably chop more firewood in an hour than I could in a day so it would just be a waste of resources if I didn’t let you do that.” Her finger taps the second line then, “I will make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but in return you’re in charge of the dishes and taking out the garbage.”

He smiles, “No problem.”

“The last one isn’t really essential,” she clears her throat, “but  uh, I’ve already killed so many of them that I’m now putting each and every one that is still here into your care.” 

“How?”

“I don’t know,” she sounds defeated, “I’m just not good at keeping things alive, ok?” She must realize what she’s just said then, because she buries her face in her hands, “Oh God, that came out wrong, because I’m sure I’ll be able to keep you alive.”

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters quitely.

She hasn’t heard because she shakes her head and continues, “It’s just plants I have a problem with.”

He puts one of his hands over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “It’ll be fine.” 

They settle into an easy rhythm after that, where he’s the one who wakes up early and makes sure to get the coffee going before she joins him downstairs about an hour later. Breakfast then, after which she’s in the kitchen to either make bread, pickle vegetables, or make jam from a variety of berries she finds somewhere deep in the forest, only stopping to make them lunch. He’s outside most of the mornings, chopping firewood, making sure the wood’s properly stacked alongside the cabin, and that there’s enough to last them through most of the winter. He usually tends to her vegetable garden after lunch, even though surprisingly enough she’s been able to keep most of her crops alive so far. 

They go into town about once a week, on Wednesdays, when there’s a farmer’s market, a trip that takes them most of the day and so they treat themselves to lunch at the Thirsty Moose bar, where he takes a special liking to their Philly Cheese Steak Poutine. She tells him she always treats herself to fresh flowers when she’s at the market and so every Wednesday night there’s a new arrangement adorning the dining table. He’s decided he likes it. 

The evenings are spent on the porch, catching the last rays of sunshine after dinner, quietly talking about anything and everything, but nothing too serious yet. They are getting to know each other more day by day and he quite likes that there’s still somewhat of a mystery about her. When it gets too cold they head inside, where she makes them both a hot chocolate that they finish on the couch. He almost always goes to bed first, while she stays up late, reading books about whatever topic holds her interest at that moment. He has seen her scribble little notes in the margins of the pages, and he doesn’t know why, but it makes him like her even more. 

She surprises him with a variety of cupcakes on his birthday, which happens to be exactly two weeks after he’s arrived here. There’s also a gift, and he finds himself a little speechless when he unwraps a beautiful handmade axe, which is amazingly balanced. She tells him he’s been using her lightweight axe, and that this seems to fit him much better. He agrees wholeheartedly. 

She’s put a birthday candle into the strawberry cupcake, telling him he has to make a wish, even though he argues he’s technically ninety-eight and might be too much of a grown up for that. She giggles then, tells him he looks pretty darn good for his age, before she counters that he’s been put on ice for 66 years and so she thinks they’re actually only celebrating his thirty-second birthday. He can’t really argue with that logic and so he blows out the candle in one go. 

She tries to get him to tell her his wish, but he warns her not to push him or he’ll give up on the plants and at least that gets her to back off a little. 

The wish he’s made on his birthday lasts exactly two months. 

And what a great two months they have been, he reminisces. Summers here are mild, she told him, and she wasn’t wrong. Still, being this far north meant they got plenty of sunshine and the forest offered them an abundance of edible plants and berries, which they collected on what quickly became their regular afternoon walks. He feels comfortable around her, things are easy between them, and so he finds himself opening up to her more and more. 

He tells her about his upbringing in Brooklyn, about Bucky, the war, and how lost he felt without his best friend, both the first and second time he thought he had lost him. He admits easily that it took him a long time to somewhat adjust to this modern society he woke up to after being defrosted, and that he’s still not sure he’ll ever really be a part of it. There’s a lump in his throat when he tells her about what happened to Bucky after he fell from the train, and how he ended up fighting his best friend several times before they were able to help him. 

He’s still angry when he talks about the Accords and what happened after, even though he’s quick to reassure her he’s happy that it made him end up here. More about Bucky then, how this time he got to fight alongside his best friend and how Bucky is now trying to heal with the help of T’Challa and his people in Wakanda. He tries to explain Wakanda to her, but knows he’ll never be able to do it justice and so he promises to take her there some day. 

She just lets him talk, only asking questions when something is unclear to her, and God, it feels good to finally tell someone the whole story, even though he’s sure she already knew most of it from the file Nick Fury sent over. Still, she listens and he talks, and he thinks that maybe his birthday wish is coming true. 

But then, somewhere at the end of summer, she calls out for him, “Steve?”

He hears it in her voice, even though he can’t quite explain what it is, only that it’s not good. He stacks the two pieces of firewood he’s holding and rushes inside, finding her in the kitchen, looking upset. 

She nods towards the living room, “There’s someone here to see you.” 

His heart’s in his throat then, because how did they find him? Does this mean he’s compromised? Should he just make a run for it? No, he thinks, he can’t just leave her here. He turns around, a sigh of relief escaping him when he sees the familiar redhead sitting on the couch.

“Hey, stranger,” she says with a smile.

“Natasha.” He wants to be happy to see her again, really he does, but he knows she’s not just here on a social call and so he asks, “Sam?”

“He’s outside,” she replies with a nod towards the front porch. 

“You can come in,” he says, knowing the comms unit she’s wearing will pick up his voice, and sure enough, Sam comes bursting through the door seconds later.

“Steve, man it is good to see you!” 

He returns the hug, because yes, it is good to see his friends again even though he’s sure what will follow next will make him wish they never showed up. He tells them to take a seat on the front porch, says he will join them in a minute.

Natasha glances over his shoulder with a knowing look, then throws him a wink before she gently pushes Sam outside.

He turns around, “I’m sorry, I had no idea-”

“I know,” she smiles. She holds up the phone he knows only Nick Fury has the number of, “The message came just as they pulled up. I would have told you earlier, but I didn’t-”

“Hey, no,” he takes a few quick steps towards her, hands on her arms. “I’ll go find out what they want ok?”

She nods, biting her lip because he’s sure she knows as well as he does it means he’ll have to leave soon. “I’ll,” her voice catches in her throat, “I’ll get you some coffee.” 

“Thank you.” He lets go of her, but then something makes him go back and kiss the top of her head, “It’ll be alright.”

“Yeah.” 

He joins Natasha and Sam outside then, listens to what they’ve been up to these past weeks, not surprised to learn they’ve gone rogue and are now doing missions on their own. He asks how they found him, but he doesn’t get a straight answer out of either of them, even though he knows they must have contacted Nick. He’s the only one who knows where he is. 

“Cap,” Sam starts once there are three steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. “We need you, man.” He looks at Natasha, but she just nods, and so he continues, “These missions, well, it’s not like they’re super dangerous, but there’s only so much we can do when it’s just the two of us.”

“We’re doing Nick Fury’s dirty work,” Natasha explains, “but it’s work that needs to be done.” And, because she knows him and knows what he’s about to ask next, “It’s not illegal per se, but yes, we are trespassing and taking things that technically don’t belong to us.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, Steve,” Natasha puts a hand on his arm, making him look at her, “we wouldn’t be here if it was absolutely necessary.” She explains then, how there are five missions in total, spanning a little over a year, that he’d be gone no more than six weeks at a time, that she and Sam will do all the preparations, that he just has to show up and help them complete the mission. 

“I don’t know.” He sighs, casting a glance over his shoulder, finding her in the kitchen, where she’s trying to knead some bread but he can tell her heart’s not in it. They’ll have to feed it to the birds, he thinks wryly. He looks back at Sam and Natasha, knows they need him too if not more, knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself if something happens to them because he’d rather stay here and ignore the outside world. “I’ll do it,” he says, “but not as Captain America.”

Natasha nods, “That seems fair.”

“So you’re really going rogue with us then?” Sams asks with a grin. “Tell me, man, what should we call you now that you’re not carrying the shield?” 

He thinks about that for a while, but then, because it seems fitting, “Nomad.”

He can tell she’s not happy about it, even though she never says anything. If anything she just becomes more distant, the chatty nights on the porch now spend indoors, with her reading, and reading, and reading, and him waiting until Natasha sends him the mission details on the secure phone she handed him after their visit. It hurts, but he gets why she feels this way, she was meant to keep him safe, after all. He’s tried to explain once, why he choose to go, but she just shook her head and he stopped talking. 

When they go into town together that Wednesday he lets her do the grocery shopping, while he meets up with the guy he’s been in contact with about the bike he has for sale. It’s a Harley Davidson WLA ‘Liberator’ and it reminds him of the bike he used to drive when he was in Europe. After taking it for a test drive and agreeing on the price he’s a little hesitant to show her his purchase, but she just shrugs and tells him it’s a nice looking bike. Small victories, he supposes. 

