#please ignore that he looks very not good when the canvas is flipped.......

[puellamaga22]

IT'S OUR BOY'S BIRTHDAYYYYYYYYYY

[vodika-vibes]

So, i really enjoyed the Prudii story, and i thought, "Hmm, what's another good story idea!?" And i came up with one. Can i request a Mereel being in love for the first time?

So This Is Love

Summary: When you give Mereel a massage, he comes to a realization.

Pairing: Mereel Skirata x Reader

Word Count: 889

Warnings: Fluff

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: It took me a while to figure out the best way to show this, but I think this is a pretty good way. I hope you like it! Also, I finally managed to pay for my canva account, so I can make my own dividers!

You hum a quiet tune as you carefully work the knots out of Mereel’s muscles. You grab some of the massage oil from the side table and pour it in your hands, and then you work the warming oil into his back.

“You’re far too tense for someone who should be totally boneless right now,” You joke lightly. “I guess I need to step up my game.”

He chuckles, “How are you going to do that?”

“Practice more?” You offer with a grin.

“Bah, I’m not sleeping with you if you start practicing with other men.” He replies, his voice taking on a lazy quality.

“As if I would. You’ll just have to spend the night more often.” You decide as you lean down and press a feather light kiss against the back of his neck.

“Oh no. I have to sleep in a comfy bed, with an insanely attractive person, who also likes to feed me and gives the most amazing massages.” Mereel drawls, “How will I ever endure such hardship?”

You laugh softly, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You slide your hands down to the base of his spine, and you’re quiet for a moment, “Insanely attractive?”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You ignore him with the ease of someone who’s been friends for ages, “It’s my butt, isn’t it?”

“You do have an amazing butt,” Mereel admits with a sigh, and you preen at the praise, “But that’s not my favorite feature of yours.”

“It’s not?”

“I know. I was surprised too.”

“Wait, so what is your favorite feature of mine?” You ask.

“There are easier ways to fish for compliments, you know.” Mereel grumbles.

“Oh, come on! You can’t say stuff like that and not clarify it!” You whine as you slide your hands up his back a little, “Please?”

He sighs deeply, “It’s dumb.”

“Not to me!” You pause, “Well, not if it's you. Your words are always important to me.”

“...your lips.” Mereel admits, “More specifically, your smile.”

“My smile?”

“Did you know you smile at me differently than anyone else?” Mereel asks quietly.

“No I don’t.” You reply, as you feel your face burning with embarrassment, “I have one smile.”

He laughs, “You smile at me like I’m important. Like I personally hung the stars in the sky for you and you alone. And I lo-...like that about you.”

“You are important,” you say quietly.

“You’d be one of the very few people who think so.” Mereel replies, and then he sighs, “Told you it was dumb.”

You’re quiet for a moment, carefully working the knots out of his back, “Your eyes.” You finally say after a moment.

“Sorry?”

“My favorite feature of yours…it’s your eyes.”

“...my eyes? Not any other part of my body?” He asks.

“Nope. Your eyes.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he flips onto his back and you yelp as you topple onto the bed, “Wow, rude.”

He grins at you and eases you back to straddle his hips, while he sets his hands on your hips. And, somehow, in spite of the position and the fact that neither of you are dressed, there’s nothing sexually charged about it. It is, however, deeply intimate.

And if this were anyone other than Mereel you would feel uncomfortable.

He adjusts his legs so you’re able to lean back against his thighs, and you immediately do so.

Mereel’s gaze drags across your face, and he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he smiles, “Alright, mesh’la, I’ll bite. Why are my eyes your favorite feature?”

You hum thoughtfully as you trail your fingers up his arms, “Because you see me.” He shoots you a curious look, and you continue, “People tend to be busy, so they don’t really see the people around them.” You explain, “But in spite of how busy you are, your eyes have never glossed over me as unimportant.”

“Of course not.” Mereel flashes his normal smile, “You were radiant.”

“I was covered in paint.”

“Like I said.” His grin widens, “How anyone could look at you and then decide you’re unimportant is beyond me-” He pauses for a moment, and his eyes wide, “Oh.” He breathes out.

“What?”

His gaze locks with yours, “I’m in love with you.” He says, sounding awed.

Your fingers still on his forearms, “You’re…”

“In love with you.”

“I…why?” You blurt, your eyes wide.

He laughs, “Do I need a reason? Can’t I just love you because you’re you?” His hands slide from your hips up to cup your face, “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same. But we’ll have to stop this friends with benefits thing if you don’t-”

“I’ve been in love with you for months.” You blurt out honestly.

He blinks at you, twice, and then he sits up, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to scare you off,” You admit sheepishly, “And I was happy to accept what I could get.”

“Oh, cyare.” He breathes out, “Why are you always so cruel to yourself?”

You shrug, “Habit…I’m working on it.”

“I’ll help you with that.” Mereel replies, “Because we’re partners now?” He asks.

You smile at him, “I’d like that. A lot.”

And then his lips are against yours and he falls back on the pillows, taking you with him.

[miekasa]

love talk

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: it’s not important that eren is a tattoo artist i just wanted to share bc i gave him tattoos here :’), fluff i think, smut/nsfw content, if you see a hint of eremin then no you don’t </2

+ word count: almost 2k, sickening innit luv

+ notes: yeah, still thinking about eren speaking german during sex bc he’s losing his mind hehe. i suppose this is the… softer version. might post another one later, who knows. and yes, i did almost name this pussy talk. 

Unbeknownst to him, Eren Jaeger speaks three languages.

The first two are obvious, but English is his preferred language; the one you’ll find him speaking most often. It only makes sense, seeing as it’s what the overwhelming majority of people, media, and signs spew at him.

The second is more reserved; something you might assume given his name, but not know for sure unless you asked, or stuck around long enough to catch him rambling excitedly to Armin in German, with broken slang phrases of English interspersed. It’s fascinating—cute, moreover—the way he stumbles back and forth between both tongues; and the difference in tone between them. You’re not sure if your own bias is peeking through, but you’re certain Eren and Armin both sound a little… meaner in German; more sarcastic, at the very least—and you wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were talking shit the whole time.

Though, there is a special, reserved intonation to his mother tongue that shows itself when Eren’s around you. It doesn’t seem to be by choice—gone beyond comprehension that he’s forced to revert to grunted expressions and curses in a language foreign to his surroundings. You assume them to be curses; you never can confirm, and Eren seems to not even be aware of his switching in the heat of the moment, can never quite recall what he was saying to you.

There are times when he’s reduced to mere sounds, no comprehensible words between the hundreds of thousands he knows—only guttural moans, and breathy sighs, and he seems to not even be able to understand himself. You have to admit, it’s a bit of an ego boost to be able to fuck your boyfriend stupid in two languages.

And at first glance, Eren doesn’t seem like the type of guy to know about anything outside of himself. He doesn’t seem like the full-sleeve, three ear piercing, tattoo artist kinda kid; but Eren Jaeger speaks the language of pictures, of symbols, of images, that he is able to decipher and give meaning to upon creation. He’s got a penchant for art, and a vision bigger than himself, so it’s only right that he takes his knowledge and applies it in its most permanent form. The tattoos are more than a hobby for him—they’re an extension of himself, his art, his language; and his body is the only canvas fit enough to capture them.

So, here, with Eren laying on his back, chest exposed, arms bent for his hands to rest against your waist, you get to see the culmination of all the words and all the pictures, from all the languages he’s deemed important enough to find a place on his skin.

“Do all of your tattoos have a meaning?” you question, reaching your hand up to trace over the delicate waves that ride along his right collarbone.

“No,” Eren winces when you move—just enough of him to feel an ounce of friction inside of you, but not enough to give him what he wants. He wiggles himself a bit, desperate for something, “Not at all.”

It makes you chuckle, with a sort of disbelief, at both his words and his actions, “You get things tattooed on your body that don’t mean anything to you?”

Eren lets out a shaky breath, followed with a boyish smile. He blinks at you slowly, lids fluttering and hands gripping tightly at your body, “Learned that not everything has to have a deep meaning to want to keep it around,” he tells you, right palm moving to venture over your tummy, and up your sides, “Somethings you just love.”

You don’t miss the lilt in his voice on the word ‘love,’ but you play it off, rolling your eyes at his deliberately sweet affections, and then, gently, your hips, “Pretty poetic for something with no meaning.”

“Yeah, well, Armin taught me that,” Eren grits, hands fastening themselves at your hips again.

“You talk about Armin a lot when we’re in bed you know,” you taunt him, moving your fingers to trace over more of the tattoos that litter his right shoulder, “Something I should know about?”

Eren shivers at the feeling—of your fingertips on his skin, and what he swears was an intentional clench around him, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You smile at him, enjoying the contortions of his face when you run your hands down his chest, palms pressed lightly against his pelvic bone. Eren bends a knee, but does he best to remain still, and you can’t help but to chuckle. He looks pretty when he’s trying his best.

“I’m greedy,” you tell him, raising your hips, and pausing in your words as you slowly lower yourself back on to him.

“Trust me,” Eren scoffs, a façade to cover up his reddening cheeks and shaky thighs, “I know.”

He tries to move his hips up, desperate for something more; for you to fucking move, but, you keep your hips perfectly still. Instead, you reach your arms behind you, and onto Eren’s thighs, cementing them to the bed. He groans, his hands sliding down to your own thighs, fingertips digging into your flesh.

“And you called me greedy,” you huff, amused, as Eren rolls his eyes beneath you. When you’re sure he’s not going to move, you bring your arms back around, palms splayed on his stomach, “Relax. This is what you asked for, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, in an ideal world, this would be happening when I was playing COD, not when I was already impossibly hard with morning wood. And with a lot less teasing on your part.”

You have to laugh—genuinely giggle—at Eren’s blunt honesty. He’s unintentionally charming; another linguistic skill he seems unaware that he’s proficient in. You can tell he doesn’t understand the source of your amusement, but the look in his eyes, the twinkle in his irises lets you know he’s too far gone to even care.

“Call it a lesson in self-control,” you say, moving your hands to his sides in time with a shallow grind of your hips, “Besides, I’m admiring you.”

Eren keeps his hands anchored on your thighs, shivering at sensitivity of his dick coupled with your hands stroking over his pecs, “Lesson fucking learning—babe, fuck, please—”

“Shh—not yet,” you coo, and reach to pull his arms off of you, leaving you with room to admire his sleeve. You take pity on him, holding his right wrist with both of your hands, before slowly beginning to bounce on him.

Eren squirms, his free hand reaching to grab at the flesh of your ass, eyes blinking open to watch his cock be buried inside of you. The relief is instant—for the both of you—immediate groans and shallow profanities slipping past your lips as you build a steady pace to ride him.

“Tell—tell me what this one means,” you question slowly, keeping your right hand around his wrist, but using your left to point to the tattoo; a stylized line art of crossed wings.

“Some shit about freedom,” Eren grunts, fingers twitching, “Fuck, babe—more, please, I’ll—”

Eren cuts himself off with a whine, and you hiss yourself, lifting your body all the way to the tip, before lowering yourself again at an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, you can feel everything; every vein on his shaft, every twitch of his cock. You feel Eren deep inside of you, even see where the bulge outlines your tummy.

You still yourself for just a second, catching your breath, anchoring yourself on Eren. You’re pretty far gone yourself, but you want more; for yourself, and for him. You do your best to stay coherent, slowly grinding atop of him, questioning him about another tattoo on his arm, ignoring the way his palm grips at your bicep. It’s a small one, with detailed Japanese characters that you can’t understand, but appreciate anyway; it’s one of your favorites, and you ask Eren about its meaning, clenching yourself around him as punctuation to your question.  

Eren sucks air between his teeth, left hand pulling back to run his fingers through his hair, a grunted word in German falling from his lips. You smirk, but let him try to answer you.

“I don’t fucken’ know,” Eren grumbles, head thrashing from side to side, “It’s really fucken’ hard to remember anything—shit—like this. S’fucking torture.”

“Hm,” you hum, not satisfied; eager for more of Eren’s love language, “Tell me something in German, instead, then.”

But Eren can only babble beneath you; sounds incoherent in either language—reduced to desperate whines and grabby hands at your thighs, waist, boobs—anything. You lean forward, letting go of Eren’s tattooed wrist, and reaching to ghost your fingers over his lips.

“Come on, Eren, you’re usually so good at it when we do this,” you taunt him, words coated in sweetness that distract you from keeping up your pace, “Just want you to talk pretty to me. Tell me something, baby.”

Eren’s eyes travel from your fingertips, up your arm, neck, and to your face. When he meets your gaze something shifts; eyes heavy with want, and bitter with dissatisfaction.

So, he reaches for your extended hand, laces your fingers together, “Something like what?”

You wrap your fingers around his, then do the same with your left hand, “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a smile, finally satisfied.

Eren grunts, bending his right knee for leverage before he flips you over, hands still intertwined, but now pinned over your head, harshly pressed into the pillows below. He buries his head into the crook of your neck; licking a stripe along your collarbone, where you’d teased him minutes before. Then up, up, up, your neck to the shell of your ear, retreating downwards to suck on the skin just beneath your ear, nipping with pointed teeth.

Eren keeps his weight on you, the length of his cock sliding over your slick folds while he bites angry, red blotches into your skin—a kind of impermanent tattoo of his own making on your body. The friction is good, but not enough, and you wonder if Eren intends on teasing you as long as you’d done to him; but, he breathes heavy breaths up your neck again, before mumbling a series of foreign syllables into your ear.

He hovers over your face, satisfied by the daze in your eyes; the slight openness of your mouth. It’s you who looks dumbstruck now, a foreigner to his ministrations; and for once, he’s in control with his second tongue.

“What—what does that mean?” you finally ask, squeezing your eyes briefly when Eren teases the tip just past your entrance.

Eren chuckles, airy, gritty, and cocky all at once. He pushes his cock inside of you, balls deep, only to pull out almost all the way, before leaning forward just slightly, so that his bottom lip grazes over yours.

“It means I love you,” he whispers, hips bucking forward, “Try to remember that, ‘cause I swear I’m gonna fuck you stupid, baby.”

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Gen?? Sickfic?? mild H/C??? you got me, man

Characters: Caligosto Loboto, Boyd Cooper, Gloria Von Gouton, Fred Bonaparte, Crispin Whytehead, Sheegor

Warnings: Vomit, blood, depictions of sickness... (SPOILERS: implied torture + amputation)

Description: Loboto is having a very bad night. The inmates are not helping.

Beta Readers: @jaywings​ and Rocket

Notes: This fic is based on a theory that comes from a few figments in Loboto’s mental world in the demo footage of Psychonauts 2. ...also I wrote this while sick with a fever, edited it while still sick, and illustrated the cover while recovering from said sickness. have fun

—~~~—

He did not remember arriving back at the tower.

Partially because he wasn't even back in the tower, instead standing on the frosty shoreline, the chilly waves lapping at his boot heels.

Loboto stared dumbly out at the cliffside for a long moment before frustration simmered beneath his fogged mind. Yes! Of course, they wouldn't send him back to his lab. No! He could do with a good climb, especially on a frigid night like this! His chest heaved with quiet, dazed laughter before he took a gasp of cold air that grated against his sore throat.

The wind, though not harsh, cut through every part of him that wasn't covered by his shower cap or lab coat like a fine knife, as cold as it was painful. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went white as his mechanical eyes flashed. But even with the blasted optics glitching, he could still see. His imagination ran wild with absurd visions of ridiculous things that had never happened.

On top of that, the slice of pain brought with it a violent realization that it was not the only pain he was in. The numb shock he’d been in gave way to an agony that tore through him, ripping up and down his side, nearly bringing him to his knees. No, no, no, that pain could not be real, just like the horrific visions of red and yellow that flashed through his mind. It was all a trick—all a stupid trick from his malfunctioning eyes and his brain. Pah!

He found himself clawing at his shower cap, occasionally stopping to smack his mechanical eyes a few times until they flickered back into focus, the desolate beach snapping back into view. "Enough of this!" he growled hoarsely at the sand beneath him. "That little army man will be back any day now, and we can't keep him waiting."

With a grunt, Loboto marched forward and heaved himself up onto the first narrow ledge, already finding his body shuddering with the effort and his mind struggling to push back the imaginary waves of pain. "Ridiculous!" he blurted into the rock he leaned against for balance. "A child can climb a mountain ten times this height!" And it wasn't like he'd never done it, either. Muscle memory helped him get from one step to the other, but keeping his balance was harder than normal, especially as his mind repeatedly dipped back into brain fog.

His eyes flickered in a blink when he found himself on the ladder, his boot slipping on the frosty wood and one hand losing its grip. Realizing he was about to fall, he flung his weight back against the ladder, biting down on the nearest rung to keep himself in place. A frantic giggle worked its way through his clenched teeth—ah, teeth! Useful for so many things! They would never let him down.

If you let us down one more time—

Ripping himself away from the rung and leaving rough teeth-marks behind, he let out a snarl and heaved himself the rest of the way up the ladder and onto the ledge. He sat on his knees for the moment, his mechanical eyes pulling back as he tried to make sense of the gate that seemed to be spinning around him. No, not just the gate—the entire cliffside spun beneath him like some wild carnival ride. He couldn't remember it doing that before, but the absurdity of it made him laugh, the action tearing through his sore throat. Yet he continued to laugh until his stomach lurched and a cascade of vomit silenced him.

He managed to scoot himself away, spitting and coughing as the world slowly came to a halt. At the same time, a figure that had been sleeping against the opposite wall snapped alert with a panicked gasp.

"Ah—ah!" Boyd stammered, scrambling to his feet and whipping his head around until he spotted Loboto on the ground. "Who are you working for?"

"That fool Oleander," Loboto grumbled under his breath, his eyes swiveling to glare at him.

Boyd's eyes blinked separately before recognition dawned upon him. "Y-yes! Of course!" Fumbling with his keys, he got to work unlocking the gate. "It's said he knows the milkman..."

Gritting his teeth, Loboto shakily began to push himself back upright. A large hand suddenly clapped against his shoulder, and he gave a yell as he was heaved to his feet. Without turning to look, he struck at the one who'd grabbed him. "Tricky terrible traitors try to trap—"

"AH—no, I am no traitor, I am the guard!" Boyd cried, stumbling back and holding up his hands as Loboto found his balance.

The two stared at each other for a tense moment, Loboto's eyes glowing harshly as Boyd trembled beneath his gaze. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of satisfaction at seeing his subordinate cower.

"Th... the milk is not ready yet!" Boyd said, wincing away as he eyed the doctor's clenched fist.

Loboto stared.

"I'm lactose intolerant."

Boyd glanced at something on the ground. "I-I noticed."

With a growl, Loboto finally marched past the guard, who frantically closed the gate behind him.

Now that that mess was over, he could finally get back up to his lab and get back to—

He paused.

"SHEEGOR!"

His voice boomed through the empty grounds. It was empty of people, now empty of crows, and empty of elevators.

When his assistant did not spontaneously appear, he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white beneath his glove. "Yes! Wonderful!" he proclaimed to no one as he stamped toward the withered garden with a harsh laugh. "I can scale this dilapidated tower myself then. Fine night for some exercise!"

He knew his way through his asylum, of course, so it wouldn't be overly difficult, but he would have much preferred the express elevator so he could get back to work immediately. But as it was, he ducked through the entrance to the greenhouse, fighting to keep steady as the action made his head spin, his back ache (no it didn’t, he was fine), and his shower cap to catch against the branches overhead. Turning his optics up, he pressed a hand down into the cap, pulling it away from the plants. He'd hoped to avoid the woman who occupied this corner of the asylum, but as he straightened his back, he bumped into one of the flowerpots, knocking it to the ground with a dull clunk.

"My, you need to buy seats in advance if you want to come to my shows!" Gloria said, turning to him with a patient, hazy smile. "No need to be harassing the paying customers."

"What do they pay you in? Leaves? Seeds?" Loboto asked, the frantic giggle that followed clashing with his strained smile.

Gloria ignored the comment, glancing him over and waving him off. "Please see yourself out. I'm not an usher, but since they seem to be ignoring their duties, I'll have to tell you you cannot bring food or drink into the theater."

Swiveling his optics in an approximation of an eye roll, Loboto turned away to head out the other side of the greenhouse. "I don't have any."

"Not anymore, but anyone can see that wine you've sloshed onto your nice suit."

Loboto froze.

"It's a wonder it didn't get onto the carpet—"

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at an entire line of flower pots that lay in pieces on the floor of the greenhouse.

"Oh!" Gloria cried. "I'm sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure the ushers will attend to this ruffian, and the play can resume..."

He left her to continue rambling to her imaginary audience as he tried to rid the imaginary nonsense (visions, pain, glowing yellow eyes) from his mind. "Fickle fumbling females feeling faint for fading flowers..." he mumbled as he stepped into the lower floor of the asylum. It brought its usual sights and sounds of one of the former orderlies dozing over a makeshift game board (with stolen game pieces, he noted), the artist in the room overhead scraping old brushes furiously against a canvas, and finally Crispin standing dutifully in front of the asylum's only other elevator.

"Crispin!" Loboto said, and the man turned to face somewhere slightly to his left. "Let me up, will you?"

"Of course, Doctor Loboto." Crispin turned toward the elevator controls, only to pause, his dull eyes squinting as he turned back. "Wait..."

"Wait for what?" Loboto threw out his arm in a wide gesture. "Do you want to hear that army man ranting at us again? Or perhaps you find it funny! Though it is, isn't it? Shouting about sneezing powder and tanks! HAH!"

While he'd been talking, Crispin had been leaning forward, eyeing him up and down. He frowned. "You're not Doctor Loboto," he said at length.

"WHAT?!"

Behind him, Fred sprang to his feet. "Sacré bleu! We have fallen asleep on ze battlefield!"

Ignoring the man and his terrible French accent, Loboto stepped closer to Crispin, finding himself trembling—in rage or in suppressed laughter or something else, he wasn't sure. "Of course I'm Doctor Loboto! I was, last I checked. Highly trained and professional!"

"Yes, well," Crispin began, leaning back and raising a brow, "the real Doctor Loboto does not wear an actual straitjacket. It's merely a strappy jacket fashioned from one."

"This is my jacket, you milky-eyed moron!" Loboto cried, tugging on the front of his coat in demonstration. "It doesn't have my arms tied up!" He lunged toward Crispin to grab him by the collar, but stumbled as the world spun once more. He struggled to keep his stomach from flipping again.

"Well, that's because you're wearing it poorly. But you are certainly not Doctor Loboto. I can tell. You don't have the right jacket, or the right complexion." He tipped his head. "The real Doctor Loboto is blue, not sickly gray. As you can see, you can't fool me. Now go back to wherever you came from and—"

"He has returned from ze war!" Fred blurted behind him. He blinked, then shook his head, hunching in on himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, we really shouldn't—" He straightened again. "Yes, shut up! We are in ze presence of a great war hero!"

Crispin rolled his eyes. "What are you going on about now, Fred?"

"Do you not see? He bears ze blood of his enemies upon his robes, and ze scars of victory—"

Loboto whirled on him faster than he could think, managing a swift kick to Fred's shin.

With a yelp, the man crashed to the ground, curling up on himself and whining. "Ohhh... can we just postpone the battle until morning?" He twitched. "NON! Ze enemy never sleeps, so neither shall we!"

"Well, Fred's down for the count again," Cripsin remarked. "So if you're done, kindly step away from my elevator and off the nearest cliff, thanks."

Loboto wanted nothing more than to knock Crispin to the ground and find a few bad teeth to remove, but his vision was blurring and flickering, and he found it hard to think.

"No, really, we can't fight in the dark, and the enemy can't either, can they?" "Rrrrrghhh, I suppose you are right, for once. We shall camp here for now, but come sunrise, we fight!"

A weak laugh made its way past his lips as he stared down at the former orderly settling on the cobblestone. Yes, that crazy man had a point. There was no point in fighting tonight—he'd get his work done in the morning. And that work would have to include getting back into his lab in the first place.

After a brief moment, he snatched an item from the floor before stumbling back through the greenhouse and toward the entrance.

A nice night for sleeping under the stars, he supposed.

---~~~---

Judging by how bright the world was by the time his mechanical eyes flickered back on, the sun was starting to rise. But he couldn't tell for sure when there was a large metal cage blocking his view, with something else within—

"He said he would be back by nightfall, but he hasn't come!" a high pitched voice cried as a familiar form stepped out of the elevator, her back to him. "Oh Mr. Pokeylope, do you think he's gone for good this time?"

The corner of Loboto's mouth twitched.

"Oops!" She clapped an oven mitt over her mouth. "I'm glad he's not around to hear me say that," she said as she began to turn. "If he was, he'd be—EEK!"

Sheegor jumped back at the sight of Loboto laying sprawled out at the foot of the fountain, having slept (or passed out) there the remainder of the night. He clutched his worn teddy close to his chest and stared her in the eyes.

"Oh—I—I—!" Sheegor held her pet turtle close to herself. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Doctor Loboto, I didn't mean any of that, I—"

"Yes, well it's a nice morning, isn't it?" Loboto grumbled, tucking the teddy bear under his arm so he could push himself to his feet. His entire body ached (from sleeping on the ground, not from anything else). "A nice morning to get some work done after you left me stranded here all night!" He took a threatening—but wobbling—step forward, fist clenched.

Oddly, Sheegor didn't seem as intimidated as usual. Her mouth gaped, and her eyes darted between his face and his right side.

"What are you looking at?"

"Y... you..." A trembling mitt was covering her open mouth. "D-Doctor! What happened to you?!"

His eyes flickered. "I slept out here with a rock for a pillow."

"N-no, it's—it's—!" Her whole body was shaking now, but not, he sensed, in fear of him. It should have made him angry, but exhaustion pulled at him instead, making his frame droop.

"Yes? Well, spit it out."

Sheegor held out one hand, pointed toward his right side. "Y-your arm!"

Loboto's optics slowly angled down to his right. For the first time he noticed the enormous, darkened bloodstains on his jacket, and a torn, empty sleeve hanging limply at his side.

"Oh," he said dully, feeling himself wobble as the pain finally worked its way to the forefront of his mind. "How did that happen?"

At once the world tipped to the side, and Sheegor caught him, straining to keep him from fully collapsing to the ground.

Wordlessly she helped him into the elevator, letting him lean onto her while he bit back the urge to scream. He wanted to protest, to berate her for touching him, but everything felt distant, even the upper floor of the asylum as they rapidly ascended toward it. And anyway, once they reached the top, anything he would have said was held back by his rolling stomach ejecting whatever bile still occupied it.

As he gagged, he could hear Sheegor whispering to the turtle in her mitts: "I know, I know, but I-I can't leave him like that—th-the asylum wouldn't... w-we were supposed to..."

"Just... get back to work... Sheegor," he managed to slur around the acrid taste in his mouth. Bitter bile breaks brittle bones of the mouth.

Sheegor looked from him to her turtle a few times, her mouth wobbling, and carefully eased his arm over her hunched back again. Instead of leading him to his lab, however, she led him down into the asylum, into the usual room he slept in: a mostly-intact bedroom with a mattress and blankets over a broken bed frame shoved into one corner, a chair and a desk with papers scattered across it, and a meticulously crafted and framed (and official) DDS license on the wall.

After easing him down into the bed, Sheegor stepped back, looking away. "Um... I-if you want, Doctor, I can clean that robe..."

His initial thought was that the blood stains made a wonderful addition to his ensemble, but glancing down at them again caused his brain to supply him with more awful, made-up nonsense. No, he wouldn't have that any longer.

With some amount of struggling he managed to get the thing off, unceremoniously tossing it in Sheegor's general direction. She managed to catch it and quickly scurried out. "I'll get this back to you as soon as I can Doctor bye!" she squeaked before the door slammed behind her, leaving Loboto sitting in the empty room.

Everything felt surreal, being in familiar surroundings after spending an entire night on freezing cobblestone. The sight when his gaze turned downward, however, was less familiar: there was new stitching across his chest, and on his right shoulder where his arm had been. It was cleanly done—they hadn't wanted him too much worse for wear, since he still had a job to do for—

Oleander. He had a job to do for Oleander right now. The sneezing powder, yes. His mind drifted over the things they'd discussed in their last meeting.

They'd both figured out a way for it to be made, more or less. The remaining issue was how to properly dispense the stuff. Oleander had suggested keeping it in a bag, but that was easily-spilled, and it may lose potency if pre-ground. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a grinder with him on-hand at all times—

A shock of brilliance bolted through him, and he stumbled to his desk with renewed energy. He grabbed a well-chewed pencil and began to write, his non-dominant hand shaking badly as he forced it into motions it was not used to.

But that was fine. It wouldn't have that job for long.

A manic giggle bubbled out of his throat as he worked out the notes and rough sketches, detailing a jointed pepper grinder with claws and a strap to secure it to his now-unoccupied side.

This loss of a limb, baffling as it was, was exactly what he needed.

[gentlemancrow]

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

OK so I saw @hey-there-hunter ‘s JMart Wedding Challenge and I pretty much fan ficced immediately??  Like it was an instantaneous plot bunny that stabbed me in the brain and would not let me free until I made it exist.  SO HERE YOU GO!  Read it here or head on over to AO3 below!  And enjoy some unapologetically aggressive fluff with weddings!  Also subtitled someday Crow will stop abusing excessive astral imagery and symbolism for extended metaphors, but today is not that day.

Read on AO3 instead!

Written in the Stars Will Have to Do

Jonathan Sims always thought of himself as a man with a deep appreciation for the great literature of the world.  A passionate turn of phrase, crystalline motes of clear imagery like snowflakes reflecting light in his mental scape, a devastating contemplation on the nature of good and evil in the hearts of all mankind, everything that could express the beauty and tragedy of the world in ways he never could.  Prose was a bright paintbrush on a ragged canvas of the universe he had known from an early age was swathed in shadow and pain and evil, and those words on those pages, for at least a moment, were another world he could hold in his hands, could cradle and protect, could mourn.  He liked the power of them as well, of the tinkling brightness of alliteration, the oaky sophistication of a well-aged metaphor, the evocativeness of the idiosyncrasy in a simple simile, laying bare truths in ways he never could have articulated for himself.

There was one thing he could not abide by in language, however, one cardinal sin liable to besmirch any piece of lush and sparkling verse or prose and taint it forever.  And that was idioms.

Jon loathed idioms and their dismally quirky cliches dressed in familiarity’s tacky clothing almost as much as he hated spiders.  Perhaps it was something about their reliance on common knowledge and repetition.  He couldn’t bear reading the same book twice, or even a book that felt too familiar, it only made sense that hearing a hackneyed phrase repeated in that awful singsong sardonic tone of someone who knows full well they’re saying something asinine that has been repeated ad nauseum for millennia would scrape at the back of his skull and down his spine.  They were too whimsical and blasé, crutch words for when one’s limited lexicon came up empty, or worse, for ill comedic effect.  They reinforced that staunchly English notion of skirting about the true depth and breadth of emotion for clipped niceties and unfeeling banalities.  Idioms to him were mere verbal window boxes, colorful and meaningless, dressings for untold disasters behind the shining windows they peacocked before.  

He hated them all with vaguely equal rancor, but there was one he could definitely single out as the one he hated the most, and that was the one about hanging the moon.  Such and such thinks you hung the moon, to me you hung the moon, and so on.  This particular rhetorical felony attracted his wrath only marginally because any moon symbolism never failed to feel outlandish and infantile, a mawkish image of love and care rampant in nursery rhymes and cheap commercialized slogans for t-shirts and wall art.  That was the least of it.  He hated the idea of hanging the moon mostly because once, another lifetime ago now it seemed, Tim Stoker had lobbed it in his face in a fit of smoldering rage and he had been completely, complacently, ignorant of its magnitude.  

Funny thing was, he couldn’t even remember what the actual fight had been about any longer.  Though he could remember exactly where he was standing, cornered next to the file cabinet for the year 1985, January through February, and the label had been peeling up on the upper left-hand corner.  He remembered he’d discovered a hole in the elbow of his jumper that morning and he had been obsessing over it all day, fussing with the dangling green thread and tugging at the knit as if it might magically close the wound.  He’d put his finger clean through it with his arms crossed haughtily over his chest without even realizing he’d been fiddling with it when something flippant about Martin came out of his mouth.  It hadn’t even been cruel, he couldn’t even remember how Martin had come up in the argument in the first place, he could only remember Tim’s mouth moving like he wanted to say something else, then him forcibly stopping himself before he snarled.

“Yeah well, god knows why, but he thinks you hung the moon, so you might try treating him at the very least like a human being once in a while.”

It was such a small thing.  Small words for a small feeling cloaked in a chintzy veneer of idiomatic dismissal.  A trembling little bird cupped in his scarred and battered hands and smothered.  Or so he thought.  Sometimes trembling little birds turn out to be phoenixes, and those who looked to someone else to hang the comfort of a wise, silvery moon in the sky already have the hammer and the picture wire at the ready.

As far as Jon was concerned, the moon only rose on their Somewhere Else because Martin deigned to pull the strings every night, not him.

It was Martin who brought him tea every morning, set it down on the breakfast table with that little flip of the tag and the deft, one-fingered turn of the handle toward him.  It was Martin who scolded him because whites are a separate load, Jon, were you raised in a barn?  Martin who talked him through every episode of the Doctor Who reruns that were the only thing their ancient aerial could pick up.  Martin who planted flowers in the garden and brought muffins from the sweet old lady at the grocers because they traded baking recipes.  Martin who still looked at him with diaphanous pools of ethereal moonlight in his eyes and his smile like he alone hung it in the sky over his head to wash him in its radiance.

Even after everything.

Even after it had been Martin who had to hold the knife buried in his chest as he lay gasping wetly for breath in an alleyway in Another Chelsea to keep the hemorrhaging at bay.  Martin who had cupped his face in his bloody hands with tears streaming down his and forced him to focus, furious love blazing in his sea mist eyes as they locked with his, screaming at him and him only, heedless of anything else.

“Look at me.  LOOK at me, Jon!  Stay with me!  Stay with me, DAMN YOU!”

Stay with me had not been a plea, it had been a command.  He had never once said please because it was never an option.  Shivering, breathing blood through his teeth, the streetlights a fading, star studded halo in Martin’s strawberry blond curls be damned, he was right.  Against every tangled thread of fate twisted deep into his flesh, or perhaps because they had been the only thing that held his torn innards together, he made it to the part where he awoke a few fractured times to nothingness, and then to fingers he knew every inch of inextricably bound up in his and a fierce whisper in his ear.

“I’m here, Jon.  I’m still here.  I’ve got you.  I’m going to fix this.  I’m going to get us out of here.  We’re going to be okay.”

It had been Martin who orchestrated their clandestine escape from the hospital the moment they both agreed he was well enough to survive under his rudimentary medical care and before the authorities got too invested in an urban ghost story of two men who didn’t exist.  Not to mention one of which should, by all medical and logical law, be dead.  It had been Martin who had stolen the necessary antibiotics, drugs, and wound care supplies, Martin who had picked enough pockets to buy passage on a midnight train to the only place they could think to go, and expressly told Jon not to ask where he learned how, even though he knew full well he would later.  Martin who had fought for everything and kept him hidden and safe while he lay in a dingy hotel room somewhere in Scotland, drifting in and out of consciousness between kisses, cold compresses, spoonfuls of whatever he could get him to swallow and keep down, and desperate ‘I love you’s.

Martin had been the one who hung the moon even on the nights Jon couldn’t see it, just so he knew it was there, that the light might finally guide him home.  Not him.  He could have never done something so selfless and simple and beautiful.  No not him.  Not The Archivist.  How could he have ever known that?  Stupid, myopic, pedantic, all-seeing and blind.  A blustering, sanctimonious Tiresias in a sweater vest and half-moon glasses.  And how important was the moon, anyway that he was expected to hang it too?  Would not night still come and the stars still shine?  The stupid, vapid saying should have been about the sun anyway.  Something that nourished and guided and warmed.  Not the moon.  Not the thing of night and hungry wolves and quiet loneliness.  Not a thing of the darkness they fought and still not won, not exactly, not in a way that mattered.  How could he have known the weight of such a thoughtless, frivolous, meaningless phrase and how far and how long Martin had borne it for him to protect he who hung his moon?  

He could see the weight of it so clearly now.  He could see it especially on the darkest days, which came, in grotesque mockery, the moment they found something like their safehouse and rest at last.  Jon had conned his way into a job at the village library with an ancient head librarian who didn’t care much for too many questions, or background or credit checks, and was more than happy to pay in cash.  With Martin’s help of course.  Martin himself had taken up stocking at the village grocers, and their life had teetered onto something so close to quaint and normal it suddenly laid bare the gravity of the depths of darkness they had escaped.

No longer did they have to run, no longer did they have to fight, they could finally lay down the chase and curl in upon each other to lick their wounds in quiet.  But without the driving, primal instinct to live, to survive, that ushered in the days where all the hurt came back to roost and brood and fester.  The days where he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, or the days Martin couldn’t bear the sound of his voice, or the days they shouted themselves hoarse, stormed apart for hours then came back, silent and broken, red-eyed and exhausted to hold each other and weep into the spaces between neck and shoulder where it still smelled like love and home.

He could see so painfully clearly the toll following him to the ends of the cosmos and back had etched its marks into his goodness, his body and soul, see how often he would walk down the road from their cabin, just a little ways, to stand on the heather spotted hills and gaze out into the frigid infinity of the gray sea.  Cold terror would grip him then, incite a desperate want to run after him, to throw his arms around him and bring him home, but also the fear it would only be to have him turn to mist and slip through his fingers forever.  He always had a cup of steaming tea waiting for him when he came back, just in case.

But again, and always.  It was Martin who would pick up Jon’s hands, kiss every slender, scarred finger through his tears and be the first one to utter ‘I’m sorry.’  Martin who told him with just a single scathing flash of stern blue eyes and not a single word uttered that he was certainly coming to bed and not banishing himself to the couch like an idiot.  Martin who wrapped him in his arms and warmth and boundless love and reminded him, “One way or another.  Together.  That was the deal, right?  You don’t get to back out now.  No returns, refunds, or exchanges, I’m afraid.”

And even through the deepest sobs he would find the laugh Jon didn’t think was in him.  Martin sifted through the mire and the muck and held fast to the tiny, shining things so easy to lose in the darkness.  Things Jon was certain were lost forever, only to be reignited and hung in the brightening sky of their story.  Even if they weren’t quite the moon yet.

It had also been Martin who, on a perfectly ordinary day, on a simple walk through the local farmers market, stopped to peruse one of the usual unremarkable stalls filled with crystals and oils and trinkets.  Jon had wandered off to procure the parsnips and the strawberries, unrelated recipes Martin swore, he had been tasked with finding.  When he returned he found him, a radiant monument tall among the faceless locals, rusty curls caressing his face in the salty breeze, carved of marble and rose quartz and gazing down at a pair of hematite rings on a velvet display box.  His eyes were distant, but not in the enthralled, disembodied way they were when he looked at the sea, or the broken way when they weren’t speaking, but in the contemplative, regarding of puzzle pieces way when he would look into the fire during their talks and turn his words in his mind over and over again like a rock tumbler until they were polished just right.

“Getting into crystals now, are we?” Jon had joked, “Surely I’m not so dull to be around that that’s becoming an attractive hobby.”

Martin snorted and shook his head.

“Supposed to mean healing, or grounding, or something.  Aligning your meridians, I think the lady said?  Whatever that means,” he elaborated, reaching out to touch.

They clinked weightily together, thick and glossy and the dark astral gray of a moonless night.  Martin turned over the card that went with them and read.

“’A grounding stone that belongs to the planet Mars.  It strengthens our connections to the earth and aids the warrior on their journey.  It is a stone of invincibility, but also fragility.  It balances yin and yang energies with its magnetic properties for the perfect reflection upon one’s own soul, astral, physical, and spiritual.’”

