#she's extended her mat leave by 2 months already. i think she stepped away and realised. rightly. there's more to life than this shit.

[thedreadvampy]

oh boy the depression hole is deep and it is muddy

hahaha I fell into the classic trap! overidentify with your job and considering leaving it will trigger an existential crisis!!!!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Indicted.”

Working on a new arc for the story. I hope you enjoy :)

Dr Krill was up late, but then again, he was usually up late. Unlike the humans he didn’t sleep, and that left him at least eight hours of the day to himself to be engrossed in his studies, a time which he cherished. Granted there were occasions when emergencies would happen and he would be forced to attend to them, but those were few and far between these days.

Ever since the Burg war had ended, there hadn’t been much danger to the galaxy, and the Omen spent most of its time fulfilling its exploratory duties.

He spent a good portion of his time hunkered in the back office of the medical bay, but on occasion he'd like to take walks around the ship at night comforted by the darkness. The days had long since past when he was afraid of the humans, and he actually found the ship to be comforting and safe during the night. Granted Conn was sometimes a nuisance, but nothing that he couldn’t handle generally.

He was just walking past the command deck when he heard footsteps on their way down the hall.

He assumed it was one of the night crew coming down from fixing a problem up on the bridge, but was surprised when light passed over a familiar face. The two of them stopped staring at each other.

Admiral Vir paused in the hallway a duffel bag in one hand, his neatly pressed uniform glittering dimly in the light above. A few colorful swatches on the left hand side of his chest was the only color that distinguished him in the middling darkness.

Waffles -- the dog -- sat quietly at his side, panting softly. 

“Admiral….”

“Doctor…”

“Going somewhere?”

Krill watched as the man’s fingers curled slowly around the bag, “I have some… business to attend to back on earth.I already talked with Simon about it, and I am going to allow her to  take command of the ship while I am away.”

Krill took a long hard look at the human. 

There was something strange about him, something you could only understand if you were another human or if you had spent hours and hours studying them and spending time with then.

“Is something wrong?”

The man shook his head, though his single eye was… sad.

“No Krill, everything is fine.”

“Would you…. Like sme company?” he knew it was a longshot. If Adam really wanted some company, than surely he would already have asked Sunny to come with him.

The man opened his mouth, closed it and looked round. Krill was surprised that the man actually seemed to be considering his offer. Eventually he sighed, 

“I would…. Appreciate it…. Dr.”

Krill was surprised, but nodded and simply requested a few minutes to leave a note for Dr. katie. The Admiral willingly obliged the request, and efoe long they were on their way, stepping out of the cargo ramp and onto the -- mostly quiet-- cargo deck of the Europa station.

For the longest moment it was only the sound of feet echoing over the metal flooring before Krill finally had to speak up, “What is all of this about Adam, leaving secretly in the middle of the night, leaving your ship in the hands of a rookie officer… not telling Sunny. I think you can see why I am worried.”

Admiral Vir sighed and then inclined his head, the gold threading on the top of his officer’s cap glittering in the dim overhead light.

“There is something I need to do… and I don’t think Sunny would understand. I also don’t think that it would be a  good idea to bring her.

Krill tilted his head in curiosity and concern, “Are you two ok?”

Adam shrugged and sighed, “I…. well…. I don’t know. Most times it feels like we are, and at other times we just…. Aren’t. I think that is supposed to be normal, but there are things about each other that we just don’t understand sometimes.”

“That would make sense considering your species.”

He shrugged, “I guess. Either way I needed to do this myself, and I… needed a break…. That sounds horrible, and now how I meant it but I…. well whatever.”

The two of them walked down the nearest hallway to the launch bay on the other side of the hall. It was a little more crowded here, mostly officers and other crew members with their suitcases and bags, wearing their uniforms and standing in line to board a smaller ship. The ship would be a class D-1 ship with a small warp core on board.

As he approached, eyes fell on them as they usually did. Men and women in uniform saluted and parted ways to allow the two of them to pass as they made their way towards the shuttle. The Admiral refused to head to the front and stopped at the back of the line to wait patiently. No one spoke to them, but there sure were plenty of staring eyes.