The message comes a week later, just as he’s done with the dishes for the day, giving him the coordinates to the pickup point where they’ll pick him up with the Quinjet the next morning. His GPS tells him it’s a three hour drive from here and so he’ll have to get up early, meaning he only has one night with her before he has to leave. He tells her about the mission, that this is their last night together for a while and to his surprise she asks if he wants to have a hot chocolate on the porch.

“I’d love to,” he replies, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It’s already getting dark outside and so he busies himself turning on the two gas lanterns on either end of the porch before lightning the candles on top of the table. 

She joins him not much later, handing him a big mug topped with a generous amount of whipped cream, “Here you go.” 

“Thank you,”

“Listen, I uh,” she sits down on one of the Adirondack chairs and motions for him to do the same. “I’m sorry, about well,” she raises her eyebrows, “this week, I suppose.”

“Honestly, don’t-”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I wasn’t being fair. You don’t have to answer to me about well, anything you do, really.”

“Except the plants,” he says, trying to let her know it’s ok. That he understands.

“Except the plants,” she echoes, smiling. 

“I left the instructions  on the fridge, ok?” 

She nods, “I will follow them to a T.” She looks at him then, “Just be careful, ok? The plants and I’d like to see you back here in one piece.”

“Will do,” 

“Promise me.” Her voice catches in her throat somewhere and she tries to smile but he can tell she’s fighting back tears.

He reaches for her from across the table, his hand on hers as he gives it a little squeeze, “I promise.”

He’s missed her, he realizes now that he’s finally on his way back to her. 

He’s been gone for almost four weeks, the mission somewhere in South America, where the weather was much more forgiving than what he’s dealing with now. The cold wind bites through his gloves and jacket, like little needles pricking in his skin. The signs along the road tell him he’s almost there and so he opens up the throttle, wanting nothing more than to see her again as soon as possible. 

She must have heard his bike coming up the road because she’s waiting for him on the porch, smiling when she sees him pulls up.

He parks the bike at an impossible angle, right in front of the steps leading up to the cabin, but he doesn’t care, because it only means he can get to her quicker. He takes his helmet off as he steps off the bike and hangs it on the handle bars, before he walks up to her and wraps her in his arms, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says from somewhere against his chest, her arms having found their way around him. “I’ve missed you.” 

He lets go of her ever so slightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’ve missed you too.” 

She looks up at him, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I am now.”

“Come on,” she lets go of him and takes one of his hands in hers, “let’s get you inside.” She leads him to the kitchen, where she examens him carefully, her brows furrowed when she sees he’s got several cuts on his face.

“It’s nothing,” he assures her, but then her fingers ghost over the cut above his brow and he winces, because he took a pretty hard blow there just this morning, the skin still tender. 

She tuts, “Go take a shower. I’ll take care of that once you’re done.”

“It’ll be healed by tomorrow,” he counters. “The serum, remember?”

“Yeah, well, humor me.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest then, “Upstairs. Shower. Now.”

He does as he’s told, the warm water actually making him feel a bit more human. He puts on a pair of sweatpants she bought for him on one of their trips into town, claiming you can’t really relax in a pair of jeans when he told her he didn’t have any other pants. He grabs a t-shirt from out of his closet, not bothering to put it on because he knows she’ll want to see if there are any other cuts and bruises that need her attention.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters quietly when he makes his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She lets her eyes travel across his chest before she looks up at him, “Are you even real or?”

He chuckles and shrugs, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs. 

Standing in front of him she hands him the first aid kit, her fingers once again examining his skin, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees most of the cuts are starting to heal already. “You really weren’t kidding,” she whispers.

His eyes find hers and he shakes his head, “Nope.” 

Something that looks like relief flashes across her eyes then, but she hides it by telling him to put his shirt on and handing him a cup of hot chocolate.

Natasha already warned him that the next mission would start soon, but he never thought he’d only get four days of rest before they’d ask him to head out again. The mission brief suggests a short trip, two weeks tops, but he knows from experience that’s way too optimistic. At least the pickup point is closer this time, only a two-hour drive from the cabin and they won’t pick him up until late tomorrow afternoon so at least he still gets to spend some time with her. And the plants that have been in her care the past four weeks.

“You know what?” He can’t help but smile when he examines her work, “I’m not mad about this.”

“No?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “you really did a great job.”

“So they’re fine?” 

“More than, I’d say.” He turns towards her, a little thrown of by the mischief in her eyes. “What?”

“Even that one?” She points to one of the succulents in the windowsill, and he can tell she’s trying to keep a straight face.

He looks closer and laughs then, “It got smaller.”

She giggles, “It got replaced.” She throws her hands up in defense then, “I don’t know what happened, one day he was fine and the next-” she makes a face, “-dead.” 

“Uhu,”

“Steve, I promise, I did everything you told me to do.” 

He throws an arm around her shoulder then, pulling her close, “You can’t keep buying new plants every time one dies.”

She scoffs, “I’ve been doing it for years.”

He was right about the second mission, they were gone a little over six weeks and by the time he gets back the forest is covered in a thin layer of snow and so he has to park his bike on the side of the house, next to where’s he stacked to firewood. He finds her on the porch, like the last time, and she throws her arms around him as he pulls her into a hug.

“I thought you were never coming back,” she says quietly.

“I know,” 

“Let’s go inside,” 

He takes her outstretched hand and follows her into the cabin, the warm glow of the fireplace welcoming him back. Like last time, she examines him closely, but he came out pretty unscatched and so she’s quick to tell him to go take a shower. She asks if he is hungry when he’s halfway up the stairs, and when he tells her he is, she sets out to make him a quick dinner of some leftover she finds in the fridge. 

She allows him to eat his dinner on the couch, which she’s never done before, but she must see how tired he is. This mission was a waiting game more than anything else, long days spent trying to gather as much intell as possible before moving in to secure what they came for. 

“I really missed you,” she says suddenly, and when he looks at her he finds her eyes a little glossed over. “I never felt lonely here before, but this time, I don’t know,” she tries to smile, and he can tell she’s trying not to make too much of a big deal out of it. 

He puts his plate down on the coffee table and motions for her to come closer, wrapping his arm around her once she’s snuggled up to him, “I really missed you too.”

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

OC Kiss Week 20 - Spirited Away

Between wedding planning and teetering on the edge of being sick, I just haven’t had the time that I’d like to dedicate to kiss week. I’m still sitting on a few half-finished pieces, but I did wanna get this one in before the week ended so HERE WE ARE. Featuring @captainsaku‘s Nin, and Tahir, with a hint of a ghost of Alex creeping in there because she can’t be left out of shenanigans.

About 1400 words.

-----

Sir Merrin had already taken Nin through three dances, and she was beginning to suspect that he was angling for a fourth. 

The first one had been cordial enough. Merrin was a hobbyist vintner, and though he mostly only oversaw the vineyards of his estate, he had a particular interest in the inner workings of the trade, and would speak at length about them at any given opportunity. It was a topic that Nin would have been able to talk all night about, had she been allowed to join the conversation.

“Have you ever been to any of the vineyards further east, Your Highness?” Merrin asked, as the last swell of music began to taper off. Nin glanced around. They had ended their dance in the middle of the crowded floor; all of her polite exits were blocked in. 

“I haven’t,” she said, slowly. This was the first real question she had gotten in two dances. “I imagine that they must be lovely this -”

“Oh, you must! They are lovely this time of year. There is a region there - perhaps further south than east if I’m being precise - and they are all masters, simply masters! They keep their secrets well-guarded, but as a fellow enthusiast, they have encouraged me to take a few samples, so I…”

And on, and on it went, a steady stream of self-congratulations in between stories of people Nin only half-knew, spoken to her general direction as she was whirled and pressed through the mass of the crowd. They were only a minute into the song, but she was already starting to feel dizzy.

He was still on about the eastern vineyards when the dance spun them apart again, and Nin felt a hand suddenly seize her free one. To her left, she heard Merrin stuttered a protest; then a shoulder shoved its way between them and he was gone, whisked away from Nin and deeper into the crowd before she could make sense of just what had seperated them. The hand that had taken hold of hers shifted into a lead.

“Chatty one, ain’t he?” 

Blinking, Nin followed the new voice up, and found herself staring into a wry smile cutting through a recently-trimmed beard. Tahir. She might’ve guessed; the hands under hers were the opposite of nearly every other person in the room, wide and dark and thick as tree bark along the palms.

“What…” she began, and frowned when her voice faltered. Apparently, her time with Sir Merrin had robbed her of the ability to form full sentences. Overhead, Tahir grinned. 

“What am I doing here?” he guessed. “Why, giving you an out, Your Highness. Alex seemed to think that you had a guest overstaying his warm welcome.” He nodded over a shoulder, and Nin peered around his arm to where she could just make out the head of loose brown curls that was leading - pushing? - Sir Merrin further away into the crowd. She stifled an outright giggle, but only barely.