“Hematite, is it?” Jon asked, “Also more commonly called bloodstone.  You know if you scratch it, it leaves a red mark.  Like it’s bleeding.  Watch.”

He picked up one of the rings and firmly ran it down the corner of the card Martin had been reading from.  Sure enough, the black stone had left a faint, but starkly crimson mark on the yellowed paper.

“It BLEEDS?” Martin exclaimed in horror.

“It’s just a kind of iron oxide, so, rust, basically,” Jon explained with a chuckle, “Kind of weirdly romantic if you think about it?  This intimidating shiny black stone like armor, made of iron to boot, but with a bleeding heart at its core.”

“I just thought it was pretty, I didn’t know it bleeds,” Martin had laughed in that incredulous way he always did when Jon was telling him something he didn’t actually want to know, but appreciated anyway.

“I find that the strongest, prettiest things often do,” Jon had said in reply.  He remembered saying that particularly clearly, waxing poetic, feeling a swell of affection for the hugely beautiful man he leaned against and was adorably aghast at bleeding rocks.

“Yeah, I reckon they do,” Martin murmured back.

And then his cheeks had flushed bright red under his freckles and the stone steps of his shoulders crumbled a bit under the crushing ancientness and vastness of what he had originally been pondering.

“So, I mean, before you spoiled it with the blood thing.  I was thinking… Well, I was just having a browse and I saw these and I thought they were quite fetching, and then the lady told me they meant grounding and healing and a journey, like on the card.  A-And there were two of them, all by themselves, and everything else was so colorful and flashy these were just so… Um.  Maybe the blood and rusty iron thing makes it more poetic now, actually?  I don’t know.  Sorry I-  This sounded so much better in my head.”

It wasn’t his fault, Jon remembered thinking.  Martin couldn’t find the words because there weren’t any.  Not in this universe or any other.  Not for what they’d gone through, and especially not for what they meant to each other.

“I guess I was just thinking.  If… I bought one.  And wore it.  Sort of like.  Um.  You know.  Would… Would you-?” he had asked, his voice trembling.

Jon had never said yes, yes of course he would, faster or with more conviction in his life.  And there was that look again, rising from the ashes, that flooding of golden, unbound love and light, of eyes turned sky blue, of looking at the man who hung his moon in the sky come back to him.  He could still hang Martin’s moon all over again after so many nights of black clouds and darkness, even if it was only paper.  They’d paid for the rings in rumpled bills, exchanged them right then and there, and kissed each other as the crowd of oblivious people in a world they did not belong in flowed like a river around them.  Jon forgot the bag with the parsnips and strawberries.

But it didn’t matter.  It didn’t even matter that Martin’s fit nicely on his ring finger, but Jon had to wear his on his thumb, and even then sometimes on a chain around his neck for fear of losing it.  It didn’t matter that it was the closest thing they were ever going to get to a proposal and a wedding, consigned now forever to the shadows in a borrowed reality with only each other.  Because it was theirs, and they could begin to figure out how their broken pieces fit back together again.

But like most things that don’t matter, it didn’t until it did.

It began as simple things.  Seeing a wedding on some program they weren’t actually paying much attention to and Martin making a flippant, innocuous comment as he combed his fingers lovingly through Jon’s long and silvered chestnut hair in his lap about how he would have loved to have a cake that had a different flavor on every tier at their wedding.  Just so everyone could have something they liked.  And Jon woke up from his half catlike stupor and looked up at him with such aching regret as those words settled into the pit of his heart alongside ‘he thinks you hung the moon.’  

And soon they began to gather a collection of completely innocent remarks that ran the gamut from ‘would they have worn black or white?  Or one of each?  I don’t know… does it really matter?  And were these engagement rings or wedding rings?  I don’t know.  Neither?  both?  And do we say husband instead of boyfriend now?  Fiancé?  Whatever you want, Martin…’ To the heavier, cancerous weights that sank to the bottom of his gut, even below hanging the moon, like ‘I know Tim would have thrown the most amazing bachelor party for both of us, and his mum had always talked about him getting married someday like it was a farfetched pipe dream, but she would be happy for them, he thinks.’

He could never answer those questions.  There was too much at stake, too much finality and familiarity in them, a strange weightlessness in a world that weighed far too much.  The sun and moon continued their eternal dance of time, ignorant, unbothered, but Jon kept collecting those silent debts of normal life, secreting them away in a hidden singularity in his heart that only grew heavier and metastasized farther the more times Martin walked out at night, not him, beaming starlight from his eyes and his fingertips, to hang the moon again.  So soft, so full of wooly cows and pink heather and the smell of tea and sea salt and Martin’s shampoo on the pillow next to him did it become, that it was almost inevitable that one morning Jon awoke absolutely convinced none of it could be real.  

The moment he decided that, everything made so much more sense.  He could breathe again.  There was a reason he could never sit still, never just feel at ease or talk about the future like it was a real thing that could still happen.  He knew why the silence made his brain itch and why he still glanced around corners and glowered at anyone who dared let their gaze linger on his Martin too long.  Why Martin’s ring fit and his didn’t.  There was too much debt to the universe to be paid, too many broken promises, too many corpses in his wake, he had done nothing to deserve this idyllic life of love and peace and smallness and Martin.  It had to be Her doing, It’s doing, some carefully woven torture chamber that would lure them to the apex of their joy, the center of the web, where they would just be devoured over and over to empty husks and set up like chess pieces to fill with love and light just to knock down again.  He wasn’t free after all.

Jon had been halfway into his coat and halfway out the door to do, he didn’t know, something, anything, to go to the library to use their computer and research something he didn’t know he was looking for when Martin had seized his hand and whirled him around.

“Jon.  STOP.  It’s over.”

And he’d stopped.  He’d looked into those baleful blue eyes, fallen into their depths, landed on the precipice of madness, and broken.  It wasn’t over.  Not for him.  He finally understood.  It was still there.  The Eye.  It always had been.  Though not really, he understood slowly as he wept on his knees in their doorway into Martin’s chest, it had indeed closed forever on him, but it lingered as distant static, like a phantom limb, a metaphysical itch that could never be scratched.  Martin had cradled him close and listened, listened so patiently as he ripped the jagged black fear from the deepest, ugliest part of his heart, hauled it up bloody and messy from his throat and finally laid it bare for both of them to see.  And when it was done and he couldn’t cry anymore Martin had locked eyes with him in a way that made him forget any others could have ever existed outside of crystalline blue and filled with moonlight.

“Listen to me.  I know you think you have some cosmic burden to bear.  That you’re still wearing some… some fucked up crown and sitting on a throne of skulls and death and eyeballs or whatever image you want to put there, and that you have to sit and hurt and watch over everything so it doesn’t happen again, but...  Sorry, Jon, but that’s bullshit.  It’s just a scar now.  That’s all.  Just like the rest of them.  Ugly and beautiful and proof that you —Jonathan Sims— are still alive.  And you are not The Archivist anymore.  You’re just mine.  My Jon.”

He’d held his Jon’s stunned face in his hands and peppered kisses over the pock marks in his skin, over the slash on his throat, the burnt fingers that still couldn’t bend quite right, even the one on his chest, the one almost always hidden by fabric but the one he didn’t need to see to find.  His heart and fingers would always remember exactly where it was.  And he’d kept his lips there a moment, then turned his ear to his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist to listen to his heartbeat like a trembling little bird.

“If I can hear it and feel it.  So can you,” he whispered.

Unsteady fingers curled desperately into Martin’s silky locks, hematite loop cool against his scalp, “Thank you…”

Martin stayed for the kiss on top of his head he knew was coming and smiled.

“Okay, so it’s simple to fix if you think about it,” he murmured into Jon’s chest, “We just need that thing, you know?  The thing that makes you feel like you’re still doing the thing, but you’re not.  What was the word for it again?  A placeholder?  Like when you quit smoking and you hold a pencil or a straw or something that’s not actually a cigarette so you can wean yourself off the ritual?”

Jon blinked owlishly down at him as he dried his eyes.

“A… placebo?  Are you talking about a placebo?”

“Yeah!  That’s it!  We just need to find you a placebo for Knowing things!  That’s all.  Like… reality shows, or-or zoo cams or something!  We’ll figure it out together.  Alright, love?  I promise you.  It’ll be okay.”

Jon was skeptical, so very skeptical, but if Martin was determined to find a balm to soothe his jagged, ontological scars he would happily play the part of lab rat for him.  They’d tried a myriad things to replicate the feeling of Knowing and looking something deep within him still craved.  The zoo and animal livestreams were a bust, cute and entertaining as they were, but animals weren’t ever the purview of The Eye and the camera itself was barely a scrap.  Reality shows came closer, the more salacious the better, but even that temporary fix wore off when Jon’s disgust with the overall content and participants outweighed any benefit.  Martin was just happy to have finally converted him to Bake Off, at least.  They tried people watching in the square in the village, but it made Jon far too self-conscious and guilty.  He used the binoculars exactly once, and that was to look at the cows in the fields, and the choose-your-own-adventure books Martin had been certain would strike a sagacious chord wound up in the donation bin at the library.  But that was when he was struck with a bolt of genius.

Unbeknownst to Jon, which brought him no small measure of glee, Martin ordered, received, and then set up with a literal bow in their back garden the finest telescope he could afford on his meager savings.  He’d researched for days, asked on every amateur astronomer forum he could find, and had it delivered to the grocers so he could make it a proper surprise.  He’d even gone so far as to attack and blindfold a hapless Jon the moment he made it home from work on the day it was ready, and stood behind him giddily bouncing as he tore the tea towel away from his eyes.

“A… Telescope?” he’d blurted dumbly.

“Yes!  It’s perfect, right?  I asked around to find the one that had all the best features, and this one has the best overall magnification and the most lenses, but it doesn’t have the little satellite positioning thing?  I figured you wouldn’t want that anyway, you always like figuring things out and finding things on your own better.”

Martin had been positively radiant.  Jon had just stared at the gawping black tube and chewed the inside of his cheek as he processed what to say.

“I mean… thank you, Martin, really.  It was a sweet thought, but if the binoculars didn’t-“

“Screw the binoculars!  This is different!” Martin happily insisted, “You can look at so much more!  Stars and planets and galaxies and what have you, and it can maybe be sort of like you’re looking for other worlds?  Wormholes or whatever?  Or signs of The Fears and where they’ve gone?  Or even if the stars are the same here as they were back before?  Space literally has so many things to LOOK at we can’t even count them!  This has got to be it!”

Jon tried to smile and laugh and agree to try it out, at the very least, if only because Martin was beaming so sweetly with pride and hope.  Though that first night he didn’t, ushering them back in with promises of tomorrow, Martin, I promise tomorrow.  Tomorrow had been a lie.  As had been the next night.  In fact, it took Jon a full week to even remember they even had a telescope, and that was only after getting the smuggest, Cheshire grin out of Martin after casually mentioning there would be a visible, if partial, lunar eclipse that night.  He’d relented, only because he’d entrapped himself, and they’d both bundled up, looked in the manual for the best size lens to view the moon with, poured a few glasses of wine, and turned their eyes to the stars.

Martin had gone first, gripping the eyepiece and adjusting the focus all the while gasping in awe.  It was so beautiful he’d burst into poetry with a crooked grin.

“Art thou pale for weariness?  Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth its constancy?  Sounds a little familiar, eh?” he joked, casting a wry look over his shoulder.

Jon rolled his eyes fondly.

“Gross.  Keats again?”

“Nope, Shelley this time, and even he thinks you ought to have a look at the moon.  I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Jon had sighed obligingly and shuffled to the telescope, fully expecting to look at something bright and round with a bit of a shadow on it that was distinctly unremarkable, have another glass of wine, and then go back inside to snuggle by the fire.  What he saw in that tiny pinhole of light pierced straight through the hazel brown of his eye and plunged him into another world entirely.

The sands of the moon glowed the purest white in the refracted light of the distant sun with which it waltzed.  He could see in crisp, shadowy relief the innumerable scars she bore, the depth and breadth of Ptolemaeus, the boundless lonely flatness of the maria, named for the oceans they were once thought to be, an insult to the rock plains forged a millennia ago in birth by cataclysmic fire.  Every crater remained wrought in perfect, frozen detail with no erosion or foliage to slowly heal them over, and she beamed them proudly, ostentatiously in her heavenly light.  A hulking, ancient protectorate, hung by the hands of creation at the dawn of time for a fledgling planet, hundreds of thousands of miles away, and yet so crystal clear and unafraid as he perused her millions of years of cosmic sentinel through a lens.  It was dwarfing, humbling, viscerally awe inspiring in a way he dared not voice for fear of snuffing out the fragile glow of wonder and excitement welling in his chest he had been so certain was gone forever.

Astronomy had never been something that had particularly interested Jon, back when his entire reality from the moment his childish hands had touched a single book was spent peering into shadows and watching his own back.  There was no point in wondering what lay among the stars when danger and death lurked so close behind with slavering jaws ever poised at his throat on terra firma, but now.  Now, he had been living in an alternate world, dimension, reality, somewhere, he couldn’t even say for sure.  He’d been hurled potentially through the very stars that twinkled coquettishly above, flashed through their nebulous veils and curtains under their indifferent gaseous gazes, but seen nothing.  Here was a vast expanse of complete chaotic indefiniteness inviting him in to see what few had ever seen, to guess and hypothesize and gesture wildly at secrets only the stars could keep.  To Know.

Jon had jerked back so suddenly from the telescope to survey the entirety of the astral dome above them that Martin had choked on his wine.

“Jon?  Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, I…” he’d murmured, only even half hearing that Martin had said anything at all, stars reflected in his wondering dark eyes, “I’m fine, I just… How… How much more can this see?  How deep does it go?”

Jon hadn’t seen the victorious smirk on Martin’s face as he set down his wine glass and picked up the instruction manual and lens guide.  They’d watched the rest of the eclipse, of course, marveling through the lens at the inky trickle of shadow over craggy white, but then they’d changed the lens to the strongest one, according to the guide, and spent the rest of the evening triangulating their position beneath their slice of the universe and plotting out the various stars, planets, and constellations above.  Jon had even dashed inside to grab a mostly blank notebook and had filled several pages with notes and observations and things to research later, all while Martin held back tears watching him come so alive over a project he didn’t even know he needed.  Eventually though, sleepiness and cold claimed him, and he kissed his beloved goodnight and left him, more than gladly, to ride out the intellectual flare up until it burnt both him and itself out.  

Martin had no clue what time it was when he finally returned, and it didn’t even matter.  All that mattered was at some point, a practically frozen Jon had climbed into bed, snuggled up close behind and wrapped his arms around him to kiss the back of his neck so softly like the wings of a butterfly and whisper.

“Thank you.”

Another victorious smirk and a loving murmur.

“Told you so.”

Where there had been nothing but an Eye shaped hole in him, scarred around the edges and aching in its vacuum, Jon had filled it with the names of nebulas and quasars, of the myth of Andromeda, and Orion, and Castor and Pollux, or Hercules, and why they had all been hung in the stars for eternity.  The stories were much the same as he remembered, but he’d found slight eccentricities, tiny irregularities in the sky which fascinated him even more so.  Night after night he would look at a different astral body, chart it down in his notebook, then come bounding in with starlight beaming from his eyes and his fingertips with some cry of eureka.

“Martin!  Did you know here Polaris is in the south and Sirius is in the north?”

“Martin!  Did you know the Andromeda Galaxy is actually a little closer to the Milky Way here?”

“Martin, you have to come see this!  Oh, no it’s not weird this time, it’s just I finally got Saturn in the telescope and you can actually see the rings!”

His nightly herald would always be different, but Martin would always rise from the comfort of the couch, put his slippers on, and let Jon talk as long as he needed to about his latest discovery, watching him smile again while he, too, watched the matching smile it never failed to ignite illuminate Martin’s face and they lit each other up in the fused brilliance of a binary star.

Martin no longer hung the moon for Jon, he’d finally just up and quite literally given it to him, and there was no mortal way to repay him for that.  Or so he’d thought.  It came to him, as most flashes of brilliance do, on a night he hadn’t even been thinking about it at all.  All he had been doing was sitting in a lawn chair with his telescope long after Martin had gone to bed, chewing his pencil idly, vaguely missing a cigarette and pondering notes on Vega and Lyra between watching it through his lens.  He’d been stuck for days on Vega and its potentiality for another solar system and what that could imply for their new Earth and their new sun, as well as Lyra and the tragic tale of Orpheus and his doomed love.  Even in their new reality he still turned back at the end of the story, still could not contain the roiling, effusive adoration to his own downfall.

Bitterness had risen like bile in the back of Jon’s throat as he replayed the myth again in his head, unsure why it was vexing him and rewinding in his brain so torturously.  “Stupid, stupid man, if he’d only just…” he’d thought again and again, each time giving the star-crossed musician a different decision, a different choice, urging him down another path somewhere, anywhere along his journey, but in the end, he’d always looped back around to the original.  It was the point of the story, after all.  Not so much the love itself or even the loss of it, but the power of it over one man and the creation born from his mourning and eventual destruction.  Patently Greek.  But the chorus would always begin again in Jon’s head.  If he’d kept his Eurydice, if his songs had been happy, if he hadn’t spent the rest of his life mourning so intensely he was eventually destroyed for it, would he have become the paragon of healing he was, the oracle, the lynchpin of the fate of the world he had eventually become?  Which of them was the stupider man?

Jon was only mortal now, he was no longer all-seeing oracle and dark savior, he had no authority to say, but it was a trifle easier to ponder the hubris of Orpheus instead of his own.  He couldn’t help but think, achingly, sometimes the heroes just deserved to pull their beloved from the pit of Tartarus, promise to love them for eternity, and then simply get married, ride off into the sunset, and live happily ever after.  A story wasn’t a story if it didn’t write itself upon the very bones and sinews of its heroes, that was the law of the universe, but when the story was done and the cracks and fissures in their tissues had faded to myth and legend, what became of the heroes who did not die a tragic or heroic death and were not hung in the stars?  What happened to heroes left behind?  Twisting his bloodstone ring on his thumb idly as it caught the shivering fire of those stars in its dark mirrored surface, the musical arrow of the muses pierced his heart, wide-eyed in wonder.  He’d asked the universe, but he already knew the answer.  He’d always known.  He knew, and he knew it with such clarion joy as he had never known anything before.

He could no longer be the man who hung Martin’s moon, he hadn’t been for a long time.  That much was clear to him, but he could certainly do something else.  Perhaps they had grown past the need for moon hangings in the first place.  He knew how their story ended.

It took months of saving, secreting, preparation, and then finally just simply waiting for the perfect, clear night.  The moment it came, the moment he knew it was the night, Jon struck without hesitation.  Poor Martin wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch, into Jon, when he returned from a late shift at the grocers, but found himself instead stuffed right back into his coat with a picnic basket in hand and hauled out into the frigid night in a flurry of Jon with little time to protest.  He bounded up the hill behind their little cottage beneath a perfect blanket of stars flaming coldly overhead, trailing Martin’s hand in his behind with his breath coming in silvery puffs of clouds, and paying no heed to the whining.

“Jon, whatever it is, does it have to be NOW?” Martin panted, “I am absolutely knackered and it’s beyond freezing and wouldn’t it be nicer just to curl up with a cuppa and fall asleep in front of Star Wars or something?  Doesn’t that have enough stars and space in it?”

Dauntless, Jon only tugged harder.

“There’s tea in the basket, and I’ve seen Star Wars.  And yes, it has to be tonight, it’s really important, I promise.”

“Look.  I love you.  So much.  You know this, and please know it is with the utmost love and deepest affection in my heart that I point out that you say that every time, and you’ve still shown me Pluto like, a hundred separate times.  While I quite like it, and I still feel sorry for it being bumped out of the solar system and all, it’s just a dot?  How many times can you look at a dot?” Martin sighed.

His words finally threw a caltrop into Jon’s warpath, and he paused, turning over his shoulder woundedly.

“What?  No, it’s not Pluto, I swear just- Please, Martin?  I’ll never ask again if you don’t want to, but just for tonight, please?” he pleaded.

Martin winced, and immediately folded under the onslaught of doleful honeyed brown eyes under a nimbus of stars.

“Oh, lord there you go with the puppy dog eyes.  Okay, okay fine, but there better be a nip of whiskey in this,” he chided lovingly with a gesture at the thermos in the basket.

The smile flared back to life brightly on Jon’s face as he turned back up the craggy little footpath to the top of the hill.

“Of course, hot toddy with tea.”

“Ooh, lovely, you do know me.”

The rest of the way was trivially short to the small, flat hilltop surrounded by heather where Jon had already set up a blanket and the telescope over a pristine vista of the dark line where the stars sank into the sea.  He ushered Martin to sit down first, then perched on his hip beside him and poured him a generous helping of tea and whiskey from the thermos before pouring his own.

“Thanks, much.  Right then, what exactly are we up here to look at that we couldn’t see from our garden?” Martin asked, accepting his cup of potent hot toddy and sipping it gratefully around the lemony steam that billowed up.

Taken aback by the sudden logic lobbed into the center of his romantic posturing, Jon looked momentarily stunned, as if someone had slapped him upside the head.

“Oh!  Oh, um, well-!  Ahah, that is to say- Uh.  There is a reason for all this.  It’s not that we couldn’t see it from our garden, we very much could have.  B-But it’s so beautiful up here, and you can kind of hear the sea?  And it’s nice and peaceful, and the heather is still blooming a bit and um…” he trailed off, cheeks burning.

“Okay…?” Martin probed, frowning a little.

“Er, actually...  It’s less about the stars than it is- W-Well it is about the stars.  Let’s get that clear.  But to be completely honest I mostly just… I-I well.  There’s something I need to tell you?”

Jon was ill-prepared for the look of abject horror on Martin’s face as he went paler than the moon overhead.

“Shit, what is it?  Did you find something?  You saw something?  There’s been a sign of The Fears?  Oh god it’s not HER is it?” he asked frantically, nearly slopping hot toddy all over his lap.

“What?  No!  No, none of that!” Jon spluttered, aghast.

Martin regained a modicum of color in his face and breathed in measuredly.

“Okay, so then what is it?  Oh god, you’re not… Jon you’re not ill, or something, are you?  Please, you can just tell me if-“

“No, I am not ill either, damn it, Martin!  If you would just listen to me!  I-!” Jon moaned exasperatedly, “I just wanted to do something… nice.  Something nice for you.  And nicer than I normally would because I am apparently much worse at crafting romantic moments than I thought and-“

“Wait…” Martin cut in, eyes gleaming with realization, “Jonathan Sims… Are you grand gesturing?”

“Well I am certainly trying but you are making it exceedingly difficult!” he retorted, red in the face and breathless.

“Oh my god, you are!  I’m so sorry!” Martin laughed brightly, “Oh god Jon you poor thing I’m so sorry, I’m awful, I’m the absolute worst!  No please!  Don’t let me spoil it.  Please go on.”

Grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead, Jon tried to summon the words again, only for Martin’s strong, warm hands to take it from him and tip his chin up to gaze into his eyes.

“Hey.  Hey, Jon.  Look at me,” he breathed, looking into his eyes idolatrously, “I’m sorry.  I love you.  You can tell me.”

Taking the steadiness from those clear blue depths he needed, Jon focused on them, on the strawberry blond curls tossing in the icy breeze, of the kiss of chilled pink under his freckles, and that eternal, sunshine smile.

“Okay,” he finally answered, smiling softly.

With a deep, shuddering breath, and a long swig of whiskey laced tea for good measure, Jon drew himself up and fished deep in his soul for the words he had waited a millennium to say.

“Okay… So here it is.  Um… I’ve um, I’ve had a lot of time alone lately with my new hobby, as it were.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  A lot of it is overly complicated and ridiculous and doesn’t deserve to live outside of my head but… a lot of it has been about you, about us.  And I know we don’t need to-to put a label on us or put us into a… a box or anything like that.  But every time I look at this ring on my finger, I can’t help but remember we never actually talked about what they meant,” he began, holding out his left hand and fidgeting with the loose band around his thumb.

“Oh Jon, don’t worry about that.  It was just me being a big sappy, sentimental dork.  And if I recall correctly, we’d had a pretty awful row a night or two before, and I just wanted to feel close to you again, I guess?  We both know what they mean to us.  It doesn’t matter,” Martin assured him sweetly.

“Except that it does!” Jon insisted passionately, “That’s the point!  You are a big sappy, sentimental dork, Martin.  I bet you were the kid that had a dream wedding all planned in a notebook with pictures cut out of magazines and everything.  I adore that about you, but big sappy sentimental dorks should have big sappy, sentimental moments like huge, expensive seaside weddings with three-flavor cakes and all your friends and family and rose petals and dove releases and whatever else your heart could dream up.”

Martin snickered and shook his head, charmed at least by the mental image of kissing Jon on a seaside cliff at sunset while doves flew in glorious formation around them and everyone they had ever known and loved cheered.

“Pfft, I don’t need a grand wedding and all that, I just need-”

“Me.  I know,” Jon finished for him with a smirk, “I knew you’d say that.  Maybe not.  But you deserve one.  And I know I don’t use that word lightly, but it’s necessary in this case.  You deserve it.  All of it.  Me on one knee with a ring in a box, you deserve us picking out flowers and tuxedos and arguing over the font on the invitations.  You deserve Tim’s awful bachelor party and laughing at me at the altar because I had to read my vows off a card and they’re still so stiff and awkward and they pale in comparison to the beautiful poem you wrote about me.  You deserve smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and crying as we exchange rings.  All of it.”

Martin weighed his words carefully on his tongue with a sip of his boozy tea to chase away ghosts of things that never even were.

“I mean, sure, not going to say I never wanted that.  And I did have that stupid wedding notebook, by the way.  But all that became a pipe dream the minute we wound up here, right?  No use being upset about something that can never be.”

“That may be so, but the crux of it is… you also contented yourself with the idea of it never coming true not because we’re here, but because you didn’t think I wanted it,” Jon answered, his unspoken truth hanging heavy in the chill night air between them, “Every time you tried to tell me you wanted to be with me forever, I brushed it off and painted it gray and tucked it away and carried on the way we always were like nothing happened and it didn’t matter.  Because it was alright, really, you were just so happy to have what we have, that I didn’t die in your arms that night, that we were still together after everything.  That I at least kept that promise after I’d broken so many.  You were so grateful just for what you were gifted after we thought we would end with nothing you didn’t dare think to ask the universe for more and I am so, so sorry it took me so long to see that, Martin.  I’m so sorry.”

His voice broke.  The breath caught in Martin’s chest as he reached out to touch his wrist comfortingly.

“Jon, I-“

“No, please.  Please let me finish I… I can’t give you any of those things.  I can’t give you our friends back, I can’t give you cake and doves and the sunset and crying through vows in front of the vicar.  I can’t even give you an elopement at the register office because we still don’t legally exist.  And I guess for a long time I resented myself for that.  For all of it.  For stealing that from you, for dragging you through literal hell only to give you a shadow of a life stuck here with me because I betrayed you.  But- no stop, don’t say anything yet I’m not done.  B-But now I finally realize.  You’re right, Martin.  You were always right.  It doesn’t matter.  Those things are all just… things.  I said to you once, a long time ago, and I’m still not even sure if you really heard me, that I didn’t want to just survive.  It was true then, and maybe it wasn’t true for a while, but it’s certainly true again.  We did not fight tooth and nail to just survive.  We fought to live, and live together.  So what I’m saying is… I know now I don’t have to give you tuxedos and white roses as long as I give you something… Something to prove to you that you are my everything, my entire world, something to show you that I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life.  That I want forever with you.  S-So I…” he trailed off, sucking in his breath to give his gesture of undying love the ardor and grandeur it deserved, “I bought us a star.”

The proclamation rang out like the toll of a bell, its gravity sonorous and quaking.  Martin blinked.

“You… I’m sorry?” he squeaked.

Jon set his empty thermos cup aside, flailed his hands in the air and shook his head frantically

“I-I know, I know it sounds mental just hear me out!” he protested, “Technically I didn’t buy the star, if we want to get picky about it.  I mean obviously no one can own a star.  Just the rights to name it?  It’s a thing you can do online.  I was a bit gobsmacked it was real to be honest.  I just had this silly idea when I was out looking at the stars.  I was looking at Lyra and thinking about you and Orpheus, and I… W-Well I just typed it in, ‘can you name a star?’ and it came right up.  Right then and there.  It um… comes with… hold on.”

Remembrance placed a gentle bookmark down on Jon’s fluttering thoughts, and he rummaged in the picnic basket for a moment before pulling out a navy-blue manila folder covered in stars and full of the paperwork and certificates that had come with registering theirs.  He handed it to Martin, who took it in place of his own empty cup, numb, muscles quivering under his jaw, and opened it to the glittering gold typeface that proclaimed ‘Congratulations!’.

“It comes with paperwork, too!  See?  So, it’s official, at least?  The Jon-Martin star.  Not a marriage license I know, but at least our names are together on something legal?  Our real names?  I figured even if we manage the fake identity thing we’d have to get married as not us.  Not really.  So…  I-It could be like our marriage certificate?” Jon explained, chewing his lower lip.

Martin said nothing as his hand turned the pages of the documentation, his eyes distant in a way Jon had never seen before.  Not disembodied and enthralled, not broken, not even regarding puzzle pieces.

“Oh!  Um, also I-I got us a binary star.  I forgot to mention that bit,” he went on, filling the sudden void, “It’s, ah- What a binary star is- It’s technically two?  But they’re caught up in each other’s gravity and they orbit each other so tightly they look like one star together, one that just shines a little brighter.  They’re bound together forever by the most powerful cosmic force in the universe.  Just like us.”

Only silence answered, punctuated by one last crisp whisper of paper, and then the folder closing with Martin’s spread fingers atop it, bloodstone gleaming in the vivid pale light of the night.  Jon’s heart pitched frantically in his chest, and desperate, stranded tears pricked at his eyes.

“I uh… I would have rather gotten us a whole constellation.  Heh, you know?  But they don’t do that, obviously,” he tried softly, his fingers barely brushing Martin’s knuckles, “They record heroes in constellations, after all.  Great deeds, doomed romances, lovers who can be together no other way… That would have been a better way to honor us, I think.  Our story.  A-And who knows?  Maybe back on our world there are a few new stars to remember what we did, to mark the place we left it, so that everyone we left behind can look up and remember us.  They don’t know how the story really ended, and they probably never will, but we do.  We do, and I want to end it right here, right now.  With our star shining above us ‘and they lived happily ever after.’”

Martin still said nothing, but his head bowed, casting a slice of shadow over his eyes, and his shoulders quivered as a thin, bright line of wet silver trickled down his cheek.  Jon felt the very sky shatter above and begin to crumble around him.

“Please… M-Make no mistake, Martin.  P-Perhaps the gesture is silly and meaningless, but it was all I could think to do to go with everything I’ve said tonight.  Martin… Martin, don’t you see?  These are my wedding vows to you.  This is me saying ‘I do’ and also ‘Martin K. Blackwood would you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the universe?’  All at once.  This is me saying I swear to you I will be yours, through everything, until the end of time.  M-Maybe I wasn’t before.  Maybe I was still punishing myself, but I’m telling you, I’m ready now to have my happily ever after.  With you, Martin.  If you’ll have me.  If I haven’t-“

He would never finish.  In a dizzying blur of blue folder, flashing hematite, and a wreath of golden curls, Martin kissed the words off his lips.  He kissed him so hard and so fierce, through wracking sobs with his hands woven so raptly into his long, wavy locks he thought his lips would bruise and his fragile soul would finally shatter to pieces in Martin’s arms.  Undone, all Jon could do was surrender and kiss him back with equal passion, thumbing away the hot tears as they spilled freely down his cheeks and anointed them both with their cleansing, hoary heat.  Their lips parted and they panted softly against each other in the space between, each afraid to break the sacred, pulsing silence.

“You’re crying,” Jon whispered at length, “I’ve said something wrong. Martin, darling I’m so sorry.  I never meant to-”

Martin laughed, raspy with tears, but ethereal, sparkling, like stardust floating on the breeze.

“People are allowed to cry when they’re happy you stupid, silly man,” he murmured in between kissing him again, and again.

“Oh.  Oh.”

He kissed him one last time, that idiot man who always burnt the toast and always knew the facts but never knew what to say, who finally figured it out and bought him a star, and threw his arms around him, enveloping his slight, fragile form protectively in his embrace.

“I love you.  I love you so much.”

Jon sank into that warm, familiar comfort and buried his face in his shoulder.

“I love you, too, Martin.  I want to be yours for the rest of my life.  I want to be me, I want to be us.”

“I know.  I’ve always known.  Oh god, you do know that right?  I know that you love me, it’s written in everything you do and say.  I have never, ever once doubted you love me with everything you are.  Even in the moments I was afraid that… that maybe we just weren’t meant to be together, I still knew it wouldn’t be because you didn’t love me.  Never because you didn’t love me.  Just maybe that we didn’t fit together anymore,” Martin replied in a small voice through his tears as they spilled down his cheeks.

As much as he wanted to vehemently deny there was ever a chance they might have not fit back together again after they had both been so shattered, to kiss him and tell him not in a million years would there ever have been a future where they weren’t Jon and Martin against the world, Jon knew it to be inescapably true.

“I’m so sorry you ever had to be afraid of that,” he swore, digging his fingers into Martin’s back pointedly, “After everything.  After we fought so hard to escape fear itself.  That I almost let it truly win in the end.  That I couldn’t just let go… Because… Because this was never about The Eye, was it?”

A heave of breath and its shuddering exhale shook Martin’s body free of lifetimes of grief, and fear, of ugliness carried far beyond the borders of their souls.  His fingers curled tighter in unspoken reply.

“No Jon, no it wasn’t, but I’m so very glad you finally figured that out.”

“Me, too…” he whispered.

They held each other in the quiet wake of being a moment and let the astral plane wheel calmly overhead.  An impatient star twinkled.

“Wait… you never answered me,” Jon finally said as he pulled back, sliding his elegant fingers down Martin’s strong arms.

“Huh?” Martin blurted, scrubbing under his eyes with the sleeve of his coat.

“About marrying me tonight.  You never actually said yes, so…”

A twinkle in his eye and a slight mischief to his grin, Jon dove back into the picnic basket and emerged with a velvet ring box.  Martin’s hands flew to his mouth.

“You didn’t.”

“Of course I did!  Nothing fancy, but I thought it was high time to retire the blood rings,” he explained rising from his former perch on his hip to kneel properly.

The box cracked neatly open, and inside lay a simple, white gold band with a tiny circle of milky moonstone embedded in it on a midnight-blue satin cushion, blindingly bright against the dark.  Martin sobbed joyfully all over again.

“So, uh… I suppose if it had just been us, if we’d just been together, without everything, and we’d arrived at this moment.  I would have done much the same.  I would have brought you somewhere beautiful, somewhere I could teach you some inane fact you didn’t actually care about, but liked because it came from me.  Emulsifiers in ice cream and rum raisin…” they both snickered, “And I would have tried my best to make it into some sort of romantic metaphor but completely bunged it up and you would be laughing as I got down on one knee, just like this.  And it would have just been simple.  To the point.  Just… Will you marry me?  So…”

Jon assumed the traditional position, on one knee, arms outstretched, his every slender point a star in a perfect constellation of love.

“Will you marry me?”

Their eyes met, across a thousand different realities, across a thousand different worlds, carried on celestial winds to fall hopelessly, inexorably, into each other’s orbit.

“Yes, yes I do believe I will.”

With one last farewell kiss upon it for what it had meant for them both, Jon slipped the bloodstone ring from Martin’s finger and replaced it with the delicate band made of starlight.  It took its place radiantly, and shone as Martin drew his hand back to admire it with an equally radiant grin before it dimmed with concern.

“But what about you?” he asked worriedly as he watched the old ring entombed lovingly in the box.

Jon only smirked and produced a second box from the basket, which he offered on his open palm out to Martin.

“Naturally, I got one for myself.  Couldn’t pass up a chance to get a wedding ring that actually fits, could I?  It’s just… Don’t you think you deserve to give it to me the way you would want?” he urged.

Martin took the box eagerly, biting his lower lip in thought.

“Not sure you want to give me that freedom.  I had about five different ways of asking you in my head and all of them you would have hated so, so much.  But I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t kind of the point,” he answered wryly.

Jon chortled.

“Sorry I, the unromantic one, sprung this on you, the romantic one.  But I did want to surprise you.  I-I mean you can still write me a vows poem later?  If you want to, of course.  I’d love to have it, even if I don’t actually get to hear it at our wedding.”

Martin’s face flushed immediate crimson and his eyes darted coyly away as he toyed with the wedding band box in his lap.

“Oh that?  A-Actually I… I have it memorized, i-if you really wanted to hear it.”

“You- WHAT?” gasped Jon, his cheeks flushing in tandem.

“Oh yeah, I wrote my vows poem for you ages ago and I’ve gone over it so many times I know it by heart.  It was comforting, okay?  I-I’d read it again when times were good and I thought maybe you’d actually- um… a-and when times were not so good, when you were gone, in your own head, when I was afraid we were broken for good, whenever I needed it.  I’ve read it over a thousand times and never changed a thing from the first time I penned it.  Never needed to.  I’m surprised I haven’t recited it in my sleep at this point,” Martin admitted sheepishly.

Jon’s entire body flushed with a solar heat that melted his joints and his heart into a swirling flare of adulation.

“I can think of no better way, then, to receive my ring,” he breathed, reaching out to cup Martin’s cheek in his hand, “I’ve had my turn, now it’s yours.”

In mirror ballets of love exchanges, Martin cradled Jon’s hand against his cheek as he spoke the first lines of the vows etched ever on his being softly into his palm.

“Let he who, shadow dwelling, must In paper, pen, and book be bound Shake off the chains of dark and rust And chart his own bright fate unfound.

Let he with lifelong burdens borne Cut paper wings with thread of gold And hand in hand, the sky forsworn Flit clouds and sun in laughter bold.

Let he whose blood and soldier’s ken The world did shield from dark and fear Heal fast those wounds, be whole again And sleep at last, held close and dear.

Bring him to me with spirit free With stars in eyes and music sung From lips a joyful promise be One soul conjoined, one fate’s thread strung.

Two hearts rejoice in love renowned. We lift our heads, alive, uncrowned.”

He waited until the last couplet to pull the ring from the box and slide it onto Jon’s finger where it too, fit perfectly, like it had always been there, and shone defiantly bright in the moonlight.  Jon wept.  He had been weeping since the first words of verse left his beloved’s lips, but seeing that ring like a piece of his missing soul returned to him undammed the tears effusively.

“God that was… Martin, I don’t have words.  I-It was… so beautiful.  You’re so beautiful.  Thank you,” he cried fervently, “I wish I could tell you properly how much that meant, but I just-“

“Hey… That’s alright.  I’m the words guy.  You’re the emulsifiers guy.  Making you cry is all I need to see to know how you feel,” Martin assured him warmly, reaching out to brush his tears away as he chuckled.

“Yeah… add this one to the running tally.”

“Oh, I have,” Martin snickered, “Speaking of!  Now we’ve done the crying through vows bit.  Shouldn’t we say the ‘I do’ bit, as well?”

Jon pursed his lips with a shrug as he reached out with his left hand to take Martin’s left as well, twining their fingers together

“Yes, I suppose we should.  I don’t see why not.  Well then, Martin, do you?”

“I do.  And Jon, do you?”

“I do.”

“You may now soundly snog the groom.”

“Martin…”

The emphatic drawl of his name the way Jon only called it when he was frustratingly enamored of him perished gently against Martin’s velvet lips as they caressed his.  They kissed slowly and reverently, sealing a pact ordained by the heavens long before either of them had seen the stars in the other’s eyes, lighting with white flame the torch to guide them for the first time, forward.  They broke it only to punctuate it with two more featherlight kisses and a breathless laugh, bowing their foreheads together in deference to the forces of fate and the universe.