The admiral handed his bag off to one of the cargo officers before boarding the ship with Krill. Waffles was taken with them too, and placed into a crate. She didn’t seem pleased about it but went willingly. It was likely that she was going to have to be put to sleep for the warp, which Krill almost envied. It was a cramped fit, though due to his status, they were allowed to sit in the roomier seats at the front. Bright lights beamed down on them from above as the pilot came over the intercom preparing them for warp.

“Thank you for boarding the trans-space flight to Lunar 1. Our approximate flight time will be ten minutes arriving at 12:45 local time. Please make sure to fasten your seatbelts. Officers and passengers with cardiac dysfunctions, lung disease, or high blood pressure are advised against taking this flight. If you fit into any of these categories please let a flight officer know for your safety and comfort. To the front of your seat you will find airsickness bags, and a safety card. Please take a few minutes to review the safety card before the launch.”

Admiral vir pulled the straps tight over his shoulders and pulled off his cap to rest it gently in his lap.

On the other row beside them another officer already had their eyes closed and was taking a few long-deep breaths.

“One last warning before launch, we will warn you that this is a D-1 Class warp core and does not have any internal dampening. Side effects of launch include, vomiting, dizziness, confusion, blackout, loss of bladder control and heart palpitations. These side effects are expected and the cabin has been designed to deal with these issues, however if you do not feel comfortable continuing we advise you to exit the aircraft immediately.”

Adam leaned back in his seat eyes shut.

Krill gripped the harness waiting for the moment to come.

Adam almost looked peaceful. No one got off the ship and after a few more minutes of waiting, the cabin lights dimmed and the ship rose into the air. As soon as they were shot out of the airlock, the gravity field was gone, and he could feel his body beginning to float against the harnesses. Admiral Vir had to hold his hat in palace as they accelerated into the night.

They traveled for a good five minutes before warning lights began blinking overhead.

“Prepare the cabin for warp.”

All around him the humans were preparing themselves for the violent folding of space. A few leaned down to tuck their head between their knees in a crash position.

He sort of wish he hadn’t agreed to come.

Adam just took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat.

“Launch in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

Krill fet the universe around him collapse inward and then suddenly expand outward. Things that were far away seemed close and things that were close seemed far away. He jerked against his harness, and just like that it was over.

That didn’t mean his head wasn’t spinning, and all around the cabin he could hear the  groaning of the other humans.

Once he could finally see and tell what he was seeing, he looked over at the Admiral who looked none the worse for war in comparison to some of the other officers.

One poor woman was as white as a sheet and holding a bag in front of her for dear life. Some of the others were in similar states of distress.

Admiral vir just smiled and leaned over to Krill whispering, “Not nearly as bad as the first interstellar warp. I thought I was going to die.”

Krill believed him

Just outside the window they watched as the Earth’s single moon drifted closer and closer, growing large in their field of vision as they stopped to land on the glowing white lunar surface. They disembarked inside the atmospheric bubble and were ushered onto another shuttle that headed down for earth. Despite earth being closer, this trip took much longer, about an hour longer, warping past the worst of the debris field which was still being cleaned by drag ship.

They landed at two in the morning local time at Fort Harmony.

As they stepped off the shuttle, bags in tow, there were already two military men waiting for them on the platform with a mat black hover car. Waffles’s crate was rolled out with them, though it seemed as if she was still asleep. 

They saluted as he approached, “Admiral.”

He nodded to them, “Gentlemen.”

One of them opened the car door, and the Admiral stepped inside, while the other took his bag to place it in the back.

Krill floated up to sit beside him watching as the vehicle slowly accelerated and rolled through the darkness, lights of the nearby city and civilization glowing in the darkness. Streetlights passed overhead, casting the human’s brooding face into sharp relief one moment and into almost complete blackness the next.

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” krill wondered 

The admiral didn’t look at him, instead looking down at his hands. There was a long pause where Krill thought he wasn't going to answer, before, “I got a call from Admiral Kelly last night.”

Krill waited.