“I was fine,” she said, smiling despite herself. "Sir Merrin is… enthusiastic, yes, but -"

"But he's got the sickness that gives him a love of his own voice. And the charm of a mongrel dog. And you’ve been trying to find an escape for the last two dances.” Nin winced, and Tahir’s grin softened into something closer to a smile. “We knew you’d have eventually figured out a way to get yourself out polite-like, Your Highness, but we figured that we can afford to wound his pride a little. It’s not like we need to play courting games, hey?”

He was right, of course; Alex and her inner circle had been invited out of politeness rather than any need on their part. They had no wheels to spin, no deals to court, no friends to make among the aristocracy. As it was, they had likely only agreed to come for the chance at a decent meal.

“Well, then," Nin said, smiling, “at the very least, I suppose I ought to thank you for my rescue.”

“You ought to do nothing of the sort,” Tahir said, with a theatrically deep bow. Then he glanced sideways to the dance that was still churning on around them, and Nin saw his smile falter. Around them, the other dancers slinking past their awkward side-step were fielding glares steeped in the sort of muted hostility that only came out of the peerage when they were being interrupted. He straightened quickly, clearing his throat.

"You ought to do nothing of the sort,” he said, with an apologetic smile, “but I could, ah, use a lead. Alex is the one who knows his way around the noble art of dancing. I was told I wouldn’t need to."

Nin laughed - genuinely, perhaps for the first time since leaving the company of her guard for the night - and then adjusted her hand to take the lead with a smile. 

"That seems like a fair trade."

For all of his professed shortcomings in dancing, Tahir was remarkably good at taking direction. When she staggered out of the way of his clumsy steps, he steadied her with an apology; when she nudged him out of the way of an oncoming dancer, he went as easily as a pennant in the wind. He still moved with the jerky, stuttering half-step of a novice, but he listened every time she offered a correction, and she never had to do it twice.

And for all the graceless dancing, the conversation was much, much better.

“Wine?” Tahir whispered in disbelief as they swept at half speed around the outside of the dance floor. “All of that time, all of those dances, and he couldn't fathom to talk about anything a sight more interesting than wine?"

“It's not such a terrible subject, really.” Nin slid her arm out around Tahir’s, gracefully deflecting a couple as they nearly plowed into his back. “I like growing things. I tend a garden myself. I would have loved to know more about the vineyards! Or I would have liked to talk about them, at least…"

"Ah," said Tahir, chuckling. "And so we come to the real problem: letting those of us who like to talk take command of the conversation! Well, stay your fears, Your Highness. You won't be subject to old men prattling about wine or dancing much longer now."

Nin opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut with a little squeak of alarm as the floor  suddenly vanished from beneath her. The room spun as an arm hooked itself beneath the small of her back, until she looked up and found herself staring, bewildered, at the ceiling that had appeared over Tahir’s shoulder. He grinned down at her, then leaned forward, bending close to her ear.

“Down the corridor behind you,” he said quietly. “Take the last door on your right. I’m told Royal and the others are waiting to spirit you off for the evening, should you need it. And it seems to me that you rather need it.”

He leaned back almost immediately, righting her with a startling ease as the last notes of the song echoed around them. The crowd turned to applaud the band as Nin steadied herself upright, wide-eyed with surprise. 

“How in the world did you -”

“We didn’t,” Tahir cut in. “Royal arranged most of it. But we don’t do rescues by halves, Your Highness. Having to dance with me just makes you the lucky sort.”

He winked, and another laugh - genuine again, and twice as startled - burst out of her. An escape! From her family’s own party, thrown in her stead! The doldrums that had plagued her evening before suddenly seemed thousands of leagues away.

Smothering the worst of her giggling, Nin stepped forward, up onto the very tips of her toes, and dropped a kiss onto Tahir’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she said as she pulled away, grinning so widely that her cheeks hurt. “At the very least, for helping Royal. And do be sure to thank your captain for me, too.”

“Alex is having the time of his life being a contentious little shit,” said Tahir with a roll of his eyes. “He doesn’t need any thanks, I promise you that.”

Somewhere behind them, a wordless sputter of irritation suddenly rose up out of the crowd, sounding suspiciously like it belonged to a very angry vintner. Tahir gestured towards the sound with another long-suffering roll of his eyes and then silently waved her off before turning back towards the crowd. Nin stifled another laugh as she slipped carefully towards the hallway behind her.

In six month’s time, there would be some other party, some important soiree to attend. She would be sure to send them an invitation.

[madsmikkelsenschesthair]

Blood of the Dragon ch. 8

Summary: Freyja meets the Mad Grandfather and has a strange but prophetic dream.

A/n: yaaaallll I am so sooo sorry but our dear Danny won’t be in this story. I will be using her to make my aesthetics so technically y’all are kinda her? But not really her HER? Get it? No? Me neither! Enjoy! Remember to send me a message for comments, questions, and concerns. Like I said before, Keep it nice.

Warnings: insults, uncomfortable situations, mad Grandfather, one sad papa Rhaegar, fluff, cursing, violence, angst, a hint of death of character

“Look sister! That’s Dragonstone” Little Robb pointed excitedly towards the grey castle that nearly stood on the edge of a cliff. Freyja couldn’t believe it! She had never seen such a big castle in all her life. According to her books and her father, Dragonstone was where her family first settled when they fled Old Valyria. Hundreds of generations have lived in that very same castle and gave birth to new generations and now here she was! This was far too exciting! Freyja could only imagine how big and beautiful Kingslanding was. She couldn’t hardly contain herself her body was jittery and she was grinning from ear to ear until she could no longer feel her face. Little Robb coughed into his cloak breaking Freyja out of her daze, it had been getting chillier these past few weeks and her little brother seemed weaker than when she first met him. On the other hand, Fenrir was growing fast and strong and his puppy eagerness was gone replaced by the adulthood overcoming him. He was ever so faithful as well always by her side, 

Freyja took off her own cloak, red with black fur trim and gold dragons, and put it around his shoulders. “Go back to your chambers,” she told him, “I think we will be there in an hour or so. Stay warm” The cold wind brushed against her cheeks reminding her to do the same, Freyja was far too excited to go back to her own chambers though. Today she will meet her Grandfather Aerys. Her father had not told her much about him or his other brother and she wondered why. Anytime Freyja asked about them the conversation was immediately changed to another topic or her parents would ask her about her day. Freyja kept a mental note of that for later. 

Little Robb stopped midway to the stairs that lead below deck and stared at her, “Are you coming? You’ll get sick too” Freyja kept her eyes on Dragonstone, she could feel magic swarming in her blood as they grew closer. This would be their first and last stop before they left for Kingslanding. She looked down to her wolf, “Come on, Fen” and the pair followed her little brother below deck.

After sailing for so many weeks, the Targaryen fleet stopped and the family got back on the little boats and sailed to the shore. Freyja had no problem stepping off the boat and getting her boots and dress a little wet but her family looked to be in anguish to have their fine clothes soiled. She was used to it after so many years of fishing with her boys. Looking at it now, Dragonstone castle was bigger that it loomed over them. The closer they walked to the entrance the more nervous she got. Freyja saw a group of people waiting for them at the top of the grey steps all of them wearing dark clothes. Her hand closed around the Thor’s Mjolnir on her neck homesickness tightening her stomach. She followed her father and his guards close behind enclosing them, protecting them. The leader of the group that was waiting for them was a short man, an imp, with curly dark hair and a beard and he smiled at her.

“Welcome home Your Grace!” he said his smile growing wider. 

Her King Father’s face broke into a grin, “Lord Tyrion, such a pleasant surprise we thought you would be back in Kingslanding”

“There is no ‘we’ my love” Cersei intervened, her voice cold, “what are you doing here? You should be helping father at the Red Keep”

Freyja was surprised by how much malice there was in her voice towards the little man but he didn’t seem so phased, he only smiled sweetly at her.

“Good to see you too, sweet sister,” Lord Tyrion answered, “but I couldn’t wait to see my new niece” Freyja smiled shyly at her new uncle and she stepped forward. “Look at you!” he gushed “Pure Valyrian beauty! You look just like your father, Princess Y/n” He took her hand and gingerly placed a kiss on top.

She flinched at her new name and her smile almost disappeared but Freyja managed to compose herself after all Tyrion seemed like such a kind man, “Thank you, Uncle Tyrion. It is very nice to meet you and I can’t wait to meet my grandfather”

The grownups gave each other wary looks. Even Uncle Tyrion’s smile faded, “Speaking of,” he turned to Rhaegar, “Your father wishes to speak to you, Your Grace even you Cersei. In the meantime, I will help the children settle and get to know my new niece”

Her parents wasted no time and hurried up the steps with Uncle Jaime and a group of knights following. Freyja watched them, dumbfounded. What were they hiding from her? Why did everyone grow quiet when her grandfather was mentioned? She would have to ask her Uncle these questions.