“I know this isn’t the wedding either of us ever dreamed of, but as far as I’m concerned, it was perfect,” Jon murmured, nuzzling closer into his husband, swaddling the new, fledgling and beautiful word in his heart.

“Well, hey, what is a wedding really other than just a formal declaration that this is it?  This is us, we’re forever, no matter what.  We did it.  And you did it for me, in the STARS, Jon… Can we just remember that again?  You put us in the actual stars.  I am so writing a ballad for our constellation later, you do know this.”

“Oh lord.  Of course you are.  But really, it was the least I could do, after you’ve done so much for me, sacrificed everything for me.  Waited for me for so long.”

“And you came back to me,” Martin reminded him passionately, “And I don’t just mean back to life, here, in this world.  I mean you came back, Jon, MY Jon, the Jon I was in love with the moment I laid eyes on him.  The fidgety and obstinate Jon who can’t make a decent cup of tea to save his life, who puts on two different socks in the morning because his nose is already in the paper or a book, who teaches me about bleeding rocks and binary stars and still reacts to the simplest acts of kindness like a warm cranberry orange scone without asking for one like they’re divine miracles he is undeserving of, who looks at me like I hung the moon or something every time.  Even when I thought I was a complete and total waste of a human being, you, Jonathan Sims, the most beautiful, amazing, brilliant man to ever walk the Earth, looked at me like I hung the moon.  And that was… Still is… everything to me.”

The heavens shifted, the stars wheeled, the last piece clicked smartly, smugly into place.

“W-What did you say…?” Jon asked with such urgency, grabbing his hands so fiercely, Martin startled.

“Wh-I-I don’t-?  Which part?  The moon hanging part?” he stuttered, rolling his eyes fondly as he realized mid-sentence, “Oh, right.  Ugh, Jon are you seriously going to get after me about your weird vendetta against idioms at our wedding?  Because if you are that would be annoyingly adorable and so intensely you and kind of perfect, but also can you not on THIS particular occasion?”

The laugh that tore from Jon’s throat was half mad, half euphoric as the weight of the moon lifted from his shoulders and became naught but an indifferent sentinel disc in the sky once more.

“No no no, it’s just… It’s funny, I had more than a few things very, very wrong for a very, very long time.  That’s all.  Don’t worry about it,” he explained, leaning in and pressing a delicate kiss to Martin’s forehead, “If you’re the one who hung the moon after all, then I suppose ‘written in the stars’ will have to do for me.”

Martin lit up with literary glee.

“Oh ho!  Two space related idioms in one go?  What a rare treat!  Maybe this is your gateway drug into puns…” he teased impishly.

“Absolutely no chance in hell.”

They both laughed, laughed with the billowing icy breath that reached with victorious fingers up to the heavens.  They laughed, messily sniffing back the pesky drip of tears and cold.  They laughed with lightness of the encumbrance of hematite armor shed, its bloody protections no longer needed to cage wounded hearts and keep them safe and close.  They laughed in breath and also in the dancing points of light in their eyes as they fell into one another free from gravity.

“So uh… Do I get to see my star tonight, or don’t I?” Martin finally remembered, relishing the utterly horrified yelp from Jon.

“Oh god I completely-!  Y-Yes!  Yes of course, it’s already set up at the proper coordinates!” he had already sprung to his feet, “Oh, though, hang on, it took longer to get to the star viewing part than I anticipated, so I might need to adjust it a bit.  Oh!  And I have a little strawberries and champagne, if you like?”

“I do like, please and thank you!”

Jon set to readjusting the telescope to the proper ascension and declination while Martin poured them two glasses of crisply bubbling champagne.  They twined their arms to drink a toast from each other’s glass, ‘to us’ or ‘to happily ever afters’, or to several other messily rambled toast worthy sentiments.  They couldn’t decide and toasted to all of it.  They ate plump red strawberries and licked the juice from each other’s fingers as they looked at their star, which was, after everything, just a dot, just like Pluto, but Martin had to admit that he rather liked looking at dots after all.  And that one was their dot.  The warm intoxication of love and champagne begged for music, and someone fumbled in the cold for a wedding playlist on some app, somewhere, it didn’t matter, just as long as they could join hands, gaze into each other’s eyes and dance inelegantly, stepping on each other’s toes, under the umbrella of stars in a gentle rain of moonlight.

“I don’t see your problem with cliches, idioms and all that, really…” Martin mused at length, laying his head on Jon’s shoulder as they slowly spun to the rhythm of a longing ballad and the song of the sea, “Like this stupid, great song.  They’re familiar and cozy and everyone knows them.  They’re like… like old friends.  Always there to rely on when we can’t come up with the words ourselves, because sometimes we can’t.  And if something trite and silly sums up the way you feel, why not just let it be?  Sometimes things are said over and over again because some truths are universal, you know?  They’re just… human.”

Jon pressed a kiss into the mop of curls that tickled his nose and smelled faintly of toasted sugar and lavender and mused on all of the romantic cliches that had just passed through his mind unbidden.  Who was he to deny he was but one star in the sky, a single gear in the grand mortal mechanism of the universe.  If he had handed himself over to the humanity of it all instead of rusting, stopping, looking outside where there was never anything to see, perhaps he could have had this dance much sooner.  It didn’t matter though, until it did, because that night Martin took his breath away, made his world go round, he was head over heels for his match made in heaven, and better than heaven, they were written in the stars.

“You know what, Martin?” Jon laughed in reply, “Tonight, being what it is, I am willing to concede.  You are absolutely right.”

“I’m glad…” came the tender acceptance, followed by a distinctly puckish beat of silence, “Then does this mean I can I start saying love you to the moon and back?”

“Don’t push your luck...”

[lilallama]

hello! i reaaaaally really reaaalllllyyyy love your writing! I'd like to know how both clubs would react to their beloved texting them? it could be anything you want! I trust your creative mind:D i hope you're doing well~(´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`)

[Thank you so much, cinnamon bun ❤ that makes me really happy ^^. I'm doing very good, I hope you do too. Hobis picture didn't fit on here (TT), so I will post it by itself. 💕🍑]

Hoseok

The young boy layed on his silk sheets, on his four thousand dollar mahogany bed, while drowning in the sounds of his best friend. On his phone he kept repeatedly playing the recordings of their calls. Hearing their voice felt like heaven to him, if he could he'd make them talk forever just so he could dwell in the sound of their voice. Suddenly his euphoria was interrupted by a notification.

Y/n 💕

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

He sat up and put on his glasses. Yes, it really was Y/n. Although they consider him a best friend, Hoseok still cannot stop his heart from racing in his chest. He quickly typed an answer and jumped up to send them a picture of his finnished work.

Seokjin

With his soft black hair pulled back my a fluffy, pink headband and him wearing an evenly fluffy but white bathrobe, he sat in his private bathroom and applied his expensive skincare products. He hummed and sang a bit [I love you, Y/n~] before being interrupted by his phone notifying him that he got a message.

Prince/ss 👑

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

He immediately threw his fifty dollar "protection and hydration, for a longer lasting youthful look" cream away and hurried to type back. Why should his love have to do homework, when he'll have one of his butlers do it for them. Silly Y/n.

Yoongi

The newest Rap music blasting in his ears, Yoongi hugged a photo of Y/n, his gorgeous [not yet] lover, to his chest. He dispises most of the new music. It's all money, sex and parties, none of which has anything to do with him. He's an anti social virgin, who has to work two part time jobs to be able to provide for himself and his alcoholic mother. But in that moment he didn't care. The sobs escaping his mouth got interrupted by a notification, no one ever texts him.

Angel 🎶

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

His red, watery eyes widen. They actually wrote him. They noticed little, boring him. Without thinking he typed a response and made his way to give them what they asked for.

Namjoon

The sound of a pen scraping against paper, leavibg behing dark blue, inky lines that are formed into neat writings. As student council president, Namjoon made sure to set an example to everyone. Diligent, devoted, intelligent, responsible Namjoon. Just as the last sentence was brought to an end, a notification popped up on his phone. He was going to ignore the message, but then spotted the name of the sender.

Darling ❤

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

His pen rolled out of his hand and hit the polished floor of his room. His love just texted him. They asked for his help! Is he dreaming? He must be. Oh, how he longed for such a moment. He can finally be useful to his darling.

Jimin

The music came to a stop and so did Jimin. He pushed his pink hair out of his sweaty face, while whiping some of the sweat away with his already soaked shirt. The white fabric sticking uncomfortably to his body as he tried to catch his breath. After all there's no time for breaks, he has to impress his baby with his skills! But before he could start the music again, his phone buzzed in his backpack. He walked across the practice room with an annoyed look on his face.

Baby 🥰

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

Jimins vision went hazy for a second and he lost balance. Now on the floor, he still stared at the message. His face flushed even more than before while thinking about their cute face, distraught at having forgotten the homework. He smiled and took a picture of him winking, making sure to take it so they could see his sweaty shirt, stuck to his back in the mirror. He'll send you it once he gets home, until then how about you talk for a bit?

Taehyung

The artistic boy kept his eyes on the canvas before him. His apron had multiple dried up colour stains, while fresh paint coated his fingertips. Some of the paint got smushed on his face as he brushed his bangs aside, while sone of the paint also got stuck in his locks as he tied them into a small bun. He stepped back, the painted face of his love smiling back at him made him break out into a lovestruck boxy grin. But then his phone buzzed and his smile immediately disappeared.

God/dess 🌹

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

With his mouth slightly agape, his almond eyes stared at the slightly stained screen. Was he imagining things, was his god/goddess really giving him the chance to serve them. After a few seconds he snapped out of it and hurried to grab his homework.

Jeongguk

In the dark of the night, Jeongguk slouched through the streets. He just got in a fight, boxed the guy so hard that he broke his nose, arm and maybe a rib, just to leave that pathetic, shaking pile of shit whimpering on the ground. As the streetlights softly shone down on him, illuminating his face, he received a message.

Spouse 💍

Have you got the homework for today?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

He stopped in his tracks. A cold wind surrounded him, messing up his hair even more. A bright smile appeared on his face, revealing his bunny like teeth. After jumping around and twirling once or twice he stopped to reply. He couldn't repress the laugh that escaped his dry throat. Now he only has to hurry home!

Jennie

She was feasting with her parents at the gisnt dinner table, but they completely disregarded her existence, only having eyes for each other. She chuckled and cleared her throat, catching her parents attention who bashfully laughed along with her. Jennies parents are exactly how she wishes her future marriage to be. They started talking when her phone notified her of a message.

Y/nie 😘

Have you got the homework for today, girl?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

Before her mother could scold her on her lack of etiquette, she squealed in a high pitched note, that her Y/n just texted her. Of course, her parents knew about you as well as her feelings for you, they were the exact same when they were younger. They sighed lovingly and huddled together while their daughter excitedly texted her love.

Jisoo

Just a few minutes ago, she was busy going through all her Y/n pictures that have she took these past months [5732, not counting her digital copies]. She was just brushing her silky black hair when her phone let out that obnoxious tone. Jisoo snapped around to her phone on her bed, her 20th one this month [her phone keeps running out of storage room from all her photos, yet she refuses to delete any. So she just gets a new one once her current runs out if storage]. She looked at the screen.

My Muse

Have you got the homework for today, girl?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

As soon as she read these messages, her expression brightened. He brush was thrown into a corner of her big room, making a clack sound as it hit the tiles. In a matter of seconds she typed her answer and send you the homework, as you requested.

Chaeyoung

Soft, gentle fingers stoked the strings on a wooden guitar, filling the room with a sweet melody. An angelic voice joined the guitar play, creating a fairytale like song. As it slowly came to an end, the girl to whom that angelic voice belongs, leans over to her nightstand, grabbing her phone. With longing eyes she stared at the screen while muttering please under her breath. Just then, she received a text message.

My Lovely Y/n 😊

Have you got the homework for today, girl?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

She jumped up, placing the guitar on her bed while dancing around. Her eyes, filled with love and adoration, focused on the text. She took a screenshot and replied while singing out of happiness.

Lisa

After she had finished her last pirouette for the day, she scated off the ice to remove her scates. The young girl sat on the cold bench, letting her hair out of her bun, to flow over her shoulders in smooth waves. While removing her skates, she received a notification on her phone.

Sweetheart 🌸

Have you got the homework for today, girl?

If yes, could you please tell me, thanks.

Lisa smiled as she exchanged her ice skates for a pair of warm boots and placed them back to where they belong. While texting her love, she walked out with poise and flipped her hair back. Of course her love would rely on her. She is the most trustworthy person after all.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Black lace and property damage

Summary: With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side. Bucky’s officially starting to panic.  

Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: SMUT, 18+. Sweet sex, awkward sex, some dirty sex, some sex on a car. Basically sex. Swearing. Bucky wearing a white t-shirt and dog tags. My sketchy automotive knowledge.

A/N: This story is sort of an ode to anyone struggling to make time for your person. Life gets busy, so don’t be afraid to get creative. Also sometimes sex goes smooth and perfect, but often it comes with mishaps and giggles. Both ways are great, Bucky says just roll with it!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

The porch light above the front door is out.

Was he supposed to change that before he left?

--

“I’m not touching it Bucky, there are spiders up there. Big ones. The kind that give you rabies.”

“Spiders don’t have rabies.”

“No one’s ever proven that.”

--

Dammit. Yeah, he was.

Picturing you stumbling up the porch, using the pathetic flashlight on your phone to light the way, Bucky feels like a world class, Grade A jackass. He needs to make it up to you.

Good thing he has plenty of ideas for that.

“Please be home,” he mutters, “please be home, please dear god be fucking home.”

Fingers crossed, he kicks the door open and calls out a hopeful hello.

An empty echo returns.

Bucky blows out a frustrated breath.

Figures.

Slogging down the dark hallway, he slings his bag on the kitchen table with a thud. Grenade pins, bullet casings, fun size candy bar wrappers, and handfuls of beer bottle caps rattle loose in the army green canvas and he grimaces.

One of these days, maybe, just fucking maybe, he’ll convince Natasha to stop using his bags as her garbage bin.

Ignoring that disaster zone (a problem for future Bucky), he wanders over to the sink, where he spies a small tableau on the counter. Propped up beside his favorite coffee mug, the one with sparkly pink letters proclaiming “Bitch, I’m Fabulous”, is a folded piece of paper, his name scrawled across the front.

He flips it open.

“Hey Bucky Bear. Don’t let your sexy ass fall asleep before I get home, I have a surprise!”

Drawn under your bubbly letters, he finds two stick figures entangled in an outrageously lewd sex act. Tracing tender fingers over the very obviously male stick figure (you never were very subtle), he grins so hard his cheeks ache. Leaning on the counter, he sniffs the letter because he’s a sentimental sap and it smells like your Cherry-Almond lotion, and drops his head in his arms.

“So tired,” he whines softly, voice muffled against sleek granite.

Three weeks. That was the last mission. Three weeks, even though Steve guaranteed Bucky three days max. Of course, two days into the mission Bucky remembered that Steve Rogers is an accomplished liar, so instead he spent three exhausting weeks dodging bullets, rewashing all his underwear, and hysterically rationing his bag of fun size candy bars.

Finally home, he wants to forget everything and sink into the post-mission domesticity he dreams about when he’s stuck in some dank motel on the corner of Fuck This and No One Cares. The routine is simple. A scalding hot shower, burrito wrapping himself in the feather duvet, making out with you for a few hours, taking a break to eat some pizza, and then fucking you so hard he breaks the brand new headboard he made for you last month (actually the third headboard he’s made...a fact he smugly reports to anyone and everyone).

And after all that fun, he wants to sleep. Maybe two full days. Or five. Tops.

Is that asking too much?

“No,” he sighs out loud. “It’s not.”

Carefully folding the cartoon and your sweet message, he kisses the paper and tucks it in his back pocket.

No way he’s falling asleep before he sees you. Nope. Nada. Negative. Totally not happening.

Pepping himself up, he goes to work, whizzing through his homecoming task list.

Blood-stained tac clothes go in the washer with three cups of bleach. Guns and knives are wiped down and polished. The contents of the dirty green canvas bag are unceremoniously trashed. The spider infested porch light is changed (with only three furry sightings). The shower is set to a blistering temp and he hangs out in there for an hour, soaping his hair into a foamy mohawk, belting out a few showtunes with his shampoo bottle microphone.

Scrubbed fresh and clean, he flops on the bed with his Starkpad and opens up Netflix, searching for something to keep him awake. Several scrolls later, he finds Brooklyn 99 and settles in for a laugh.

Confident in his ability to resist the appealing pull of sleep scratching at his brain, he takes a slurp of the Super Double Big Gulp sized coffee on his nightstand and stretches his eyes wide open.

Staying awake. Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*****

When his eyes pop open, the room is dark. He feels tipsy, sleep drunk on his first uninterrupted hours of rest in weeks.

Beside him, he feels the cozy pressure of another body. Glancing down, he finds you curled under the sheets at his side, your face smushed against his arm, steady breaths fogging the gleaming metal.

Asleep.

Bucky grits his teeth. Squeezes his eyes shut. One thing. You asked him to do one thing.

God. Dammit.

Furious with his lame old man ass, he almost wakes you up. Almost. But then he swallows that desire and thinks.

Before he got married, Bucky read every relationship advice book under the sun. He gets the importance of keeping the romance alive. He knows you need to cherish your person, make them a priority, shower them with love. He knows. He gets it. He watches Oprah, for fuck’s sake. Relationships take work.

But lately? This is life.

With your messy work hours, Bucky’s consistently inconsistent mission schedule, and those basic life tasks you’re both ignoring (when was the last time he actually bought a new toothbrush?), the simple act of just being together has been shunted to the side.

Bucky’s officially starting to panic.

Although, he muses, eyes lingering on the innocent curve of your mouth, the chaos has forced both of you to get more…creative.

He grins.

It was you who instigated it the first time. He was lying in a dingy motel bed when you nervously offered.

--

“Hey, um…do think maybe you’d…like…would you…uh…”

“Spit it out babe.”

“Doyouwannatryphonesex?”

--

An anxious slur so fast, he nearly misses the question. He remembers that beat of hesitation, before you dove in headfirst, telling him in obscenely explicit detail exactly what you wanted to do to him. He was so shocked he dropped the phone and had to naked crawl under the grimy mattress to fish it out.

He must’ve jerked off five times that night. Replaying your filthy words. Remembering the quiet whimpers as you came on your fingers, gasping out his name. What a treat.

Sexting soon followed, accompanied by a plethora of nudes. None from you of course, because as you always remind him, you’re a lady, but Bucky? He gets irrational joy from sending them. They come in a variety of close-ups and poses, several which Sam accidentally discovered when he walked in on Bucky prancing around naked, searching for his best angle.

Sam always knocks now.

But sometimes words and pictures aren’t enough. Sometimes you need the soothing weight of someone in your arms. The scent of sweaty skin beneath your nose. Hot breaths of pleasure in your ear and the touch of a cool tongue licking across a heated body.

Sometimes he just needs you.

Could he wake you up? Sure. He knows you wouldn’t mind, you’ve told him a thousand times. But he also knows how tired you’ve been, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake, selfishly stealing those bits of recovery you need.

So instead, he searches for something to keep him occupied.

He tries reading Game of Thrones again and gets nowhere. Thinks yet again someone needs to get George R.R. Martin an editor.

He flicks on his phone and covertly watches PornHub on mute. Seriously debates whether he can get away with jerking off while you’re sleeping because hey, Bucky Barnes is nothing if not stealthy.

He stares up at the ceiling and tries to see how long he can hold his breath. He gets 2 minutes and 8 seconds (a new record) before giving up.

In the end, he rolls onto his side stares intently at you. Wills you to wake up on your own. Come on baby, please.

But nothing works, and when sleep still doesn’t come, he decides to be productive. Crawling carefully from the bed, he smothers a laugh when you curl instantly into the warm mattress dip of his body, burrowing further under the blankets and unconsciously stealing his pillow. Most mornings Bucky wakes up hanging off the bed, no blankets or pillows to his name, while you’re swathed in comfort, cold toes shoved beneath his belly.

Maybe he should be annoyed. Except every time he looks at you, he forgets how to scowl.

Love is weird.

Rummaging silently through the closet, he unearths a threadbare pair of jeans and an oil stained t-shirt, slips into his worn leather boots. He drops a light kiss on your forehead, brushing a finger down the curve of your neck. Smiles to himself when you snuffle a quiet snore.

And he heads out the backdoor, down the weatherworn brick to the garage out back.

It was an added bonus when he bought the house. An unanticipated domestic perk. Hell, he never thought he’d find someone would actually date him, let alone someone who wanted to marry him and buy a house with him and accept his penchant for hoarding things in a rickety old garage (come on, I grew up in the Depression and I need this, he whines every time you take him to Target).  

Thank god you said yes. He’s the luckiest jerk in the world.

Flicking on the garage light, Bucky still gets a little thrill. The entire place is an homage to eclectic, random artifacts, from the box of ugly 1970s vases he found at a flea market, to the fishing equipment he insisted on buying and has yet to use, to the sack of broken seashells you drunkenly collected on your honeymoon in Costa Rica.

In the midst of the swirl sits his pride and joy. Cherry red paint, black leather seats, a tad dusty, full of potential.

The 1969 Camaro looks like a teenage wet dream.

He remembers the day he brought it home, that surge of macho pride when your eyes lit up. After you slapped his ass and told him how sexy the car was, he reveled in your admiration for maybe 10 seconds, before hauling you back to the house and under the sheets. Took several hours before you both came up for air.

That was a good time, he thinks dreamily.

The car attracted his friends as well. Sam and Steve brought over a celebratory case of beer and stood by while Bucky explained the changes he had planned. Steve gave a few sage nods, while Sam helpfully threw out words like fuel injector now and then. Neither had a fucking clue what was happening, but Bucky graciously let them fake it.

Tony also saw the car once. Got a fervent gleam in his eye and started to say the phrase jet fuel, before Bucky ushered him out the door. Tony doesn’t get to see the car anymore.

There are still plenty of fixes to make, but for tonight he takes it easy. Flips on the ancient radio perched above the workbench and flops down on a rolling seat, sliding under the Camaro to tinker around. He goes to work, lets the crackle of the radio and the mechanical puzzle lull him into focus mode.  

So intent on the task at hand, he barely hears the garage door opening.

The click of a shoe alerts him too late and he freezes, gripping his wrench tight. Muscles tense, garage floor plans and fight scenarios flooding his brain.

“Bucky? Do you have a sec?”

His breath whooshes in relief at your voice. A silly grin bubbles up because you’re finally awake, until he tilts his head sideways, peering out from under the car to see your feet.

Black high heels.

Stomach sinking, Bucky closes his eyes. Back to work then. Motherfucker. He missed his chance again.

Swallowing down the bitter disappointment, he croaks out a plea.

“Hey babe, do you gotta go back to the office so soon? Can you just - “

Click click and you step between his legs. Firm hands clutch the oil stained fabric at his knees and you pull. The seat rolls easily and he slides free, squinting up at you in the dim light.

The words die on his lips.

Black high heels, yes.

And.

Lacy black underwear, the sides held together with thick satin ribbons. A lacy black bra, your breasts threatening to spill out.

Gorgeous, devilish smile.

Fingering the wide satin bow between your breasts, you tease a light tug and Bucky starts sweating like a virgin on prom night. His wrench slips from numb fingers, thunking him in the nuts and clattering away.

“Shit,” he grunts. There’s a moment of confusion on whether the fresh ache in his balls is from the punch of the wrench, or tantalizing swathes of skin before him, but then you say his name and he figures it out pretty fucking fast.

“Hey Bucky Bear,” you purr, in that raspy voice he loves. “Still want that surprise I promised?”

Palming himself roughly, Bucky adjusts the suddenly tight front of his jeans, eyeing you with a lusty smile. Fuck yes, he wants his surprise. He wants everything about you.

“You bet your sweet ass I do. What’d you have in mind?”

“I have some ideas,” you say playfully. Stepping closer, slipping your fingers into his silky hair, he leans into the touch. “And I promise we’ll get to them. But first, how about you stay down there and maybe show me how much you missed me?”

Torn, Bucky looks down at his oil stained fingers. They spasm, clutching the edge of the seat so tight the metal bends. His voice drops several octaves.

“Babe, I - shit, I’m gonna kill the mood here, but my hands are all dirty, I should wash ‘em first,” he apologizes. Rolling your eyes, you shift closer until the edge of his nose is a mere inch from the delicate lace panties.

“I’m not asking for your hands, soldier. You have a mouth. Get creative.”

Bucky’s jaw drops. Sassy and domineering? And nearly naked?

Hell yes, his dick shouts. Here we fucking go.

Warm and cool, tentative fingertips press into the smooth skin behind your knees, stroking higher until he’s plucking the satin ribbons and pulling. It feels like Christmas morning when the knot slowly breaks apart, whispers of satin and lace floating to the ground.

Nosing against your core, he inhales, long and deep. A low growl rumbles, rough hands gripping your hips tight and heat explodes across your skin when his tongue presses into your folds, licking over your clit.

“God,” your moan is dark, desperately breathless, “keep - that feels so good, Bucky, keep going, please, been way too long.”

Bucky gives a fervent nod of agreement, strands of his dark hair tickling your thighs. When was the last time he did this? Nah, you know what? If he has to ask, it’s been too long.

From now on, the only correct answer should be every damn day.

He feels you moving his head, guiding him exactly where you need him most, and he hums hungrily. Shoves his tongue deeper. He adores when you take charge, using him, his mouth or his fingers or his dick, to get yourself off. He loves it, dreams about it, wishes you would let him film it just one time (because sometimes missions last three weeks not three days Steve).

But until then, he devotes himself to making it perfect because you deserve perfect.

Fast, firm flicks of the tongue. Long, leisurely strokes, licking you slow and sweet. Rough pressure, his plush pink lips sucking tight around your clit. So good.

Your eyes fall closed as his tongue moves faster, quicker, pushing you closer closer closer -  

No, that won’t do. Cold metal lightly pinches your ass, a bid for attention. Chest heaving, you open your eyes.

Bright eyed and eager, Bucky gazes up from between your legs, looking thoroughly debauched. White t-shirt stretched tight across broad shoulders, dark hair mussed in your fingers, an obvious erection straining his jeans.

So close, you’re so close, right on the edge, just another second -

He knows, of course. Could always play you like a fiddle. He cocks a challenging eyebrow, sucks your clit between his teeth -

“Oh god, Bucky, fuck,” you moan. Weak knees buckle and his hands clutch your ass, keeping you upright and open. He never stops licking, swirling that talented tongue to draw out the bursts and shocks of pleasure until you’re gasping. When he’s wrung every drop from you, he kisses the sensitive bud and tips his head back with an arrogant smirk.

Legs like jelly, you promptly collapse into his lap.

The momentum of the fall sends the rolling seat flying. Busy being chivalrous and keeping you from tumbling headfirst onto dirty concrete, Bucky lets the wheels send him whizzing backward. His head smacks the door handle with a sharp thwack.

“Ow,” he grunts.

“Sorry,” you pant. Struggling for breath, wrapped in the haze of post orgasm bliss, you cuddle against him, soaking up his warmth. “Want me to rub it?”

Massaging his head, he wrinkles his nose. “Maybe. Depends on what you’re offering to rub.”

“Dealer’s choice,” you sass, and Bucky barks out a laugh. Wandering hands skim lightly over your shoulders, fingering the straps of the lacy bra, feather light trails along your collarbone, to the satin bow between your breaks. Tugging impatiently, he smiles when it unwinds, your breasts spilling free.

“Well, how about I take my pants off, we get in the backseat of this car, and you rub whatever you find.”

“Intriguing. What happens after I finish rubbing whatever…pokes my fancy?”

Bucky dips his head, takes your nipple between his lips, sucking gently. The feel of his wet mouth has you squirming closer until he pauses to offer an option.

“Maybe we fuck like a couple horny teenagers?”

“You’re killing me with the romance here, Barnes,” you say drily and he chuckles. “But I was maybe thinking something different.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Licking a lazy strip between your breasts, he kisses up, up, up, until his tongue finds the hammering pulse of your heartbeat. Bemused, he hears your voice falter, before bravely offering your idea.

“I was thinking maybe I sit on the hood of your pretty red car, and – and you spread my legs and fuck me so good, I can’t walk for a week.”

Startled, Bucky pulls back. Excitement explodes in his chest.

“You - really? Seriously? That’s what you want?”

“Yep,” you confirm, palpable relief at successfully executing the dirty request. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Bucky plants a sloppy kiss on the tip of your nose. Wiggles his eyebrows and winks.

“Well god damn. You got it sweet cheeks.”

Wasting no time, he pushes off the ground and you kick your heels off, wrapping your legs around his waist. He huffs out a blissful moan when you suck a string of hickeys down his neck, grinding against you as he stumbles to the front of the car. Without thinking, he drops you on the shiny red hood and -

“Cold!”

Icy metal meets your bare ass. There’s a panicked scramble back into his arms and he manages to catch you, until your flailing upper cut cracks his jaw. It sends him off balance, tripping forward to smack his kneecaps on the Camaro’s fancy new grill. A grating screech tears the air and the grill rattles to the floor, the metallic clang bouncing off the walls.

Flinching, you peer up at him as it fades away.

Bucky’s nose twitches.

In all his fantasies (and there are many, because you are one sexy piece of ass), this shit never happens. Every sexcapade is effortlessly smooth, sensual and steamy, where you both look great, not a hair out of place, no oil-stained hands or unintended destruction of expensive vintage cars.

In reality, it seems like something always goes sideways. One of his nipples gets gouged by your fingernail or the silk from your negligee gets caught in the plates of his arm, or one of his perfectly aimed thrusts sends you both toppling off the bed. Sometimes he wonders if this is just the two of you? Do other people have perfectly orchestrated sex lives? Is porn not a true mirror of real life?

Is porn a lie?

Maybe he should watch more porn and form a more educated opinion.

For now, he takes in your crestfallen expression, vehemently shaking his head when you try to apologize.

“Buck, I’m sorry, I -“

Holding up a stern hand, he stops you cold. Sets you on your feet, gallantly whipping off his shirt, and spreading it on the shiny red paint. This time when he sets you on the hood, you lay back until the familiar scent of his cologne hugs you close. Bucky lifts your feet, propping each on the hood, spreading your legs open. He leans in close, a pink flush spreading over his chest, crawling up his throat, blue eyes turning dark.  

“Listen to me. Don’t ever apologize, okay? You’re worth more than this old junker.” A crooked smile tilts his mouth, his voice as soft as the lips now brushing yours. “You’re priceless. You understand?”

“Okay,” you murmur. Fingers dance lightly up the hard planes of his stomach, wrapping around the chain of his old dog tags. “I understand.”  

Bucky nods, watching your eyes drift down, drinking him up. He lives for that look. Sets him on fire, to watch you ogle him. When your eyes skate down his right side, he flexes his forearm a bit, because he knows it turns you on.   

A swift tug of the chain and he dips easily, mouth slanting over yours. There’s a faint sound of teeth clacking together, and he stifles a laugh at your excitement. Deep kisses, stoking that simmering fire sitting right below the surface. Your lips part and he slides inside, curling his tongue around yours, pulling away to lick along the corner of your mouth, to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

The thought appears, same as when he had his mouth between your legs. How long has it been since the two of you just made out like this? Same answer? Too fucking long?

This is definitely happening more often.  

He feels your eager fingers reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open, slipping your hand inside. Cool fingers wrap tight around his cock, the other hand wandering down to squeeze a handful of his ass. Bucky hurriedly shimmies his pants to his knees, sets both hands on the car and leans forward, tipping his face down, touching his forehead to yours. Blue eyes flutter closed, breath hitching while he concentrates on the feel of your capable hands, slow strokes along his length, slicker with each tug.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he grits out. “Can you - damn that’s good - can you, there, bit lower -“

Ragged pants melt into a low groan when you slip your hand from the death grip on his ass to cup his balls, rolling them against your palm.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yes, fuck yes, just like that,” he hisses, thrusting into your hands. “Can you - can you pull just a little-“

He stammers the question, ignoring your amused hum. It was a quirk, one he discovered early in the relationship. It came out of the blue, a bashful request during a romp in the sheets, but for some reason, Bucky has a thing for having his balls tugged. Not hard (which was also discovered after an unconsciously rough yank had him squealing in pain), but more of a soft squeeze, followed by a slow pull.

Like how you squeeze an overripe banana, he had explained later, gingerly massaging his balls. Not so hard it squishes.

Many entertaining attempts later, and he swears you have the move patented. Stroking his dick faster, your thumb presses over his balls, before a careful pull. Tipping his head back, Bucky stares glass eyed at the ceiling, lost in pleasure, pushing himself into your firm grip.  

“Feel good?” you murmur.

“Yeah. Yes, so good, so god damn good ,” he chokes out. Faster, harder, faster - and then a strangled gasp and panicked blue eyes catch yours. “Wait, too good, it’s too good! Don’t wanna come yet, hang on! Need to be inside you first.”

He grabs your wrists, the thwarted sting of a denied orgasm obvious in the grind of his teeth. Both of you look down to where your hands are wrapped around him, one still kneading his balls, the other curled around the velvety hot skin of his cock.

“Okay,” you say, looking him up and down. “Fine, but - you’re so sexy, Bucky. And I love your balls.”

Bucky nods furiously, gulping a deep lungful of air. His ass cheeks are twitching.

“I love that you love them, I really do. But babe, I need you to let go of my balls or I’ll come all over your hand,” he rasps, wiggling away. Releasing him, your hands run up his chest, twining around his neck, dragging his sweat damp chest flush against you.

“If I must,” you agree, smiling into his lips. Bucky relaxes into you, the slow melt of tongues follows, the kind where a kiss bounces around, until it finds the perfect rhythm. His hands trace up the line of your arms, unlocking your fingers and pulling them free. Brushing his thumbs over your wrists, he bends close, kisses your knuckles.

And then he folds your arms above your head, pinning them down.  

“Keep them there, alright? Don’t move until I say you can.”

“Kinky. Yes sir,” you breathe. He smirks.

“You’d better watch it, you little deviant. I might get used to that.”

“Sorry…sir.”

Pulling you further down the hood, he rubs his cock between your legs, sliding himself between your folds until a slick sheen coats his skin. It startles a grunt from you when he abruptly shoves inside, sinking deep until his hips press flush to yours.  

He waits. Has to wait actually, because its been a long damn time and if he’s not careful he’s going to embarrass himself before he even gets started and holy shit, is this even real life? Is he dreaming?

Splayed out on the hood of his car, legs wide open, breasts wet from his tongue, black lace and crumpled satin ribbons. Arms pinned above the luscious skin bared just for him. Bucky stares between your legs, dry mouthed and dizzy.

“Come on, Bucky, please? Fuck me, please fuck me, I missed you so much.”

How could he ever resist this? You naked, writhing against the vivid red of his Camaro, moaning for him to fuck you, with his cock buried in your -

“Aw fucking hell,” he mutters. After so many weeks apart, he knows full well this won’t last long. It’s a damn good thing he has more than a few rounds in him.

Cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders back, he digs thick fingers into your thighs, pulls back nice and slow. He waits. Waits. Waits a bit longer because he likes to be an asshole and hear you beg.

“Bucky, come on -”

And he plunges into you, burying himself in the tight, silky heat of your cunt. Warm up over, no slow start. The pace he sets is rough, so deep he feels the pleasure licking down his spine and into his toes. Over and over, he slams into you until one particularly sharp thrust presses the tip of his cock against that perfect spot inside and you arch up with a broken cry. Hands scrabble above your heard, searching for anything to hold onto, finding something flexible.

With a plastic snap, the windshield wiper blade breaks off in your hand.

Bucky stutters to a halt, blinking sweat from his eyes when he sees the look of horror on your face. The apology is still forming when he snatches the plastic from your fingers, throwing it aside.

“Don’t care,” he grunts. Giving you no time to argue, he wraps his hands behind your knees and raises your hips, fucking into you faster. The filthy echo of sweat slick skin accompanies his breathless order. “Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

A frantic agreement and one hand slips between your legs, the other cupping your breast. Frantic circles over the swollen bud, trembling fingers plucking at a pebbled nipple. Bucky watches greedily, eyes flickering back and forth, memorizing those things that bring you pleasure, fantastically dirty memories to replay on a rainy day.

“Bucky,” desperate fingers rub your clit faster. “Keep going, please keep - keep doing that, I’m close, I’m so close, I’m -“

Sharp and sweet and unexpected, the orgasm crashes into you. Arching up, the low moan tears free, and Bucky slows, hypnotized by the sight of you shuddering beneath him.

“There you go, that’s it,” he urges hoarsely, before surging forward and capturing your lips in a wild kiss. Two more pumps of his hips and he stops, grinding against you until he comes with a heavy groan.

Silence fills the room, broken only with the sounds of harsh breaths and the wet rush of his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He rests his forehead between your breasts, listening to the staccato beat of your quick breaths, until you struggle up onto your elbows, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face.

“So I broke your car.”

He says nothing, but a moment later his shoulders begin to shake and suddenly he’s laughing, great rushing wheezes as he struggles for breath. Raising his head, he finds you nervously squinting down at him. He stretches up, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I got insurance. Just need to check my coverage for mildly destructive ‘I missed you’ sex.”

“You might consider expanding that policy. I’m just saying,” you suggest with a giggle and he snorts.

Quiet contentment blankets the stuffy garage, both of you basking in that tingly afterglow. Folding your hands behind his neck, you draw him close and Bucky nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

“Been tough lately,” he whispers, mouthing gently along your throat. “Trying to find time together.”

Nodding slowly, your smile turns wistful.

“Yeah…guess it makes any time we get even better. Right? It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat (the kind that could easily dissolve into manly super soldier tears), and he gathers you in his arms, tucking you against his chest. When he answers, his voice cracks just a bit.

“Someone’s a sentimental sap.”

He hears your muffled laugh against his chest, feels you bite at his collarbone and he chuckles.

“I love you Bucky. And I’m really sorry I murdered your car.”

“I love you too, babe. I’m glad you came down here. Especially in that outfit.”

“Yeah? You liked it?”

“Fuck yes I did. What spurred that idea, hmm?”

“I just don’t want to lose our spark,” you admit, snuggling closer. “When things get so busy, it’s easy to let things like this slide, and I don’t want you to - get bored, I guess. With us.”

Bucky thinks about all his relationship advice articles and the fact that he sometimes even prints them out and goes through with a yellow highlighter to capture the key points. Hearing your soft concern makes him fall even more in love with you.

Because this is important. This relationship, this love, this spark he was lucky enough to find with you, it’s the most important thing in his world. You are the most important thing in his world.

Brushing a knuckle down your cheek, he coaxes your chin up.

“I know it’s tough, always being on different schedules, but I want you to know, I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna want you. Nothing changes that. And if you ever doubt just how much I genuinely want to bang you all night long, then you say something. Deal?”

He boops your nose and you grin.

“Deal.”

“And honey, not that I’m complaining, trust me, but you don’t need to dress sexy to get me all reved up,” he shrugs. “You do that just by looking at me.”

“You do know how to charm the pants off a lady, Barnes.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Swings you up in his arms and calms your startled yelp with a kiss.

“Damn straight. Now how about we give that backseat a try. I think you mentioned wanting to rub something back there?”

*****

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄12

Warnings: noncon sexual acts; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Chapter 12!? I didn’t think I could get through it but I did. God, these men are driving me mad.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your meeting ended. At last. Bucky’s hand kept straying to your knee and each time you scraped your chair away, he inched closer. You ignored him for the ledger but he didn’t relent until you had thoroughly reviewed every digit.

You stood and Bucky did too. Steve yawned as he pushed himself from the stiff armchair and adjusted the belt of his pants. You collected the ledger and your purse. You flitted to the door as the latter neared and whispered to Bucky. They laughed and you hurried through the open door.