“Last month, extend documents on Operation Steel Eye were leaked. The UNSC tried to declassify them before it became more of an issue, but by then it was too late. The files were leaked onto the web by some unknown source and that included all video, Audio and written footage of the testing as well as documentation from the war itself.” Krill was surprised, extremely surprised that he had not heard more about this, and sooner,, but he stayed quiet as Adam continued, “UNSC officers in term during the project and a few members of the Steel eye team are being indicted on counts of torture, massive ethical violations, and potentially, war crimes… I was asked to be a witness at the trail of The People Vs The United Nations Space Corpse.”

Krill stared at him in shocked silence, “You,.... what?” He looked away, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, why didn’t you speak with someone!”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, “What was I supposed to say? Hey everyone, the people who almost ruined my life are being put on trial and I am in need of some serious moral support because I expect I may have to watch some of it over again, and I don’t think I am ready for it.” His hands clenched in his lap, and krill saw. He looked back at the back seat to where waffles was still sleeping in her kennel.

Adam took a couple of deep breaths, “I have come as far as anyone can be expected when it comes to recovering from what happened to us, but that shadow, these scars will NEVER be gone. I’ll always have dreams. I will always wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat just remembering what happened to me. I will always hear the hissing of those machines in the back of my head. And I will always have some sick and twisted need to put the suit back on again because not once in my entire life since then have I ever felt so powerful…. Some days it feels like the only thing I have that can protect everyone, like putting it on will make me invincible, even though I know that logic is flawed. I hate it more than anything at the same time that I NEED it.”

Krill paused looking down at his arms and hands, “And that is why you got the Iron eye implants.”

He nodded and sighed, “Yes, yes it is.”

Krill didn’t know what to say, so they drove in silence.

“WHere are we going then.”

“We are heading up to one of the rehabilitation facilities between Arlington and the Ruins at Capital hill. From there we are going to be shipped over to Geneva where the trail is going to be held.”

“A rehabilitation facility…. For who?”

He looked down at his feet, “You’ll see.”

The nit went silent and krill was forced to wait in the darkness with light zipping by the windows as they headed into the night. The Admiral fell asleep during this time at some point with his cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, his ribbons still glittering in the darkness. A soft whimpering came from the back of the car, and Krill took some time to let Waffles out of her cage, pressing himself up against the door as she crawled over the seat and sat between them curling up in a tight ball with her head resting on her master’s knee. 

Adam seemed to relax in their sleep.

Krill watched out the window and took some time to think as the trees spd by in a dark blur. At one point it began to rain, and he tried not to think about the water pelting down on them from the sky above to obscure their vision.

Outside the sky lightened though the day was cloudy.

Adam awoke groggy and despondent, unusually quiet and unresponsive in comparison to his usually cheerful self.

They continued to drive in the silence, the only sound being the occasional whimper from the dog who sighed deeply, and stood to move to manuver into a more comfortable position. It was well into early morning by the time they made it to their next location, and their shadows were cast long and low across the ground.

Their vehicle was ushered through a large metal gate and onto the lawn of a restored Victorian mansion. Admiral Vir shifted uncomfortably as they pulled up the gravel drive and stopped before the wide porch and its white painted support pillars.

The door opened for them, and the Admiral stepped out with Waffles leaping onto the gravel behind him, taking a few moments to sniff around at the grass and the bushes.

Admiral Vir straightened his uniform and pulled on his cap as Krill floated out to join him.

A man was waiting for them on the porch and walked down the stairs to greet them with an open hand and a wide smile.

He was a small human, a bit older with greying hair and a nice suit. He clasped hands with the admiral and looked him over with a critical eye.

“A pleasure to meet you Admiral.”

“And you as well doctor.”

The man took a step back eying up the admiral as he did. Adam shifted uncomfortably, “Forvie my scrutiny, admiral.” The man said a bit sheepishly, “I have been working with the steel eye veterans for so long, and you are….. The first I have seen in such good condition.”

Adam tugged at the collar of his shirt in mild embarrassment, “Uh, I suppose I am extraordinarily lucky, doctor.”

The man held out a hand and motioned to the door, “Please come inside, there is much to show you, and the others have been expecting your arrival.”