The interior of Dragonstone was as breathtaking as it was outside. The was seemed to be made of some rare dark stone, the torches on the wall gave it a hint of red golden streaks. That wasn’t all; carvings, drawings, and statues of dragons stood on almost every corner and wall. It truly lived up to its’ name. It was also surprisingly warm, so warm that Freyja took off her cloak. 

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” she said smiling her eyes still wandering up and down the walls and ceiling. “The home of my ancestors” 

Tyrion watched her facial expressions, how happy she looked and even the sparkle in her eyes. And there was something else but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All he knew was that he was glad the rightful heir to the throne was home Even with her Valyrian looks, Y/n looked Viking or at least a small one in the making. Still, she carried the heavy and dreadful burden of homesickness. Tyrion could see it. 

A woman came in making Freyja lookup. She had on a plain grey dress along with the same colored wimp on her head covering her hair. Little Rob instantly lit up when he saw her. “Ah, dear Septa please take my nephew to his room,” Tyrion said and the woman curtsied. The pair left them alone. He smiled at his niece. “Come, you and I have much to talk about dear Niece. Tell me about Kattegat, your home” 

Freyja’s throat began to close, she followed her uncle down a long corridor it took a bit for her to find her words. “My home”, she began to say slowly, “is very beautiful. There is so much green everywhere and it rains a lot. During the winter it gets really cold but I love it”

“It does sound like paradise” Uncle Tyrion commented with a smile, “I hear you worship different gods”

“We do! We worship Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldur, Loki, Freyja” her eyes had that sparkle again, “I was born during the wrath of Thor and that’s why I’m Thorsdottir”

Tyrion chuckled. “And you were named Freyja after your mother. It was a nickname Ragnar Lothbrok gave your mother”

Freyja’s smile faded. She missed her family so much and prayed to the Gods Ragnar was safe wherever he was. Uncle Tyrion led her and her wolf to a room that was more elegant than the one she had on the ship. Like the rest of the castle, there were beautiful soaring dragons on the walls and ceiling but in the middle of the ceiling, there was a painting of a man with short pale hair and a beard his gaze hard and intimidating. By his side, two beautiful women; one feminine and the other wearing armor. Both of them with the same pale hair and violet eyes as the man. 

“Who’s that?” 

Tyrion followed her eyes, “Ah! That my sweet niece is Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys”

“Conqueror?” she said full of wonder and curiosity.

“Yes, he is Aegon the Conqueror. Many Targaryens were named after him” Tyrion explained as he poured himself a cup of wine, “Many of them not as brave or sane as him though”

The painting was beautiful but her favorite part of the room was the window. She could see the dark ocean from here and smell the sea salt that was stronger than any pungent smell. Freyja was about to open the window when a knock on the door brought their attention. Uncle Tyrion opened the door to find a knight.

“Pardoned me Your Grace but your grandfather has asked to see you,” he said.

There was that look on her uncle’s face again and now Freyja knew that this meeting with her grandfather was not going to end very well. How she wished Bjorn was here to protect her. Even Ragnar. Suddenly the halls of Dragonstone were no longer welcoming and Freyja wished to be anywhere else but here. The whole way to her grandfather’s sickroom, they were quiet not making the situation any better. Finally, they reached two heavy double doors guarded by two more knights. Before they could go in, Tyrion turned to Freyja. 

“Be careful, sweet niece, Your Grandfather is not right in the head.” And the guards opened the door before she could even open her mouth. They were all waiting for them, Father, Stepmother, Uncle Jaime, and...grandfather. He was laying in a large bed with many pillows to keep him propped up, his pale white hair long and matted, lilac eyes sickly and frail or at least what she thought was frail. His nails were longer than hers and the room smelled heavily of illness. Her father motioned her forward. Even the air was uneasy. 

“Father,” King Father said gently, “Y/n is home. This is your granddaughter”

Aerys Targaryen’s eyes studied the girl, “Rhaella? Is that you?” Freyja looked at her father and he gave a dry chuckle. “No father, It’s Y/n. Your grandchild”. Her grandfather’s face molded into a bitter twist. “Come here, girl let me take a look at you”. Freyja gulped and inched her way closer to him. She gasped when he suddenly snatched her wrist gripping it tightly. Aerys’s pulled her closer until she could smell his foul breath. He didn’t say anything only his eyes wandering her face. Freyja’s heart pounded loudly against her chest. The more he stared the angrier he got. There was no illness in those eyes only madness and he was swimming in insanity.

“You smell like the Norse,” he said harshly, “You smell like your bitch mother”

“Father!” Rhaegar hissed and stepmother gasped, Freyja only stared at him dumbfounded. 

“You little wench! Your mother was the one to cause that Rebellion! You are exactly like her. You look like the dragon but you have the stench of a wolf!” Her grandfather roared startling Freyja and everyone else in the room. She then felt a sharp hot sting on her cheek and she fell to the floor from the harsh blow. Stepmother shrieked next she heard the wrestling of men and through watery eyes, Freyja watched her father fight his own. He called for the guards and immediately they busted in holding back the Mad King from hitting her more. Fear shook her entire body. 

“I’ll burn them all!” he screamed, his face red and eyes on fire. “I’ll burn them all starting with you!”

Freyja ignored Uncle Jaime’s strong arms and Stepmother’s desperate cries, she fled from that room as if fleeing from the wrath of Hel. She ran, ran all the way to her room slamming the door behind her. Freyja collapsed on to her bed sobbing inconsolably. No one in her life had hit her. Ever. Everyone had always treated her kindly, her home was full of love and laughter and here she didn’t have that. She missed her Bear, Kraka, Lagertha, Athelstan, her boys. Everyone! It wasn’t fair that these people had to take her away from her family! 

“Freyja? It’s us, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion, can we come in?” 

She didn’t wipe away her tears or respond. Freyja was far too heartbroken. Her uncles came in anyway. 

“I want to go home!” she wailed “I want my family! I miss my bear!”

Uncle Jaime sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, little Freyja. Your grandfather will not burn anyone” She sat up still sobbing. Jaime put her head against his chest, letting the tears run down his armor. 

“Hey, hey now,” Uncle Tyrion said, his voice soft and kind “Let’s get your mind of that, hm? Tell me about your family, about Bjorn and Ragnar”

“They would have killed that monster!”

Jaime shot his little brother a look and Tyrion’s eyes went wide. “Alright let’s not talk about that! Please, tell me about Bjorn. You talk about him a lot” Jaime took out a handkerchief and wiped away her tears.

“His name literally means bear,” Freyja said, she touched her necklace, “I call him bear because he is protective of me. A bit overprotective, really. He loves me a lot. I am like his daughter”

“Are you?”

“Yes, and he is like my father” Talking about Bjorn made tears swell in her eyes again. “I really, really, really want to go home. I miss my family”

Uncle Jaime got on one knee taking her hands in his, “I understand, little one but I cannot take you home. We don’t have that power”

“But we can speak to your father,” Uncle Tyrion said, “we can tell him how you feel. In the meantime, you have us to come to for anything else”

Freyja thanked them with all her heart. Stepmother came in after her face was back to its normal bright self and she was laughing at a funny story her Uncle Tyrion was telling. Her stepmother comforted and told her she loved her but her King Father did not come in to talk to her. It stung her. Such coldness from a man who had not seen her once, nonetheless this being the first time as a family. Her supper and dinner were brought to her room and she spent most of her time avoiding her father as much as he had been avoiding her. Freyja spent her time with the rest of her new family, She played with Little Rob, had tea with her stepmother, took a long walk on the shores with Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Jaime. Still, Freyja couldn’t help but have a tiny bit of hope that her King Father would speak to her. 

Thunder roared through the skies, dark clouds covered the blue sky and sun. Waves crashed against the cliffs dangerously. Every time lightning struck, Freyja was seen walking through the corridors of Dragonstone. The dragons on the walls and their statues looked more terrifying than they did during the day. Yet Freyja was not scared, she could hear her people’s music through the thunder. In between those flashes, she saw the familiar woods of home or at least she thought was home.

“How the little piglets' would grunt if they knew how the old boar suffered?” A voice boomed. He sounded familiar but Freyja couldn’t name the owner of the voice. 

A heavy door with the Targaryen sigil opened by itself, creaking. Freyja grabbed a torch from the wall and entered.

“It gladdens me to know that Odin prepares for a feast. Soon I shall be drinking ale from curved horns. This hero that comes into Valhalla does not lament his death!”

Freyja walked down the stone steps, the smell of humidity hung heavy through the air. Thor’s wrath pounding the sky. As she walked, the images of home came flashing back. Somewhere an eagle screeched. The sky was too cloudy for her to see where it was. Freyja followed several more flights of steps until she stumbled on a trap door. She almost missed it through the very dirty floor. Freyja struggled to open it and the door hit the floor with a loud clang. It was very dark down there, she grabbed the torch and squinted to see.

“I shall not enter Odin's hall with fear. There I shall wait for my sons to join me.”