“I’m sure Loki has a lot to figure out and we’ll be on our way back soon enough. It’s a long ride.” 

You went to the next door but were stopped by a hand on your arm. Bucky turned you to face him.

“Doesn’t sound like a fun ride, though,” He winked and you wriggled away from him. “I need a word with the boss before you head out.”

He reached past you and turned the handle. You almost tripped as you moved out of his way and he entered without pause. You spun and followed him, barely slipping between him and Steve as the henchman kept close behind. Loki’s voice died and he stood from his desk as he hung up his phone.

“Hello?” He greeted tersely.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bucky tucked a hand in his pants pocket. “We just finished up and I didn’t want to waste any more of your time. I know you’ll be heading out soon and all that.”

“Hmm?” Loki lifted a brow dryly and straightened his jacket.

“Me and Steve are gonna stay and keep cleaning up around this place. My crew will be here tomorrow to start clearing out most of it.” Bucky pulled his hand from his pocket, a black rectangle in his hand. “I think it might be easier if you packed a bag… stayed in town tomorrow.”

Loki stared as Bucky offered one of the tiny black folders. Bucky shrugged and neared to tuck it in Loki’s front pocket before he patted it. He then turned to you and handed you the other.

“The rooms are all taken care of for the month,” He explained as you carefully opened the small black folder to reveal a key card. “I just figured it would save you time and gas. You’re no doubt antsy to be out of here as soon as you can.”

Loki sighed as his tongue poked his upper lip. He rubbed his long nose and glanced at you.

“I suppose you’re right,” He ceded. “Your hospitality is admirable… and appreciated.”

“Not at all,” Bucky gave a crooked grin. “We should really start working together, don’t you think? This place could be a goldmine with the two of us in charge.”

Loki squinted. “Certainly.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you any longer,” Bucky backed away to the door as Steve hovered on the other side of the frame. “I’d be all too happy to go back to the city…” He paused and peeked over at you. “And unwind.”

“Hmm,” Loki checked his watch. “Yes.”

Bucky tapped the door frame before he left. You let out a long breath and rested the ledger against your hip.

“How was the meeting?” Loki asked as their footsteps faded away.

“A meeting. You’re not going to like the numbers.” You warned.

“I’m not so worried about those,” Loki’s eyes lingered in the doorway. “Did he… do anything?”

“Nothing unusual. Boasting, mostly.” You replied.

“And you? What did you do?” He challenged.

“My job,” You hissed.

“Your job,” He mused as he strode closer. “Always so diligent. Well, let me tell you what your job will be tonight. You will have thirty minutes to pack for tomorrow’s return and then you will come to mine and help me pack.” He preened and smirked down at you. “And then we will ‘unwind’ as he so eloquently put it.”

You blinked as your cheek twitched. You nodded and turned away from him. You looked down at the little folder in your hand. You should be thankful that Bucky got you your own room but you suspected it was more for his good than yours. And a plastic card wouldn’t keep either of them away from you.

👄

Your night went as expected. Loki was angry and didn’t withhold his temper. The prospect of a new venture with Bucky embittered his already caustic demeanour. And the thought of a whole month in Atlantic City with the man barely helped. Either of you. 

You dreaded whatever ploy this was as you slumped in the car seat and Loki drove. The occasional grumble of displeasure wisped from his lips. Thor was to meet him at the casino later that day. Lopez would oversee the antique store as the rest of Loki’s business was overseen by a man called Heimdall who had flown overnight from London to do the older brother a favour.

You pulled up to the casino before noon and yawned. You grabbed your leather tote, the ledger stuffed inside, and followed Loki across the pavement. The doors were propped open and men in dusty jeans and canvas overalls passed in and out. The days work was already underway and you doubted it would be done before sundown.

You heard a familiar voice booming from inside. As you entered, you were stunned as the now bare windows lit the immense space of the foyer. You shield your eyes as a particular slat of sunshine made you teary. A figure approached from your left as Bucky ceased his demands and appeared before you and Loki.

“You made good time,” Bucky clapped Loki’s shoulder. “I hope you had a restful night.”

“Mmm,” Loki rolled his eyes and peered around. 

“Your contractor is around here somewhere,” Bucky looked at the men as they went about their work. “I think he was having a look at the east staircase.”

“Darby?” Loki uttered. “Well, he should be able to take care of himself well enough.”

“Better roll up those sleeves,” Bucky nudged him as he turned to stand beside him. He admired the storm around him. “We’re all hands on deck today… except you, sweetheart. We got you a nice little space upstairs where you won’t be disturbed.”

He looked around Loki and winked. Loki’s lips curled and he shook his head.

“I can help too,” You insisted. “No sense in sitting around while you all--”

“In those heels. In that dress,” Bucky scoffed. “These men don’t need a distraction.”

“Excuse me--”

“Anyways, there is one thing you need to do,” Bucky continued on as Loki’s hand strayed to your lower back and he stepped closer to you. “You’ll need a desk. There was one up there but uh, not very stable. We trashed it last night.”

“A desk?” You crossed your arms. “I can make do with a table. Or my lap.”

“Nah,” He waved away your protest then signaled across the foyer. “I’ll have Steve take you around. The office is all cleaned up for ya, just needs a lady’s touch so while you’re out, grab whatever else you need.”

“This is really not--”

“It’s almost noon,” Bucky announced as Steve approached. “More than enough time for you two.” He looked to his henchman and grinned. “You good to take her now?”

Steve dusted off his palms and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His shirt sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms and a tail had come untucked.

“Let me just find my jacket,” Steve winked at you. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“Take care of the desk,” Bucky jabbed Steve’s chest. “Oh, and don’t forget a chair. Can’t have her sitting on a stack of rubble.”

“Course, boss,” Steve smirked. “Think I can handle a shopping trip.”

“Think you can?” Bucky mocked as he turned back to Loki. “Right, we should go find this Darby guy.”

“In a moment,” Loki frowned. “I just need a word with my bookkeeper.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover the desk and the like,” Bucky assured as Loki began to usher you aside.

“It’s not a worry,” Loki sneered. “We do have other business.”

Loki grabbed your upper arm and your heels scuffed across the floor as he urged you away from the two men. His jaw ticked as he glanced out the double doors.

“I hope Thor arrives soon. Always late.” He muttered before he cleared his throat. “Darling, you behave.” He felt around and reached into his jacket. He flipped out his wallet and plucked a black card from its folds. “Spend what you must. I’ll not have this man acting benefactor.”

“Um, okay,” You took the card hesitantly. “Loki, I--”

“I am not stupid. I see what he is doing. Him and that drone of his,” Loki growled. “Keep your eye on that oaf.”

You covered the card with your hand and chewed your lip. It would’ve been funny to see Loki so perturbed in any other circumstance, but you suspected you were as much the butt of the joke as him.

👄

If you thought the car ride with Loki the day before was awkward, the one with Steve was grueling and suffocating. You sat in the passenger seat of the flashy sports car and picked at the leather along the door handle. His hand rested on the stick even when he wasn’t changing gears, his fingers tapped on the bulbous head as you felt him peeking at you in the rear view.

“You know,” He finally broke the silence which had thickened after he asked where he was going and you shrugged. “Every time I see you, I just can’t help but think of that day.”

You crossed your arms and went rigid in the seat. You bit the inside of your lip and glared out the window without a word.

“I’m sure you’re wondering which one? The club or the shop?” Steve taunted. “And I really can’t decide if I prefer your ass or your mouth.”

“Would you shut up?” You spat as you finally looked at him.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t ignore this tension between us.”

“Oh, do you mean the sheer hatred or the pure revulsion?” You challenged.

“Don’t act all innocent, honey,” He pushed his shoulders back as he steered with one arm and his other hand gripped the stick. “We both know what-- who you did.”

“The worst thing about you men is you don’t seem to understand the concept of silence,” You hissed. “Or many things, to be fair.”

He pulled into a lot and snarled. He pulled into a spot and the car jolted to a stop. He put the car in park and looked at you.

“Actually, I can think of several ways to keep you quiet,” He snickered. “One I already know to be effective.”

Your nostrils flared and you glanced past him to the plaza. You swallowed and reached for your door handle. He hit the locks and the door clicked loudly. You fell back against your seat and crossed your arms.

“Steve,” You huffed. “We’re here to find a desk.”

“We got time.”

“No,” You pressed yourself to the door and avoided looking at him. “Just let me out.”

He killed the engine and the keys jangled loudly before they were muffled behind fabric. His large hand stretched over your thigh and he rubbed you through your skirt. You drew away and crossed your leg over the other. 

His fingers crept up to the waist of your skirt and he picked at it cloyingly. He leaned across the middle of the car and his warm breath singed your cheek.

“Well, come on then,” The doors unlocked loudly. “Let’s go find that desk.”

👄

The furniture store was almost maze-like. The imported furniture was set out in winding pathways and arranged in carefully plotted scenes. Each piece was unique and every single one was expensive. Steve followed closely as you strolled along, pausing to look closer at a mother of pearl vase or a novelty pen cup.

The selection had yet to intrigue you. It didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t really care what your desk looked like. When all was said and done, you’d be back in New York at the tiny one nestled in the back of The Attic. 

You stopped before a display with a zebra print rug rolled out beneath a marbled black desk. The golden legs spiraled up to support the thick top and an array of paperweights and stationary was laid out across it.

You hated it but you didn’t mind the chair behind it. The dark suede looked comfortable; a lush purple cushiony hug. You stepped closer and picked up the golden pen propped up in an empty inkwell. You twirled it and tilted your head at the bookshelves on either side of the display. Those would actually be useful.

As you set the pen back, you sensed something behind you. Steve’s hands brushed along your waist as he pressed himself against you. He gripped your shoulders and inhaled the scent of your hair.

“This would be nice,” He remarked. “Sturdy.”

He reached down with one hand and touched the desktop.

“Just bend you over a little,” He pushed on your shoulder and you caught yourself against the desk. Your arms trembled as he tried to force you down. He rubbed his crotch against you. “Or maybe you could crawl underneath and--”

“Steve, what the fuck?” You struggled against him. “Someone will see.”

“So,” His hand left the desk and ran over your stomach. “Not our problem.”

“Stop,” You caught his hand before he reached your chest. “I mean it. I doubt Bucky--” You turned with effort and shoved him away. He barely flinched. “Sent you to fondle me.”

“You don’t think so?” He grinned.

“What the fuck does that mean?” You felt behind you and grabbed the pen from the inkwell, tipping the little golden cube over.

“It means I can do whatever I want and the boss will pat me on the back,” He stepped closer.

“You do,” You brought the pen around and pointed the sharp nib at his throat. “And I’ll make sure you never touch anyone again.”

He blinked then tilted his head. His eyes drifted down to the pen and he chuckled. He raised his hands and backed away.

“You’re cute,” He said as he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Come on, let’s find you a fucking desk.”

[junjungsunwoo]

2 kids, Mi Amor, Teardrops on my Tulips, Guns, Roses, and a Broken Promise  Vasílissa Mou (My Queen), Ruined Innocence ,The Work Of You ,The Ghost Of You

for the wip game love~

Sarah, my Queen, the Clyde to my Bonnie, my love <33

2 Kids: This story was (clearly) heavily based on Taemin's "2 Kids", more specifically the line "We were just 2 kids, too young and dumb" I had the idea for it out of nowhere after I finished read a really good angst fic (idk remember what it was tho), and I just wanted to hurt someone's feelings so that's really what made me want to write it lol

2 Kids:

The story starts with us in the reader (y/n)'s point of view. The reader and Eric was a couple in high school, childhood sweethearts if you will. The reader is completely in love with Eric, while Eric on the other hand is starting to feel 'weird' and so he starts to ignore the reader and soon the reader couldn't take it anymore, and they break up.

The next flashback ends (the part where we are reading as the reader) and we are now reading the story in Eric's point of view. Eric is remembering all of the times where you would tell him you loved him and how he never really responded with an 'I love you too', and he's regretting everything now.

And I can only give you that much for 2 kids hehe, Moving on!

Mi Amor I've already answerd! You can read that here!

Teardrops on my Tulips: This story wasn't based on anything really, but I had a really good idea for it and I had this title in my head for a long time so I finally had the perfect idea for the title!

Teardrops on my Tulips:

The reader was a Flower shop owner. She loved flowers, every color or every kind. She was always careful with her feelings and was known to be quite cold to the people she doesn't know.

One day, this man comes into her small shop, and the man was one of the most handsome men the reader has ever seen, and she didn't know it, but her heart skipped a beat the moment she landed her eyes on him.

The reader learns that the man's name was Jaemin, and soon, she starts to see him in her little shop every Saturday, buying different types of flowers and talking to her about the meaning of flowers. Slowly, the reader starts to fall for him.

Annnd I can't give you more before I ruin the (not so surprising) plot twist! ;)

Guns, Rose, and a Broken Promise: I'm not gonna lie, this plot came out after reading this really good mafia fic one day and after watching Sunwoo in the "The Stealer" MV because damnnnn that man's got me whipped. The story starts off really cliche but then it gets pretty intense lol.

Guns, Roses, and a Broken Promise:

The reader finds Sunwoo injured in an alley one day and she helps him out. The reader is very suspicious of Sunwoo and doesn't really trust him but little by little they get closer until one day they fell in love. One day, the fact that Sunwoo was a mafia boss was revealed and the reader is stuck in a place where she either has to break up with Sunwoo or she goes with Sunwoo to the mafia.

And I'm gonna stop there since I'd like you to read the story to find out what happens hehe, anyways, moving on-

Vasílissa Mou (My Queen): This story literally came out of nowhere. It's going to be written for a collab of mine (I'm pretty sure it's for Meraki. but don't quote me on that.) and I really just wanted to write about Greek god! Juyeon cause like, that man is *chef kiss*. If you didn't know, Vasílissa Mou is greek for (well if isn't obvious,) "My Queen". This story is heavily based on the Greek love story of Hades and Persephone.

Vasílissa Mou (My Queen):

Juyeon was a very lonely man. He was very powerful and a single word from him can destroy the whole world but he was very lonely. He had no companions other than his beloved dog, Cerberus- the guard dog of the underworld.

One time, while on a walk above the underworld, he stumbles across a beautiful woman- you. Juyeon was love struck. He didn't know what he was feeling. It felt warm and...soft- something Juyeon thought he could never feel. He knew he would do anything to get you, that he'd do anything for you.

He couldn't get over the sudden feeling that bloomed in his heart, and he starts to obsess over you. He would away watch as you interact freely and happily with the other god while he just watched on the side, too afraid that he would scare you. But he just couldn't take the feeling of being empty anymore- he needs you to fill him up, he needs you. Now.

And that's all I can give you mjsbgskdbjgkrsg You'll have to read to find out what happens hehe

Ruined Innocence: This highkey was also inspired by Sunmi's "Tail" because damn Queen slayed that comeback. I really wanted to flip the stereotypical roles around and have Younghoon as the innocent figure and the reader the "bad influence" so that's what I did, btw, this is set in a superhero/villain world.

Ruined Innocence:

The reader and Younghoon meet at a mutual friend's party. The reader was intrigued by Younghoon's innocence and she finds it amusing when he would shy away from her. She makes it her mission to turn Younghoon into a baddie. She takes every chance she gets to get close to Younghoon and spend time with him.

Little by little, Younghoon begins to fall under the reader's influence and starts to slowly turn more and more rebellious.

That's all I'll give you, for now, hehe, I'm super excited to write this out!

The Work of You: I've already told you about this one Sarah, but I'll post it for those who don't know because why not hehe. This wasn't really inspired by anything, I just liked the gore that will be in the fic hehe

The Work of You:

Kevin was a natural-born artist. It was like he had the touch of the Greek god Apollo. Any Canvas he touched was turned into paintings worth millions of dollars and all the songs he produced and sung were as if angels were hosting a choir. Kevin had only once muse- you.

You were everything to Kevin. Without you, Kevin wouldn't be where he is right now. Kevin loved you. He loved you so much. So much that it hurt him every time you were out of his sight. He couldn't stand being away from you even for a second. He loved you. He'd do anything for you to make you stay with him.

Anything. As long as you stay close to him.

And that's all I'll write for this one ljsbsldbg Sarah knows what's up after this but I' not gonna say, so please don't spoil in the comments Sarah~

Annnnd onto our last one!

The Ghost of you: I had this idea for a while when I started writing for my other WIP "Death of An Angel" but I wrote the other one for Jacob because baby is an angel, and when I joined Luna's Seventeen Halloween collab I knew I had to write this!

The Ghost of You:

The reader goes through a series of horror-filled situations the day before Halloween, and everywhere she looked, she could only see ghosts of the dead flying around excitedly. The reader was then dragged into an investigation by her boyfriend- Jeonghan, who acts very suspicious throughout the entire investigation. The reader spends the entire night and day of Halloween trying to help her detective boyfriend solve a case with her necromancy abilities.

And that's that! That's all I can give you!

I finally finished all of the ones you ask after about what? An Hour? lgnsgnsegk

I hope these caught your attention!

[fangirlovestuff]

Cycle - Steve Rogers x reader ch.4

Previously:  ch.1 ch.2 ch.3

Summary: Steve and you get closer, but it’s in order not to get too close. you both believe you know what you want, but... do you?

Word count: ~2,600

Warnings: SMUT, explicit language. 

a/n- hey lovely people! another weekend, another Cycle chapter😌 i’m so glad i managed to get this out today:) as always, italics are for thoughts. awesome divider is by @whimsicalrogers​. Enjoy! and well, thank me for the gif later;)

The morning after you went out, you got to work with your spirits lifted. Having gotten to know some more of your colleagues, you entered into the lab with a spring in your step, greeting everyone good morning.

Kate came up to you, asking how as last night. She was invited, but couldn't come, so she wanted to hear from you.

"It was great," you told her sincerely, "I wish you could've joined us, but I actually ended up having a really nice conversation with Steve," you smiled, expecting it to be the end of it.

Kate frowned. "Steve?" she asked, confused.

"You know," you looked at her incredulously, "Steve Rogers, Captain America, pretty tough guy to miss," you gestured with your hands to symbol a tall, wide frame. "He was really nice," you concluded.

"Oh, that Steve," Kate laughed, "sorry, I'm just not used to anyone calling him by his first name and not, you know, Cap," she giggled a tad awkwardly. "You know there are a lot of rumors going around him though, right?"

"I mean, I would expect there to be, since he's a superhero."

"They say he has a secret girlfriend he's keeping from the world. Or boyfriend, opinions are divided on that one," she laughed.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he doesn't," you chuckled, remembering last night's conversation.

"It’s just office gossip anyway, and we should probably get to work," Kate said and you nodded in agreement, starting to work on your current project.

"And you didn't even ask for her number?" Bucky asked. "You're even more of a lost cause than I thought."

"What?" Steve asked defensively, "It never came up," he shrugged. He made another move at Bucky, who dodged him expertly and caught his wrist, flipping him onto the training room mattress.

"Steve, let me ask you something, and please be honest with me. I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything. Do you even like women?"

"Yes!" Steve said, not particularly amused at Bucky's antics. He got up and got into position again.

"Then why, for the love of god, are you so adamant to never ever sleep with one?"

"That's not-" Steve sighed. "Look, I don't think she was actually interested, okay? She was giving me advice on how to get other girls, I mean, why would she—"

"Oh my god, Steve! She just told you how she'd like to be treated and you think she's not interested?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Steve grumbled.

"Tell you what, there's only one way to find out. Ask her out, worst thing she could say is no," Bucky suggested.

"Whatever," Steve said, grabbing his jacket and leaving the training room, leaving a smirking Bucky in his wake.

You were just in your office close up for the day when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," you said, not knowing who it could be, since you told the others to go ahead without you.

In enters one Steve Rogers, looking slightly disheveled, and yet just as handsome as ever. You shook that thought right out of your head. "Hi Steve," you greeted, "what can I help you with?"

"I was just coming by to ask if you might be hungry," Steve smiled timidly.

"After a whole day of lab work, I'd say the answer to that is a definite yes," you smiled back at him.

"Great, well, I just wondered if you'd like to grab dinner… with me," he chuckled. "I know a good spot down the street if you want."

"I'd love to!" you exclaimed. "Let's go," you said, grabbing your jacket from the chair and following him out into the chilly New York air.

"So, you've come to collect those flirting lessons I offered yesterday?" you chuckled as you were walking side by side.

"Something like that," Steve smiled.

You got to the restaurant and ordered. "So, humor me here," you said, "but how does the great Captain America not know how to flirt?"

He chuckled. "Well, for starters, because he's a righteous symbol of justice and liberty, flirting is more Bucky's thing," he admitted with a smile, "and I'm just Steve, not Captain America," he added.

"Wait, so it wasn't you who saved the world from these aliens a few years ago? Shame, you look just like him," you laughed and so did he. "But I get what you mean," you said, more serious this time, "I guess the entire world seeing you as a… how did you put it? Righteous symbol of justice and liberty?" you chuckled. "That can probably be a little intimidating."

Steve hummed in agreement. "Sometimes it is," he admitted. "Truth is, it makes you wonder how can the world buy this image so easily when I don't see myself that way at all. Not even close," Steve chuckled.

You felt a warmth blossoming in you at his open, honest demeanor. "Well, that doesn't disprove the fact that you're a hero, Steve," you said.

"I know it doesn't but… okay, you know when I grew up I was small and sickly, right?"

"It’s public knowledge," you agreed.

"I still feel like that guy, the guy who lived in Bucky's shadow, literally, and couldn't get what he wanted," Steve said with a far-off look.

"Steve," you said, reaching across the table and covering his hand with yours. His look returned here, locking eyes with you and words evaded you at his clear blue eyes meeting yours. You quickly regained your senses, "You don't need to live in anyone's shadow anymore, and for what it's worth you can have anything you want. I'm sure a baby would hand you his candy willingly," you said, and he chuckled.

"Hey, did I just Steve Rogers you?" you smirked.

"Oh no, we can't let that happen. Quick, tell me something about yourself before the sky falls down on our heads!" Steve exclaimed and you laughed.

"Okay, okay, let me think…" you furrowed your brows exaggeratedly. "In the future, I would really like to get married." You looked around suspiciously, "phew, I think we're in the clear," you joked. Shit, why would you say that? Congrats, you just managed to scare him away.

"Why?" Steve asked, his gaze resting intently on you.

"Because… sharing your life with another person is something I want to experience," you explained. "Being there for someone who loves me, heart and soul, no matter what, is very appealing," you chuckled. "And well, I guess there's still some little girl in me that wants a fairytale romance. Someone to sweep her off her feet and be her one true love. After all I've been through, it’s bizarre I still believe that, but I do," you concluded with a smile.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one who still believes that," Steve said with a reassuring look. "But… why do you think it's bizarre to believe that?"

"Besides the obvious reason that fairytales aren't real?" you asked, and he just smiled, nodding at you to continue. "Well, I guess every man I've been with has disproven that theory. People who I thought would actually be there for me, who wouldn’t only want me, but also love me, ended up walking away. And at a certain point, you just have to go with the flow. I did one-night-stands for a long while. But lately I decided I can't keep ignoring what I want any longer. So, I have to keep believing, even though it doesn't seem achievable," you smiled sadly.

"For all it's worth, I think you'll succeed," Steve smiled back at you, squeezing your hand.

"You think I'll succeed with anyone in particular or…?" you trailed off, and he blushed.

"Whatever you choose to," he answered.

"Well, I think the universe is definitely repaired since I shared all of that and our food hasn't even arrived yet," you chuckled, changing the subject.

You kept the chatter light until your food came and ate in relative silence, but it wasn't an unwelcome one. Every once in a while your eyes would meet and you'd simply smile at each other, gladly eating the delicious food. At the end of the meal Steve insisted on paying, and after a lot of convincing you managed to get him to split the check.  You left the restaurant as you entered it, side by side.

"My apartment is actually a couple of blocks from here, so if it's in your way you can come up for a coffee maybe?" Steve suggested.

"Yeah, sure thing," you agreed, surprised at how easy it was to be around him.

You went up to his apartment, chattering about work and life the whole way. Steve matched his pace to yours, so you were casually strolling through the streets of New York with Captain America by your side.

"Manhattan's probably a shock after living in Brooklyn, isn't it?" you inquired.

"You get used to it," Steve shrugged, unlocking his apartment door.

You let your eyes wander around his apartment, taking in the orderly state of it, the warm, simple environment that seemed to surround Steve wherever he goes, and his house reflected that. There was a canvas right in the middle of the living room, propped up against an easel. There were paints strewn around on the coffee table, but for now all the canvas held was a pencil sketch of the New York skyline. You let out a small chuckle about how… Steve this all was. This is when you truly understood what he meant before – how different Steve was from Captain America, because this is when you started to truly understand Steve.

"I'm so sorry about the mess," Steve said, starting to pick up the paintbrushes and paints.

"It's okay," you smiled, tracing the pencil lines with your fingers. "It's beautiful," you looked at Steve.

"Hopefully it'll look even better when it's colored," Steve said. "Here, I wanna use this color for that building and…" Steve started describing his plans for the painting, but all you could see were his lips moving, his eyes shining with excitement.

"That's great," you said, your heartbeat racing.

"Here, I can show you how to do it," Steve suggested.

"Sure," you agreed.

Once Steve showed you how to hold the brush, you started painting a bit of the background like he told you and he let out a chuckle. "You're doing it wrong," he said, and before you had the chance to be irritated his hand was covering yours, his tall frame against your back as he started showing you the right brush movements, the right amount of pressure to apply on the canvas.

"There you go, see? It's easy," Steve said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. You turned around to see it too, and your breath hitched. He was smiling, but you hadn’t realized how close you got. His face was just within reach, and if you just tilt your head upwards a little…

Steve made the first move, bending down to capture your lips with his, his tongue seeking permission into your mouth, which you granted readily. Your tongues explored each other's mouths and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, while he wrapped his around your waist, pulling you close.

Suddenly he broke away from you and you chased his mouth with yours but he put a hand on your shoulder. "I… we work together," he said, "and I don't wanna be another shitty dude," he added, smiling a little.

"Well, you raise good points. But, we don't actually work together that closely, and it's not shitty if we're both on the same page. Besides, if we don't do this right now we're gonna regret not doing it and that will just create more tension," you reasoned.

"You're probably right," Steve panted a little.

"Thank you, I watch a lot of rom-coms. Now, are we on the same page? We get it out of our system and that's it?" you knew it sounded a little harsh, but that's what needed to be done so no one got hurt.

"Deal," he said, and in an instance his lips were back on yours, more feverishly this time, his hands traveling down your waist, your ass, your hips, which he grabbed onto and lifted you up, and fuck, super-strength came very much in handy.

He led your way to the bedroom, one am supporting you up and one sneaking into your shirt to unhook your bra while your hands tangled in his hair, pulling a little, just enough to hear Steve groan into your mouth.

He pretty much tossed you onto the bed and you got rid of your shirt and bra while he threw away his shirt as well, revealing his toned chest and abdomen. You stared, practically drooling before he climbed on top of you and you started kissing his neck, his jaw, nipping gently on his sweet spot.

His hands found your breasts, teasing your nipples and you arched your chest against him at the touch. You started working his belt, and he looked at you one more time. When he saw the wanting look in your eyes it was all the confirmation he needed to take off your pants and your underwear, and kick his away too. He started trailing kisses on your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts and your stomach, every nerve in your body lighting up at his touch.

He finally reached between your thighs and looked up at you before licking a long stripe between your wet folds. You threw your head beck and moaned, because who knew America's golden boy can eat pussy like a fucking god.

He continued licking and sucking swirling his tongue around your clit and around your entrance, lapping at your folds, driving you crazy with every flick on his tongue, and it didn't take long before you fell apart at his touch, waves of pleasure coursing through your body as Steve continued his assault until you came down from your high.

He made his way back up your body and you pushed your hips up against his, feeling his hard length against you. "Steve," you looked at him in a silent plea.

"You sure you-"

"Yes, yes, yes please, I'm so fucking sure," you cut him off and he smirked a little before climbing off you, and you were about to whine when you saw him reach for a condom, and well, he's not America's golden boy for nothing I guess.

He put it on and climbed back on top of you, capturing your mouth in a breathtaking kiss, so much so that you didn't notice him lining up with your entrance until he pushed his tip into you, and started driving deeper and deeper inside your sensitive walls. The stretch was a lot at first, and you gasped, but then it turned into a moan when Steve started really moving, driving into you in slow, deep thrusts that caused you to claw at his back.

"Feel so good around me," Steve groaned, and you could only moan in response, clenching around him. He pushed your leg up a little, and the new angle had him hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, and in no time the coil in your stomach snapped again, and you milked him through his orgasm too.

You were both panting as you laid down next to one another. You were silent for a moment before Steve spoke. "Think it worked? We got it out of our systems?"

"I mean," you smirked as you straddled his hips, "we can't be too thorough…"

Bucky is slowly but surely slipping away from me and becoming quite OOC, but it’s cool we love him anyways. please tell me what you thought and thank you so much for reading! <3

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland@jazbot2000

Cycle Taglist: @dee-vn @alex747

if you wanna join / be removed from these taglists, comment/message me! much love <3

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Summertime prompts list: 27 or 28 with rami? Please and thank youuu😘

I tried to do both—hope it turned out okay! “Late night talks around a bonfire—confessions (27) —serious musings (28).”

* * * * *

The sun was just setting and for a moment, you looked out at the ocean and let yourself get lost in her expanse, the sound of her surf, and the way the hues of the sky were melding with the hues of her water to become one palette of midnight-blues.

“Earth to Y/N!” your friend said, tugging on your ponytail.

“What? Sorry—I was just thinking.”

“Surprise, surprise. I wanted to know if you were ready for Moscato?”

“Ooo yes! I wanna see if the bottle I bought is any good.”

“The apple?”

“Yeah—how’d you—”

Your friend cut you off by handing you a wine tumbler as they took another sip from their own.

“It’s really good,” they confirmed as you took a drink, relishing in the sweet burst of the wine on your tongue and smiling as a strong flavor of crisp, green apples lingered once you swallowed.

“That’s gonna be dangerous.”

Smiling, you spread out the red and black checkered blanket you brought, ignoring the crumbs of sand that inevitably crept their way over the freshly laid fabric, and plopped down, wiggling your bum to encourage the sand beneath to provide you a more comfortable seat.

You watched as a few of your friends lit the bonfire and before you knew it, the sun had been replaced by the moon, nothing but the big fire’s glow and a few tiki torches left to light up the night.

Buzzed from the wine, the laughter, or maybe just from the ocean herself as she continued to crash on the shore, your eyes widened when a sudden whoop of cheers erupted. Immediately, your eyes met Rami’s. Swallowing thickly, you refilled your tumbler and retreated back to your blanket, wondering what the hell he was doing here.

As Rami made his round of hellos, someone turned on their speaker and music filled the night, loud enough to issue a challenge to the crackling bonfire and to the ocean.

“Come on! Come dance,” your friend pleaded, and you waved them off.

“I need way more booze in my system before I dance.”

Your friend laughed and gave you the middle finger as they headed into the small crowd that had begun dancing on the opposite side of the bonfire.

“Anyone sitting with you?” a deep, familiar voice sounded and you took your time traveling up the owner of that voice’s body before you met his gaze.

Rami looked like . . . Rami.

He was dressed in a pair of slim-fit, green shorts that stopped about two inches above his knee, and a blue or grey lightweight button down, loosely buttoned to show a portion of his chest, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up at his elbows. He was wearing a pair of worn canvas flip-flops, and when you shook your head “no” and he sat down, the smell of his cologne washed over you like a baptism.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Same old,” you shrugged. “I think the more interesting question in this situation is how are you?”

Rami smiled softly, his pretty eyes finally turning away from you and toward the fire.

“Tired.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, giving you time to take a sip of wine.

“Ready for a drink?”

“I did a little pre-gaming,” he confessed as he shifted just a bit closer to you so he could reach into his back pocket and retrieve a small, silver flask.

“And you drove out here?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Rami laughed as he answered, “Still giving me shit, Y/N? I missed that.”

Rami’s eyes connected with yours and everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing back—the good, the bad, and the neverwas. Those feelings sloshed around in your gut like the sweet, summer wine you had been drinking, and when you finally broke free from his gaze, you took a shaky breath as you realized you felt like you were on fire, your skin set to melt at any second.

“Rami fuckin’ Malek! How are you? And where the fuck’s Sami?”

As Rami reached out to clasp his old friend’s hand, you shot off the blanket and escaped what you thought was the heat of the bonfire. As you brushed the remnants of some sand off the backs of your thighs, you walked down the beach until you were out of the light and immersed in shadow.

The Rami sitting around tonight’s bonfire no longer led the same life as the Rami from a few years ago who had shown up on your doorstep, grinning like a madman to tell you he landed the lead of a TV show. This Rami—this Rami was an international movie star.

He wasn’t the same man . . . was he?

As you made your way back to the bonfire, you shook off your thoughts and were nearly free of Rami’s intrusion until he was suddenly there, right in front of you, holding out your cup.

“You left this—thought you might want it.”

“Thanks, Ram,” you said, reaching for the tumbler and as you took it from Rami’s grip, his fingers brushed yours and when that old surge of electricity shivered through your skin, you knew you were fucked.

“Wanna, uh, toast with me?” he asked, his eyes flicking up from the way they had been watching your lips move when you thanked him.

Shaking your head and unable to hide your smile, you said, “Sure—but you better have something good to say.”

“Still giving me shit.”

You laughed and kicked some sand over his toes. “Shut up and toast already.”

Rami took a deep, dramatic breath and said, “To the possibility of tomorrow. Or tonight. To the possibility of possibility.”

You giggled and raised your glass, and he clicked his own tumbler that someone must have handed off to him with yours.

“That was a terrible toast.”

Rami swallowed his wine and grinned closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping you up in a strong hug.

Your brain short-circuited for a moment as you were assaulted by memories of friendship, and your sometimes more than friendship, the memories crashing like the dimmed din of the ocean until you just let yourself go, let yourself get swept out to the sea that had always been Rami. Rami fucking Malek.

“I missed your smartass mouth,” he said as he kissed your jaw near your ear and released you from his grip.

“I missed how expensive you smell.”

“You used to tell me that when I was buyin’ shit that was like 30 bucks a bottle.”

“It’s just the magic of you, I guess,” you grinned as you reached up and tweaked his chin.

“I’m not magic—I’m not even sure what the fuck I am anymore,” Rami said through a smile, his eyes containing more seriousness than you were prepared for.  

“Oh, now that’s deep,” you said, your brows furrowing with slight concern, but your voice still holding a teasing lilt. “Don’t go all tortured artist on me now. Surely you didn’t come out tonight to muse about your life?”

Rami was quiet for a moment, taking a sip from his cup before he said, “I came out to see you.”

You groaned and closed your eyes for a second before replying, “Scratch that, Alex. I’ll take Tortured Artist for 300.”

Rami laughed quietly, “I meant it when I said—”

“Rami?! Dude! Thought you were Sam! How the fuck they hangin, man?”

Saved again, you returned to the comfort of your blanket, but pulled it away from the fire and out of the light of one of the tiki torches. You flopped down onto your back, your heels dug comfortably into the sand as you enjoyed the cool breeze that wafted up from the ocean instead of the intense heat of the bonfire.

“Rami’s here!” your best friend announced as she landed next to you, flecks of sand pinging against your arm.

“I know.”

“You talked to him?”

“He talked to me.”

“He talked to you?”

You chuckled. “Yes, sweet drunk. He talked to me. Said he missed me.”

Your best friend launched herself half on top of you, her eyes looking ginormous as they peered into yours, the wine from her breath wafting over your face as she faux whispered, “Oh my fucking GOD.”

You reached up, laughing, and squished her cheeks as you said, “I KNOW!”

“Tell him. Tell him how you feeooph—"

“Finish that sentence and I’m garnishing my wine glass with your lips.”

She licked your fingers and you released her as she countered, “S’not a glass. It’s plastic.

You looked at each other and laughed, her rolling away to lay on her back next to you again for all of 30 seconds before another song came on that she liked.

In a stumbling flash, she was up and gone and your field of vision was once again unimpaired as you looked up at the night sky.

“Tryin’ to hide from me?” Rami asked as he sat down.

“You found me, so I’m not doing a very good job.”

Without looking, you could tell that Rami’s face fell by his tone when he said, “I’m sorry. I have no right to impose myself on you.”

Before he could get up, you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t go.”

“You sure?”

You looked over at him and gave him a sweet smile.

“I’m sure. Besides, one of our pals is sure to interrupt us.”

Rami snorted, “Yeah. Lookin’ for Sami.”

“By the way, where is he?”

“Not you too,” Rami groaned as he laid on his back, mimicking your position with his knees bent and heels dug into the sand.

“Fine. Don’t answer. Shall we just dive right into your existential crisis?”

“I hate you,” Rami deadpanned.

“You brought it up by saying what the fuck even is my life earlier . . .”

“Sami is out with his new girlfriend. Didn’t bring her because she doesn’t like the beach.”

You sat up on your elbows and looked over at Rami. His eyes were closed, his wine cup nestled into the sand near his hand.

“She doesn’t like . . . the beach? That’ll last,” you finished with a snort.

He chuckled. “Haven’t met her yet, but I’m not feelin’ her. I think he’s still hung up on Annalise.”

“Who is here tonight, loving the beach . . . and that Pauly-D lookin’ guy she brought.”

“I texted him that as soon as I got here.”

“Snitch.”

Rami opened his eyes and twisted his head to look up at you.

“What? You’ve always been a snitch. And the two of you have always had the worst taste in women.”

Now Rami sat straight up and turned to face you, his face now hidden in shadow thanks to your distance from the fire. However, people seemed to have forgotten about you, so it didn’t look like you were going to be interrupted again.

“Like you’ve had better luck.”

“Keepin’ tabs on me?”

Rami shifted and you were able to see his face again, his eyes lit up with his desire to tease you.

“And if I am?”

“I’d really love to know why.”

Rami bit his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before releasing it.

“I’d rather show you why.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you looked over at him, the night suddenly too hot again despite your distance from the bonfire.

His eyes held yours, more effective than any venom that could cause paralysis.

Your tongue wet your lips, seemingly of its own accord, and that was all the invitation Rami needed before he leaned over and kissed you, his warm hand sliding around the back of your head.

His lips were a little chapped, but when your tongue met the warm, wet, softness of his, desire replaced every conflicting emotion that had run amok in your mind that evening.

You pulled Rami closer as you laid flat on your back and he shifted, his body half covering yours as he explored your mouth.

When the kiss ended, you knew things would never be the same between you again. This was it—this was the moment when your relationship chose a side. No more straddling. No more giving, then taking back.

“Rami. I—”

“Shh. Just listen,” he interrupted, leaning up on his arm so he could look down at you. “No matter what happens to me, my first instinct is to talk to you. I just wanna hear your voice. I find myself living with you in my mind as this eternal figure of response. I always wonder what you would think about something. And I think that’s what’s happened in my past relationships—no matter who I’m with, the only voice I wanna hear is yours.”

You searched his face and were overwhelmed by the vulnerability you found written on it after his confession. For this single moment, you held the power to accept him or to reject him.

“Thank god you’ve finally pulled your head out of your ass to realize that what’s best for you has been right in front of your stupidcute nose this entire time.”

“In front of my stupidcute nose, huh?” Rami said, his face transformed by your acceptance.

“Yeah. I said it.”

“Wanna get out of here? Go someplace and talk?”

“I do,” you answered. “But first I really wanna make out with you.”

Rami laughed, a deep rumbling that sounded low in his throat and chest.

“Whatever you want, Y/N. I’m gonna do my fucking best to make sure you have it.”

Grinning, you pulled him into a kiss.