He turned to look at Krill then and smiled,”Dr. Krill I assume?”

Krill was more than a little surprised to hear his own name spoken, “Have we met.”

The man laughed, “No, no, but I am familiar with your work. It is so interesting to see how other species view humans. I find it enlightening and entertaining.” The big white doors opened before the, and together they stepped into a large room with a spiraling staircase and a bustling room crumbs wearing attendants.

Somewhere in the distance, they could hear the sound of a piano playing.

“Welcome to Machinaw Hall, sounds a little more pleasant than the UNSC sponsored state rehabilitation facility.”

“Less of a mouthful for sure.” Adam responded.

The man waved a hand about the room, “I started all this about three years ago when my Nephew died during the steel eye operation of meningitis.”

“I...I’m sorry to hear that.”

The man sighed, “My family was obviously devastated, and I couldn't let it go, so I thought there was something I could do. At that time my wife and I flipped houses on the side and we came in possession of this old rundown Victorian. It's already been refurbished a couple of times since it was originally built. It was in such disrepair that no one wanted it, but I bought it for cheep and renovated it, and then set it up for other members of that same group. Unfortunately things were not completed until a few years after the incident, and it took us a while to find those who remained from participation in the trials and… well as well as from the war itself.” He sighed, “I only wish I had started this sooner. Who knows, we may have been acquainted earlier in that case.”

Krill watched Adam’s expression from the corner of his eye. He knew how the man felt about these sort of facilities.

“Perhaps. But what’s past is past.”

“True.”

They made their way up a checkered hallway and through a large doorway into a sunny and spacious living room. Despite how old the house was, the furniture was all well kept and in good condition. The people on the other hand were… less so.”

One or two of them were sitting on the floor in the sunny day room rocking quietly back and forth. Others sat on chairs or sofas with grim expressions on their face, and only one or two managed to appear as functioning humans.

One of them was playing the grand piano in the back.

As soon as he stepped in the room went mostly quiet, even the ones sitting on the floor looked up, and with surprise their eyes widened and they smiled. More than a few came over to meet him reaching out their hands and clasping his with firm grips.

“Admiral Vir!”

“Admiral, so good to see you.”

“You look well.”

“Glad you could make it.”

He smiled easily despite his unease, “Thank you. Glad to see you all up and about.”

“Mostly functional.” one of them piped up.”

Looking around Krill noticed the tell-tale hitch in their steps, and even the glittering of silvered metal on a robotic arm.

“Adam!”

The two of them turned quickly and krill was surprised to find a dark haired young woman appear from up the stairs jogging down and throwing her arms around him hugging him tight. He had to step back at the force of her greeting but hugged her bak with some shock and pleasure, “Jane!” He stepped back beaming, “You look good…. I’m a little surprised to see you.”

“Well after the… incident, I was able to get in contact with some people who pointed me to this place. The Doctor was kind enough to let me stay while I get back on my feet.”

He sat dow, offered a chair by one of the other steel eye members, and they sat around him.

He rubbed Waffle’s ears and let her off leash, giving her permission to go around the circle sniffing at hands and arms that were offered towards her.

Eventually she took a seat next to one of the soldiers sitting on the ground, and shoved her head into his space forcing him to pet her. A smile cracked over his face fr the first time since they had arrived .

“And getting bacon on your feet, how is that going.”

She sighed, “ I have found some temporary work at a mechanic shop, though its only temporary until I can find something that I really want to do.” She glanced at him with a look of guilt on her face, “I can’t go back to the UNSC not after….”

He nodded quickly in understanding, “I get it.” One of the other soldiers looked at him, his mouth turning down into a frown, “How could YOU go back to them after everything they did.”

The Dr. Scooted closer over the floor and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in a warning sort of manner.

He relaxed a bit, but the anger was still plain on his face.

Adam kept his face still and neutral, “Some people say I’m a little too forgiving. But honestly, they gave me a spaceship which, all things considered, is good enough compensation for me.” 

A few of the people in the room laughed, others didn’t seem so satisfied with that answer but let it go.”

“So…. are you ready?” Jane wondered

Adam tilted his head up slightly.