Freyja finally found felt a wooden step and she went into the darkness, careful not to fall. Another image. This time she saw a cage hanging from a tree, sturdy enough to hold a man. Something dreadful will happen here. The closer she got to it the more afraid she was and the more her heart dropped.

“And when they do, I will bask in their tales of triumph. The Aesir will welcome me!”

When she reached the bottom, Freyja was shocked when she came face to face with rows and rows of eggs. All of them as large as a child's head and all of them came in different colors. Their shells scaley and weathered they almost looked to be made of stone. A thousand years old. Freyja put the torch where it could help her see and she picked up an egg, admiring it. Back home, crows circled above her cawing. She braced herself for what she was about to see. There, surrounded by serpents of all sizes, laid her Ragnar. Dead. In the dungeon, the dragon egg burned into glowed but it did not harm her, boiling until it cracked and a baby dragon with golden eyes screeched at her. With Ragnar, Freyja’s screams of terror and anguish turned to the roars of a dragon.

“My death comes without apology! And I welcome the valkyries to summon me home!”

Freyja lurched forward, cold sweat sticking to her skin and her heart pounding. Fenrir padded to his mistress sniffing her to see if she was alright. The princess stroked her wolf’s fur and she was stunned to see that the window was wide open. Thor pounding his hammer furiously.

@lettersofwrittencollective @mellxander1993 @faeeiiry @blonddnamedhandz @-thatgirloverthere- @wanderlustimagines @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @colie87 @whatwhyc-c

[lovemesomesurveys]

-What was the last song that you sang out loud? I’ve had Dance Again by Selena Gomez stuck in my head.

-If someone has bad breath, do you tell him or her? No :X I’m the worst about that stuff cause people will tell you they would want you to tell them, but I just feel so awkward about it and like how do you even bring something like that up? I mean, I have done the thing where I get some gum and offer them some haha, but I don’t tell them their breath smells.

-With which friend are you most likely to share a secret? I share my secrets with ya’ll and Twitter, ha.

-Do you have an item that comforts you when you are sad/scared? No. Well, unless count my phone cause I can use the YouTube app and listen to ASMR, which is calming for me.

-When are you likely to hide your emotions? I do that majority of the time. Well, try to. I downplay them a lot. I’m not as good at it anymore as I used to be. These past few years my emotions started taking over and getting the best of me. When I’m in a mood, I shut down and just get quiet and standoffish. If you talk to me, I’m short and you can just see all over my face.

-Which is scarier: Dying of thirst or of starvation? Both would be horrible.

-Who was the last person to take your breath away? I haven’t felt that way from a person in a very long time.

-When you turn on the TV, what channel do you flip to? My go-to channels to check first are always E! and MTV. If nothing of interest is on, then I just scroll through the guide. It also depends on the time of day.

-Have you ever tried to help someone quit smoking? No.

-What was the last comment someone made on your music taste? I don’t recall.

-Where do you go/what do you do when you need to calm down? My bed. I’ll typically listen to an ASMR video and probably find a survey to ramble about it in and/or tweet about it. Okay let’s be real, before I do any of that I probably have a good cry first.

-What was the last mess you cleaned up? Uhh I mean, I threw away my paper plate and napkins I used yesterday after I finished eating.

- [TW] Have you ever had to talk anyone out of suicide? Yes.

-When you think of tomorrow, what feelings come to mind? Nothing.

-Who, in your opinion, has an amazing voice? Demi Lovato first came to mind. She sang the hats and helmets off of everyone during her Super Bowl performance of the National Anthem.

-Would you ever camp out on a beach, under the stars? No.

-What is the last thing you complained about? Not feeling well and about how achey I am.

-What was the last curse-word you said? Probably “shit.”

-When you fake sick to get out of school, what do you say or do to convince your parents that you are sick? I’m 30 years old and no longer in school, but when I was younger I didn’t really have to do that because I felt sick often enough.

-How did you recover from your last bout of tears? I cried them all out and then just did my usual activities (Tumblr, surveys, YouTube, watched TV).

-Do you still talk to your very first best friend? No.

-When was the last time something went terribly wrong? Blah.

-How do you console someone when he or she is upset? I’m soooo awkward when it comes to that. I just let them vent if they need to, but I struggle with what to say and do.

-Have you ever seen either one of your parents cry? I’ve seen both and it’s the worst thing ever to me. I hate seeing one of my parents cry.

-Choose one: Trip to outerspace, or trip underneath the oceans? Oh jeez, you just listed a couple of my biggest fears.

-How often do you feel overwhelmed? Often.

-How do you deal with everyday life? I...don’t. :/

-Do you have any secret obsessions or guilty pleasures? Nah. I’m not ashamed of any of the things I like.

-Aside from on this survey, what was the last thing you wrote about? Whatever I last tweeted. I forget.

-Who in your family do you act like the most? I have a lot of my dad’s personality traits. He’s moody, irritable, and easily stressed and overwhelmed. Sound familiar?

-What is the most romantically sweet thing someone has done for you? Ty did a lot of things. The thing that always stands out is one year during Christmas he drove to my house one night because had a present for me and it consisted of little things that I mentioned briefly that I liked and it was just really sweet cause it showed he was actually listening and paying attention. The fact he remembered and then went out and bought those things for me was just really, really sweet. He was so excited to give it to me. He didn’t want me to open them right then, he wanted me to wait until Christmas and send him a video of me opening them so he could see my reaction.

-When you go out to the mall, do people stare? When I go anywhere in public people stare.

-Have you ever been confronted by a mall cop for your behavior? No, but I did have one tell me to take my hood off haha. I just came in and it was raining and he came up to me like, “you need to take off your hood.” Like okay jeez.

-What just tears at your heartstrings? Hearing about a child dying or being abused. Animal abuse, too. Breaks my heart.

-Is there a show you swear that you will never watch? I don’t feel that strongly, but there’s a lot of shows I have no interest in watching.

-What was the last topic that you ranted about? I don’t remember.

-Is there someone that makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells? Sometimes. I’ve been told people feel that way around me as well.

-Were you ever afraid of one of your past teachers? No.

-Have you ever been in a physical fight on school grounds? No. Or ever.

-Have you written anything in a bathroom stall? What, if anything? Nope.

-Is your school like the drama capital of the country? I wasn’t involved in any of that when I was in school. I heard some stuff, but I wasn’t all invested in it like a lot of people.

-A homeless man asks you for 50 cents; how do you respond? If I have it, sure. I don’t usually have any change or cash on me, though.

-When was the last time you visited a thrift store? I don’t go to any.

-Can you handle constructive criticism? I can’t say I wouldn’t feel some type of way about it, ha. I’m just a sensitive bitch. Guess it would depend on what it was about, though. Like if someone was like, “hey, red doesn’t really look great with your skin tone and it clashes with your hair, you shouldn’t wear that” I wouldn’t care. I’d still wear it if I wanted.

Who is the most sensitive person that you know? Meeeee.

-Have you ever had a tooth (or teeth) pulled? Yes.

-You can have one famous person’s wardrobe; who do you choose, and why? I guess someone who was very casual like me and likes to wear graphic tees and leggings. I’d like to have their collection, ha.

-When was the last time you wrote someone a note? I have no idea.

-Do you tell your parents before you go somewhere, or just leave? My family and I are 4 adults living together and we all tell each other when we’re leaving and where we’re going. It’s just our thing. If something were to happen, we’d at least have an idea of where the other was headed. And it’s just common courtesy to us to say goodbye.

-What was the last thing you tried to get out of doing? I’d like to get out of my doctor appointment this afternoon. I’m still recouping.

-On average, how many surveys do you fill out in one day? It varies. Usually a few. Some days more than others.

-How many hours a day do you spend on Bzoink? I don’t use Bzoink.

-Which season do you dread the most? Summer D: It seems to go on forever and it just gets SO hot and miserable here.

-Do you ever brag about your achievements? I’ve never been one to brag. Not that I have anything to brag about, but it’s not a cute look.

-When was the last time that you watched the sun come up? Last week. We were at the airport before the sun was up and it was coming up after we just got on the plane.

-What did you do last Halloween? Watched scary movies and got takeout.

-Last Thanksgiving? Had a nice, big, delicious feast with my family.

-Last Christmas - if you celebrate? Christmas morning we got up early like we always do to open presents and then messed around with our stuff before pretty much resting the rest of the day. Oh, and we had our Christmas dinner that we usually do Christmas Eve, but my mom had to work until midnight that night.

-How did you celebrate the arrival of the new year? My mom and I watched the New Year’s festivities and counted down while the ball dropped. My dad fell asleep at like 9, so he was already out for the night and my brother was out with friends.

-Is there a foreign culture you’d like to learn more about? It’s interesting to learn about different cultures.

-Have you ever (purposely or accidentally) played with someone’s heart? I don’t think so. I’ve had it done to me a lot, though.

-Has anyone ever played with yours? Yes.