[theatresweetheart]

Of Stars and Royal Gardens

Summary: When the king of the Eastern Kingdom falls ill suddenly, the wedding that was supposed to unite the Eastern and Northern Kingdoms via the princes suddenly gets moved immediately. 

Warnings: Talk of sickness, arranged marriages, anxious thoughts, feelings of worthlessness, mentioned death due to childbirth. 

Pairings: Romantic Prinxiety, Familial Analogical, Platonic Logince.

Characters: Roman, Virgil, Logan, Emile, Remy, Deceit (not mentioned by name), Patton (mentioned in passing/flashback.)

Word Count: 6647 words.

A/n: I absolutely love writing fantasy and royalty. (Not to mention how putting the two together makes me swoon.) I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile and I wanted to flesh it out as best as I could, and I’m actually pretty happy with the outcome! I’ve been trying not to rush through scenes and actually write them and feel them out. Enjoy! I have moved the taglist to the bottom of the fic, this is how it will be from here on.

                                           ——————————

One could only handle travelling in a carriage for so long before they started to go mad.

Emerald green hills outside the window rose and fell like unceasing waves. The sky was once again fading into a dark red. Purple, dark blue and black began smearing the edges of the world and doused it in a warm pinkish hue. The skyline was breathtakingly stunning, he would admit that but he was more than ready to get out of this carriage and stretch his legs again.

The prince let his head rest against the cool glass, a gentle sigh escaping him as his eyes lazily traced the ups and downs of the landscape outside.

When rolling hills slowly turned into flatter farmlands, Virgil’s dwindling hope of never getting out of this carriage faded. It changed to something more tentative.

The Kingdom they were visiting was closer now, even as darkness fell over the lands and gave the waking world a clear view of the stars shining brightly above them. Looking like crushed diamonds smattered against a black canvas sky, twinkling without a care in the world and unknowingly giving the prince something far more relaxing to look at.

There were small cottages that dotted the farmland, their lanterns like fireflies. Some people were still out in their rows upon rows of crops, their lantern bobbing and swaying to their gait.

Seemed like being escorted to your future spouse had a few pros. The night sky and stunning scenery was it so far.

It was also a rather large relief when he realized that this tantalizing journey would be over soon. Travelling for three days in a confined space with his father could be painful. However, the idea that they were almost there also brought the fact that his wedding was just a day away now.

It set an uneasy feeling in his chest and his breath came a little more laboured. Not enough to be noticed by an outsider, but just enough to be uncomfortable for the prince himself.

“How are you faring?”‌ His father’s voice cut into his thoughts and Virgil turned to see sharp blue eyes meeting his own.

Virgil had a few options; he could lie and say that he was perfectly fine. Of course, that would not be taken at face value in the least. He had already told his father just how unhappy he was about this marriage, not to mention how unready he felt about the whole ordeal. Nor the fact that he didn’t even know the man he was being wedded to.

He knew his betrothed’s name.

That was literally it.

“It might be love at first sight, Your Highness,” a friend of his had said, the tailor stitching up the last seam on the prince’s outfit, pulling it taut enough that it showed his assets modestly. “And besides, he might not be as awful as you think he is. I’ve heard only good things about the prince of the Eastern Kingdom.”

Virgil had shaken his head, a fond look on his face. “Patton, please, enough with the formalities, we’re alone. You don’t have to call me “You’re Highness” or “My Prince” or whatever, it’s kinda weird. Besides, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“That was before I‌ was the royal tailor,” Patton had said, grabbing a pair of scissors to his left before snipping the dark purple thread. Pointedly ignoring Virgil’s unimpressed looks. “But my point still stands. You never know what could come of this. You two could end up happy in your marriage! A happily ever after and all that.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Virgil didn’t have much hope that he would end up falling for his soon-to-be-husband. He was going to be a king and that was shaking him to the core.

It was odd, being betrothed to a man he had never met. Nor did he know what he looked like. What if he wasn’t even all that attractive? Virgil didn’t like basing his interest on another’s looks, but it was hard not to.

Could he truly live the rest of his life content if he was married to a man he wasn’t physically attracted to?

Patton had always told him that finding someone handsome was part of the attraction. It was one of those whispered talks they had at night, after sneaking out of the castle and going to their secret spot up by the waterfall near the edge of the kingdom. They would sit there under the stars together, talking about their future.

Patton had always dreamed of a fairy tale ending. Meeting a handsome stranger and being swept off of his feet. The cliche of the white knight swooping in on a horse.

Virgil had been the opposite, not caring much for the romance of life. Much more content to live his life on his own, reading or painting. As the crowned prince however, he didn’t have much time for his own little personal activities and was more often than not found in self defense classes, or reading something necessary to understand how to take over and run the kingdom after his father passed the crown on.

Virgil’s father had never been too thrilled with the idea of him sneaking out at night once he figured it out, but the king had also never forbade it nor stopped him when he had been caught one night. Logan had always told him to be safe and to be back before morning.

It wasn’t that Virgil didn’t respect this father, he did! But this was a decision that he wished hadn’t been set in stone. A decision that could have been swayed for at least a few years further into the future.

Though, when the Eastern Kingdom’s king fell ill, there was a messenger sent to their kingdom.

A letter had been delivered that spoke to joining forces by having their sons marry and conjoin the kingdom. Giving his son, Prince Roman, someone to rule beside and keep in check. Pleading with them to rearrange the timing of the marriage and to come to the Eastern Kingdom as soon as humanly possible.

And Virgil, being Logan’s only heir, had had no choice in the matter. He still remembered the chat as though it was yesterday, and he could still the same emotions twitching under his fingertips. Itching at his throat.

“You must understand that uniting the kingdoms was always the plan, Virgil. Though, the marriage was not supposed to happen until you and his son were older.”

“I get that, but this isn’t fair. That I‌ get no choice in what happens to my life!”

“I will not tolerate this childish behaviour, this is for the better of your kingdom and your people.”

“I just want to make my own choices, is that a sin?”

“You will be able to make your own choices after you’re joined in marriage.”

Logan had told him from a very young age that he had been betrothed to the crowned prince of the Eastern Kingdom, but as a child Virgil hadn’t understood the weight of those words.

Now that it was happening, it was the only thing he could focus on.

The horses continued their trot along the stone path, unknowingly carrying the prince to what was soon to be his demise. Ruling a kingdom with a man he didn’t know was stressful enough in theory, but to actually have to put that into action? He was surely going to either lose his mind or his dignity. If he was lucky, perhaps both.

Virgil mumbled something incoherent. It made him feel just the slightest bit better to know that his father hadn’t caught what he’d said. “I could be better,” he said louder, turning his attention to stare achingly out the window again.

Logan let out a terse sigh. “I‌ understand that you are upset with this,” he said after a moment, and Virgil turned his head just enough to show that he was, indeed, actively listening. “But this is for the better of our people. The wedding was not supposed to be this soon, and I apologize that it came so suddenly.”

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “It is what is is.”

There was a tense silence between the two royals and Logan soon realized he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with Virgil. So, he instead settled on a different topic of importance.

“I did meet Prince Roman once,” he said while rummaging through the bag to his side, before pulling out his book and flipping it open. If he said it nonchalantly, Virgil would be more intent to listen. It was a quirk of his son’s that Logan had picked up on very quickly. He fingered through the pages idly. “He was only seven, merely a child, mind you, but he was kind and respectful. A bit exuberant, but well meaning.”

Virgil snorted. “Why are you telling me this now?‌ I’m about to meet the guy.”

“True,” Logan replied, pushing his glasses up so they sat further up on the bridge of his nose. “Though, there is no harm in knowing. It will be easier to prepare yourself if you’re armed with knowledge.”

“Yeah, yeah, knowledge is power and all that.”

“You mock now, Virgil, but in time you will understand that yes, knowledge truly is power,” the king looked up briefly, meeting the prince’s eyes for half a second before Virgil quickly glanced away again. “Ruling a kingdom is not something you just do. It’s something that will take years of learning. And you will make mistakes, as all kings do. Especially young ones.”

Virgil scrunched his nose, pushing off of the window and crossing his arms. Staring pointedly down at the floor of the carriage. “If you’re trying to be reassuring, it’s not working.”

“I’m not trying to be reassuring,” Logan said, turning his attention back down to the book in his lap, “I’m trying to tell you that things will go wrong in your reign and you mustn’t panic. If you do, do not let your people see it. They will see it as a sign of weakness.”

Virgil’s nails tightened in his sleeves, and he worried his lower lip.

“Though, have peace. You will not be doing this alone.”

“Yeah, because ruling a kingdom that is not mine with a total stranger is better.”

“It is very possible that you two will get along.”

Logan did understand the frustration of being married to someone he didn’t know. That’s how he, himself, had been wedded to Virgil’s late mother, Evangeline, and how they had given Logan an heir.

Virgil’s mother had unfortunately died in childbirth.

The queen had been beloved, but both her and Logan had shared something that the rest of the kingdom needn’t know. They had both been attracted to men and women respectfully. They had done what was necessary, but neither had truly felt attracted to one another.

Evangeline and himself had been close friends, but never anything more.

Virgil rolled his eyes and sunk further down into the leather seats, when he suddenly felt the change between gravel roads to paved stone.

His eyes were drawn outside instantly. His heart both fluttered and sunk. He was granted with the view of huge stone walls rising high above the carriage, guarded with knights and archers. Torches lit up the wooden gate as it was lifted. The carriage rode through it with hardly a qualm, the crest on the side of it recognized. Not to mention the thing had golden crested accents and looked as if it would carry important people.

The city streets were lined with people, all standing in large chattering groups. Pointing, smiling, cheering. It made Virgil pull slightly away from the window. The shops were all still open and lights glittered and shone. Lanterns, lamps, torches.

Virgil nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his knee and he turned his attention back to his father, who was looking at him with a soft gaze. “You will be alright,” he told him, an affirming tone behind his voice, “you are more than capable of doing this.”

That set something in Virgil’s chest. Hard, immovable and a lump formed in his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it stayed stuck where it was.

Oh god, I‌ hope you’re right.

They didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the trip up to the castle gates. Which were coated in gold and silver. Two armed knights stood outside the gates, their swords by their sides. There was some muffled talking between the coachman and the guard on the other side of the carriage. Then there was a shouted command and the huge gate doors began to open.

Peering out the window only gave him so much of a glance at the glory that awaited inside. The courtyard was filled with life. Trees and plants and flowerbeds, lanterns hung and lights from inside the castle glittered like starlight. There were ponds filled with crystal clear water and the carriage circled around a stunning white marble fountain.

Virgil was positive that the moment he found out where the royal garden was, that was where he was going to spend a bit of his night. He needed to unwind and spend some time with just himself and the night sky and the stars hanging so far above them.

The carriage finally stopped moving after what had seemed like ages and the coachman was hopping down from his perch. Before anything happened, Logan picked up his crown and settled it comfortably once more, checking himself once, making sure his appearance was more than presentable. He sent a pointed glance toward the prince.

Virgil sighed, but knowing that it was better to make a good first impression, he reached into his crown box and pulled his own out. His thumb ran over the ruby that sat in the stock middle before turning it around in his hands and putting it on.

Logan had stood up, hearing the coachman preparing to open the door and he quickly bent down to fix Virgil’s crown so it sat straight on his brow, before adjusting the clasps that connected his cape to his jacket. It seemed he was satisfied with that and just in time. The coachman opened the door and Logan led out, Virgil was quick to follow, making sure not to step on his father’s cape.

It was a brief thought and he had to bite his lip to keep the smirk from spreading.

“Your majesties,” a man dressed in a crisp suit came down the large flight of perfect stairs, his arms open and a smile on his features. “The Eastern Kingdom greets you with the humblest of welcomes.”

“It’s our pleasure,”‌ his father said to the side of him and Virgil straightened his shoulders, matching Logan’s perfect posture.

It was all for the public eye.

Such was the life of royalty.

Always watched by their people, almost as if they were waiting for their leaders to mess up and find a reason to revolt against them. Though, Virgil knew his father was well liked by much of the kingdom, there was always the worry of something happening, no matter how wonderful the ruler.

“Prince Virgil, your betrothed eagerly awaits you,” the man said, turning to Virgil with that same bright charismatic grin. It almost set something uneasier in his chest, though he let it pass for the moment. “Come, follow me.”

Virgil clenched his hands, attempting to still the nervous shaking and letting his father lead once more. He was quick to keep pace though. Up the marble stairs and leading through the winding hallways. He would have to memorize this new layout as it was almost completely different from their own castle. There were red tapestries on the walls, decorated with gold and silver, shining in the lamp light and the moonlight seeping in through the large windows.

They dipped around a few corners before the two large mahogany doors were being swung open and a brightly lit ballroom was revealed. There were tables, chairs and benches set up to the side. The room was staggeringly big. A huge glittering crystal chandelier hung above their heads and he was admittedly taken by it. Everything about this kingdom just seemed to be breathtakingly gorgeous.

His attention shifted as soon as he heard the same man’s voice from before beginning to introduce his father and himself.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, I introduce to you King Logan and Prince Virgil of the Northern Kingdom.”

Virgil’s attention shifted toward the head of the room, seeing two thrones sitting dauntingly large compared to their occupants. In the middle throne, he saw a sickly looking man. Pale skin, dulling brown eyes behind glasses sitting perched on his thin nose, but his shoulders back and his head up as far as it could go. The king, Virgil had no doubt about that. He knew he had fallen ill, but to see the king in this state yet trying to hold his head high?‌ Well, he gave the man even more respect.

Then, sitting to the king’s right was the crowned prince. His husband-to-be.

Virgil’s heart jumped right into his throat, upon seeing chocolate brown eyes meeting his own. They were soft, full of warmth. He felt short of breath, watching as the candlelight glinted off the crown perched delicately upon styled brown hair, tucked behind his ears. All worries about being attracted to his betrothed immediately disappeared.

Prince Roman Amir was certainly something to look at. And he made Virgil’s poor heart flutter.

However, he retained a neutral stance as Roman was granted permission from his father to step forward. Virgil heard Logan clear his throat quietly, a pointed nudge without truly touching the prince.

Taking the hint, he stepped forward, heart hammering in his chest with every step he took closer to his betrothed. The closer they got, the more details he could see on him, not to mention just how much taller Roman was than himself. He carried himself with true pride and confidence and Virgil was just faking it.

The two met in the middle of the ballroom, meeting each other’s eyes for the first time up close and Virgil found himself watching Roman’s eyes. The gentle hazels seeming to flicker over his person. A part of him felt self conscious, but the other part of him just was so mesmerized by the golden brown swirls in the prince’s eyes.

Roman dipped into a respectful bow, dropping his gaze. “Prince Roman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Virgil quickly mimicked the same action, knowing it was required of him. “Prince Virgil, the pleasure’s mine.”

Standing straight up, Virgil tucked his hands behind his back and he felt Logan come up behind him, laying a reassuring hand on his lower back before continuing his way past the two princes. The king on the throne rose to his feet, struggling slightly as he reached for his cane and hefted himself up.

Roman turned on his heel, after sending Virgil a gentle look before returning to his father’s side. “Father,” he chided, hooking a hand under the king’s arm and helping him stand further. “You know what the healer said, stay seated unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, yes, I‌ know,” the king smiled, patting Roman’s hand to show that he appreciated the sentiment. His smile grew wider upon seeing Logan closer to him, greeting him with a look that almost said it all. “Logan Sanders.”

“Emile Amir,” Logan greeted back, a smile that one could only spot if they knew what they were looking for appeared. “It has been a long time, my friend.”

“I‌ do believe the last time you were here, Roman couldn’t have been older than seven,” King Emile reached out a hand and Logan took it, the both sharing a grasp that said they were old friends. “How have these years been treating you?”

Logan chuckled. His laugh was rumbling, like a comforting thunderstorm. Virgil could remember falling asleep to that sound, or finding comfort in it when he would get spooked as a child and run to his father for protection. “As they say, it could be going worse.”

Emile laughed at that, though it quickly turned into a round of coughs. Roman’s features dropped slightly, though it was gone within a flash and was replaced with a look that was more concerned than sad.

Virgil stepped closer to the throne and Emile turned to face him, that soft smile returning after recovering from his fit. “And, if my eyes don’t deceive me. Virgil, the last time I‌ saw you, you were just a babe. Now look at you, a dashing young man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he dipped his head into a respectful nod. He could feel Roman’s eyes on him, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Or, tried not to.

“Now,”‌ Emile said, his smile dropped slightly, turning into something a bit more serious as he eased himself back down into his throne. “I‌ know this situation is not exactly ideal.”‌ The king did not hide his glances toward his son and Virgil in turn, obviously talking about the wedding being moved so much sooner than originally planned. “But I appreciate your cooperation and valiance more than anything, Virgil. It is truly remarkable.”

Virgil offered a tight smile, though it was not unkind.

“We have done everything in our power to make sure that this transition is comfortable and painless,” the king continued. “As you know, tomorrow is the wedding and the coronation to follow the day after. I‌ will do everything to make sure that both days go flawlessly to ease the stress of the both of you.”

“Father, you mustn’t worry yourself so much,” Roman told him, taking Emile’s hand and holding it tightly. “I’m sure Prince Virgil and I‌ will be alright. And so what if some hiccups occur? No matter what, it will be fine. We will be fine.”

Emile smiled at his son, patting his hand in turn. “You will be a good king, Roman. Now, enough of such dreary talk. Come, you two must be exhausted. I‌ will have Remy show you both to your quarters.”

Seemingly at the mention of his name, a man with slick black hair appeared in the grand doorway, dressed in a sleek black jacket and dress pants, hands tucked behind his back.

“Ah, what impeccable timing. Remy, please escort our guests to their quarters.”

“Actually, Emile, if you wouldn’t mind,” Logan stepped in, “I‌ would like to spend a little while catching up with you before I turn in for the night.”

“Oh.” Emile’s entire demeanor seemed to change at that. It brightened somehow, more than before. “Why of course I‌ wouldn’t mind. Let us talk in the library. I‌ know how much you loved it when we were younger.”

“I‌ can assure you that that aspect of me has not changed.” Logan stepped forward, offering his arm as Emile reached for his cane.

Emile accepted Logan’s offered assistance and lifted himself up, leaning most of his weight on his cane. “Roman, you are released for the night. Get some rest, the both of you.” It was obvious Emile was talking to both Roman and Virgil. “It is a big day for you and you will want to be well rested.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, father.”

Logan shared a look with Virgil, both saying something entirely silently but communicating it perfectly. His father wished him the best, since they might not see each other until just before the ceremony.

Virgil excused himself and turned to follow Remy out of the ballroom, the taller man taking swift steps. They walked in silence for a couple minutes, but he could tell Remy was glancing at him from time to time. Virgil instead let his attention linger on the walls and the stained glass windows high above them, trying to memorize the path as best as possible. The sooner he knew these halls, the better. That way he wouldn’t have to rely on someone else for assistance in his own castle.

However, he supposed soon enough that the bedchamber he was in now would no longer be his own. As a married pair, the princes—or perhaps kings would be the proper term? No, until after the coronation, don’t get ahead of yourself—would be sharing a bed.

The thought was staggering and he took in a shaky breath.

Virgil had never had to share a bed with anyone before. At least, no one that was supposed to be his romantic interest. He had shared a bed with his father when he was a child, after having a particularly bad dream maybe. But nothing of this magnitude.

“So,” Remy finally said, turning another corner and leading Virgil down yet another well lit hallway that looked exactly like the others, save this carpet had turned from a royal crimson to a darker red. “You’re the bride-to-be.”

Virgil laughed unexpectedly. He couldn’t help it. Of the first words he had thought Remy would say to him, that was very much not it. “I‌’m sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Remy had a smirk on his face, knowing he had gotten the nervous royal to crack that anxious facade to reveal something more childish and human-like. He was pleased with himself, that much Virgil could tell. “No reason to be apologetic babes, getting a laugh like that makes you seem more human.”

Virgil snorted, bringing his arms up to wrap around himself instead of staying tucked behind his back, it was a more natural position for him and he felt more comfortable this way. At least he felt more protected.

They stopped walking after they reached a large set of dark oak doors. “This here is your bedchamber for the night,” the adviser said, pushing the door open.

Virgil was welcomed with the sight of a lavish four poster bed. The room was decorated, but dimly lit. It was comfortable and felt rather homey. It was something that he had seen in his own castle, yet it felt so different. Virgil felt somewhat homesick looking at it. The tapestries on the walls depicting waterfalls and battlefields, flowerbeds on some and a mix of a crown and a sword.

Remy turned to leave once Virgil stepped inside, but the prince was quick to stop him. “Is it possible to know where the royal garden is, and how to actually get there?”

Remy turned on his heel, looking the prince up and down before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his black jacket. “Head a little further down this hallway and take the first door on your right. It’ll lead you to the outside balcony with a set of stairs that leads into the garden,” he then swiveled back around and moved to leave before pausing again, “but, gurl, you didn’t hear that from me.”

The adviser left with a wink and shut the doors. Virgil let out a half laugh, almost unbelieving of what had happened.

He then turned to face the rest of the room, noticing a large window and a comfortable seat just underneath it. To the other side of the bed, there was a large bookshelf with countless books of all colours.

Virgil un-clipped the cape from his shoulders before folding it and placing it on the chest just in front of the bed. He removed the jacket and vest underneath as well, setting those away in a neat pile and leaving him in just his white button up shirt. He rolled the sleeves up and let out a breath.

Passing the mirror on the boudoir he realized his crown was still there. He’d been wearing it so long he had forgotten it was even there.

Virgil reached up and lifted it off, taking a single glance at it before setting it down onto the dresser. He didn’t need to be so formal if his only company for the rest of the night was himself.

Glancing through the books on the shelf, Virgil came across one about myths and mythical creatures. As a child, his father would read him books like this. However, that shifted soon enough and Logan began to read him non-fiction books, scrolls about how to rule a kingdom, how to be a proper prince. It was a leisure to read something that didn’t focus too much in the real world.

Taking the book off the shelf, he fingered through a few of the opening pages before deeming it worthy enough of a late night read.‌ At least to hold his attention until everyone went to bed so he could take his time to wander through the royal garden without the fear of being caught or seen. Or interrupted.

He grabbed the candle sitting on the dresser before bringing it over to the window seat and settling it down on the ledge. He propped the window open just enough to taste the fresh night air outside, but not enough to let it snuff the candle. He pulled his legs up onto the cushion and leaned his back against the wall, propping the book up on his knees.

Out of this entire situation, this had to be the most peaceful and relaxed he had felt after this whole endeavor had begun.

Even with the wedding looming over his shoulder, Virgil could take these last few chances to be by himself.

A few hours had passed by the time he had nearly finished the book and he heard servants outside his door beginning to snuff out most of the lights, save for leaving one or two. It was a routine he was used to back home, and would normally wait until everyone else retired for the night before sneaking out and grabbing Patton, before they ran off to the waterfall in the dead of the evening.

After waiting an extra ten or so minutes, Virgil closed the book and placed it back onto the shelf where it belonged.

He opened one of the doors and peered out into the hallway. Just as he had suspected, most of the lights had been snuffed and only a few remained flickering. Most of the hallway was illuminated with a warm moonlit glow.

Slipping out into the hallway, he shut the door as silently as he possibly could before making his way down the hallway. The same way Remy had told him earlier that evening.

First door on your right.

When he turned to the right a little ways down, there was another corridor, but at the very end of it were two more large mahogany doors with inscriptions and pictures engraved into it. Virgil made sure to walk on the carpet and not the stone, not wanting his shoes to make any noise against the polished flooring.

His hands roved over the inscriptions, his fingertips finding the small detailed divots. He tugged on the metal handle before the door opened. He slid through the opening he had created and shut it silently behind him.

When Virgil turned, he was welcomed with the sight of a garden beyond compare. He was currently standing on a balcony made of polished white marble, but when he leaned over the railing, he could see emerald green that went on for what seemed like ages. Stone walls with flowering vines crawling up the sides, matching ponds on both sides of the stairs that descended. Statues that spouted water into the fountains surrounded by flowerbeds and bushes with roses. Trees, arches, a gazebo in the centre of the magnificence.

The stars glittering so high above brought it altogether. If this was how dazzling it looked at night, then the daylight it must be even more breathtaking. Or, hell, during twilight.

Virgil was so taken by the view in front of him, he had failed to hear the sounds of the door opening behind him before it was too late.

“You sneak out into the garden at night too?”

The sudden voice from behind the prince made him jolt, snapped out of his trance and flinching away to turn and see Roman standing almost directly to the side of him. He was missing practically everything Virgil was. The crown, the cape, the over decorated jacket.

He looked just like an average boy.

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted after a moment, turning back to lean against the railing after calming his poor heart from the scare, “couldn’t resist really. I‌ needed some fresh air to clear my head about everything.”

Roman chuckled. The sound was warm and comforting and it made Virgil’s heart skip a beat, as cheese-y and sappy as that was. The other prince came to stand beside him, their shoulders nearly touching as they both watched the peaceful garden in its most natural form. The soft rush of water, the chirping of crickets, the gentle sound of the pond water lapping from the gentle breeze overhead.

“I‌ don’t blame you,” Roman told him in a soft voice, side glancing Virgil from his leaned position. “I’ve found a safe place in the garden. The sounds, the sights. Night is when everything is at its most peaceful.”

It had an air of absolute serenity.

Hearing that his fiance felt the same way about such a place was almost like a weight off of his chest. One that he didn’t even know had been there in the first place. Virgil let the ghost of a smile appear on his lips, feeling content in this moment. Even with the chaos that was about to ensue tomorrow, he felt at ease with his partner.

Though, when Roman’s words registered, Virgil realized he had said his safe place, so did that mean he was encroaching on something that almost felt sacred?

“I‌ don’t want to intrude if you want to be alone–”‌ Virgil said, moving to push away from the banister when his hand was grabbed, stopping him immediately in his tracks. Brown eyes flickering up to meet Roman’s.

“Please don’t go.” It was a soft plead and Virgil let out a breath, seeing the vulnerability behind that gaze. Roman was completely genuine in not wanting him to leave. “I really would like your company. Besides, you were here before me. Truly, it is I that is intruding on you.”

Virgil broke out of his thoughts again, his face flushing when he realized Roman hadn’t let go his hand. It was so soft, and warm to the touch. He really didn’t want Roman to let his hand go. But right at this moment, Virgil didn’t have the confidence to interlace their fingers either, so he just stood there.

He smiled a little more sincerely, relaxing the slightest bit. “Nonsense,”‌ he said after another moment of collecting his scattered thoughts, “it’s your garden after all.”

The two stood there for another moment more, just drinking the other in. Memorizing what they could of each other in the moonlight. Virgil could see the way the moonlight shone off Roman’s eyes, making them glitter in the most cliche way. But it was something so…so real.

Maybe Patton was right, maybe there really was such a thing as true love.

“Come on,” Roman broke the silence, “I want to show you something.”

With a gentle tug on his hand, Virgil was following Roman down the marble stairs and onto the stone path of the garden.‌‌

And they hadn’t let each other go.

“You’re not leading me all the way out here to kill me, just so you can get out of the marriage are you?” Virgil teased.

This time Roman’s laugh was louder, more boisterous, more unabashed and unashamed. That beaming smile was turned back on Virgil and he swore his heart nearly stopped. It filled him with warmth and butterflies and everything that Patton had always told him love would make him feel. It was cliche and sappy and disgusting.

And he liked it.

“No, no,” Roman’s laugh tapered off, showing something still amused but serious. “I swear to you it’s nothing like that.”

Roman led him through a few arches covered in vines and greenery and the sweet fragrance of flowers surrounded the both of them.‌ Soon enough, though, Virgil could hear the rushing of water and before he knew it, Roman was pushing some dangling vines and long grass out of the way and they were ducking down into a cavern.

The cave itself was short, Virgil could see a faint light over Roman’s shoulder and the rushing water got louder. They were pressed rather close together as there wasn’t enough space for the both of them to be side by side.

After another minute, Virgil was able to stand up straight and he saw a waterfall, stretching high above them. When he looked all the way up, the moon hung just over the top of it, giving it an angelic glow and he stepped forward on instinct, mouth agape.

“This technically isn’t apart of the royal garden,”‌ Roman told him quietly off to the side, not wanting to ruin the moment, “but I‌ found it when I‌ was a teenager. It’s one of my favourite spots in the entire kingdom, really.”

“I‌ can see why.” Virgil’s hand unconsciously tightened on Roman’s, just wanting to drink in the moment. He could feel emotions budding in the back of his throat. “I‌ have a waterfall like this back home, but it’s nothing compared to this.” 

As much as Virgil loved his and Patton’s secret spot back home, it paled in comparison to what he was looking at now.

Roman finally intertwined their fingers and Virgil looked up to him. “You’re the first person I’ve ever showed this place,” he told him, moving to stand directly in front of him, reaching down and taking Virgil’s other hand in his own.

That information shocked him. He was the first person this wonderland had been shown to? Ever?‌ Virgil was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say?‌ He was honoured?‌ Touched? “I– I‌ don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” Roman’s voice had dropped significantly and Virgil’s face went scarlet. He could feel the tips of his ears getting warmer and heat creeping up the back of his neck. He could only thank the lord is was too dark for Roman to see just how flustered he was making him.

(However, it was such a cliche line that if Virgil had heard it out of context, he would have laughed and moved on.)

“I‌ know this whole situation is really strange for the both of us, Virgil,” Roman continued, softer. “And I‌ completely understand that. But I honestly think we can do this.”

Virgil’s mouth went dry and he licked his lips to try and went them again. He had just an urge to just surge up and press his mouth against Roman’s. It would be wildly inappropriate (ignoring the fact that they were going to literally be married tomorrow) and Virgil was pretty sure he would combust if he actually did it.

His eyes dropped from Roman’s, and glanced down to their interlaced hands. It was such an intimate moment and they had barely known each other three hours. Had barely interacted more than twice.‌

And yet, it felt real.

He knew what he was about to say was something he truly felt. It was weird and strange and the last thing he had expected, nevertheless speak such a cliche and romantic sentence without cringing.

Virgil looked back up, meeting his betrothed’s once again. Roman looked so hopeful, a delicate light flashing behind those breathtakingly brown eyes. He smiled and squeezed Roman’s hands. “I think so too.”

Maybe there truly was a silly thing known as love at first sight.

                                          ——————————

Taglist: @isle-of-gold 

[halothenthehorns]

THE DARK MARK

"Here you go Padfoot," James finally handed over his prize, the widest most stupid smirk still happily planted on his face.

Sirius eyed it, before stretching leisurely and saying, "nah, I'm good, I think I like being skipped. It's technically Harry's turn, have at it pup."

Harry didn't argue the point as he flipped to his chapter, ignoring that stupid little bubble that was trying to burst his good mood and inform him that nothing would be pleasant for much longer now that the Cup had ended.

Mr. Weasley was cautioning the twins not to go telling their mother they'd been gambling as they headed back to the stairwell.

"Oh that's nice," Lily muttered, "encourage them to lie to their mother."

"It's not lying," Remus said at once.

Even not having heard what Lily had said, Sirius agreed with him at once, "it's just keeping information from those who don't need it, a rather kind endeavor really, you should be thanking us."

"I'm sure that was your motto at school," she snorted at him.

"No," James smirked, "it was 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"

Harry burst out laughing, even Lily couldn't stop a little smile as she shook her head at the lot of these boys.

      Fred promised that wouldn't be a problem, as they both had big plans for this gold and didn't want it being confiscated. Mr. Weasley hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to ask for details, but seemed to decide against it.

"I want to know," Sirius pouted, still happily bouncing in place in hopes they were going full throttle with that joke shop idea.

They were soon back in the crowds, heading back to the tents through the lantern path once again, leprechauns commonly cruising by above still happily laughing.

"That's going to be happening the rest of the night," James snickered.

They reached their tent and as no one was ready to settle down, they all got some cocoa ready, and were happily still arguing about the game.

"What kind of arguments were these?" Sirius demanded at once.

Harry opened his mouth to start saying the many spiraling conversations that had been going on, but Lily quickly elbowed her way in saying, "not now boys. How many times do I have to tell you, we are not spending hours just sitting around talking about Quidditch, I want to hear this."

"But, Quidditch," James turned pleading eyes on his wife.

"And the World Cup at that," Sirius nodded fervently.

Lily didn't budge though, so Harry turned back to his chapter.

It wasn't until Ginny fell asleep at the table did Arthur cut in it was time for them to get some sleep.

"Well that's not fair," Remus smiled lightly, "making all of them go to bed just because one fell asleep."

"They might have to get up early again," Lily offered.

As Hermione roused Ginny and they went to their own tent, they heard a small bang from the Irish side of the campsite, and Mr. Weasley happily said how he was pleased not to be on duty tonight, he didn't envy those who had the task of telling the Irish to settle down.

"I can only picture the bravest of souls taking up the challenge," James said solemnly.

"And the beautiful responses said Ministry employees will receive," Sirius cackled.

Harry lay in his bunk, watching the tent ceiling which occasionally still had a flash of color flying overhead. He was fantasizing about flying his own Firebolt when he got back to the Burrow, wanting to try out that Wronski Feint.

Lily groaned, placing her face in her hands and cursing his Quidditch father, broom giving godfather, and whatever else felt the need to encourage her son to continue with that insane sport.

Remus gave her a light pat on the shoulder in comfort, trying his hardest not to burst out laughing at the boys on the couch who were all laughing lightly at what they felt was an overreaction from her.

Harry was surprised Wood have never told him of this technique.

"Well it is rather advanced," Sirius nodded sagely. "I can understand if he hadn't even shown it to you yet."

"With the broom and experience you've got though," James hadn't thought it was possible for his mood to keep soaring, but speaking of this was doing so! "I wouldn't be surprised if you pulled it off first try."

"You are literally encouraging our son to ram himself into the ground as hard as he can until he pulls that off," Lily got out, her face still buried in her fingers.

"Ah, it won't cause any permanent damage," Remus snickered, "James seems mostly intact after his many attempts."

"Mostly?" James demanded with a challenging brow but, still snickering lightly, Harry decided to keep going himself now.

His daydream continued to morph, so that he was now performing that move in front of the stadium they'd just left, with Ludo Bagman calling out the name Potter to the cheering crowd.

"So now you actually want the attention?" Remus laughed.

"It's for Quidditch," Sirius said like it was obvious. "If Harry goes on to remember he joined the professionals, I wouldn't be surprised one little bit. That's the kind of fame I'd never be worried about him getting."

"You're all fired from giving him advice," Lily said stoutly, finally pulling her face out of her hands so they could see her rolling her eyes.

Harry wasn't sure if his mind's eye changed to actual dreams,

Harry was trying very hard now to force himself to relax. He'd gone to sleep after all, surely whatever was trying to creep up and ruin his mood wasn't going to happen...

but the next thing he heard was Arthur shouting at the lot of them to get up, this was an emergency!

The four who weren't reading felt terrible little twists inside of them, but at once tried to convince themselves they were being paranoid. They'd had an excellent run thus far, there was no way something to bad could be happening...

Harry sat upright and was lucky not to hit something harder than canvas above him as he muttered what was going on? He could still hear in the background some banging noises, but somehow they felt different, and he could hear people screaming now.

Lily began gnawing on her lip again at once, picturing all sorts of terrible things like a fire breaking out. In that kind of crowd it could cause a stampede and get someone hurt. Or worse the rival team and someone had started a riot, one drunk thing had gone too far, or...her mind kept offering up one worst thing after the other, and judging by the boy's faces, she wasn't the only one.

Harry slipped out of his bed and began trying to find a change of clothes, but at Arthur's insistence there was no time, he simply bolted out of the tent after Ron, and ran into a nightmare.

There were several camp fires still burning, now lighting his surroundings with ghostly shadows, and loud noises like gunshots coming closer.

"What on earth?" Remus muttered, his mind spinning to try and understand what Harry's half-awake mind couldn't process yet.

Harry couldn't answer, even if he wanted to. There was a hard knot of dread forming up inside of him, making it hard for him to concentrate on the words and keep going.

There seemed to be a large ring of people, all looking up and laughing at something, then there was another flash of light, and Harry could see that there was something hovering in the air above the crowd...people. Directly below them was a condensed group all wearing masks.

"Oh, oh no. Oh no, no, no, no," Lily was shaking her head so furiously to insist upon her brain she hadn't just heard the worst implication, that her hair was flying into her face and she didn't care.

"It doesn't necessarily mean," Sirius tried, but even his voice failed him and he couldn't keep it going.

"What, what's going on?" Harry demanded, as clearly they understood something.

"It, they-" James tried furiously to get the words out, but he'd switched from cloud nine to the worst form of agitated fear so quickly, he was having trouble processing anything.

"They're called Death Eater's,"* Remus was the first to get out, new worry lines appearing around his suddenly dark eyes. "They're what Voldemort calls his followers. Horrid people who do whatever their master commands-"

"Often while enjoying doing it," Sirius added on.

Harry was looking between all of them, now wishing more than anything they could just go back to talking of Quidditch. He'd sadly worked this out for himself, this wasn't the first time they'd mentioned Death Eaters, but only in passing. He'd long guessed for himself what they must be referring to, but now he was getting a firsthand account of their work, and he did not appreciate it.

When the silence dragged on though, Harry knew he may as well keep going, to get through this chapter and this terrible event and just hope nothing like it came up again. They may even be wrong after all, then again, how many groups of people wore masks and would be doing a thing like this?

High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes.

Lily gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth to muffle a scream at who those people must be. Muggles, or Muggle-born, being put on display, and- she realized she was shaking then, but not in fear as Remus throwing her a concerned look suggested, but in rage. In her last few years at school it had been made more clear than ever that her parentage made her stand out, and while there were those who couldn't care less, there were those who only cared about that. Those second groups were most likely the current Death Eaters, in her own time and in Harry's. She'd stepped in many a time to stop terrible fights breaking out, now she was having to listen to her son witness such a thing happening!

The other boys looked just as outraged at hearing this, and Lily was almost sad to see Harry was as well, because she'd have rather seen him confused. She wanted to shield him from that terrible knowledge that people would act this way towards each other, but then she realized she was feeling all the more proud for the reaction she was seeing. If she couldn't protect him from this, at least she was warmed that he knew how terrible this was, how much worse her son could have turned out if he'd been under the influence of someone like the Malfoy's.

Harry did not want to keep going one little bit, but as always he knew he may as well get the experience over with and just hope they turned out okay.

It seemed the masked people below were holding their limbs in invisible magic, and two of the four were very small.

"They've, got, children, up, there," Remus said slowly and dangerously, his hands curling into such tight fists the tendons were showing.

Harry wanted more than anything just to deny that one thing, but the words failed in his throat as he turned morosely back to the book.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies.

"How is that funny?" James seethed. "I, just, you don't-" his temper kept tampering off his words, leaving him a spluttering mess, while his face slowly grew more and more red from outrage.

Tents were being smashed to pieces as the group grew closer, either blasted out of the way or being trampled by the ever growing cheering crowd. The ones that did remain standing were caught on fire, and the screaming kept growing louder.

While Sirius deeply regretted forcing Harry to read this, and was fighting back the impulse to wrench the book away from him to prevent it continuing, he recognized he may not have been able to get these words out himself as his throat kept vibrating with repulsion, forever unable to kick away the mental image of his little brother, and now someone he'd once called a brother, joining in on this group.

The people above were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them, Mr. Roberts.

There were many times in the past where Harry actually regretted understanding why he'd felt a missing memory and did not appreciate having it returned, and this was definitely one of them. His feelings went beyond just pity for poor Mr. Roberts and his family, who had done nothing to deserve this treatment, but a righteous fury was quickly coming in as well, making him want to draw his wand, his body acting without his conscious mind telling him to go and help those people, you had the experience. He forced himself to shake that off though, blinking until the words below him came back into focus, and recognized that however he felt now, he could only deal with the then.