One of the men leaned forward, “Ready, for what?”

Another hand on his shoulder, “Admiral Vir is going to be representing you all during the upcoming trial.”

A few of the group members frowned, ‘Wait, I thought we were all going to testify as witnesses.”

The doctor sighed, “We have gone through this before, not everyone is ready for something like that, but Admiral Vir has graciously offered to help and be the representative.”

“I am not having a UNSC lover represent me at the trail! He’s going to try and get them off easy.”

Krill scooted to the side a little watching as a sharp light flared in the man’s eyes, “You better watch-your-tongue BOY!’

The room went very silent.

“You act like I didn’t go through the exact same thing as you. Well tell you what I remember choking on the ash as my blood seeped into the moss, and I remember the pain, and I remember wishing I could just die, and afterwards, I remembered months and months of hopelessness wondering when it would all be over. I remember the drug withdrawls. YES i chose to go back, but that's because I am rational enough to realise that most people in the UNSC had no idea what was going on, and the people who ran things back then are either retired, pending investigation or already in prison.” He leaned forward in his seat, “So go ahead, question my motives one more time.”

The room was very silent, and the man who had first spoken up sat back in his seat sulkily.”

Someone cleared their throat in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

“So what are the rest of us going to do.”

“ I am putting something together with the courts, and will be using interviews from you as evidence with your permission. I think that that will be more constructive. Admiral Vir will be there as a live witness, and due to his status, his testimony is likely to have the kind of pull we need to convict.”

There was a murmur of approval around the group.

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Plus as a member of the UNSC himself the testimony will be more accepted especially considering his track record. Furthermore, he also has the most experience speaking in public and we want to make as good an impression as we can.”

The room was quiet now as the group thought about the points the doctor was making.

A hand reached across the circle, and he looked down to See Jan’s hand resting on his shoulder, “Are you sure you can do this…. I… Well I don’t know if I could were I in your shoes.”

He sighed, “It won’t be easy, but someone has to do it, and as of right  now, I am about as operational as we are going to get.”

There was nodding from around the room.

This was going to have to do 

[sereisstuff]

𝐀 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞  J.JK

 ~   Jeon Jungkook was a lightweight champion a so-called minute legend, rising to stardom rather quickly while basking in wads of cash and pools of opportunity, therefore, leaving his right hand woman y/n to wallow in the shallows unforgivably with a relationship that pleads for more and a tension that tightens by the minute.

~ Includes - Angst, an angry Jungkook. Drug consumption and neglect. Tears, pain. Slight fluff and rough tension, foolishness, cussing and self doubt, slight kissing and mixed emotions. 

~ This is my first long one shot. 

~WORD COUNT : 4188K

Plus size reader

Jungkook was anguished, unable to comprehend the atrocities he just fulfilled in front of everyone. His anger often speculated multiple things but never did they assume they’re most beloved lightweight competitor had a source for all his rage. The fire he lit distinguished itself in his burning temper while his hand was thrust into a crowd of roaring spectators, not far from him a man laid bloodied and somewhat busted in defeat.

His opponent had muttered something about his best friend, how she would be fine under his fitted sheets with muffled moans and even if the trash talk was embedded within the arena, the amount of disgust he felt hearing those prudent words escape the man’s mouth had oiled something unforgivable inside of himself. You, of course, didn’t hear a word, unsure of your ground while you watched your childhood best friend curl his fist tightly before shoving it into the knockout zone of his opponents face, a gasp was withdrawn from your mouth and you abruptly stood with a cheer.

Yet jungkook had let a scoff escape his lips seeing the man behind him lay in his own pool of misconception, cocky it was to even consider being proud but he was nonetheless. However, this gained him the name one-minute legend, sounded like some sick perverted nickname a pubescent teen gift they’re former in hopes their self-esteem declines.

Jungkook had dashed from the stage into your arms eagerly, you both shared a heartwarming embrace as you shouted praises into his ear “You did it, kook!!! You won!! I knew you had it in you, god I’m so proud of you” his strong arms rested around your waist, tightening by the minute in fear that the spoken words his opponent shared would reach your ears. Yet that day was the destination for his publicity, gaining a name for himself also gained him a renowned position in the hierarchy of boxers.