-Have you ever seen a famous painting and thought “I could have done that?” I admit that I’ve seen ones that were just like splatters and thought that. :X

-Fire drills: Did you ever wish they were real … just once? Yeah as a kid cause all that came to mind was we’d get to go home and not that it would mean there was an actual fire haha.

-What is the scariest thing about attending your school? I’m done with school.

-Are you a good judge of other people’s intentions? I think so.

What was the last thing that you felt strongly about? My faith.

-Shopping: best with friends, parents, bf/gf, or alone? Alone at home online, ha.

-What is one insecurity you have about your body? Everything.

-What is one part of your body that you are proud of? I like my hair currently only cause I recently got it colored and trimmed (finally).

-When was the last time someone told you to turn your music down? The night before we left for our trip. I was up late packing and my mom came in to ask me to turn my music down, ha. I didn’t end up sleeping at all that night. We left for the airport at 430. I didn’t sleep at all on the ride there or on our flight. I didn’t sleep until that night at the hotel. I honestly have NO idea how I did it.

-When you don’t know how to spell a word, do you look it up? Yeah, I just Google it real quick.

-Are you one to spend a lot of time in the bathroom? No.

-Have you seen the movie Super Size Me? Yeah, we had to in class. We watched it my sophomore year in my history class for some reason haha.

-Do you still eat at McDonald’s, regardless of that film? I was turned off to it for a little bit afterwards, but it didn’t last long. haha. I mean yeah, don’t eat it 3 times a day obviously.

-Do you ever consider the challenges other races go through? Yes.

-When was the last time you doubted your abilities? All the time. What abilities?

-At your favorite restaurant, what do you order? I always order chicken tenders and fries at any restaurant, ha.

-What was the last thing you wished for? I don’t wish for things.

-How many times a day, on average, do you look at the time? A lot.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

The Pitted Olive, part 7

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Drag Queen!AU (Tony Stark as a drag queen)

summary: Tony hosts a meeting for his drag queen friends and Steve hangs out with his mom, deciding to share some big news with her.

length: 4 850 words

disclaimer: this fic is written strictly for entertainment. I am not a specialist on drag and my whole knowledge comes from mainstream media. if there is something you will find incorrect or offensive in any way, there is always an option to contact me and politely voice your thoughts instead of flaming. thanks!

a/n: LONG TIME NO SEE, RIGHT? I admit, I got a bit lost with this series... also I wasn’t so sure if I liked the direction this story was heading, buuut then decided that this topic can’t be avoided and is a big part of every lgbt+ person’s life. also, I do enjoy a bit of drama. and there is no better month to be back with this series than pride month! hope you will enjoy this update!

——————–

The Pitted Olive, part 7

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6)

Steve usually didn't need a lot of sleep. Five, six hours of rest were pretty standard for him and plenty to let him function through the whole day. Maybe it was that yesterday, he and Tony had decided to stay late at the Pitted Olive, prolonging their stay to see Tootsie's rock performance and Arrow's new juggling routine and he indulged more in the Long Island Ice tea than his body was used to, that the next morning it was exceptionally hard to get up from bed. He just wished to stay in, wrapped in warm covers and softness, and let his body decide when it wanted to wake up, instead of his always disciplined mind telling him that it was way past his usual sleep hours. He heard Tony woke up some time ago, but his boyfriend remained tactful and quiet and didn't want to disturb the blond, and moved swiftly and unnoticeable. Steve had moments of wakening up and nodding off, always feeling Tony's presence somewhere close, without being able to pinpoint exactly where he was, but it was enough to keep him calm and deep in sleep.

Until this one moment.

Steve was still wrapped in blissful sleep when he felt it. The dip of the bed, the thigh pressing against his leg, radiating characteristic heat. Someone looking at his face and leaning in, soft breathing hearable in the quiet surroundings. Steve thought that wakening up by a kiss was a quite good scenario, a scenario he would happily follow. It just wasn't this scenario.

One sharp tug and pinch at his eyebrow and Steve's eyes sprung open, his hands moving to cover his face and press to the hurt skin.

"Ow!"

"Got you, you little bastard."

"What the-" Steve focused his eyes and saw Tony looming over him, a satisfied smile spread over his boyfriend's lips. Steve continued to massage his brow, not understanding what just happened and why he was insulted as the first thing after wakening up. "Tony, what the fuck-"

"Show me," Tony demanded instead, pushing Steve's hands away and cupping his chin, eyes sharp and analyzing while he was looking at his face. "Oh, yeah, much better. That hair was driving me crazy. Although, you could use a little more plucking on the left side."

And then Steve saw it. In his free hand, Tony was holding tweezers, the torture device getting too close for Steve to feel comfortable.

"No!" Steve yelled out, grabbing at Tony's wrists and trying to pull his boyfriend to himself and trap under and Tony was successfully not letting him.

"But your eyebrows are uneven!"

"And?! Do you think I care?"

"I care! Just let me- just a bit- hold still!"

"No, it hurts!"

"Oh, don't be a baby!"

Steve opened his mouth to say something back when while during wrestling with Tony something caught his attention. He looked at his own hands and let go of Tony for closer inspection, brunet immediately taking the opportunity to launch another attack of the tweezers and Steve temporarily knocked him to the side, hearing a yelp of protest. He rolled on his stomach for further protection and examined his hands closer. The nails, usually clipped pretty short for comfort, were filed into a perfect oval shape, cuticles were pushed back and there was a light coat of sheen nail polish on each nail. His hands also felt a lot smoother, with no rough edges, just as if someone massaged a heck lot of hand cream into the skin.

"Did you give me a manicure while I was sleeping?" Steve asked, eyes glued to hands that didn't look anymore like the ones he remembered having.

"Uh, yeah. Hope you don't mind, I was bored," Tony said, flopping on his side and coming closer to look at his work. "Turned out great, right?" he asked, some proud note making its way into his voice.

It was a change for sure. Steve turned his hands and looked at the fronts and bottoms, quite liking what he was seeing. Who would have thought that hands could look so nice?

"Um, yeah."

"Glad you like it," Tony smiled, "I tried to give you a pedicure too, but you kept kicking me away whenever I touched your feet. As for someone who is such a heavy sleeper, you can get very squeamish when it comes to your feet."

Steve just laughed in an embarrassed way. Somethings were better left without an explanation.

"Hey, baby, hold still," Tony whispered, placing a hand under Steve's chin and turning his face to his. Steve saw tweezers getting closer and his skin immediately started to crawl.

"No!"

"I said hold still!"

"You hold still!"

Some kicking, some wrestling, and some mutual screaming later, Steve managed to press Tony down into the covers and trap him in, taking the torture tool out of his hands.

"AHA!" Steve called in triumph, holding the tweezers. "Let's see how you like it!" he said with an evil grin, leaning in and planning to make Tony taste his own medicine.

"Go ahead," Tony invited, smiling back. Steve intended to, but… The evil grin disappeared and was replaced by a more and more confused look as he was examining Tony's face. Eyebrows in a neat shape, no strand hairs. Smooth cheeks, the goatee trimmed to a perfect length. In a desperate, completely dirty move, Steve even looked for nose hair, but those were also properly taken care of.

"See?" Tony smiled wider, pointing at his face, and spreading his fingers. "Flawless," he said, making a clicking sound with his tongue.

Flawless indeed. Even Tony's skin looked smooth and plump, and maybe Steve should reconsider his statement on not letting Tony massage tsubaki oil into his face every evening, unlike Tony did.

Still...

"AH!" Tony yelled out when two hands shot under his arms and wriggled fingers into the, of course, smooth armpits, tickling viciously. "Stoop!" he managed to choke out before frantic laughter started to spill out. "You whihihiiill give mehehehee wrinklehehehes!"

Steve only smiled again, thinking that Tony's laugh lines were so fetching and that there was nothing wrong in making them a bit deeper.

***

"I need you out of the house."

"Huh?" Steve looked up from his bowl of sugar frosted cereal. They had such a lazy, long morning changing into afternoon, that none of them felt like preparing a proper breakfast, settling on Tony's secret stash and choosing something to go with the already lazy day. They even stayed in bed, getting crumbs all over the bedding. "You are kicking me out?"

Tony giggled, holding a cup with coffee in one hand, and blueberry pop tart in the other leisurely leaned against the bed frame. "Just temporarily. My girls are coming over and I think you will get bored."

"Girls?" Steve asked, spooning the soggy cereal into his mouth.

"Other drag queens. We have those meetups to discuss makeup, dress designs…" Tony's voice faltered as almost ending the sentence before he continued. "Current love affairs…"

Steve didn't answer at first, the edge of the bowl pressed to his lips as he slurped out the sweetened milk. When he looked at Tony, he had milk mustache on his upper lip and smiled teasingly. "Oh? So you will talk about me behind my back?"

"Only if you leave," Tony said, sounding humored by his young lover's playful behavior. "It is not fun to gossip about you while you are here."