The others were most likely his wife and two children, all were receiving the same vile treatment. Mrs. Roberts was suddenly hung upside down, unable to stop her dress falling with her, leaving her flashing the crowd below.

Harry wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten through all of that and been completely understood, but he was sure they all got the gist of it by the murderous looks on their faces somehow increasing.

Ron managed to spit out how sick that was as his eyes followed one of the children being spun on his head like a top.

"Please be asleep, please let that poor thing be asleep," Lily murmured to herself, her nails digging into her own palm she was wringing her hands so hard.

Hermione and Ginny came out of their tents then, and Mr. Weasley then instructed all of the underage kids to get into the forest, while Percy, Bill, and Charlie were already running towards the mass with their wands out.

Each of them felt torn in half at that news. Of course they wanted Harry to get out of there, but they wanted Mr. Weasley to stay with him incase things somehow got worse, which seemed impossible at this point but as they'd all thought that before and it still somehow happened they weren't putting it past anymore. Then the other side, which was grateful relief that Arthur and his boys would blow those bloody Death Eater's sky high for what they were doing and make sure Mr. Robert's family was fine.

Harry reluctantly turned away as Fred and George each took one of Ginny's hands, and Ron and his two friends quickly followed them into the path where most of the other bystanders were running. Harry took one last glance behind and saw several ministry people were trying to muscle their way through the crowd to get to the masked people,clearly not wanting to curse anyone in fear it would make the Roberts family fall.

"Understandable that, can't apparate to their side either without risking getting blasted to smithereens, have to be a group effort," Remus was muttering under his breath, tapping away an insane rhythm on his knee in pure agitation he couldn't be helping.

The lanterns from before had been put out, the people shoving into one another along the dark path was causing just as much mayhem inside the trees, children could still be heard crying and still more anxious people were screaming into the night.

James and Sirius remembered their earlier joke about how they'd wanted to start a riot between the two rival Quidditch teams, and how that had somehow been turned on its head into this catastrophe, and now they just wanted to hear that everyone made it out of this night alive!

Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

Lily yelped so painfully, she sounded like she'd been sat on, but she couldn't even pretend to be okay when they all gave her anxious looks. She was picturing those Death Eater's catching up to her son, gagging and dragging him back to that decrepit Voldemort, or any other number of terrible things all because Ron had somehow gotten hurt!

Harry wanted to reassure her, he may feel dread for this night but he wanted to calm them all down that nothing too bad was going to happen to him, but that felt like he was dismissing what had happened to Mr. Robert's family, and he wasn't even sure if he was completely right, so he decided to keep going instead.

Hermione cried out for him, and when he didn't immediately respond she lit her wand to find Ron just a bit off the path lying in the dirt.

"He's going to get trampled like that," Sirius muttered, still jittering in a wholly different way than he had been in just the previous chapter.

He grumbled that he'd just tripped as he got back to his feet.

That was such a mundane thing compared to what they'd been afraid of, it almost caused them to laugh in surprise. Almost. They still felt wound up and wretched, but at least it was a breath of fresh air reminding that everything must turn out okay.

Someone began laughing at this misfortune, and Harry didn't have to look hard to find Draco Malfoy,

"Of course," James spat, his hazel eyes lighting furiously. "Why am I not surprised, it was probably his parents idea to do all of that!"

"Won't find anyone in here disagreeing," Harry muttered with such a vicious flip of the page he nearly tore it out.

leaning against a tree in the most casual of manners, clearly watching the show back on the campsite.

"Oh he's being real subtle," Remus sneered. "May as well go out and wave a sign around."

"Please have Hermione punch him again, please," Lily growled.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"I don't know," Sirius rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, though his tone wasn't up to its normal teasing levels even in appreciation of that statement. "I think she might just turn a deaf ear in light of what's going on."

Malfoy hardly reacted, saying they'd better keep running before Hermione was seen.

Harry felt himself stiffen up in even further disgust, the thought of Hermione up there with Mr. Robert's family making him want to retch, but he drew on every last drop of confidence he could muster that wasn't going to happen to his sister.

At that moment the loudest bang of all went off, green light flooding their surroundings.

Lily shuddered in renewed horror, the color green taking on a whole new light with what could be going on back there.

Hermione snapped back she demanded to know what he was on about, and Malfoy just laughed that those people out there were after Muggles. So unless she wanted to show off her knickers next, which would be pretty funny.

"You can't spot a Muggle just by looking at them!" James ground out through gritted teeth.

"Though I wouldn't put it past Malfoy, either of them, to shout it out," Remus seethed.

Harry snarled back that Hermione was a witch! Malfoy's smirk just widened, saying that if they wanted to test how well someone could spot a Mudblood, they should stick around.

Harry felt an acrid taste burning his tongue as he said that for the first time in his life, now knowing how his father felt. Even when you didn't mean it, it would always feel wrong to say.

Ron shouted at him to watch his own language!

"Do the slug curse again," Sirius suggested viciously, "you've got a proper wand now!"

"That's being kind, but a nice start," Remus nodded.

Hermione didn't seem to care too much, as she grabbed the back of Ron's shirt and began pulling him away.

"Or just punch him," James smirked, "I'll take either."

There was another bang, getting closer every time, and even more people screaming. Malfoy just continued to laugh.

It did not surprise them this was his reaction, not after everything he'd said and done previously, it was just all the more loathsome to continually hear about it.

He mocked the people around him for scarring so easily, then demanded of Ron if his dad was one of the idiots trying to save those Muggles? Ron shot back that Malfoy's dad was probably one of those keeping the Muggles up in the air.

"So proud of you, that's exactly what I was going to say," James sighed.

Malfoy's smug expression didn't even twitch as he said if his dad was out there, he wouldn't be telling them.

"Just put a big ol' sign up to say he was right why don't you, it would be much subtler," Remus hissed.

Hermione was really trying to get the two boys to walk away now, saying they'd gotten too far away from Ron's siblings. Malfoy laughed as she convinced them to start leaving, mockingly tossing back to keep her head down.

"Can't believe Hermione actually did manage to pull you both out of the way after all of that," Lily sighed in honest disappointment. Harry couldn't be out there helping Arthur, but he could at least get his own payback on this pompous child.

"We really did want to get Hermione out of there after that though," Harry muttered darkly.

Ron was still muttering about how he was sure Lucius was one under those hoods.

"Am not taking that bet," Sirius agreed.

Hermione was trying to sooth that the Ministry would most likely catch them, while still looking around desperately for the other three, who'd vanished.

"Of course you got separated from them," James groaned, rubbing furiously at the ridge of his nose and nearly knocking his glasses off he was already so upset by this set up. Nothing good had ever came of these three getting separated!

They kept pushing through though, running into a few random people along the way. One girl caught sight of them and ran up, asking them something in pure French, only the name Madame Maxime coming through.

Harry successfully butchered that so well, it took Remus a moment to ask, "was that French?"

"Err, yes," Harry muttered with a slight blush.

Whether he'd done it on purpose or not, probably not, that actually managed to cause genuine smiles back on all of them for at least this small and funny little distraction.

When they responded back in English, the girl muttered an apology and walked back to her group, muttering something about 'Ogwarts. Hermione said Beauxbatons as they kept walking,

After the last chapter he'd heard about involving several of the foreign schools, Harry didn't need much to put together that must be the French equivalent of Hogwarts.

explaining for the boys that was the French Academy of Magic. She'd read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe.

"Of course she did," Remus gave a soft snort of delight, remembering how both he and Harry had thought earlier that's how Hermione would come across that information.

Harry agreed with disinterest, while Ron lit his own wand and rose it above his head to look for his siblings. Harry went digging for his own to help, when he realized he couldn't find it.

"It what!" James squaked in alarm.

Harry was gaping down at the book like a fish out of water, patting his own pocket now and feeling comforted his wand was at least there now!

"You, you left it in the tent, or," Sirius began stammering, eyeing Harry like he'd instead said he'd left his glasses behind. Even that would have made more sense.

"I, no I don't think so, the last time I remember having it-" he struggled, his mind floundering because he never used it on his summer holiday, but he always kept it in his pocket, so it was an unconscious feeling. He hadn't used it his whole time while at the Burrow, but he'd brought it along to the Cup. He hadn't used it there either, but it had always been in his pocket. There was an alarm bell going off in the base of his skull, something painful telling him he should know quite well where it had gone, but that was missing like any other important thing he tried to remember!

His frustration was clearly growing on his face, so James quickly jumped in by placing a calming hand on his shoulder and soothing, "relax Harry, I know you find it, and I also know you didn't just leave it lying around." He struggled for a moment, trying to understand what could have happened to it, as a wizard's wand was akin to an extra finger, you were never without it. He couldn't fathom what could be going on, but still persisted, "so let's get to that part where everything gets better again."

Harry nodded without any enthusiasm, but at least appreciated they weren't all badgering him about losing it.

The only thing on him was his Omnioculars. Harry exclaimed in fear it wasn't there, and Ron and Hermione froze as they looked on the ground for it now. Harry kept patting himself down, but it was nowhere around.

"Be a little worried if it was just randomly lying around," Remus muttered, as wands weren't know for just randomly falling out of pockets. If it had been him who'd tripped over a root, that would have been one thing, but no, he was sure something else besides dropping it was going on, that Chamber must have taught Harry about throwing his wand any old place.

Ron suggested it had been left in the tent, while Hermione offered he may have dropped it while they'd been running.

They shifted uncomfortably, finding these fair enough answers, but still as unusual as it could get, and just as unlikely coming from those two as themselves.

Harry absently agreed, suddenly feeling naked. He never went anywhere without his wand, and now felt ten times more vulnerable.

"Glad you agree," Lily murmured, those horrible visions from before still twisting away behind her mind's eye, now more terrible than ever that her son couldn't magically defend himself.

There was a rustling noise to their left, and then Winky came stumbling out. She was moving odd, like she was trying to run forward but something was pulling her backwards.

Harry choked as he got that out, going incredibly wide eyed all over again, but whatever he felt for that description was gone in a flash and his mind was back to gnawing on what had happened to his wand, something that was causing him an equal amount of pain in his head, no need to add more. Then why was something trying to warn him these two things were connected...

She was muttering to herself about how bad wizards were around, people being lifted in the air, and how she wanted to get out of there! She managed to struggle into another clump of bushes and vanish again. Ron asked why she'd been acting like that, and Harry offered it was probably because she'd been doing something without permission.

Even as Harry said that...(again...this time travel thing made that annoying,) he could feel something wasn't right, this was the wrong answer, and still he couldn't grasp hold of it for any reason and instead forced himself to concentrate on the print, much less painful.

His mind was on Dobby, who often acted the same way when he disobeyed a Malfoy order. Hermione was frowning after the little thing indignantly as she said how bad house-elves had it.

Harry nearly sobbed in relief at finally something much lighter for his conclusions to settle on, though he did wonder what about Hermione speaking of house-elves would lead to. He greedily latched onto it though, as he'd nearly developed a second pulse behind his eyes he'd been thinking so much about things he should know better of by now.

Speaking of how that was slavery. Mr. Crouch had forced her to go up to the stadium even though she'd been terrified to do so,

"Did he even show up?" Lily muttered randomly, that never having been noted at all. It was quite rude of him to force his house-elf to go up there and never even bother to show. Surely nothing so important could be going on during the actual cup.

and now she couldn't even run when all the tents were being trampled.

"She's not bewitched," Sirius snorted. "She didn't get permission, and was probably told not to leave the tent for some reason. That's just part of how they are."

"So you're okay with Winky getting hurt, just because Crouch didn't release her from that command before he ran off?" Lily demanded of him in blistering tones.

Sirius threw his hands in defeat at once, saying, "hey, I'm just saying he didn't do it on purpose."

Lily still had her eyes narrowed at him, and while Harry would have been more than happy at this rate watching them bicker about this, he also noticed Remus quickly trying to wave him on before the argument could escalate as well, so he sighed and kept at it.

Demanding of nobody why hadn't this been stopped long before now. Ron just shrugged that the elves were happy the way they were, but Hermione turned on him at once that it was people like him who were too lazy-

"Lazy?" James raised a brow in surprise. "He's just saying it like it's always been for thousands of years. I really don't see what Hermione's so strung up about either."

Lily ground her teeth together, but shook her head in furious silence. She understood completely where Hermione was coming from, after watching poor Dobby for a whole year and now this, she was really regretting her own life that she hadn't looked into this more. All she'd ever known were the house-elves at Hogwarts, treated perfectly well and never a care, and she'd naively believed that all were treated the same. She now realized how ignorant that was, and quite agreed with where she was positive Hermione was heading, there should be a standard for their living as much as anybody's.

There was another bang from behind them cutting off the rest of her words, and Ron suggested they keep moving with a worried look at Hermione. Harry couldn't help but agree, maybe there had been some truth to what Malfoy had said and Hermione was in more danger than them.

Sadly, that really was true. Honestly all three made wonderful targets for any Death Eater. The son of a blood traitor, who readily stood by his father and family. The Muggleborn, though not obvious Malfoy at least could point out. And the Boy Who Lived, which went without saying, and wandless! All three of them really needed to keep their heads down.

They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there.

Sadly that pain popped right back into Harry's temple the moment he was reminded of that, somehow doubling since it had gone away in its persistence he should be remembering something.

They continued down the dark winding path still keeping an eye out for more Weasley's, but all they passed were some goblins laughing over a sack of gold,

In his current mindset, he didn't even notice the light flutter he felt that this detail may have been important later.

and then a large group of veela,

"Guess they're not worried about anything," Lily rolled her eyes.

surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

"Well that'll make you forget what's going on behind you," Sirius snorted with derision. Even he had to admit this was a terrible time to be flirting.

They were all shouting nonsense at the veela, one saying how he made a hundred Galleons a year!

"Congratulations," James rolled his eyes, "you should be richer than the richest by next month."

Another was yelling how he was a dragon killer!

"Not everyone appreciates that kind of boasting," Lily sniffed, finding that far more sad that this was a needed job then brave or whatever that numbskull was going for. She wasn't even the biggest fan of dragons and she wasn't fond of the idea of killing them.

A boy right beside him called him out on that lie, shouting that he was a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron, but then boasted his own that he was a vampire hunter!

"Right, and you happen to be friends with a dishwasher. Good of you to keep the company," Remus muttered.

One who stuck out to Harry who had pimples all over his face shouted next that he was slated to be the youngest ever Minister of Magic.

"I'm sure he'll do a better job than the current one," Sirius snorted, while Harry randomly thought he should find that funny, giving a slight snort as he recognized this young man, and finding irony that he in fact would do better.

Harry snorted with laughter as he recognized him, Stan Shunpike, a conductor on the Knight Bus.

"Oh that's brilliant," Lily snickered. She understood it was the magic of the Veela forcing them to want to impress making them act like fools, but she still found it sad that the way they went about it was lying. At least James never resorted to that in his mad attempts to gain her favor. Not that she was dumb enough to believe half of this bullocks, so it was a moot point.

Harry meant to tell Ron this, but then Ron chose that moment to begin shouting that he'd just invented a broom that could make it all the way to Jupiter.

"Now that I'd like to see," James laughed. "What's the brand you're calling it then, the Zeus model?"

"I'll let you know if he does," Harry promised with an easy smile, thanking once again this lighthearted switch for the reprieve he was getting, no matter how short.

Hermione sniffed as she and Harry grabbed hold of Ron's arms and dragged him away.

"I noticed you weren't affected that time," Remus pointed out.

Harry just shrugged, muttering, "wasn't really paying attention till I heard Stan speak up, then I was too busy laughing."

By the time all of that yelling had faded away, they were now mostly alone in the dark forest, things seemed to have gotten quieter.

Lily felt like goosebumps were smothering her as she said, "well, then perhaps you should go back and laugh at the Veela's admirers a bit more. It's not good for you to be so far out by yourself. Plus, you never caught up to Ron's siblings, I'm sure they're worried about you."

Harry wanted to agree, to voice that he had gone back into the more populated areas of the forest, but the words wouldn't come, something he knew he'd regret.

Harry was looking around as he said they should just wait where they were, they could hear anyone coming.

The four of them sighed in disappointment. Why did Harry have to be the one to suggest that? Was he trying to make their life more miserable by seeming to go out of his way in his younger self to cause these situations?!

He'd hardly got done saying that when Bagman burst from the trees, looking quite disheveled.

Sirius was frowning in concern for someone he'd almost call an idol, wondering what on earth could have happened to him. He hadn't been mugged had he, he'd been carrying around an awful lot of gold for his betting. Had he perhaps run into a not happy customer about a big loss? He really hoped he was okay, or had Bludgeoned whoever it was, causing that other person to look far more than strained.

He caught sight of them and asked what they were doing out here? Ron pointed back towards the campsite and said they were hiding from the riot. Bagman blinked in shock before demanding 'what?'

"So, he didn't know?" Lily raised a brow in surprise.

"What's he been doing this whole time, it's hardly been subtle," Remus agreed.

"Maybe he found an old friend and brought her along for some privacy," James smirked, thinking there were plenty of reasons he could be looking tossed around.

They began to explain, but once they were done Bagman swore in surprise,

"A very appropriate reaction honestly," Sirius huffed.

said 'damn them',

"Them?" They all asked in surprise, Sirius now thinking he may have been closer than he thought, but hopefully Bagman would file a report of it later and get back whatever he deserved.

and then Disapparated away. Hermione was frowning where he'd just been, saying how he wasn't on top of things much.

"You can't blame him for not being on high alert twenty four seven," Sirius muttered, grains of pity still lingering for him.

Ron just shrugged and said that he'd been a great Beater,

"Because that just made everything better," Lily snorted.

his old team the Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times when he'd been playing for them.

Sirius was more than happy to make a triumphant noise in delight at this news, hoping Harry and Ron would whittle away the boring hours until Arthur found them with Quidditch talk.

He took his figurine of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around.

Giving all of them a nice laugh as well. They were still tense and uneasy, they couldn't help it until Harry was back out of that forest and safely back at the Burrow, but it was nice that he had Ron and Hermione there in the meantime to keep up distractions like this from the worst of their thoughts.

Ron sat down in the leaves to watch it pace around, and silence lingered for a few more moments before Hermione again voiced that she hoped the others were okay. Ron assured they were all fine, and Harry voiced that he hoped Arthur caught Lucius in the act.

"This whole ordeal will be worth it if that's true," Sirius nodded.

Ron agreed that would make his life, while Hermione whispered how bad those poor Muggles had it, wondering if they would get down okay?

"They will," Remus said at once at the uneasy look on Harry's face. "Then they'll make sure they're okay, before most likely giving them a powerful memory charm to erase this terrible instance from their mind."

"A kindness honestly," Lily sighed, "otherwise they may have gone mad from this."

Ron once again assured her everything would be fine. Hermione then changed to pointing out how mad those masked people were to have pulled this with so many Ministry people around.

"While true-" Lily sighed.

"They don't care," James finished for her with an ugly look in place. "It's all about making a statement with that lot, so long as there were more of them then the Ministry who would help, with a nice loud distraction which I'm sure they easily got, they'd keep at it till they had no other choice."

Harry was frowning sadly out the window, now wondering just how often events like this occurred in their time.

Neither boy got a chance to respond as they heard someone in the nearby blackness stumbling around.

They all went ramrod straight, their hands going instinctively towards their wands, a stupid but involuntary reaction as they heard some stranger was around Harry at this time.

Then the footsteps stopped, and Harry called out if anyone was there? **

James looked like he was visibly restraining himself from snapping as he said, "Harry, did you really just ask that! You're supposed to be quiet and stay out of sight at this time, not go yelling 'hey I'm over here!"

Harry was frowning at him, half feeling chastised that it probably had been a bad idea in retrospect, but also wanting to defend himself that at the time he hadn't seen himself in that much danger. He suppressed it though, they were tense enough and he really didn't want to pick at this.

Another long beat of silence, then a voice shouted out the spell 'Morsmordre.'

"Don't recognize that," Sirius muttered to himself, not that this made anyone feel any better. There were plenty of terrible curses out there these people had never heard of because they wouldn't go out looking for them.

Something vast, green,

Lily felt a scream rearing up in her throat at the thought of any green spell being set off around her baby, again!

and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Harry's eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

Then she felt foolish and embarrassed when he finished, sounding more puzzled than anything. She was being jumpy and paranoid, he was sitting there reading it, of course he hadn't had the killing curse set on him. It still wasn't helping her nerves one bit though. Maybe she'd made more a noise then she'd intended to, maybe Sirius was just getting to fidgety with all of this built up angst and he knew he was upsetting his charge, but the next thing Lily knew she had her baby in her lap which quickly calmed her down far better than anything else could.

Ron gaped in shock as it continued to rise above the treetops, looking much like the leprechaun formations from before. It transformed itself into a skull, with a serpent coming out of the mouth.

Harry was blinking in puzzlement as he finished the description, just knowing he should know what this was called, but when he looked up expectantly in hopes someone would tell him, he instead found all of them with sickly pale skin and gaping at him like he'd just turned into a corpse.

"Y-You're within shouting distance of a Death Eater!?" Sirius' throat couldn't seem to decide if it was going to fail him or release a rumbling growl as he got that out.

"That's what you got out of that?" Harry asked in surprise. "From some snake in the sky?"

"Th-that's, the Da-Dark Mark. Voldemort's symbol!" James managed to stutter out, wondering far too often for his liking how his son had survived to his current age. "Only a Death Eater knows how to produce it, so yes. That is understandably the first thing he, and the rest of us, grasped on."

"Oh," Harry simply muttered, unable to think of anything else to add to that. None of this explained what his ever growing agitation was, something building in the back of his mind that was quite insistently saying he should know this particular Death Eater, but that must be ridiculous. Hopefully he never got any closer to one of Voldemort's henchmen then he was in that moment, otherwise his family really might have a stress heart-attack.

Deciding to keep reading rather than watching them gasp for air, Harry forged on.

It seemed to grow brighter, like a new constellation forming, and then the screaming began again, louder than ever. Harry had no idea why, though he linked it to the glowing image in the sky. His eyes went back down to where it had been cast, and he again called out for who was out there.

"Harry James Potter, you stop that before you give me a heart attack!" Lily half screeched, only able to strangle off the full volume because even that scolding of her elder son made his younger counterpart begin crying in protest.

Harry was watching her with severe worry, remembering the last time she'd told him off for something he'd done in the past. At least then the other boys had helped her to laugh it off, as it had already happened long enough ago her snapping wouldn't do any good. Looking around now though, he saw they were quite in agreement with her exclamation, which wasn't making him feel any better. Desperately hoping now he had stopped shouting out or he'd probably regret it in this time, Harry tried to keep going in as calm a voice as possible to remind them all he was perfectly fine.

Hermione was trying to get them to move again, tugging on his shirt and begging him to run.

"Least one of you lot has some bleeding sense," Remus hissed, now wishing more than anything Harry hadn't been split off from Arthur, or Sirius had come, or if he'd bothered to keep in contact, anything then this constant mess that was Harry's life seeming to find the most danger when he was at his most vulnerable.

Harry asked what her problem was, as she'd gone white faced with fear.

"Does she know what that is?" Sirius asked in surprise, at least that distracted him from picturing that thing being cast right over his little pup's body while he was on the opposite side of the world.

"I guess I can see how," James muttered through almost chattering teeth as he was picturing much the same thing. "Wouldn't surprise me if the marks shown up in a book or two about Voldemort's reign."

Hermione told that it was the Dark Mark, You-Know-Who's sign!

"Right in one Prongs," Remus muttered, shifting his weight with continuing agitation, no matter how much it aggravated his injuries, that flare of pain was a constant reminder he was in the hear in now, listening to Harry read this rather than picturing it go a more gruesome way.

Harry tried to ask for more, but Hermione just begged them to start walking. Ron paused to pick up his Krum,

"Priorities," Lily mumbled, bouncing her infant in her arms to keep them both calm.

but the three of them only made it a few steps before there were about twenty pops of wizard's apparating into their space, surrounding the three.

Harry hadn't believed they could be more upset than they had in just the last book, but when he read that and their first thought was to jump to the fact that Harry was now surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters like that had been a calling, he was pretty sure his dad having vomited back during the Chamber would be a kind look back.

Harry recognized all wands were pointing at them,

Harry was quite glad he was the one reading, as when he glanced up all he saw was a mask of shocked faces on convulsing throats like they were all fighting back the urge to scream some more, most likely their own voices would have failed them at this point. All Harry remembered feeling at the time was shock, and the urge to hit the deck.

and he reacted first by seizing his friends necks and pulling them to the ground, screaming 'Duck!'

"Anaticula!" Sirius suddenly yelped at his side.

Harry looked at him with great concern, like he thought his godfather had finally lost his bleeding mind, but it had the desired effect of causing James and Remus to snap out of their comas and burst out laughing.

Lily looked just as confused as he felt, but Harry still had more sense about him as he demanded, "what's that mean?"

Sirius had to shake his head a couple of times to make sure his head was on straight and clear, before putting on a farce of his carefree nature and explaining, "it's a curse that makes your wand only able to produce ducks for the next few spells. Great laugh while you're running away." He managed to say all of that with only a few minor spasms of shock still wearing off from picturing all of this being directed at Harry.

"Remus used it on us once," James added on when it seemed Lily was finally calming back down as well, and hoping to keep them all breathing on this subject for as long as possible he turned mock angry eyes on Remus and finished in a 'huffy' tone, "in the middle of dinner. McGonagall wouldn't believe we hadn't done it on purpose, gave us detention that night, forcing me to reschedule one of my Quidditch practices."

"You two deserved it," Remus shot back, an old satisfied smirk in place his friends hadn't seen in awhile. "It was one of you lots fault I got strung up by my foot and missed my Care of Magical Creatures class that day, and since neither of you would tell me who did it, you both deserved it."

Lily was watching between the three with an actual smile in place now, unable to believe she could hold the expression in light of what was happening to her son, but had actually quite enjoyed during school watching the Marauders pick on each other much more than watching them go after their prank victims, so hearing retellings like this were always a treat.

The distraction had worked, they were all much more grounded and feeling at least less likely to have heart failure as Harry continued.

They slammed into the ground,

"Thank Merlin for those Quidditch reflexes," James murmured.

just as all the voices shouted as one 'Stupefy!'

At least that made them all feel better at the situation Harry was in. Certainly not content, but it was nicer to hear he only would have been stunned then something far worse.

Beams of red light went whizzing above their head, ricocheting off of trees and going every which way, and only ceasing when one voice called out above the rest for them to stop, that was his son!

"Arthur," Lily nearly sobbed in relief, knowing that couldn't refer to anyone else.

"So it was the Ministry who went there," James agreed, still looking fairly faint but at least some color returned to his face as he realized that.

Mr. Weasley came stumbling towards them, looking more terrified than Harry had ever seen him as he asked if they were alright?

"I can imagine," Remus nodded, knowing Arthur would have felt the same way they just had of finding his son under that mark.

Someone snapped at Arthur to move,

"Bite me!" James snapped at once, riling up at anyone trying to get in Arthur's way as he checked on those kids.

which turned out to be Mr. Crouch.

"I'll second that," Sirius agreed with a nasty look still in place, wanting to crack all twenty of those ministry fools over the head for shooting at his pup.

He and the other Ministry people were coming in closer as Harry got to his feet, facing Mr. Crouch who had his face drawn with fury. His wand was pointing at all three intermittently as he demanded which of them had done it.

"He actually just looked you in the face and demanded that?" Lily growled, her eyes narrowing furiously. "You? The bleeding Boy Who Lived."

"Plus a Weasley and a Muggleborn, the only ones they caught sight of, oh yeah it's hard to tell who has more motive in that group," Remus snarked.

"I'm just hoping they did manage to stun, incompetently but still, the one who did do it," James grumbled, hoping at least some good came of their heart attack moment.

Harry frowned in confusion as he said they hadn't done that while gesturing up above. Ron agreed they hadn't done a thing while looking indignantly at his father.

"He's the one defending you," Sirius snorted. "What's he glaring at him for?"

"Mr. Weasley looked just as shocked as anyone else," Harry shrugged, "maybe to Ron it looked more acquisitory."

While demanding to know why they'd been attacked.

Crouch snapped at Ron not to lie, while adding on a sir.

"At some point you can drop the manners," Remus muttered with an eye roll.

His wand now pointed right in Ron's face, his eyes popping with fury.

All of them scowled heavily at that, finding it completely uncalled for to be pointing a wand in Ron's face, when he hadn't even drawn his own to defend himself!

A witch in the back reminded Crouch that these were just kids, they couldn't have done that. Arthur turned on his charges and asked them where had the Mark come from?

"At least there are some sensible adults around," Lily sniffed.

Hermione pointed to the space, saying an incantation had been shouted. Crouch turned on her now, shouting about how she seemed well aware of how to make the Mark appear.

"Oh goodness me, you use an incantation to summon a magical image in the sky, who would have thunk it!" Remus snapped, not being able to press any more sarcasm into that if he'd tried.

No one else paid Hermione a second glance though, instead all wands turned to where the kids had pointed.

"Great, good to know it's only one out of twenty we should be really worried about," Sirius grumbled.

The same witch from before sighed it was no good, that person would have Disapparated by now.

"Probably at the exact same time they appeared, so you wouldn't have even heard it," James sighed, mostly in relief whoever that was, wasn't around his son anymore.

Then another spoke up saying he didn't think so, and Harry recognized Amos Diggory,

"Oh great, now I get two people in one clearing to piss me off," Sirius mock cheered, making Harry already long for the carefree chapter they'd just had and see them really happy again.

saying how they may have got a lucky shot with their stunners, they had gone through those trees. He walked off to go check himself, with several people behind him calling out warnings to be careful.

"Or, you know, at least a few of you could go with him!" Lily snapped, taking every last bit of her self-restraint not to facepalm in exasperation. They outnumbered that one lone person who was back there, and even if there were more, it was still more safe than just sending one person.

Mr. Diggory shouted back a few moments later that they'd caught someone,

"Finally, some good news," Remus sighed, actually sagging back in relief, thinking that was one less problem they had to worry about.

Harry though, was wondering why his first reaction was to think Mr. Diggory was wrong, they hadn't gotten anyone that night... but the thought flew away almost at once and he simply agreed with Remus instead.

but then he trailed off in surprise as he seemed to recognize whoever it was.

"That didn't seem like a good reaction though," Sirius frowned in concern.

Crouch did not sound convinced as he demanded who,

"He really still thinks it's those three kids?!" James snapped in disbelief, wanting more than anything to smack Crouch a good one.

as Diggory walked back in, with Winky in his arms.

"What?" All five of them yelped at once.

"There's no way that little elf did that," Sirius snorted in disbelief.

"The voice didn't even match," Harry agreed, still frowning deeply as he gently tried to understand why his earlier feeling was clearly right now.

"What was Winky even doing in that area though?" Lily's frown kept deepening the longer she thought about this. "We heard a Death Eater's voice in that direction, it's impossible Winky would be following them around as she belongs to Crouch."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and quickly shut it before he vomited instead from the stress of repressing his response. The truth was, none of them had any idea what was going on, and absolutely none of them wanted to find out. They didn't care about this mystery, didn't want to sit on the idea any longer then they had to, because they didn't want it to have anything to do with Harry. They kept hoping any second now Arthur would jump in and say that these kids were no longer needed and take them away back to the Burrow for some actual peace!

Crouch froze as Diggory placed Winky at his feet. Crouch muttered this must be some mistake as he walked off to that same area, going out of sight but could still be heard searching the bushes for another culprit. Diggory called back that he'd checked, Winky was the only one there.

Harry had to blink hard a few times to keep some bright spots out of his eyes, but then kept on after a moment, now working harder than ever to ignore whatever feeling that gave him for whatever reason.

Diggory was shaking his head sadly as he muttered what a surprise this was, for Crouch's elf to have done this.

"They can't really think she did it?" James raised an even more disbelieving brow, somehow managing to find this more ridiculous than them thinking it was Harry. "She's a house-elf!"

While Lily agreed with him it was every kind of ludicrous, she didn't much like his tone of saying it.

Mr. Weasley scolded this was ridiculous, he couldn't really be serious in saying it was an elf to have done this.

"Now why would he think it was me helping the elf?" Sirius quickly inserted, ignoring all accompanied groans. "I like to think mine's gone off and died by this point."

Harry gave him a smile, still not having grown tired of that joke yet, but didn't linger on it either.

Reminding you had to have a wand to summon the Dark Mark, and Diggory agreed she'd had one.

"Had a what now?" Lily demanded, sure she'd heard that wrong.

They all turned surprised eyes at that, as Diggory said she'd had one in her hand, in direct violation to a code stating that non-human creatures weren't allowed to carry such a thing. Ludo Bagman Apparated onto the scene just then, gasping about the Dark Mark!

"Thank you, I hadn't noticed," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Where's he been this whole time?" Sirius asked in confusion, some of the misty eyed awe of a Quidditch star starting to wear off. "I thought the last time he Disapparated away was to go help with the riot. He should have seen it at the same time as the rest of these twenty people and come then."

"Search us," Remus sighed, thinking they'd had more questions from this chapter alone already building up, and it was clearly driving Harry mad as he once again went cross eyed in pain at being unable to answer them. He, along with everyone else, really wanted this chapter to be done with already.

His eyes flickered to Barty, who was coming back into sight, but then he added on another question of why he hadn't been at the match?

"So he never did show up," James murmured.

"That's incredibly odd for him," Lily explained to Harry, who was watching all of the boys holding a puzzled expression. "He was a big hand in putting this event together, he was expected to show up for it. Crouch does not miss that type of thing, it wouldn't look good," she finished with a sniff of distaste.

Harry felt like he was getting a little tick at the base of his skull, a muscle that just kept spasming every other sentence now as more and more of what he was hearing he was sure would come to bite him in the arse later, but for now he thanked his mum and kept going.

Reminding that his elf had been saving him a seat, but then Bagman caught sight of Winky and yelped in surprise what had happened to her? Crouch explained that she'd been stunned, and it took a moment for Bagman's eyes to flicker to her, then up to the Mark, before understanding took him and he gasped in surprise she couldn't have done that! She'd need a wand! Diggory repeated she'd had one, then asked Crouch if it was okay they unstun her to get some answers.

All four of them mumbled something about how it was bleeding obvious from the start she hadn't a thing to do with this and they should be out looking for who really did, but none of it was articulate enough Harry stopped.

When the spell 'Enervate' was used on her and she sat up, Winky burst into tears instantly. Diggory snapped at her to look at him, reminding of his position as a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"Is he trying to scare her?" Remus' scowl deepened at this, finding this more than uncalled for of the clearly innocent creature.

"He's certainly not going out of his way to pretend otherwise," Lily nodded in agreement.

Then he demanded an explanation of what she'd been doing. Winky sobbed she hadn't done anything, while Diggory flashed the wand for all to see and snapped at her to explain where she'd found this. Harry caught sight of it properly for the first time, and exclaimed that was his!

"What?" They all yelped, finding that all too common an occurrence recently!

"How in Merlin's underpants did your wand end up in the same clearing as Winky, and a Death Eater!?" James gasped out first.

"That sounds like the bad start to a joke," Sirius moaned, rubbing furiously at his forehead to stave away a growing sense of doom.

"I-but-you-when-" Lily could not get out more than one word before her voice failed her and she just kept looking at her gobsmacked son, but he shook off the shock quicker than she did and continued in a hurry now.

Everyone turned startled eyes back to him.

"Guess that wasn't the best time to go shouting that when they all think it's you," Remus muttered.

"There really isn't a good time to say that in this circumstance," Sirius reminded.

Harry repeated that was his wand, that he'd dropped it. Diggory repeated that back in absolute disbelief. Demanding of Harry if that was a confession, that he'd thrown it aside after he'd conjured the Mark?

"Yeah, that's what he said," Remus snorted, his eyes darkening more and more every second the longer he heard about Diggory. His jumping to conclusions attitude along with his no good character was making Remus edgier the longer this carried on.

Arthur jumped in angrily then, demanding Amos think about what he'd just said to Harry Potter. Diggory agreed he'd gotten carried away.

"Damn right you did," James snapped, happy at least Arthur was keeping that man in check.

Harry then explained he hadn't dropped it anywhere around there, he'd only noticed it was missing when he came into the woods.

"But," Lily finally managed to collect herself to get out a real question, "does that mean Winky did take it from you in the Top Box? She's the only other person outside of your group who had the means to do it. I just cannot for the life of me imagine why."

"If not, then it's a really big fat coincidence," James sighed, running his hand through his hair in agitation. Of all the people who could be suspected of taking Harry's wand, as the more they heard of this the more they believed Harry hadn't simply dropped it, and it simply wound up in the grip of a Death Eater to use in the conjuration of the Dark Mark, this was beyond words unbelievable.

Diggory instead turned back on Winky, demanding of the elf that she'd found it and decided to have some fun.

"No one's going to question that she just, found it!" Sirius scowled, knowing the elf probably didn't have a better answer than that, but he wanted one anyways.

Winky wailed that she hadn't done anything!

Lily began wriggling around in displeasure now, feeling bad she'd thrown out a question regarding Winky herself now, and she wasn't even there. The elf clearly had no more to do with this then Harry, couldn't they lay off her?

She'd just picked it up!

Hermione jumped in then, going pink in shock when all eyes turned to her, yet still insisting it wasn't Winky.

"Can't say I'm surprised," Remus gave a small smile, "she's shown time and again she'll do and say what she thinks is right."

"In this case, I'm grateful for it," Lily nodded in agreement.

Explaining that Winky's voice was high pitched and squeaky, and the person they'd heard summon the Mark was definitely male. Diggory did not look impressed as he said there was a way to check and see what the last spell was used on a wand, directing this at the elf.

"That doesn't prove anything," James snorted. "She just said she found it, and she's got witnesses proving it wasn't her who used it last. It's been established Harry's wand was the one to use that spell, showing that off doesn't mean a thing."

Diggory then placed his wand tip to Harry's and used the spell 'Prior Incantato.'

Harry's heart gave a very hard twist when he read that, for some reason leaning just slightly closer to his dad and glancing up at his mother for a moment, but only had a moment to wonder why before he kept going.

Both parents were still so wound up over the situation at hand, neither noticed Harry's second of hesitation.

Sprouting from Harry's wand came a smaller resemblance of the glowing mark in the sky, which Diggory seemed to think proved his point as he shouted in triumph Winky had been caught in the act!

"I am going to punch him." Sirius scowled, beginning to tense up on the spot the longer he kept going. "I don't even like elves and I don't talk to them like that. Use some brains man, she's obviously not got a thing to do with this."

"Thinking he doesn't need to be working with Magical Creatures much," James agreed with a serious nod. "He clearly looks down on them too much."

"He's much too quick to blame as well," Lily added on in the same tones as them.

Remus couldn't help but give them a light smile they hopefully didn't see, he knew for a fact they could get overly touchy about this without even realizing it.

Arthur cut in then though, reminding how few wizards knew how to summon such a spell, where on earth could Winky have learned to do so? Crouch snapped that Diggory was implying he'd taught his elf this?

"Ooh, snappy," Sirius raised an imperious brow, feeling his point had been made quite well, and he didn't even like the man who'd done it.

Diggory went horrified with shock, stammering out of course that wasn't it to Crouch.

"Little late for backtracking you hobnocker," James huffed.

Crouch pressed in though, telling off Diggory for now having accused the two people in this clearing least likely to have done this, Harry Potter and himself! Surely Diggory knew of who Harry Potter was? Diggory agreed in uncomfortable tones everyone knew that.

"Glad someone put him down," Lily gave a soft laugh, not having thought she'd be rooting for Crouch any time soon, but at least she found he was useful for something.

Then Crouch also reminded he'd shown time and again the lengths he'd gone to prove how against Dark Magic he was!

Harry felt a stirring in him again, like earlier when he'd felt something was off about Crouch speaking of his perfect unbreakable vows about rules. There was something there that Harry knew he should have a puzzle piece to, but it faded through his conscious like his brain was filled with cracks.