This led to you having to constantly stick to his side like glue, he requested you be there as support and being his best friend how could you deny the luxury. Although this also led your minimal crush blossoming into something more and you couldn’t be more enraged with yourself then now, his fame was admirable but it shifted something within him.

“I assure you, their only childhood friends. It would be incompetent for him to settle so early” Yuna laughed whilst distracting the publishers of the minor county, her small glance wasn’t missed as she sorrowfully shot you a distant look. Yuna time and again proved herself worthy of managing Jungkook's matches and doing so with gratitude yet she was also your standing figure right now, Jungkook trained like there was no tomorrow and being careful of his enraged outburst they had called you in hopes of slowing his dedication down to a workable pace.

“How long has he been like this,” you asked, genuinely curious about the pertain able answer Yuna was about to give you, she seethed in an eager breath but hesitated towards the end “Yuna, I need to know. He hasn’t contacted me in days and for that to happen- I’m sorry just tell me how long he’s been training himself?” you continued once more, foot desperately tapping at the ground with anxiety filling every fiber of your being.

“He’s been going since 2 in the morning, a few hours after you left for work” she informed sadly, Yuna thought of Jungkook as a younger brother and to see him in such a distasteful state was heartbreaking for her, that and she hadn’t slept in the past two days due to the income of numerous calls and agents seeking interest in Jungkook’s formidable skills which were clearly shown in his iconic match a few months ago.

“He’s in there, right?” you countered, finger pointed to the door while waiting for Yuna to nod her head and gesture for you to go. Yuna waved you off as you walked tediously towards the door, finally able to grasp the heavy breaths and smooth punches escalating every running second just from the door which made you curious how beyond the solid wood looked?

You opened the door with a light push simultaneously you met the sight of Jungkook sweating pools of his own hard work, T-shirt disregarded to the floor and his wounds fleshing badly causing a small yelp to escape your mouth, the room was spacious, filling but a mere part of the building still, it was his to keep. Weights resided within every corner with a matte black for simplicity and not far towards the middle of the room sat a match ground with black ropes embracing it.

“Jungkook” you frowned, closing the door from the eye of the public as you walked towards Jungkook who was high in intensity, his curled fist hadn’t loosened and due to the number of overwhelming matches, he was presumably growing addicted to the adrenaline.

“No, I need to train” Jungkook grumbled, inhaling a deep long breath before he began punching the sand-filled bag once more, you removed the sneakers from your feet before stepping on to the mat respectfully“Jungkook, listen to me. You need rest and I’m not leaving until you stop what you’re doing and go home. Everyone is worried about you especially me” you pleaded heavily slowly approaching Jungkook.

His tattoos glistened under the gleaming light and the highlighted sweat, bicep tensing with every punch thrown chaotically “Go home y/n, rest or something. You’re coming to my match with me tonight?” his demanding question broke in exhaustion towards the end of his sentence, alike his notions you also cried for his attention “what if I said no, hmm?” This made him abruptly stop, a frown knitted between his two strong brows.

You’d never miss one of his matches, even as gullible children you attended every fight of his. Often going with his parents who kindly offered their protection and an escort to and from your parents home, Jungkook, however, couldn’t think about a day where you didn’t come with him everywhere, you were his best friend. The only person he willingly let succumb to his unearthly chaos, someone who could calm him on his cold nights because without you he wouldn’t be in a position that he proudly took today, literally.

“Exactly, now pack your shit Jungkook. You have a match tonight and god forbid you faint before you even reach the octagon” you spoke with an unbreakable tone, wishing to see that soft smile he once wore like a crown. The tips of his lips curled slightly but never did it fully reach his alluring eyes, he was reaching his peak publicity and you weren’t going to stop him.

Jungkook huffed using his injured hand to run through his thick, wet locks. He stood there, unclothed with a prominent aura as his tall body faced you with a perplexed look floating through his curious yet hooded hues “Come on kook, grab your things” your voice was soft and angelic, not too rough on the edges once you approached Jungkook who signed diligently to himself.