"So, who is coming?" Steve asked, trying to keep his curiosity at minimum, and not be too noisy what exactly Tony would say about him.

"Girls from the Olive, so, Tootsie and Arrow, my friend from a different drag queen bar, Lady Mint -"

"Bucky is coming over?" Steve asked, putting the bowl aside. Somehow he couldn't picture his friend discussing material for dresses and lipstick colors.

"He is," Tony confirmed, finishing the pop tart and putting his empty mug aside, "but not for your lame bro time, but for my fabulous girls time."

Steve laughed at the word choice. "If it is that fabulous, maybe I will stay?"

"You are welcomed to, if you want to," Tony shrugged, "just a fair warning, we will probably put you into a dress and makeup-"

"I am out," Steve said without any hesitation, wriggling out of the covers and standing up.

"Ah, Steve, wait!"

"Hmm?"

"Uhhmm, before you go, could you help me with something?" Tony asked in a sultry voice, sitting up and smoothening hands over the covers in a slow, long move, until he was laying flat on his belly, legs crossed delicately in the ankles. Eyes having that helpless, pleading look that made Steve feel weak in the knees immediately. It was almost hypnotizing.

"Yeah, sure," Steve assured breathlessly, focusing back on his gorgeous boyfriend. Whatever it was, he would be happy to assist.

Tony smiled, slow and beautiful before he rolled to the edge of the bed and pulled out a shoe box from underneath. He took the lid off and Steve saw a pair of black pumps, made from shiny faux leather, on an extremely high and slim heel, in Tony's size. Steve's breath immediately quickened. He and Red Velvet made out a couple of times, but fooling around with Tony while he was wearing only parts of his female side's wardrobe, was a new level of excitement.

Tony took out one pump and ran his fingers over the shiny surface, and Steve saw the red sole of the boot. Then he took out the other one and held both of them in one hand.

"Can you break those in for me?" Tony asked sweetly, reaching the pumps in Steve's direction.

Steve froze, his brain registering the words, breaking them apart and putting together again. Break in. Black pumps. Him.

"What?!" Steve asked, and it came out harsher than he wished it did.

"Pleaaase?" Tony whined, putting his hands together in a pleading gesture, the pumps bumping into each other with a soft sound. "I need them for my nearest show and it will take ages before I break them in, with your shoe size it will just take a day-"

"Nu-uh. Your shoes, your problem," Steve said firmly, more than sure that he would break a leg minutes after putting the shoes one.

"Oh, come on! Please? Pleease? I promise to leave your eyebrows alone!"

"I said no, Tony!"

And chaos started anew.

***

Ultimately, Steve decided to stay, not because he wanted to be a part of the drag queens meeting, but because Tony batted his long eyelashes at him and asked for help with preparing some snacks, because he forgot to order catering and serving drag queens cheesy puffs and carbonated drinks Tony's pantry had plenty off, seemed just wrong. Steve made a quick round to the nearest grocery shop and came back hauling bags with fresh veggies and rice paper for spring rolls and veggie platters, and followed the very specific instructions Tony had given him what kind of cheeses and fruits to buy for a more decadent cheese board. In the meantime, Tony gave his living space a quick clean, all the time wearing the black pumps, which was very, very distractive for Steve, who had almost cut his finger off while he was dicing the cheese into bite-sized pieces. So, they decided to switch. Literally.

Time was passing, and soon the first guests started to show up.

"Honey?!" Tony called from the kitchen table, arranging the fresh veggies around the homemade dips, when the doorbell rang, "can you get that?"

Steve grunted, closing the door to the closet, just in time finishing the vacuuming. "Really, Tony?" he called back, his feet tired enough as it was.

"Please? You are closer to the door," Tony reasoned and while it was true, Steve grunted again, knowing that his boyfriend just wanted to torment him more. Dragging one foot at a time and walking in slow, wobbly steps, Steve had made it to the door, just in time as the person on the other side started to rattle on the doorknob impatiently.

"Coming, coming!" Steve opened the door, seeing Bucky, holding a bottle of sparkling wine and six pack of beer.

"Hey, Steve!" Bucky grinned at his friend, tilting his head up and creasing his eyebrows. "Huh, I thought you were smaller."

"Who is that?"

"It is Buck!" Steve called, motioning for Bucky to come in and taking steps back, the clicking sound drawing Bucky's attention to his feet.

"What-" Bucky burst into laughter, seeing Steve's feet squeezed into two sizes too small pumps.

"Ah, my daughter!" Tony called playfully, coming out of the kitchen and joining them. "Air kisses!" he said and him and still laughing Bucky leaned closer to each other, smooching the air around their cheeks with an exaggerated 'muah' sounds. "I think you can take them off now, Steve," Tony said, turning to his boyfriend.

"Finally!" Steve breathed out, happily kicking off the pumps, his face saying pure relief. Tony slid his feet into the shoes and did a short test walk, before smiling wide.

"Perfect. Thanks, honey!"

"Beer?" still chuckling Bucky offered to Steve, holding the six pack and encouraging Steve to take a one. "You seem like you need a one, pal."

Steve couldn't agree more.

***

The place was getting crowded and more lively, as more drag queens started to appear. Tony's friend showed up next, boy name Bruce, drag queen name Lady Mint, who worked downtown and was a type of drag queen Tony referred to as a comedy queen, meaning exaggerated makeup and a witty, observant sense of humor. Bruce as a person seemed like a nice guy, a bit distant and in his own world, but Steve could picture that drag brought out a new side in him. Arrow showed fashionably late, carrying a stack of fashion magazines and fabric samples, the most invested into the costume design world of all queens.

It was loud and joyful and Steve was having fun.

"So, let me put it straight," Steve started sipping his beer when the party started for good.

"Ha! Straight!" Arrow hollered, swirling prosecco in her tall glass. "Your boyfriend is so cute, Red."

"I know," Tony beamed proudly and Steve continued.

"You are the multitalented one," he pointed out to Arrow, meaning her talent for designing clothes and nearly circus acts on stage, and Arrow held her chin proudly, "you are the funny one," he turned to Lady Mint, "and you are the pretty one," Steve ended on Red and then turned to Tootsie. "And that makes you-?"

"The alcoholic one!" Tootsie exclaimed, holding her beer can high, the rest of her sisters joining in a cheer.

"And Mint is not only the funny one, but she also has Ph.D. in nuclear physics and biochemistry," Red said and Steve whistled quietly, because, well that was impressive.

Mint smiled gratefully at her sister, and Steve had to add that she was also the modest of the group. "Red is also an academic."

"Oh, please," Red waved her hand dismissively, "I just have some doctorates, but I still chose to spend my days fixing the world's most respected car brands," she said, trying to brush it off as it was nothing, but there was some smug note in her voice she didn't try to hide.

"And I can burp out the alphabet," Tootsie bragged and Steve laughed together with everyone and heard Lady Mint turning to Tootsie and asking if she ever thought about doing a comedy routine.

Steve felt really good and maybe he would extend his stay, but then the hour for him to leave came.

"Hey, I will be going," Steve said, taking Red by the elbow and interrupting the discussion over a fashion magazine and material samples about if Red could pull off a dress with an open leg or not.

"Huh? Why?" Red asked, genuinely surprised. She thought Steve was enjoying himself. "Are you still worried we will put you in drag? Don't worry, we won't-"

"We won't?" Arrow asked, lifting her head up from the magazine, sounding disappointed.

"No amount of makeup will help that face," Tootsie grumbled out, teasing her friend, and Lady Mint snorted so hard, the prosecco came out through her nose and more laughter followed.

"Add that to your act, Minty!"

Someone called but Steve and Red already walked away from the chaos, Red watching Steve taking his jacket.

"You are welcomed to stay," Red said, sounding minimally hurt.

"I know, and I would love to," Steve replied, pulling his shoes on and smooching Velvet's forehead. "I just made plans earlier. Promised my mom to drop in for dinner, didn't see her in a while."

"Oh," Red blinked in surprise. That was a sweet surprise. "Uh, then say hello to Sarah from me," she smiled, her voice sounding a little odd as if hiding something, but Steve didn't notice.

"I will. Will see you tomorrow, okay?" Steve said, leaning in for a proper kiss. "Bye gu- girls!" he called in general direction of the gathering, hearing a collective bye in return.

"Bye," Red said with a soft smile, closing the door behind her boyfriend. She waited a bit at the door, in case if Steve would forget something, but he didn't come back. Before chaos could start again, Red turned to her sisters and daughter with a serious face and a burning question. "Okay, ladies, real talk time!" she called, clapping in her hands for attention and waited for all to focus on her. "What do you think of Steve?"

"Oh, he is gorg!"

"Seems like a decent guy."

"You can do better than that punk!"

Red just smiled and sipped her sparkling wine, hearing the collective thought exchange about her boyfriend. Except for Bucky's half-hearted remarks, everything was positive.

"It isn't important what we think, though," Arrow said, flipping a page in the magazine, "what is important is what you think. So?"