Diggory tried to protest, saying he'd never meant to accuse Crouch.

"You suggested his elf did," Remus smirked, "and that's as good as."

Crouch shouted back that to accuse his elf was to accuse him!

Diggory tried to say she could have picked it up somewhere else,

"Oh yes, I'm sure Death Eaters pop by all the time selling cookies and just give a friendly tutoring session of how to do that in the meantime," Sirius snorted.

but then Arthur agreed Diggory had spoken true on that one. He turned his own attention on Winky, the first person to call her by name and kindly meet her eyes, but Winky still flinched away from him like all the rest,

Lily couldn't help cooing again, wanting to do something to help the poor dear relax, as she knew there was no way she would be getting in trouble for anything, or at least she shouldn't be.

as Arthur asked where she'd found the wand? Winky's voice still came out watery as she said she'd just found it lying there in the leaves. Arthur stood back up to face Diggory, saying clearly what had happened was that the person who'd cast the Dark Mark had simply used Harry's own wand then Disapparated away. It was actually clever not to have used their own wand. It was just Winky's misfortune to come across it moments later.

"While I don't think he's wrong," James's frown just got deeper as Arthur drew the same conclusions they'd been forced to come to.

"That hardly explains anything," Sirius grumbled.

"It actually just raises more questions," Remus sighed.

Diggory gasped that this must mean that Winky had seen the person who had done all of this!

"That," Lily struggled for a moment before grudgingly admitting, "is a really good point."

"Wish she'd started with that," Sirius huffed, "this could have been going a lot better."

Then he turned on Winky and demanded of the elf if she'd seen anyone!

Winky's eyes flickered to her masters as she whispered she hadn't seen anyone.

Harry had a mad desire to laugh, like he knew Winky was telling the truth in that moment...but leaving something off...

Crouch seemed to decide that was enough, as he addressed Diggory by telling him that he was aware the normal course of events would be Diggory to take her into his department, but if he'd allow him to take his elf home? Amos clearly didn't want to agree, but clearly Crouch was such an important person he wasn't going to argue.

"I'm truly shocked at how pleased I am," Remus frowned in pity for the poor thing, finding just a grain of irony that the very thing she'd feared would happen to Dobby was in fact being hung over her head this very same night, but at least her own master would be a better option.

Crouch added on though that she would be punished for this night.

"Ouch," Lily winced. After hearing about what the Malfoys had done to Dobby, she was actually quite afraid for Winky and what might become of her now.

Winky began sobbing in shock, begging her master to reconsider, but Crouch's face was like stone as he snapped at her that he'd commanded she stay in the tent, and she'd disobeyed! This meant clothes!

"Wow," James blinked spastically like Crouch had just started swearing in Mermish. "That was harsh."

"Yeah," Sirius had his head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowed like he was trying to study Crouch in person. "She did disobey, but it's hardly so grievous she should be sacked like that."

Remus and Lily exchanged a surprised look, considering their usual attitude towards elf's they would have honestly expected those two to agree with Crouch, but for all their laughing at the creatures, they clearly weren't as hard on them as they would lead.

Harry may have input his opinion on them, but he was too busy fighting back word vomit. There it was again, something involving Crouch and Winky that made him want to spew out something like a huge silent chunk of conversation had been taken place right in front of him, but he had nothing to offer except to read what was in front of him.

Winky wailed, crawling to Crouch's feet and begging for anything but that! Crouch shook her off in disgust, but then Hermione jumped in by trying to defend the elf! Saying she'd been frightened, and shouldn't be blamed for running!

Lily looked very much like she would get up and hug Hermione now, as well as shield her, for standing up to Crouch like that in front of everyone.

Crouch did not remove his disgusted eyes from the elf as he told Hermione off to, saying he had no use for a servant who didn't listen, who ruined his reputation!

"Oh I get it," Remus gave an ugly sneer now as his eyes flashed. "He's not getting rid of her because she didn't listen to him, she's getting the boot because she got caught and dragged Crouch into this."

"This is terrible," Lily scowled. "I don't even understand why he's reacting like this, no one's going to look twice at him now that everything's out in the open. Everyone there knows he's nothing to do with the dark arts, he shouldn't be taking all of this out on his elf like this!"

"While we agree," James sighed, feeling like they were hearing about a Dobby all over again, how often were these other house-elves treated like this? "It's no good shouting about it now dear."

She shot him the stank eye, but didn't pursue the point.

Hermione may have kept going, but Arthur put himself back in then, saying Harry should have his wand back, which Diggory did, and then began escorting the kids away. He had to call twice before Hermione would follow, and the moment they were out of sight she began rampaging about the lot of them and how they'd been treating Winky! Everyone just referring to her as 'elf!'

Sirius and James shared a surprised look, they hadn't even noticed that part.

How dare Crouch do that to her, treating her like she wasn't even human! Ron did point out that technically she wasn't.

Sirius closed his mouth sheepishly, he'd actually been about to say the same thing, but was now happy he hadn't gotten it out at the flashing look Lily gave the book for Ron's comment.

Hermione turned on him and began shouting he wasn't acting any better than those- but Arthur cut her off by saying she could go on about elf rights later. Then he asked where the rest of his kids were? Ron said they'd gotten separated, then asked what that skull thing had been?

"I'm actually a little more surprised Ron didn't know," James quirked a brow. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful he's never seen it, but still. You'd think his parents would have mentioned it."

"Not necessarily," Remus shrugged. "In the same concept as Ron not saying Voldemort's name, Ron and the kids of his generation would have been told as little as possible of what would have been a common occurrence to their parents, err us, whatever. The next generation of kids would have been shielded and told as little as possible of the horrors of this war."

James pondered that for a moment, not really in agreement as he didn't think this should just be glossed over, but couldn't argue the point much either. They were only fourteen, James wasn't even happy Harry was so involved with this at that age, so he let the matter slide.

Mr. Weasley didn't relax one little bit as they made it back out of the forest, but were bombarded almost at once by a group of people demanding questions of Arthur, asking if anyone had been caught, who'd done that Mark, and was it Him? Arthur snapped back of course it wasn't You-Know-Who, and the perpetrator had Disapparated away, then he escorted himself and his kids off to bed.

"Snappy," Sirius gave a small smirk.

"Probably still worried about the rest of his kids," Lily added, thinking that as soon as Ron was back at the tent Arthur would probably go looking for the twins and Ginny, most likely as his eldest three were now doing.

Arthur escorted the three to the tent, but upon their approach Charlie poked his head back and called out to his dad that the other three had gotten back, but he didn't know where the others were.

They all released a sigh of relief. They hadn't exactly been worried for their safety, but it was good nothing had happened none the less.

Arthur sighed in relief as he entered the tent, and Harry spotted all three of the eldest Weasley's sporting bloody injuries.

Harry's tone was already pitching in surprise, but he read out;

Bill had a sheet to his arm where it was quickly turning red, Charlie had a large tear in his shirt, and Percy was trying to stop a bloody nose.

before he asked, "what could have happened to them?"

"Probably some of the Death Eaters shot some spells back," Remus sighed. "Either that or the riot got a little more hands on then wands."

The twins and Ginny weren't harmed, but looked white with shock. Bill asked if his Dad had caught whoever had done the Mark?

"Well Bill at least knows what it is," James muttered to himself, thankful that it clearly wasn't going to be erased from history what was going on now. He'd be satisfied if only the older type of kids knew about it then.

Arthur said they hadn't, but instead explained that they'd found Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, which had been used to make the Dark Mark. They still had no idea who'd done it.

"That about summed it all up, yeah," Lily sighed, running a hand through her hair in agitation.

"Was a lot more bloody traumatizing to hear about it," James grumbled.

All of them yelped in surprise, Fred repeating the part about Harry's wand, while Percy in response to Crouch's elf.

"I can't decide who more deserved what was caught on," Remus snorted.

"Fred," Sirius said instantly, knowing he'd happily side with the twins then their immediate older brother any day.

The four who were present explained more fully the entire situation, and when they were done, Percy swelled with indignation.

"I'll agree with you now," Remus rolled his eyes.

Saying Crouch had been perfectly correct in his actions! Hermione snapped at him at once, causing Percy to take a step back in surprise. She and Percy usually got along pretty well, better than with his own brothers most days.

"Well that's just sad," Lily frowned slightly, always having suspected Percy didn't get along with his brothers very well, but for an outsider of the family like Hermione to so obviously be doing a better job, really got to her in that moment.

He pulled himself together quickly though and said that Crouch couldn't be seen going easy on an elf running amok with a wand.

"Run amok?" Sirius repeated in disbelief. "I'm still confounded what Crouch did, blowing that out of proportion. Though I guess I'm not that surprised Percy's agreeing with his boyfriend," he finished with a rude little curl of his nose.

Hermione shouted back that Winky hadn't done anything, but Ron butted in saying that he still wanted that Mark explained. Hermione turned on him and said that was You-Know-Who's symbol, something she'd read about in a book.

"Of course she did," Lily snorted, that felt like Hermione's answer to everything.

Arthur quietly added on it hadn't been seen in over thirteen years, it made perfect sense why people had panicked, it felt like seeing You-Know-Who back. Ron was still frowning though, saying it was just a symbol. Arthur tried again, telling that this mark was left over people who You-Know-Who had killed.

Causing the four around Harry to shiver, leading him to wonder and smother the question all at once who they'd found this mark hovering over. He decided he didn't want to know.

Trying to explain how much fear it instilled in people, coming home to your house and seeing that, knowing the very worst was inside...

Lily paled to the color of new snow, cuddling her baby all the closer to her.

Remus and James winced like they'd just been socked in the gut, but Sirius had the worst reaction. He'd lived that nightmare vividly in his dreams the previous night, coming over to find James and Lily...the only reason that mark had been absent was because no one was left alive to cast it...coupled together with the one responsible for it. He made a keening noise, shaking his head violently to get rid of that. He kept seeing it every time he closed his eyes, no need to dwell on it when he could give an unconvincing smirk to them now that he was just fine and could play this off as long as he dared.

it was everyone's worst fear.

"Okay, I'm appeased, Ron and Harry get it now," James murmured, deciding he'd never complain again about something Harry didn't know involving this type of thing.

There was a thick silence in the tent before Bill finally spoke up again, saying that whoever had cast it tonight had done them at least one favor. It scared the Death Eaters away, they all Disapparated the moment they saw it, and they'd only just caught the Roberts in time.

Giving them all a sigh of relief again. They had not forgotten what had started this whole mess, and it was a very good thing that Bill hadn't mentioned they'd been injured.

Explaining they were having their memories fixed now.

"Best thing that can happen to them," Remus gave a sad shake to his head, wanting to strangle every last one of those Death Eaters all over again at the thought of those poor Muggles suffering through that.

Harry repeated back the term Death Eaters in surprise, and Bill said that's what You-Know-Who's followers had called themselves. The ones they'd seen tonight were those who'd wriggled themselves out of Azkaban. Arthur tried to say there wasn't any proof it was them,

"Who else would it be?" Sirius asked, wishing to mock, but the tone wouldn't come as he would have been glad for an alternate answer.

but then relented it probably was. Ron perked up then, telling everyone what Malfoy had said to them about his Dad being out there. Harry then asked what was the point of doing that to those Muggles.

'Please stay that naive forever' Lily mentally sighed, brushing her baby's hair from his forehead for just a moment, as a reminder that scar wasn't there yet. While she never wanted it to, it was clear how much fiction that dream was since Harry hadn't even asked this now. He hadn't questioned this terrible act, even at his regrowing pace of learning he was already so much more aware of the crueler side of the world then Lily would ever wish her child to know.

Arthur looked sadly at Harry as he said the point had been for fun. What those Death Eaters had done tonight was their idea of entertainment. Ron then asked if those were You-Know-Who's supporters, why would they run at the sight of You-Know-Who's symbol? Shouldn't they have been happy? Bill told Ron to use his head,

"I thought it was a fair question," Harry said with a shrug, as he'd been wanting to ask it as well, but wondering if Ron would for him since he'd had a similar face to what Harry was feeling at the time.

explaining those Death Eaters were the ones who'd gone out of their way to denounce and say You-Know-Who had forced them to do all of that. They'd be as afraid as anyone if You-Know-Who came back, they'd have some retribution to pay.

Sirius gave a twisted little smirk that honestly scared the others, they didn't really want to know what his mind had jumped to, but it wasn't hard to picture either. One Death Eater in particular stuck out to all of them now, picturing that pathetic little rat and his hatred of being returned to his master. Those other loose Death Eaters would probably get much the same treatment if they ever found out any remnant of Voldemort existed. Not that they hoped this at all, the less people out helping Voldemort, willingly or not, the better.

Hermione then asked of the person who had shown the Dark Mark tonight, had they done it in support, or to scare off those Death Eaters?

"My guess is a combination of the two," Lily offered with a small frown, still hating to linger on this subject, but that was a good question. "They'd be showing off that they were winning, but warning it was time to go as well."

"I'm still trying to shake the feeling it wasn't left over a dead body," Remus shuddered, "and that individual wasn't doing some old time celebrating of his own."

"Thank you Sunshine," James groaned.

"That one was terrible," Sirius snorted in true amusement again. "I never understood why you tried to pitch an opposite of our nicknames that day."

"Thought it added an extra layer of mystery," James shrugged, managing to return the smile.

Arthur sighed her guess was as good as anyone's. Then he ushered they should all try to get some shuteye before they went out soon to grab a Portkey. Harry crawled back into his bed, but this time no Quidditch fantasies came to mind to help him relax. He instead let his mind spin back, to three days ago when his scar had awoken him with a burning pain. Now tonight, Voldemort's mark had appeared again. What did it all mean?

Lily's teeth started chattering as she huddled into herself, keeping her baby wrapped protectively in her arms and never wanting to let go. None of them had put those two things together until just now, but Harry was right, and they couldn't have felt worse about it.

'Nothing good' was the one thought that ran through all of their minds for his thought, and yet none of them could bear to say it in hopes they were wrong.

He thought of the letter he had written to Sirius, would he have gotten it yet?

For the first time since this had started, James felt no spike of jealousy in hearing Harry's first thought of help flit to Sirius. He'd happily take the idea Sirius was out there worrying about Harry like this.

James decided right then he wanted more than anything for Harry to work out with Dumbledore and the Weasleys that he'd in fact gotten a new dog and it would be with him at all times now! He'd take every minor annoyance in the world from his brother if he could have some more reassurances Harry would just be that little more safe.

Harry hoped he'd get a reply soon, and was left wondering on these things the rest of the night.

Harry gave one last deep sigh of discontent, already longing for that happy mood of the last chapter as he gave the book to Remus.

HPHPHPHPHP

*I recognized Harry should have questioned this long before now, it has been mentioned many times before, but even I forget sometimes Harry shouldn't have some knowledge that seems obvious. Can't go back and fix it now, just put all previous mentions of them not being questioned by Harry down to the fact that he worked it out himself considering the light they were being discussed in.

**No, really though, did anyone else besides me read this moment and think 'Horror movie alert' Harry is officially the dumb blonde of the series.

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 5

Miroku gripped Sango's arm and shoulder, having to have physically braced her against him when she'd sprung to stop the fight. It looked as if it was ending when Inuyasha walked away, but the moment he turned around, his cheeks a blustering shade, she lurched forward to run interference. Typically, with anyone else, he wouldn't have prevented it, especially when things seemed as out of control as they were. In this case, Miroku knew it was already too late. Sango would only literally end up stuck in the middle.

The two of them watched as they screamed back and forth, Sango's hand flying to hold the tops of Miroku's fingers that gripped along her arm, much like a reflex to seek support while all they could do was stand by and watch. And, then it got quiet. Inuyasha and Kagome stood so close and Sango's stomach twisted with prickles of unnerving anxiety, seeing Inuyasha's mouth move but not able to hear the words he spoke. She saw Kagome's reaction, though. She witnessed the wound form and spread over her like paint irresponsibly dropped on a canvas.

"What - what did he say?" She asked, still staring helplessly.

"I don't know." Miroku breathed.

As Kagome turned and walked away, her pace quickly hastening, Miroku released his hold on Sango. She spared him a brief glance before running to catch up with her friend, and he didn't linger in place, following suit to get to Inuyasha. 

"Finally, something shut her -"

"You've said enough!" Miroku pushed him, sending the half demon stumbling to the side. Inuyasha's mouth hung open, brows furrowed but his expression one of shock. "What the hell's wrong with you!?"

He'd been prepared for Inuyasha to swing or retaliate, but the hanyou’s lips merely sealed and his body straightened. It was like he was damaged. He looked away, and his jaw clenched, the muscles in the sides of his face flexing harshly. His swallow was thick, visible, and his chest rose and fell heavily. He was still on the defense, but Miroku could tell the speed of his thoughts had to be slowing.

"How bad was that?" The question was barely spoken, his tone so dispirited, carrying the weight of his regret. He couldn’t help it. Everything she’d said had been so powerfully sworn, each word like a tick that burrowed deep into his skin. It was impossible to ignore. Even worse was the look on her face as he’d crushed her. So quickly, it had burned into his mind, framed in the forefront, heartbreaking, and the evidence of how despicable he could truly be. He couldn’t not see it. He couldn’t fight through it. It brought his natural guarding to shut down.

"Bad." Miroku stated.

"Did you hear everything?" Still, the words were hardly audible, hushed with shame.

"Everything up until the end."

"I called her a waste of time." He said clearly, leveling his gaze to meet Miroku's. "That outta do it, right?"

There was a falter in Inuyasha, an evident one. Anyone would have picked up on it; no one needed the skill to read people. He felt contrite. He didn't mean that. He probably didn't mean anything he'd said, but he knew the consequences of his mistakes.

"You can apologize." Miroku suggested, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "Take it back. Tell her you said all of it in the heat of the moment and -"

"No."

"- You never meant to hurt her."

"I can't." Inuyasha was resolute, a little panicked, muscles showing jittery agitation. "I fucked up. That's it."

"That doesn't have to be it! If you don't like the turn of events, do something about it!"

"How do I just take something like that back, Miroku!? I threw everything in her face! I made her feel worthless! I know too goddamn well that you can't just say sorry for something that low and expect everything to be fine!" He yelled, irate. He'd turned into the person he shouldn't have. Like all the people that belittled him for being what he was. Like his brother. He tore down a person who cared about him because he was more afraid that she wouldn't, and in preventing his own future pain, he only broke himself sooner.

"Well," Miroku began. "If that's the case, if someone were to apologize to you then how would you like them to do it?"

Inuyasha didn't reply, his head only shaking in disbelief. How could he have let himself do that? Who was he becoming? There were people in life that pre-evaluated their future, that swore they'd never become like the ones who did them harm. Inuyasha never had. He never worried about it. His solution was to dismiss it all, act like it never happened, isolate himself, fight back. This time, he realized, he fended off the wrong person.

He muttered a curse under his breath, feeling so heavy he could have sunken into the earth. Swaying on his heel, Inuyasha veered right, ducking down an alley to head home.

—

Kagome sluggishly rolled out of bed, her head pounding. It had been hard to stop crying, and once she did, it was even harder not to start up again. She was exhausted but couldn't sleep, and the tea her mom had brought up mid breakdown was now bitter and cold. The silence was annoying and only contributing to the pungent thoughts that kept her emotions active. She wanted to stop feeling angry, and sad, and hurt, and defensive, and anxious, or anything else her mood shifted to depending on what way she was going to overthink the scenario that time, and just mute everything for a while. Since sleep wasn't an option at the moment, she decided she'd use the TV as a distraction. 

After grabbing the remote and hitting the power button, she turned off the overhead light, showing an ounce of pity for her throbbing head. It was past midnight, so she kept the volume low, sitting on the foot of her mattress as she flipped it over to Netflix and resumed her show. Two solid taps on her window caught her attention, and Kagome looked over her shoulder, silver hair catching the glimmer of light from the illuminated screen. An unsettling chill sank down into her abdomen, like the feeling of fingers steadily teasing their grip over her organs, and her breath trembled, heat flushing her face.

Inuyasha crouched outside her windowpane, his expression relaxed but his gaze overtly cautious. He had a lot of guts showing up, time hardly a cushion to the blows she'd taken. But, on the other hand, he had to have come for a reason, right? 

No, that didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. Kagome needed to draw the line, she needed to respect herself. As difficult as it was, and it was very difficult for her, she walked over to the window, avoiding his stare while she yanked the curtains shut.

The hanyou sighed defeatedly. He deserved it, he knew, but that didn't make it any easier to handle. He smelled her tears before approaching her window, he knew she had to still be hurting. Of course, she was. There was no way a person would recover from what he'd said in the span of a few hours; he, of all people, understood. He didn't come here on a whim, though; he came here to talk. It took a lot of effort, too much even, to swallow his pride and mentally rehearse what he had to say on his walk over. Kagome deserved an explanation for everything. She deserved insight, answers, his own, personal vulnerability, and above all else, she deserved to know just how fucking sorry he was.

"Kagome," Inuyasha kept his tone softer than usual, though the gruffness was inevitable. "Open the window. Please. If you don't, I'll just go to your front door."

She froze, huffing at the unfair ultimatum. Begrudgingly but swiftly giving in, she pushed the curtains aside, sliding the window open but propping herself before him to block his entrance. "If you're here for round two, now's not really a good time."

Her voice was low but dangerous. Inuyasha kept steady, his expression hardly wavering, amber eyes unable to hold on her and drifting low as he gave a gentle nod to ask if he could come in. There was a moment of tension, the silence only filled with the mumbling from the show she'd put on, her sigh signifying her reluctancy even though she moved and allowed him entry.

Carefully, Inuyasha climbed through, resting his low back against the frame of the window. Kagome stood in front of her bed, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt as she pulled them to cover her hands. It seemed like a nervous tick; just trying to keep her fingers busy while she stretched and dropped and bunched the cotton over and over. Her eyes were red and puffy, the makeup she'd worn earlier cleaned off, though a thin smudge decorated the lines of her lids. She was dressed down in pajama bottoms, the shirt she wore not long enough to hide her midriff, and her hair was still just as beautiful as before.

Reaching over, he quietly glided the window shut behind him, not wanted the chill of the night to bother her.

“What do you want?” 

He hated how sad she sounded, how lifeless her voice was.

“I didn’t mean it.” Inuyasha finally admitted, hesitation on his tongue. Still, he found it hard to make eye contact with Kagome.

“What part?” She asked, crossing her arms, fingers remaining covered. The inquiry was justified; he’d said a lot. The clarification was necessary at this point.

“Any of it. I didn’t mean anything I said.” He heard her exhale. It was rocky and short, troubled, exactly as he would expect. Then why the fuck would he say it in the first place, right? He pushed himself to meet her eyes pleadingly, calm. “Five minutes. Give me five uninterrupted minutes to explain.”

Kagome could feel his sincerity, the light from her show flickering on his skin as scenes played through. The emotions swirling in her head were conflicting; fifty percent wanting to hear what he had to say and the other fifty wondering if he even deserved the chance. It wasn’t difficult to know which way she’d lean, though. Even for herself. Everyone should have an opportunity to open up about how they felt and why they’d acted the way they did. Especially given how guilty he looked at this point in time. Reaching to the side, Kagome grabbed her remote off the top of her comforter, muting her show and trusting him to keep a level tone so her family wouldn’t be woken up. Tossing the controller back down, she gave Inuyasha her undivided attention.

The half demon nodded in appreciation, breathing out unsteadily as he ducked his head and crossed his arms over his front. He was naturally inclined to stay quiet, the apprehension and tension of the entire predicament overwhelming, but he couldn’t allow himself to shut down, to expect this all to blow over on its own just because he’d presented an apologetic version of his being. He gave himself a mental shove, as hard as it was, urging himself to open up for once in his goddamn life. It was warranted. He had to. Even if, in the end, he wasn’t offered redemption for his mistakes, which was a sour thought and pained him enough to swell his throat, Kagome would still have the knowledge of the exhausted beliefs that made him travel the route of countless burned bridges.

“You know about my parents.” He started, eyes on the carpet beneath his shoes. He ignored every pressing shockwave that conveyed for him to keep to himself, to lockdown all his personal information, opening a door that hadn’t been opened in years. It didn’t matter anymore. Not when he’d seen how he’d made her cry. “How they died. I don’t remember my dad all that much, but my mom’s passing took a huge toll on me. I was very close with her. She was human, and she still managed to protect me as if she had the strength of a demon. From other demons. From internal demons. When she was gone, I didn’t have that shelter anymore. Having someone that’s pushed on you to be considered family, someone who’s supposed to be there for you but then turns around and makes you feel like shit for something you can’t control takes a toll, too. It wasn’t just Sesshomaru, though - my brother. There were plenty of people I’ve met that shun me, talk shit, think I’m unnatural. After experiencing it enough, you learn to expect the worst of everyone. Not gonna lie, Sesshomaru’s voice is what I hear every time. So, instead of waiting for backs to turn, I just turn mine. It stopped bothering me after a while. I wasn’t even numb anymore, it just didn’t matter.” Inuyasha was concerned the thunderous beating of his heart would be detected by Kagome. It was difficult not to show how his breathing increased in pace, the topic one he’d never spoken about to any other living soul. In his mind, he kept repeating the importance of all of this. Over and over, he told himself to keep going, to tell her everything, actively refusing to let himself stop. “No one knows this, Kagome. I figured the more I keep locked up, the less vulnerable I am. Then, you walked in. You’re right. You scared me. I unintentionally gave you too much of my background when I initially intended to give you a bland explanation that night that I was upset. Safety isn’t something I’ve been fortunate enough to experience in a few years, and I think that’s what I began to feel with you. Like before, though, safety can be taken away very quickly, and I - I didn’t want to go through it again. You aren’t the first I’ve dropped like that. You’re the first to fight back, though. You were the first to ever show that it made you sad. I mean, yeah, people would get offended, but then they’d turn around and drop me and pretend it was their idea all along. I expected the same from you,” Finally, finally, he glanced her way. “and it hurt when I didn’t get it.”

Her dark eyes were large, the lighting showing the sadness in the glimmering tears building on her bottom lids. Her lips were pouting, parted slightly, her chin giving a quiver that made him feel unstable, as her brows pressed together in concern. Was she compassionate for his history, or was this the affliction he’d done? Maybe both? He didn’t deserve the former, but given what he’d learned about Kagome over the months, he wouldn’t doubt her empathy.

“I didn’t want to lose you, but it was too late by the time I acknowledged it. Everything about you was a warning to me of the damage you could potentially do. I was too susceptible, so I took myself out of the picture. I’m being honest when I say I didn’t know I was hurting you. It was confusing. I was used to apathy, and you don’t have an apathetic bone in your body. Even now, I don’t know what to do or where to go from here. If you’re done, I get it. I don’t fucking blame you. Tell me to go and I’ll go. But, before you do, let me just say that I don’t think you’re stupid, or self-righteous, or anything else I said. I don’t. I was throwing out whatever came to mind to try and push you away.”

Kagome was quiet, holding her breath as her chest constricted. Beneath the treatment he’d handed her, she completely understood his reasoning. It didn’t make it right, and in her gut she could tell he knew that. That wasn’t his purpose. It gave her perception, though, and that accounted for something. In the silence, she’d noticed his breathing ceased too, and his eyes had fallen back down to the floor. His chest was still, and he was just as nervous as he was when he’d first entered, if not more. It was her turn to speak. And she was so scared of saying the wrong thing. She was fearful of having it used against her like before. In her heart, Kagome wanted to give him another chance. She deeply wanted to trust him like she had, maybe even better now that he’d opened up a part of himself that had never been accessible to anyone before.

“Tell me the truth, Inuyasha. What do you want?” 

He looked over, apprehensively. Cautiously.

How was it he was so fearless in the face of aggressive and violent confrontation, but so terrified of this one girl? She had more strength in her compassion than fists would ever have against him. A tear fell from her eye, gliding over the curve of her cheek, acting as the sledgehammer that slammed down against his cinderblock walls, each teardrop serving as each strike. The half demon swallowed thickly, feeling a profound softness for Kagome strengthen with each uneven inhale of her comforting scent, laced with sadness that he wanted to dissipate. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to fix everything. He wanted to see her smile again, hear her laugh, make her laugh, help her study because he was the one that needed the excuse to see her. He wanted to make sure he kept the bridge between them sturdy and unbreakable. Because of her, for her, he wanted to be better. What he’d done to her, said to her, he’d never do it again. Inuyasha wanted Kagome.

On any level he could attain, Inuyasha wanted Kagome.

Words wouldn’t work for him in that moment. He couldn’t speak. His abdomen was tighter than ever, a lump solidifying in his throat, his jaw clenching as he experienced the debilitating anxiety involved in the realization that he had been falling in love all along. That’s why it crushed him when she cried, he was happy when she expressed joy, he trusted her with the parts of him he’d never talked about before. It hurt when she didn’t react the way he’d grown to expect, because it complicated everything so much more. Because he didn’t like losing her, and the thought that she didn’t want to lose him either made everything so much fucking harder to process. 

Inuyasha was still scared. He couldn’t shake it. His own muscles inadvertently tensed through the emotional stress he was under, the weight of his feelings intensifying. What could he do if he couldn’t speak? He had to tell Kagome he wanted to stay by her side in some other manner. He couldn’t lose the opportunity, or let the silence build and settle in the shadows of her mind; he couldn’t risk any negative thoughts intruding on her any further, or making her feel insecure for opening up the floor to him. He’d put her through enough. And he knew what he wanted.

Slowly, the hanyou reached over to her, his fingers gently grazing the soft sleeve of her shirt, pinching the loose fabric to give the tenderest of tugs his way. He was afraid she’d resist or shrug him off, but she didn’t. Kagome’s face crinkled slightly as she stepped his way, easily following his guidance as she opened herself up to him. There was no way he would permit himself to freeze or hesitate at this point, so he pulled her into his chest where she glided her arms over his front and around his shoulders. She clutched onto him, her face nuzzling into the crook of his neck where her hot breath almost brought him to falter, small hiccups from her silent cries rocking against his torso. Steadily, Inuyasha wrapped her into him, his hands large against the small of her back, one slipping beneath her shirt to lay flat against her hot skin and the other firmly gripping the cotton to keep her there. He felt her ease, and it didn’t take long, following the natural curve of his body as he effortlessly supported her weight. In that moment, to add to it all, he felt the growing and undying hunger to protect her from anything or anyone that could devastate her this way again. He didn’t care what he had to do, who he’d have to fight, or even if it was swallowing his own pride to make sure he never overstepped a boundary. Inuyasha would keep Kagome safe. One step at a time, he planned to make sure she understood he was reliable. 

“I’m sorry.” Inuyasha breathed, holding her tighter. She nodded against him, her body seeming to have calmed considerably. Her arms relaxed, and though he wasn’t ready to let her go, he released his hold, allowing her to back away. Kagome didn’t look at him, not directly, her dull stare landing on his stomach. He was almost desperate for her smile to return. He missed it horribly, feeling it would be the only thing to give him relief from his own turmoil. Like something else had control over him, his hand reached up, barely stroking her jaw with his thumb. “Are we - are we okay?”

“Mhm,” Kagome hummed, leaning into his whisper of a touch.

“You’re not okay.” He whispered, dropping his hand. Things didn’t just disappear with an apology, he got that. As much as he didn’t like it, the bitterness building on the back of his tongue, Inuyasha knew it’d take time to get over their fight and the ruthlessness of his insults. I’m sorry merely served as the bandaid. Actions in show of his regret was the ointment that sealed the wound. All too well, he knew how it went. He wouldn’t push her to pretend she was fine when she was still fighting off tears. No matter how relieved her sighs against his chest seemed, that was just the surface layer of a wound scabbing over. “I’ll go. If you need me, I’m available. I won’t disappear again.”

As he opened the window to climb out, a wild fluttering built in Kagome’s diaphragm, bringing her to bite her bottom lip hard as her nerves prickled and stung. “Can you - um,” She trembled, scared to see how he’d react to her upcoming question. There was no fending it off, though. She had to hear the opposite of what had sunken into her heart, the density of the statement holding her hostage. Inuyasha turned around, ember eyes watching her, observing her. With a mental push, her fingers hidden beneath her sleeves as she bunched and clenched the cloth within her fists, she forced the remainder of the question out, disregarding the fear evident behind her breath. “Can you tell me that I’m not a waste of time? Please?”

Inuyasha thought he’d known the repercussions of that volatile sentiment, but as he watched her crumble all over again, her frown deepening heartbreakingly and tears staining her cheeks once more, it was only then that he realized just how awful the blow was that he’d spoken so unthinkingly. He wished he had less walls to break down. He wished he wasn’t already at his limit, having pushed himself so far passed the boundary that had solidified overtime. He wished the work he knew he’d have to conduct on himself to be what she deserved could be done instantaneously, so that he could bring himself to touch her again, but he couldn’t. Inuyasha’s arms were stuck at his side, muscles tense and difficult to move. God, he wanted to be capable of fucking grabbing her and holding her without so much as having to think it through; like a normal fucking person. Words couldn’t describe the desperation behind the helplessness he felt that he physically couldn’t handle it right now, his fear, his anxiety, his thoughts rushing so fast that his blood coursed through his veins at the same damn cursing speed. Even when he tried, his hands only reached up so far, seeming more like they were braced before him heedfully; like he was worried about breeching her own boundaries. Which he was. He didn’t know what to do. When his actions failed him, how could he be believed? With a heavy sigh, the half demon stepped forward, as close as they’d been before when he’d first spoken those destructive words. He felt broken knowing what he’d done to her, and if the frown on his face was the proof of this feeling, the last thing he would do was hide it. If this was what he could give her at this point in time, he’d happily hand her his remorse on a silver platter. She was crying, her entire body shaking just inches before him, and he hated that he couldn’t physically take that pain away from her. If what she wanted was to hear the contradiction of his earlier statement, though, he could manage that much. He didn’t care if it was hard, he’d give her anything he fucking could right now. 

“You’re not a waste of time, Kagome.” Inuyasha spoke, genuinely, his voice husky. “I lied. I would have never come back if I actually thought that.”

She smiled. Despite it all, she smiled. If he could touch her, he would have cradled her face and wiped away the tears that fell until there were no more to clean, but it felt like there was a bulletproof glass separating them; like Inuyasha was locked away in prison, speaking to Kagome during a moment of visitation, desperately wishing he was free from his mistakes and the confinements that restrained him. Soon. This was his wakeup call. He wanted to be the one that was there for her, that reassured her everything would be okay, that held her, that made her feel so comfortable she could fall asleep on his chest. What more verification would you need of a person trusting you other than them sleeping in your arms? He’d never experienced that before, but he’d be a goddamn liar if he said he hadn’t once dreamt of someone sleeping by his side, or drifting off while watching tv. When he’d woken up from those types of dreams, he felt hollow. He was convinced it’d never happen. He knew now that in order for anything to happen, anything at all, he’d have to rebuild his mindset to be more open. It was no secret by now that he had been sealed shut, but now that the door was pried open, he could see the possibility of warmth entering through. There was always a chance of being hurt, and the scars ran deep, but there were risks that were worth taking. She was worth it. No matter how nauseous he felt right now. 

“Thank you.” She sighed.

“Go to bed.” He said, turning back around and soundlessly crawling out the window. “I’ll see you later.”

Kagome gave a tired nod, sauntering over to the window behind him. Her crying had just about stopped, the remnants of it all wiped away on her sleeves.

He gave a soft grin, his stomach half in shambles. “Goodnight, Kagome.”

She smiled, watching him venture over the small area of roofing before grabbing onto the overhanging branch of a tree. “Night.” She said as he spared her one last glance, sliding the window shut when he climbed down. 

—

As soon as he walked through the school gates, Inuyasha felt a sickening twinge ignite in his entire torso. He’d thought realizations of your own feelings were supposed to lessen the burdens, but all he’d felt since that night was horrible nervousness. Now more than ever. They hadn’t spoken since. She needed space, and he respected it. Even though they’d left on a relatively good note, he felt pressured as he walked through the campus, making his way to his locker. Was she going to be in school? How would she react if he said hello? How would he react if she said hello? Was it allowed? Were they on speaking terms? What about their study dates? Did they still exist or was he supposed to go through the humiliating process of reinstating them? Did she even want them anymore? If things were awkward, how did he proceed from there to properly reconcile? How could he make things normal again? Fuck, he would have stayed home if he knew he was going to end up this much of a basket case.

“What’s up?” Miroku said, approaching from the side and effectively startling the hanyou. His friend flinched at the notable tension that crawled up Inuyasha’s spine, his reaction out of the ordinary. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He grunted in an attempt at recovery. “I was just spacing out.”

“You? Spacing out? Man, that argument really did do a number on you.” Miroku mentioned, leaning against the neighboring locker. “I probably know the answer to this already, but have you talked to her?”

Inuyasha didn’t respond, shutting the small, metal door and shrugging his arm to adjust the strap of his book bag to sit properly over his shoulder. He felt the length of his ponytail wag to the side with his motions as he sluggishly began to lead their way down the hall.

“Thought so. So, what now?” His friend asked. 

In his peripherals, he could see the guy comb his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in a defeated motion. He couldn’t blame Miroku for expecting this from him, but he was a dick for doing so anyway. “What do you mean, what now?”

“I mean, what now? You burned her, you regretted it, and then you just left. I want to know what you plan to do, or if you’re just gonna blow it off like usual.”

“What if I say, nothing?”

“I might call you an asshole. Pretty sure Sango may have some colorful, choice words for you too, so watch out for that. I’ll secretly wish for better for my best friend in the entire world, I’ll be a little salty because you ruined the one chance at happiness you’ll ever have, I’ll watch a RomCom and cry over a box of chocolates in your stead, then we’ll all move on and get over it by next week.”

“Why are you so dramatic?” Inuyasha rolled his eyes.

“Oh man, the amount of questions I could counter that with is endless, my dude.”

There she was. Everything inside Inuyasha jolted to a stop, his legs halting as the breath left his lungs. There was no sense of relief whatsoever in discovering you were falling for someone. If his mild episode of panic at his locker wasn’t evidence enough of that, the sensation that his stomach had dropped into his pelvis, carried itself back up to its original spot, then plummeted again as she smiled to her friend definitely was. He now understood why Miroku was such a goddamn mess in front of Sango. All Inuyasha wanted to do was vomit at the mere thought of Kagome looking over at him; mostly because he had no idea where they stood with one another.

She clutched an old, small book to her chest, one that apparently had been read many times by the stress on the spine, cocking her head to the side as the opposite person thanked her for letting them borrow it. As they walked away, Kagome’s brown eyes flowed right over his way, her smile only wavering minutely before coming back to greet him. Her shoulders noticeably relaxed, her gaze shied downward, and her own ponytail flicked to the side as she turned and followed Sango into her class. She was okay. He didn’t sense any ounce of animosity roiling off of her. Finally, he breathed out his first, full exhale since before their fight.

“Question,” Miroku trepidatiously spoke, interrupting the pleasant thoughts going through his head. “Is Kagome secretly insanely evil? Because, given the circumstances, what the fuck was that smile for? Maybe it’s not Sango you actually need to worry about, because Kagome is going to sit you like a dog.” 

Inuyasha’s features twisted into a grimace, slowly swiveling to fully face Miroku. The deeply concerned expression on his friend’s face was enough to crumble his natural facade. “Joke’s on you, I talked to her already.”

“You what!? How long were you just gonna let me talk shit for?”

“Until you felt like an ass and I could rub it in your face.” The hanyou shrugged, continuing on until they met the doorway of their classroom. “I went over that same night. We talked it out.”

“Just like that? You talked it out?” Miroku pressed, following closely behind. He pursued Inuyasha straight to his seat, knowing he had several minutes until the bell rang, and therefore, plenty of time until he had to drop the subject and head to his desk across the room. If they had to bounce dialogue off of each other as quickly as the Gilmore Girls did just to get his answers, he’d keep the ball rolling smoothly. “Well, that doesn’t sound anything like you.”

“Thanks. Nice talking to you.” Inuyasha remarked, sarcastically.

“No, seriously. In all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve never done anything like this. How’d you - I mean, what’d you tell her?”

“Everything.”

“You gotta give me a little bit more than that, bro.”

“I told her everything. Things you don’t know, things I don’t plan on telling you, and other things you’ve probably figured out on your own but don’t know the history behind. I told her I didn’t mean what I said, I apologized, and she forgave me.”

“Nope. Too bland. Inuyasha, I’m getting a little stir crazy here.”

“I honestly don’t plan on telling you, so let it go.”

“Okay, no, I get it. Fair enough. You’re a private person. Honestly, I’m glad you’ve found someone you’re comfortable opening up to, especially in the face of losing them. Really.”

“Ulterior motive of that comment?” Inuyasha dryly asked.

“You were scared of losing her, right?”

“Miroku.”

“Why won’t you tell me? What’s so wrong with admitting the truth to me, of all people? I’m not asking for your depressing background story, I’m asking for current events here. Were you afraid to lose her?” Miroku asked, his tone a bit firmer than before, though still on the hushed side. Intentionally, he avoided using names. Their classmates were steadily filing in, and he wasn’t in the business of throwing someones personal affairs out into the open.

Inuyasha tensed. Openness. He wanted to be more open. For Kagome. If he practiced with Miroku, maybe it’d be simpler in the long run. The idea didn’t make the notion any easier, though. He felt like all he’d end up doing would be giving Miroku what he wanted, and though he wasn’t a gloater, the possibility was still there and made Inuyasha want to clam up all over again. In order to comply, he had to look away. It was too difficult to discuss private matters with direct eye contact to further enhance his discomfort. Inuyasha’s amber irises went left and right, his head swiveling along with them, giving a simple nod in the mix to say yes. If Miroku caught it, great. If he didn’t there was no way he’d repeat the motion.

“Alright.” Miroku grinned, the hint of positive affirmation on his tone. He’d caught it. “Do you like her?”

Again, Inuyasha indirectly nodded, shifting his head from side to side in a casual manner to hide his confirmation. 

“Do you want this to go somewhere?”

“Define, somewhere.” Inuyasha spoke, unsure of the broad aspect that question provided. It really wasn’t all that broad, but he was embarrassed enough not to know how to properly answer him without specification narrowing the field.

“Passed friendship. More than friends. A relationship of sorts. You know, hand-holding, kissing, cuddling, sweet nothings, nookie.”

“Nookie!?” Inuyasha hissed a little too loud, attracting the unwanted and skeptical attention of a nearby classmate. Miroku played it off, giving the guy an expecting smile that read for him to mind his business before turning back to the hanyou. “No one calls it that anymore, and no, that wasn’t on my mind.”

“Not now, anyway. Boners are natural.” Again, noticing the guy had overheard what he’d said and turned their way with a curious expression, Miroku looked at him, this time leveling the nosy prick with a straight face. When he twisted forward, Miroku turned back to Inuyasha. “But you know what, I like that. If woohoo isn’t the first thing on your mind, that must mean you’re really in deep here. Like, on what level are we talking?”

Inuyasha massaged his temples with his thumbs, blocking his line of sight with the rest of his hands propped on his forehead, begrudgingly bringing himself to answer. “A, uh, romantic level?”

“Yeah, kind of figured that one already. Do you want to take her on a date and see how things go, or do you want to take her on many dates and never let go? Very different; the latter being more expensive.”

“Well, where would you rate your feelings for Sango?” Inuyasha nervously asked, feeling heat begin to pool in his cheeks.

“On a terribly inconvenient, I-want-to-die-because-I-can-never-stop-thinking-about-her-and-I-don’t-think-I’ve-gotten-a-full-night’s-sleep-in-weeks level.” He answered with a distasteful grimace, his expression blanking as he watched Inuyasha slowly nod, the color in his face paling. “O-oh. You feel sick?”

Inuyasha nodded.

“Gonna puke?”

“Might.”

“That’s rough, buddy.” He sympathized, patting the half demon on the back as the bell chimed. “Welcome to my hell. Nice to know you’ve got a heart, though.”

And, it really was hell. Inuyasha, of all people, didn’t know the first thing about what to do with the overwhelming emotions that cluttered his mind, his throat, his chest, his stomach, fuck - every inch of him. He knew he had to take action if he wanted anything to come from this, or so it goes, but the thought of asking Kagome on a date was so nerve-wracking that he’d shut down and talk himself out of it every time the thought occurred. It was difficult enough picking up where they’d left off since he’d pulled his douche move. He practically had to break the ice all over again just to make typical hello’s and goodbye’s feel natural like before. That was his responsibility, and he understood that; the pressure shouldn’t be on Kagome for making conversations flow naturally again. Though, she was perfectly compliant and made it seem so easy. She was obviously better in the socializing department, and her smile worked to soothe his rigidness.

In all honesty, Inuyasha had never been so exhausted in his life. It was the end of the week, and he felt like he’d ran a marathon everyday since Monday. How do people willingly put themselves through this? Clearly, feelings weren’t something a person could control, but he knew of people that actually enjoyed the pursuit of romance, even going so far as to call the endeavor, “exciting.” It wasn’t exciting, and he was insulted that they thought so. It was stressful. So fucking stressful.

Miroku had given some unsolicited advice, and considering his recent luck in the dating department, the hanyou wasn’t very inclined to take any of it to heart. Beyond his measure, some of what his friend had said rooted into his mind. Inuyasha shouldn’t be aiming to go back to the way they were when he had an opportunity to build something better. He has feelings for Kagome. Kagome has feelings for him. Why would he try to go back to a stifled friendship where all he did was pine - resentfully so, since he was attempting to fight off any affection he had for her - and build from there when he now had leverage to progressively work for something better? It made sense. He hated that it made sense, but it made sense. Miroku also suggested the half demon be upfront with his feelings, but he was going to have to pass on that one. He felt, for his own sanity, he had to take things slow. Inuyasha liked the idea of the steady construction of something significant and solid.

If Kagome would ever have him, he wanted to be worthy of her.

But then the whole deserving aspect went out the window when he walked out of the school building to see that stupid ass wolf flirting with Kagome. Again. An undeniable urge to separate them in whatever manner he had to flooded through his veins. Who had the fucking time to wait on personal growth when the persistent fucker was constantly interrupting and getting in his way? Inuyasha gritted his teeth, annoyed as all hell at the relaxed way Koga leaned against a wall, his eyes promiscuously looking over Kagome whenever she wasn’t paying attention. 

“Do it, do it, do it, do it.” Miroku mildly chanted from next to him, egging the half demon forward. 

Inuyasha had barely picked up Sango’s approaching scent, his attention flickering to her just before she stopped at his opposite side. She didn’t pay him much regard at first, observing the scene ahead of them. Then, her stare bounced to him, a slight slant in her eyes. It was almost like she was testing to see if he’d flinch, her gaze boring into him, through him, her lips giving the smallest downward curve in disapproval.

“We have a math test on Tuesday.” She finally spoke, a smirk growing.

Inuyasha readily took the hint, trudging through the courtyard to make his move.

“Wow. I’m surprised.” Miroku cocked a brow. “You condone him going after Kagome?”

“Kagome can hold her own better than I can, believe it or not. Besides, I’m sick of that longing look he’s had going all week. I wanted to see if he’d do something about it if the opportunity presented itself.”

“Sango, my dear, I couldn’t appreciate you more.”

The half demon refused to lose his momentum. The closer he got to the two, the more empowered he felt to do something to work in his favor. Kagome glanced over at him curiously as he neared, and he intentionally kept his eyes glued to her, blowing the wolf off entirely.

“Hey, what’s up?” She coolly greeted. He loved the pink that faintly brushed over her cheeks just by him coming over, painting her shy and him a likable person. God, above all, he loved the advantage he had over stupid ass Koga.

“You busy tomorrow or Sunday?” He asked, rolling with his sudden bout of confidence.

“Um, no. Neither. Why?”

“Study date.” The word date was intentional, mostly to sit sourly in Koga’s stomach. “Heard you’ve got a test coming up.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” Kagome politely assured, feeling a little timid. “I-I don’t want to take up your day. And, I still have your notes from last time.”

Check and mate. 

“You absorb the information better when I’m there with you. Let me help.” Inuyasha grinned crookedly. “I want to.”

“Okay.” She breathed, her smile steadily growing. “When?”

“I’ll text you tonight. We’ll figure it out then.” He responded. As he went to turn away, he spared a look towards Koga, smiling arrogantly as the fucker glared with his light, blue eyes. Inuyasha gave a challenging cock of his brow, sauntering off in Miroku’s direction.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part seventy three/

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: language

Taglist: @brideofdraculana , @renfriii , @aryssav , @miserablecunt , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @anntheboneless, @venus-calum, @justjodeye, @supernaturalvikingwhore,  @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @awesomealmostdopestudent @romanticvengeance , @tashy-bear, @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls, @rockersbox, @brooklyn-antiques, @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, @lilytalebi, @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream, @lunamadhatter99, @broke-n-bitchy, @thanks2pete, @slowandangry, @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @motherloovebone, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001, @wheresmyvodkabitch, @waywardprincess666, @malibubarbievince, @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @zoenicoles @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @primal-screamer@electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @miss2001babe, @nassauartist @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx,  @lauravic, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe,  @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist @marvelismylifffe,  @sleepyjunhong  @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor, @xxisxxisxxis, @malibubarbievince, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991, @xpoisonousrosesx, @cranberrirolls, @m0rnlngstar, @love-struck-aries, @findingmyths, @minxtruck, @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl​, @sinningsixx​, @motleycrueprincess​, @redlipscrystalskies14​, 

*Nikki’s POV*

“Van, I can take her up to her room. Just let me, please?” I watched as she picked up Arianna and carried her inside.

“Just get the bags.” Vanity mumbled to me as I sighed. I realized halfway through the drive home I was being an asshole to everyone just because I wanted to hurry up and get here. I carried the bags in and put them down by the stairs.

“Well hello pretty girl. Did you miss me?” Anarchy came up wagging her tail before running up the stairs, completely ignoring me along the way. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water before sitting down at the table.

“Thought I heard the gate open. You guys are back a day early.” I turned my head to the side when Clementine came out of her art studio with paint soaked brushes.

“Yeah, Allen called me about a new singer this morning-“ “...And now you guys are so excited. Tommy told me.” She interrupted me as she started rinsing off her brushes in the sink.

“Do you have to clean them there? I don’t want paint staining the tile. Can’t you clean them in a cup?” I questioned her as she shook her head.

“Vanity said I could.”

I rolled my eyes and got up from the chair, “Just clean up your mess. I don’t want to see it.” I walked over to the answering machine and went through them.

‘Nikki, it’s Allen. I tried calling your cell but It probably went through when you didn’t have any signal driving back. Anyways, come to my office around noon tomorrow. We also need to discuss your new contract with Elektra and how much you guys will be bringing home. Talk to you tomorrow.’

Message deleted.

‘Sixxter! Dude! Did you hear?! A new fuckin singer?! Hit me up when you’re back in town and let’s go grab some drinks! Maybe go to the titty bar!’

I chuckled and deleted the message. I’ll have to call Tommy in a little bit.

‘I hope this is still the right number. Don’t have any new ones for Sixx’s house. Anyways. Uh, hey Vanity it’s Saul, well Slash-‘

Fuck no. No. I’m not fucking doing this

“...I heard you were back in town. You’re still very popular here. New York huh? You shoulda reached out some how. I was staying there for a bit too. Anyways, uh here’s my number. You can keep it if you want. I was thinking if you were up for it we could catch up. Maybe grab a bite to eat or something to drink or whatever you want. Your choice. Just um give me a call. I’ll talk to you later maybe? Bye Vanity.”

Message deleted.

“Did you really just delete a message that was meant for me?” I quickly turned around when Vanity was standing by the stairs, arms folded across her chest.

“Vanity, I didn’t-“

She raised an eyebrow at me before walking to the kitchen, “Hi clemmy. Missed you.” I watched as she gave her a hug, “Was everything okay while we were gone?”

She nodded, “Of course! I signed for a few packages that came for Nikki. Anarchy was good she probably lost a few pounds since Ari wasn’t here to feed her. Told you I could be trusted watching the house.” Clementine glanced over at me. My jaw clenched as I turned away from them and grabbed the bags to bring up stairs.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s being an asshole today.” Vanity whispered, but not quiet enough. I shook my head and peered over the banister and into the kitchen.

“If you’re gonna call me an asshole. Say it to my god damn face and not when I leave the room.” I hastily snapped at her as she glared up at me.

“You’re being an asshole, Nikki.”

I shook my head before pushing her suitcase down the stairs to where it was prior, “Vanity don’t.” Clementine spoke as she tried reaching for her.

“No! Fucking let her!” I watched as Vanity came up on me, seeing the fire in her eyes burning hotter the longer she stared at me.

“Guys, Arianna is in the house so let’s not do this.” Clementine suggested as I sent her the middle finger.

“Shut the hell up, Clementine. She wants to start we can-“ I stopped talking when Van grabbed me by my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she attempted to suppress the rage. She dragged me into my room with all her force and slammed the door shut.

She pinched the bridge of her nose before looking at me, “I really, really don’t want to fight with you right now but you are being an asshole and I am not going to deal with it.”

“Me?!” She nodded, “How the hell am I being an asshole!? If it’s because of how we left this morning then doll, I am sorry. But it’s the band! You of all people should know how this! It’s my band, Vanity! I know you and Ari were having fun, I was too. But it’s my job babe. You’ve got to understand that.” I tried to explain and attempt to stay calm.

She leaned against the bedroom door, “So your manager or the label call you and you come running like a little lap dog?! You left your grandfather without even saying you loved him! Or with a proper goodbye! Arianna was so confused this morning Nikki! All because of how you were acting! All because you just had to get back here! by the way, you almost fucking killed us like four times! But you wouldn’t realize that because you couldn’t shut the fuck up about the stupid band and the stupid new singer who you don’t even know will be your singer yet!!” Vanity unloaded on me as I slumped down into a sitting position on the bed.

“Baby, I didn’t-“ I stopped talking when she exhaled deeply and took a step to me.

“I know you didn’t mean to do all that because you are happy some good news is finally coming since Vince left. But fuck Nikki, it was a little bit to much for me. I was so excited to be spending time with you and Arianna and having Tom with us and you ripped that from me and from her and from Tom! And then we come home and you delete a message that was meant for me and-“

I stood up, “I deleted it for a good fucking reason and you know that.” I pointed in her face as I stared down at her, “So don’t start the Slash bullshit with me.”

“Bullshit?! It’s been fucking years Nikki! Get over it! You aren’t my fucking boyfriend and if I want to call up Slash and take him up on his offer of catching up then I will!”

“Get out of my bedroom.” I looked away from her, grabbing my suitcase and going through my clothes and throwing them all in the hamper so I didn’t have to hang any of them back up.

“I’m not doing that though. So don’t worry about it.” Vanity assured as I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Why not? I’m not your boyfriend.” I glanced at her as her lips parted to say something, “So go do whatever the hell you want, because I know you’re just going to do it anyways.”

“I am not-“ “Just get out of my room, alright?”

“Nikki-“ “Get out! Go!”

She stared at me for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip before, shaking her head and turning away from me. The door latched quietly, hearing her footsteps disappear down the stairs.

I threw the suitcase across the room and at my closet door before getting on my bed and burying my face in the pillows.

*Next Morning*

~Nikki’s POV~

I pushed open Vans door, seeing her bed made perfectly, but clothes were tossed around her room and her perfume lingered faintly. I looked down at Arianna as she smiled at me, “Now where did your mom go?” I patted the top of her head when she shrugged.

“Auntie is home.” She told me, latching onto my hand and swinging it around, “Can we watch cartoons?”

I nodded, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go downstairs. Have you had breakfast yet?”

I watched as she sat down on the stairs and slid all the way down them giggling, “Mommy made me french toast before she left.”

I flipped on the TV for her as she grabbed one of her barbies and climbed on the couch, “Did she go to the store?”

Arianna looked at me, “I dunno.”

I just wanted to say sorry to her.

I rubbed the sleeps out of my eyes and walked to the kitchen to get some coffee. “Is auntie painting?” I asked Arianna, her only response being a head nod as she was engrossed in the child’s show.

I walked down the hallway, going to the back of the house and looking inside to see Clementine sitting on a stool, painting away at a canvas.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was already littered with annoyance, “Is Arianna bored? She can come in here and play if she wants. I don’t mind.”

I chuckled and stayed out at the door, “No, no she’s not bored. Woke me up rudely, but that’s fine. She was asking where Van went...”

I watched her dip the brush into a mason jar full of dirty water before putting it back on the canvas, “Was she? Or are you asking where she is?”

I glared at the back of her head, “She’ll be home later. She left about an hour ago.” Clementine spoke as she finally turned around to look at me, “She’s a big girl Nikki. She can be by herself without you breathing down her neck.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. What the hell was that suppose to mean?

“Well where’d she go? Did she say when she would be back? I wanted to apologize for yesterday...” I mumbled, crossing my arms against my chest and leaned against the doorway.

“Yeah, was a nice little screaming match last night.” Clementine rolled her eyes at me before she started working again, “She said she was going to the diner to see if she can get her old job back and then mentioned going to lunch with a friend. Didn’t say when she’d be back.”

“Okay...well, I have to leave at noon to have a meeting with Allen. Can you watch Arianna? Or do you want me to take her with me?”

All Clementine did was shrug, “Whatever you want Nikki.”

I scowled at the back of her head, “Alright...I’ll just take her if it’s an issue.”

“No one said it was an issue.”

The woman in this house are going to cause me to rip out my hair.

“Which friend is she hanging out with? She didn’t really have a whole lot to begin with here. Other than Lucia and Tonya and the band.”

I heard her mumble something under her breath but I couldn’t make it out, “I don’t know? She called Tommy for his number and then she was out the door an hour later? I’m not her keeper, Nikki.”

His?

“I’m sure she’s fine Nikki, alright? Just go to your meeting.”

I walked away from her room, going down the hallway and shaking my head. Let me find out Tommy gave Vanity Slash’s number. I grabbed my phone off the counter and dialed Vans number and waiting patiently for her to answer, watching Arianna sing along to the cartoon.

‘Hey it’s Vanity! Leave me a message and-‘

I hung up the phone immediately and called Tommy.

‘I’ll be at the office soonish and-“

“Do you know where Vanity is?” I questioned him as the line went silent, “Tommy? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Okay well can you answer my question? Clementine said Van called you before she left.”

Tommy groaned, “Shit.” He chuckled, an uncomfortable chuckle, “She uh..she called asking for Slash’s number...”

“And you gave it to her because?!?!” I shouted, gripping the counter and forcing a half smile when Arianna peeked over the couch.

“Well I dunno, man! She just called and demanded it. Hey! Look, I’m in your corner Sixx. I tried telling her that wouldn’t be the best idea but you know how she is. She told me to fuck off and it wasn’t any of my business but yeah, I’m sorry?”

I shook my head, “It’s...it’s fine Tommy. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Later Sixxter.”

I put the phone down and rubbed my face, “Arianna! We gotta go get dressed. You have to come to work with me.”

“Can I wear my princess dress?”

“Yes my lady-“ bowing to her as she giggled, “You may wear the most prettiest princess dress imaginable.”

*Later that Evening*

~Vanity’s POV~

After parking my car in the garage, I quickly and quietly snuck through the door and started heading to the kitchen to put the cupcakes I got Arianna earlier today in the fridge. I heard the jangle of Anarchy’s collar behind me, followed by her bark.

“Sh! You’re gonna get me in trouble.” I whispered shouted to her as she then woofed a bit quieter before trotting over to get some back rubs, “Let’s go see Ari.” I mumbled and out my stuff down.

I dreaded going up the stairs with each creak in the wood, I felt like a teenager sneaking back in after being out partying all night. I tiptoed down the hallway and opened up her door, sighing when I saw that she was already sleeping. I maneuvered through toys and gave her a kiss on the cheek, “Goodnight baby.”

I left her room, peering down the hallway and saw Nikki’s bedroom light was off. I went to my room to get dressed into something more comfortable. I took the Bobby pins out of my hair, sighing in relief as I ran my fingers over my scalp.

I headed back downstairs to get something to drink and a snack, “So, did you get your job back?” Nikki’s voice and the light turning on made me jump.

“Jesus, do you have to do that?” I grumbled before going to the fridge and grabbing a water.

“How was the diner?” He questioned as I glanced at him for a brief second.

“Oh yeah, uh it was okay. Still the same, really. Francisco is letting make my own schedule. So I’ll be working eight to four so maybe Clementine can pick up Arianna from school since she gets out at two.” I explained to him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I could pick her up too, you know? She’s my daughter.” Nikki spat out as I stared at him.

“Okay...well you can also pick her up if you want..” I mumbled to him.

“Where have you been all day? I’ve tried calling, hell, Clementine tried calling and you didn’t answer!” Nikki whisper shouted a I shook my head.

“I was busy. I went to the diner, chatted with Francisco, meant some of the new girls and-“

“How was Slash?”

I held my breath as I turned my back towards him and looked through the fridge, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I heard his deep exhale, “Vanity.”

I turned around to face him, his arms cross over his chest and his face a bit red, “Don’t start the lying shit with me.” He stepped a closer to me as I stood my ground and stared at him.

“Alright, fine. I met up with Slash and we grabbed dinner and caught up. Nothing happened, so there’s no need to get any thoughts into that brain of yours.” I explained to him as his arms relaxed to his sides.

Nikki shook his head, “You should have said something, Vanity. I waited around my phone all day and Arianna was acting out and kept asking me where you went.”

I laughed at his words, “Tell you I was going to be with Slash?” I laughed again, “The same guy you have such a hatred for, you wanted me to tell you that so we could’ve argued before I left?” I shook my head and tried walking out of the kitchen but he blocked me. I closed my eyes before looking up at him, “I am sorry Arianna was acting out. I told her to be good for you.”

“She wanted you, Van. Not me.” Nikki grumbled as he shifted his body weight to the arm that was extended to rest against the wall.

“Nikki, I am sorry. I just got carried away. I’m allowed to have a moment of free time without Arianna and you.” I told him and I don’t think he liked that very much.

“Vanity, I don’t care that you hung out with him. I cared that you didn’t call. We had no idea where you were at!” Nikki shouted in my face as I rolled my eyes.

“Jesus, back off Sixx. It’s not that big of a deal.” I put my hand, pushing on his chest for him to get out of my face, “I said I was sorry.”

“Van, with you being newly sober I don’t think it’s the smartest of ideas to be hanging out with Slash who just overdosed a few months before you got here.”

“And I understand that but he has been going to meetings and speaking with a therapist. He is trying and he understands what I’m going through.”

“And I don’t?!”

I stared at him, “Nikki, stop yelling at me. I didn’t do anything wrong-“

“You didn’t call! I was worried about you! That’s what you did wrong!”

I tried to move past him but again he blocked me from leaving, “I didn’t know I had to tell everyone my exact location at all times.” I scowled, “Let’s get a fucking ankle monitor. Make sure I’m not doing anything you would disapprove of.”

“Doll, that is not what I meant.” He stepped closer, placing his hand on my lower back, “Vanity, I was worried. Don’t you get that?”

I looked up at him feeling paint chipped nails graze over my skin, “You didn’t have to be worried, Nikki. I was okay. He isn’t a bad guy just because you’re still insecure.”

Nikki raised his eyebrow in surprise, “Insecure? Hm. About What?”

“You know what.” I looked up at him, “You’ve always been insecure and get all possessive over me when he’s around.”

“He placed a god damn bet on you, Van.” Nikki barked, “I dont like how he found it funny and I don’t like he looks at you like he’s going to rip off your fucking close and fuck you against a wall. If that makes me insecure so fucking be it.”

I groaned in frustration, “Nikki I am sorry alright. I’m sorry I didn’t call and I’m sorry I had you guys worried. It is not going to hurt Arianna’s development if I missed a bed time story when I have done it the last six years.” I snapped at him, “What do you want me to do? Just never leave the house again so you and Clementine don’t have to worry about what I’m doing?”

“No Vanity, that’s not...that’s not what I’m saying at all. Just, just next time call alright?” Nikki pleaded with me, “Because I don’t want to deal with Arianna asking if you went away.”

I frowned a bit, “Shut up, Nikki. She didn’t say that.”

“Yes she did. She asked if it was gonna be like New York. You think she doesn’t fucking remember the shit you pulled there? Our daughter was asking for you and just wanted to make sure mommy was coming home. Ask fucking Clementine. Arianna didn’t stop crying for an hour over you Vanity. So yeah, fucking call next time. I didn’t think I was asking much.”

I stared down at the marble flooring of the kitchen, feeling the hot gaze he had and the venom in his words as he spoke, “Yeah. I’ll call next time.”

*Next morning*

I woke up hearing Arianna’s laugh coming from downstairs. I laid in bed for a moment before getting up and rubbing my eyes. I pulled on some sweats before heading downstairs.

“Mommy!” Arianna yelled before climbing out of the chair and running to me, “Good morning baby.” I said while picking her up and holding her at my side and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

I looked at Nikki when he came over to me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips before handing me a cup of coffee, “You making breakfast?”

Nikki smiled and nodded as he went back over to the stove “Yeah, just some French toast and scrambled eggs.”

“Thank you baby.” I sat down at the table, taking a sip as I looked at what Clementine was working on, “That’s pretty.”

“Arianna gave me the idea after she pestered me for an hour about those lovely pink cupcakes in the fridge.” She shot me a glare as I grinned at her.

“Mommy, I want a cupcake.” Ari tugged on my fingers, “They looks like unicorns.” She mumbled as I shook my head.

“No, it’s too early for them. You can have one later.” She started to pout as she roughly let go of my fingers and threw my hand down, “Arianna, it’s not to early for a time out. You will get one later.”

I looked over at Clementine, “Sorry, I tried hiding them in the back but I swear, she’s a sweets and candy magnet. I brought them home from her last night. There was this cute little bakery down by the piers where we had dinner and they had some in the display window and I thought she would love them.”

“Well you showed up way past bedtime.”

I cocked my head to the side, “Only an hour past bed time, don’t be dramatic. And, I told you where I was going but you didn’t listen.”

“I had my radio up loud, what did you expect from me?” She grinned, “I tried protecting you but he went and got nosey.” She nodded over to Nikki as I glanced at him, seeing him flip the toast and munching on a piece of bacon.

“Well thank you. I needed to get out and have a little fun without him up my ass.”

Clementine pushed her drawing book to the side as I sat down, “You still could have called, Van. You gave me PTSD flashbacks when I went straight to voicemail.”

I looked away from her, letting my hand run through Arianna’s hair, attempting to tame at is as she worked in her coloring book, “I’m sorry.”

Clementine put the topic to rest with a simple nod when Nikki came over with a plate of French toast stacked high, a side of bacon and a frying pan of scrambled eggs. I watched, smiling as he cut Arianna’s French toast up for her.

“So did you meet the new singer?” I asked Nikki as he sat down and I started filling my plate up.

“No, that’s next week. Dudes up north touring with his band so we just did a phone interview.”

“...two bands? Well, how did the interview go?”

Nikki shrugged, “It was fine I guess. Arianna was with me at the office yesterday so I had to make sure she wasn’t getting into anything. He seemed like a nice guy. Could tell he was nervous. Anyways, yeah he’s in another band. The Scream, more heavier. I don’t think you’d like their music.”

“Who?” I laughed and took a bite of my toast before grinning at him, “Exactly princess.”

“I read about them in a magazine once. They aren’t too popular.” Clementine spoke, “So I’m sure he’d leave to be in Mötley.”

NikkI nodded, “Yeah, yeah he is. We already gave him a offer but we’re trying to keep it under wraps due to the band just resigning a twenty five million dollar contract with Elektra.”

“That’s a lot of money.” Clementine mumbled under her breath before taking a sip of coffee.

Nikki glanced over at me as I was wearing a poker face. That is a shit ton of money for an album that ranges from eight to ten songs. I cleared my throat and took another bite of my breakfast.

“So what’s the guys name?”

“John Corabi.”

[lesetoilesfous]

For DADW, #24 or #39 for the dialogue prompt list for Kanders?

Ok you correctly hit my Specific Angst Buttons so thank you for that, anon, this prompt was basically irresistible

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Karl Thekla

Characters: Anders, Karl Thekla

Tags: pre-canon, the Circle is a nightmare, reference to ongoing abuse, frank discussion of sexual abuse, coercive power dynamics, basically templars bad

Rating: Mature

“We need to talk about what happened last night.” Karl is trying, hard, to keep his voice level. He’s not really sure he’s succeeding. In the dark, Anders’ eyes are bright and gold as a cat’s, blinking at him from the shadows of the bookshelf. This particular section of the library has been their preferred meeting point for the past month - a place where the shelves are built in such a way as to create a nook - with only one opening through which they might be seen. Slices of moonlight skate through the narrow, high openings above the bricked up windows, barely breathing light across the dusty wood and old books. The shivering blanket of magic that permeates the Circle prickles over their skin like electricity. 

Anders huffs, and puffs a strand of hair out of his face as he does so. His skin is white as bone in the dark. All of them are paler than they should be, but where Karl’s skin has faded to a lighter brown, Anders is almost ghostly. Karl misses the freckles that used to skate up his arms and across his cheeks, when they were still allowed to go outside. He can barely see them now, and certainly not in the dark.

“What’s there to talk about? I fixed it, didn’t I?” Anders’ voice is deliberately irreverent, in a way Karl has long since learned means that he has no intention of being anything other than stubbornly defensive. 

The sound of metal footsteps on stone echoes through the library as Rufus takes his patrol. Both of them tense, careful to maintain a distance between them even as they wait for the echoing scrape of steel on stone to fade away. 

Karl looks at Anders, preparing to argue with him, when a movement catches his eye. He doesn’t think when he lifts a hand to Anders’ warm cheek, testing his hypothesis. “You’re trembling.” Karl says the words as softly as he can, and Anders’ jaw tightens as he pulls away from him.

“It’s cold. Look, are we doing this or what? I’ve got a Creation exam in the morning and you know Wynne’ll bite my head off if I fail it again.”

Karl doesn’t mention the fact that the library is the same dull, tepid temperature at which the entirety of the Circle is always kept - enchanted into a lukewarm stasis. He also doesn’t point out that Anders’ body, pressed so close to his, is as warm as it ever is: all but blazing heat and signalling to any mage with an ounce of sense what his natural school was, despite his remarkable aptitude for spirit healing.

Instead, Karl steps back when Anders steps forward, back bumping into the bookshelf as he does so. Very gently, Karl catches Anders’ hands. “Anders, I’m not...I don’t want to use you.”

In the grey shadows of the library, Karl barely sees the way Anders’ eyes tighten, even as he jerks his hands back and tucks his hair behind his ear with a quick, impatient movement. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

Karl recoils, trying to ignore the sudden ache of hurt that cuts open in his chest at that. He takes a moment to breathe, and taste the musty smell of old paper and the closer salt and sweat and seemingly perpetual elfroot taste of Anders. When he speaks, he does so calmly. “I told you before. I don’t want to be like them.”

Anders falters, then, and moves forward, lifting one long hand to Karl’s cheek. His eyes are serious when he meets his gaze. “You’re not.”

The sound of a door breaking open in a crash of wood and metal makes both of them jump, stiffening as it’s followed by a bellowing roar that starts human and ends...less so. Both Anders and Karl flinch at the weird, inverted tug on the Fade of templar magic, and the ringing crash of metal. For what feels like forever, Karl stands with Anders’ hand on his cheek and wonders which of the enchanters the templars are killing this week. He wonders if it’s Uldred. 

Finally, the noise stops. From outside the library, Karl can feel the prickling, weak pull on the Fade of frightened apprentices, tugging like the claws of kittens caught in loose fabric. Slowly, systematically, both he and Anders relax. 

Karl speaks first. “Maybe...tonight isn’t -”

“No!” Anders speaks too quickly, and his voice echoes. For a moment both of them stand still, waiting for the sound to fade, and then waiting longer, to see if anyone had heard it. At the absence of the sound of metal on stone, Anders lowers his hand to clutch at the fabric of Karl’s sleeve. He lowers his eyes, too, staring down at their feet instead of meeting Karl’s gaze. “Please. I need...”

Anders stops and swallows. Karl moves closer to him, resting one hand on his shoulder. “What do you need?”

Anders shakes his head and closes the distance between them, bending to press his head against Karl’s chest. Carefully, Karl holds him, conscious as he always is of how easily his own farmer’s arms dwarf Anders’ body. They’d both been raised in the countryside, but where Anders had shot up like a beansprout and more than once suffered restricted meals, Karl had been the apparent image of good behaviour, and had broadened as he’d grown. When Anders speaks, his voice is muffled against Karl’s chest. “It feels different with you. Better. Good. I just...I want to feel good.”

Karl’s arms tighten around Anders’ back, and he forces himself to ask the question he’s been avoiding. “Did they -?”

Anders doesn’t let him finish, pulling back and shaking his head with a soft whisper of fabric. “They didn’t hurt me.” He smiles, and it’s bright and bitter in the dark. “I’m the tower whore, remember? I’ll fuck anyone.” The smile falls, and he looks away. “Even templars.” As quickly as the melancholy had descended, it’s gone,and Anders shrugs again, grinning. “The main thing is that we’ve still got those explosives.” His smile grows crooked. “Though the less you know about that, the better.”

Karl resists the urge to chastise him. It’s nights like these when he finds himself counting down the days until Anders’ next escape, and the brief blessed relief he could enjoy on the days he went uncaptured - imagining him outside of these walls, in the sunshine, away from the templars and their grasping hands. 

“So! Shall we get on with it?” Karl knows Anders well enough, by now, to hear the tremor in his voice. But even as he speaks he moves forward, and his hand falls between Karl’s legs, warm and deft as he ever is. Karl’s stomach flips, and he carefully catches Anders wrist, pushing him back and away. He tries not to panic at the sudden hurt in his eyes.

“I have a better idea.”

*

“This is stupid.” Anders says, but doesn’t move from where he’s sat curled against Karl’s chest, breathing gently, tucked beneath an old rough canvas cloth, usually used for the store rooms tucked behind the library bookshelves.

Karl hums, and runs his hand in slow, soothing circles over Anders’ back. Anders shifts, and looks up at him, and his hair tickles the base of Karl’s throat.

“I don’t get you, Thekla.” 

Karl grins a little at him, raising an eyebrow. “No?”

Anders turns a little more, tucking himself against Karl’s legs, folded awkwardly into his body on the stone floor. “No. You want to fuck me, right?”

Karl hesitates, and tries to ignore the way Anders’ eyes are burning into him, as if at any moment he’ll see what’s been puzzling him and finally tire of him, as Karl cannot help but fear he inevitably will. Carefully, he replies, “Sometimes.”

Anders frowns, and impatiently pushes his hair back behind his ear. It needs a cut, but he insists on wearing it long. Karl is glad of it, despite the impracticality. Anders has very lovely hair. “But you l-,” Anders catches himself, “you like me, don’t you?”

Karl sits up a little, trying to get a better look at Anders’ expression. “Of course.”

“So, why are we...cuddling on the floor instead of fucking like nugs the way the Maker intended?” Anders’ words come out in a rush, and Karl thinks he’d almost find them funny if the memory of how easily Anders had offered himself to the new recruits who’d caught them messing with force magic was not so fresh in his mind. If the memory of how easily the recruits had agreed, and let Karl go, wasn’t fresher. Instead, bile kicks into the back of his throat, and he carefully disentangles himself from Anders, putting some distance between them and trying to ignore the sudden chill. 

“Anders.”

“Karl.” Anders repeats, mocking, before he can continue. Karl feels a giddy, stupid rush of relief at that. An Anders who could tease him was not an Anders who trembled when he heard the templars coming. 

With an effort, Karl gathers his thoughts. “I do care about you. You’re,” Karl stops, and feels for a moment the deep and burning hatred that sits somewhere in his chest at how thoroughly the Circle has stolen even this from him as his tongue stumbles over the words, “You’re...very special to me.” I love you. You’re the love of my life. I would die for you and kill for you and instead I cannot even say I love you.

Karl’s fingers curl into a loose fist, and Anders sits forward, absently reaching out and taking his hand. Karl lets him, and feels himself begin to relax as Anders plays with his fingers, waiting for him to continue. After a moment, Karl does, staring at the rectangle of moonlight stamped by the distant window onto the stone between them like a bar of silver. 

“But that’s not dependent on sex. If we never had sex again, I wouldn’t...care for you any less. It’s not, necessary to me and honestly the idea that this is something you -” Karl stops, again, and wishes vehemently for even an ounce of Anders’ laughing eloquence as he tries to lift his leaden tongue. “I don’t want to use you. I don’t want you to feel...obligated to me, or like you owe me some kind of service. You don’t owe me your body, Anders. You don’t owe anyone that. “ 

Anders has stopped playing with his hand, and is staring down at their fingers with a fixed, still, glassy-eyed expression that Karl cannot read. He feels a sense of urgency building in him as he finishes, turning his hand to squeeze Anders’ tightly. “Lying with you is a gift and a privilege if and when you choose to share it, and you can always, always rescind that invitation. I don’t...it’s not appealing to me to do this unless you want it too. Not because you think I want it.” 

Karl stops, and pushes a hand up through his hair, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks and up the back of his neck as he finishes, a little awkwardly. “I only want this if you want me too.”

For a long, terrible moment Anders is quiet. When he speaks, his voice is rough and low. “I don’t know what I want.” He blinks, and his eyes glitter like gold in deep water in the shadows. “They...tell me - my body - I’m.” Anders stops, then, and clenches his teeth, pursing his lips and taking a quick, deep breath through his nose. His hand tightens around Karl’s, squeezing so hard it’s almost painful. Karl doesn’t pull away. “But it doesn’t feel good.”

Karl tries very hard to control the sudden thrum of his magic, stretching out across the air of the library like a hand on the skin of a drum. Anders tilts his head at him, feeling the familiar pull on the Fade, and Karl shakes his head, forcing himself to let the feeling go. Then he sits forward, and takes Anders’ other hand.

“That’s ok. We’ve not got much, but we do at least have time.” He tilts his head, and smiles, and Anders snorts. Karl thinks, for one childish, wistful moment, that he wouldn’t mind living a life without the sun if it meant he got to grow old with him.

“So...” Anders voice is low, but it still feels dangerously loud in the quiet. “Now what?”

Karl shrugs, and it pulls at their joined hands. “How did you feel about cuddling?”

Anders is quiet for a moment, his thumb running over the back of Karl’s hand. “It...I liked it, I think. They don’t normally -” He stops himself. “I’m not used to it.”

Karl tries, again, to push away his anger, and leans backward - not so much pulling Anders as inviting him to move if he wants to. After a moment, Anders comes, shy as a beaten cat. Karl tries not to think too much about the accuracy of the image. 

Slowly, carefully, they lie down on the stone floor, and Karl pulls the canvas back up over their bodies. They’ll have to move, soon. They certainly can’t be discovered here by morning. 

But, gingerly, Anders rests his head on Karl’s arm and presses his hand against his chest, over his heart. Slowly, his breathing evens, and the space between them grows warm with their shared breath. Karl watches as Anders hesitantly shuts his eyes and presses closer, fingers curling in the fabric of his robe, like a child. Karl supposes Wynne would say that they were, with him at eighteen summers and Anders at sixteen. They hadn’t even been Harrowed yet.

But that’s a nightmare for another day.

For now, Karl curls his other arm around Anders’ body and holds him close, and runs his hand gently through his hair.