Everyone turned to her, waiting for the moment of truth. Red looked down, thinking about the last months with Steve. Steve was kind and honest and sweet. He had some hidden heat in himself and a lot of passion. But most importantly, he seemed to love both sides of him, equally fascinated by Red Velvet as by Tony Stark. Tony felt safe and loved and pampered, but Steve also wasn't afraid to give him a piece of his mind when needed. It was very rare to find a person like that.

"I like him," Red finally said, "a lot. I think I really like him."

Arrow hummed in agreement, Lady Mint smiled, glad for her sister finding happiness, and it was again Tootsie who had to spoil it all.

"Please don't tell me that my best friend will become my new dad, I won't handle it."

And just like that it became loud and cheerful again, and Red was outvoted on if she would look good in an open leg dress, but she could definitely wear a body tight dress with a slit in the back going all the way down because her bubble butt was one of her greatest features.

***

"Hey, ma!"

"Stevie!" Sarah brightened as soon as Steve walked into his childhood home. She went to greet her son, her voice becoming stern suddenly. "Did you wipe your shoes on the doormat?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steve nodded with a grin. Somethings don't change, no matter how old you get.

"That's my boy," Sarah praised and Steve leaned his head for a hello kiss on his cheek. "Go wash your hands before dinner."

"You need any help, ma?" Steve called after Sarah and took his shoes off, as the woman already moved back into the kitchen.

"No, just hurry up, before soup gets cold!"

Steve smiled to himself. Really, some things never change.

While Sarah was putting finishing touches on the mashed potatoes, Steve slowly finished a plate of tomato soup with noodles. His mom remembered that he wasn't a fan of the acidity in tomatoes and added a generous splash of sweet cream, making it smoother for the palate. With time, Steve's taste changed and he was better at handling more sour flavors, but still, the gesture was sweet and the soup tasted like his childhood. They didn't talk much, but the silence around them was so comforting and Steve just soaked in the serene atmosphere, feeling like a kid again.

"Ready. Eat up," Sarah smiled, putting in front of Steve a plate with a huge scoop of mashed potatoes and a generous portion of beef tips, all smothered with dark and shiny sauce. Delicious, homemade food.

"Thanks, ma," Steve smiled, taking his fork and watching his mom reaching her hand for his empty soup plate. "Please, ma. Leave it, I will clean later. Sit with me for a while."

Sarah seemed surprised, but smiled in the end, accepting the invitation. "I will just get us something to drink," she said, and Steve huffed a bit, wishing for his mom to finally sit down with him and rest. He kept his eyes fixed on his mom as she brewed tea for herself and poured a tall glass of lemonade for him, and Steve saw that there was something different about his mom, but he couldn't exactly point what. Chewing slowly on his food and savoring the taste, Steve kept thinking about what could have changed. His mom was always a beautiful woman, but she valued hard work over looks and as a nurse spent most of her days caring for others than for herself. Hair always tied in a low ponytail, almost no makeup, maybe for some people it was bland and boring, for Steve it was modest and natural. And now… Sarah's complexion seemed glowing, her pale skin having a healthy shine, hair seeming somehow thicker and brighter. When Sarah finally sat down across her son and smiled at him, Steve noticed that she was wearing mascara and had subtly contoured eyebrows, which gave definition to her whole face.

"Hey, ma," Steve said, taking a piece of the tender beef and mushroom on his fork and into his mouth. "You look different."

"What do you mean, dear?" Sarah asked, taking a sip of her tea. That drew Steve's attention to her hands which also changed, not calloused anymore after long hours from working, but smooth and soft, nails in neat, oval shape and coated with sheen nail polish. Just like Steve's were.

"I don't know," Steve said mysteriously, "but you look nice. Is there a reason you got all dolled up?" he asked playfully.

Sarah laughed embarrassedly, something Steve inherited from her. "So, you noticed, huh?" she asked back, looking down at her knees with a small smile. "I am just trying something new."

Steve nodded, silently chewing on the piece of meat. Since his dad died, years ago, he saw his mom closing in, struggling to find a place for herself. If a bit of makeup was what she needed to feel better, Steve supported that wholeheartedly.

"It is all thanks to your friend."

"Mhuh?" Steve said with a mouthful of potatoes, almost dropping his fork. "Dohny?"

"Dear, please," Sarah said in a petulant voice and Steve swallowed his food properly, before speaking again.

"Ma, did you mean Tony?" he asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve which earned him another stern look.

"Yes, Tony," Sarah confirmed, meaningfully sliding a napkin closer to her son. "I bumped into him some time ago, and I asked him some more about skincare because the facial mask he recommended worked so well. Since then we stay in touch," she said and Steve could only listen and force his mouth to stay shut. He didn't know that Tony kept in touch with his mom. "It was his idea for me to start applying some makeup again and he recommended me a really good beautician and manicurist. My friends started to notice the change too, they say I look ten years younger," she laughed warmly.

"You always looked young, ma," Steve quickly cut in, meaning every word.

"That's sweet of you. Are you ready for dessert? Made your favorite," Sarah smiled, standing up and heading to the counter.

Steve bit his lower lip. Why Tony didn't tell him about being in touch with his mom? Was it because of the last time and the freakout he had when his mom saw him and Tony together, and Steve started to panic that she might suspect something? Seemed so… And Steve felt really bad, that he was ready to kiss Tony in front of strangers and basketball teams, but felt too guilty to hold his boyfriend's hand in front of his own mother. And Sarah seemed to get along well with Tony… And…

"Tadaaah!" Sarah exclaimed playfully, putting in front of Steve a perfect slice of a perfect apple pie. "Hope you still like it."

Steve loved it. But somethings he loved more. Someone.

"Ma… Please, sit down."

Sarah looked alarmed at the sudden change of tone and the serious look on her boy's face.

"I need to tell you something," Steve continued, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice. Now or never.

Sarah sat down, her face clouding with worry.

The apple pie had to wait.

***

It was late evening when Tony had just finished putting the leftover veggies into the fridge and straightened up, stretching his spine out. He could call the drag queens meeting a success, but he also felt so tired. He smiled when he saw a torn out page from the fashion magazine stuck to his fridge with a magnet, a ruby red maxi dress with an open back presented on a model and Arrow's print next to it.

'Think about it! Just lower!'

Tony chuckled, looking at the design. He would never walk out on the stage in a dress that showed his ass crack. Showing to Steve like that in the privacy of his home, was a totally different story… He took the page with himself and went to the bedroom, thinking that maybe he would try some new facial mask and take an extra long bath. He just finished changing into his tiny bathrobe, when he noticed his phone vibrating on the nightstand and Steve's photo flashing on the screen. Tony accepted the call, already smiling to the thought that Steve was so sweet and called him just to wish him a good night.

"Hi, honey! Did you miss me already?" Tony asked in a flirty tone, waiting for a reply that didn't come. "Uh… hello? Steve?" Tony tried again. There was some uneven breath on the other side, and before Tony could panic, Steve finally spoke in a hollow voice.

"I told my mom."

"Told your mom wha-" Tony's voice got stuck when he realized what Steve meant. Sarah was a sweet lady, but hearing that your child was gay was probably never easy, even for the most loving parents. Tony really feared what he might hear next. "Oh, sweetheart…" he started in a voice so compassionate, the only answer he heard was a chocked out sob, Steve tried to hold in. "What happened?" Tony asked, not hearing the answer, just the sound of a car zooming past. "Wait… Steve, where are you?"

More silence. Tony could almost feel how tormented Steve was.

"Steve. Where the hell are you?" Tony asked, growing more and more worried. He heard enough of heartbreaking coming out stories and he would never live it down if Steve would become one of them.

"I am in front of your building."

"What-" Tony immediately got up from bed, running to the window, hoping to see his boyfriend. It turned dark already and he didn't see much. "I am coming for you, stay where you are."

"Tony-"

"Stay where you are," Tony ordered, ending the connection. He didn't care to change and only wrapped a coat around himself and slipped bare feet into a pair of sneakers, not wanting to waste any time. He grabbed his keys and his phone, just in case, and ran down the stairs, ignoring the elevator and finding it too slow in such an urgent situation.

"Steve!" Tony busted out of the building, running into the street and looking around the sidewalk, searching and hoping. He saw Steve where he said he was, just on the other side of the street. No wonder Tony didn't spot him at first. Tony crossed the street and stopped in front of his boyfriend and the sight was breaking his heart. Who knew for how long Steve had been standing like that. His cheeks were flushed from cold, eyes glossy and tired, and he still kept his phone pressed to his ear, listening to the silence.

"Honey… Come on, let's go. Please," Tony reached his hand for Steve's cold one, and gently tugged him over and together, step by step, they walked back into the building and back to Tony's apartment.

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<– previous part ….. next part —> 

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Bruce’s drag name was created by a dear friend of mine @steve-sketchbooks. thanks for your love for this story!

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