Hands caressing his cheeks while biting his lip in temptation “you can train tomorrow, you’re already doing amazing don’t overwork yourself.” Your soft touch slid down his forearm into his hands “Okay!” Jungkook looked down at you with an unreadable look composing with shivers running up and down his body as he repeated your words with a bright smile “Okay, chubs”.

He was a force to be reckoned with, founding his matches with the deepest temperamental attributes he could find within himself. He treated the ring with a mindset which he releases all his impending emotions out into the world, he had issues. Anger was only one soiling in his garden of mentality.

Almost every week you treated him to a few lunches, oftentimes he would reside in your embrace towards the end of the night where the sunny dues hollowed behind the hills and the callous moon shone with a luminescent light peeking through your barreled window cell. The lace depicted multiple floral patterns that when the moon was in the right place, shone against his warm honey coated skin in all its magnificence.

His skin was torn and rough yet held an undertone of purity, sheered in white but stained in blood. Night after night you focused on repairing his wounds, some were mild and others would be considered endangering, though it only got worse with time. Day after day his name was ringing bells on everyone’s doorstep, Jeon Jungkook the knockout champion was what they called him.

He was raised in the chain of renowned people, with this sudden title came money and fame. Jungkook earned a decent amount before but now, it was sickening. You were proud of him and discussed the sudden fame he tampered with, he promised nothing would happen. His attitude wouldn’t change yet that’s where you were foolish enough to believe his innocent intentions. 

“The winner is, Jeon Jungkook the knockout king” was looping every match followed by cheers that could be heard miles away, Jungkook would embrace you every single game, although hours later he reeked of sweat and intoxication, the callous hand of money overwhelmed him to a certain point where he no longer understood what to do with it. Money, cars and homes all laid like dimes in his hands, so he extended his degree. Spending money on you like a little barbie doll, gifting some to his parents and splashing it on awful things.

That didn’t stop you from loving him endlessly, even when it hurt you more to do so.

You had been busy at the bar you worked at, taking up double shifts when the offer was placed not having the courage to face this new publicity seeking best friend of yours. The way he downed bottles of the substance that earned you a living was cruel, never did you think the craft he dedicated himself too would put him in such a position.

“Hey, your phone has been going off for the past hour? You should really answer it” Jihoon called, the phone you had bought was impenetrable in his hands. You shrugged off his advances for you to answer Jungkook's pleads, even so Yuna’s too and probably many more people seeking your company.

“They can wait” you replied dully, shoving a bright smile onto your face. It was almost like Jungkook had finally noticed your distaste for his actions. “Surely” Jihoon rolled his eyes not liking the disliking tone seeping from your venomous mouth, change was bound to come for you and Jungkook but never did you think it would be so soon.

“How’s your boyfriend been?” Jihoon cooed making you gulp at the name “he’s not my boyfriend Jihoon, he’s just a childhood best friend is all” you spoke through a tremble, you were soon succumbing to the desirable thoughts leaking past your mind every running minute. The hatred you felt knowing the love you had for Jungkook was only ever growing, it was like walking through a haunted forest, not knowing when you were going to be pushed away.

“Whatever floats your boat, darl” his tone was lavish, almost too lavish. Pointing a finger towards the answer button on your phone leaving no room for your pleads to comfort his brass decision. Jungkook sighed hearing the phone being answered, erupting a certain taste for whom wrapped his knuckles now. He missed you, not knowing the decisions he made were pushing you further and further from his reach but you couldn’t be too devious to believe he would let such a gem escape him. 

He would be lying if he said tears didn’t escape his doe eyes every now and then, the parties, heathen bound air with a tinge of drugs seeping through his skin could never replace the warmth you offered him, comforting his insecurities in his darkest hours.

“Y/n” his breathing was uneven, erratic and almost death defying. He’d been running, training for hours on end hoping you would burst through the door claiming his acts as a monstrosity. Yet to his demise, the door rattled before the wind. Somewhat bringing comfort to his clouded mind “Hey, kook. What’s wrong? “You managed to say with eyes closed in disbelief towards your former workmate.

Jungkook whimpered as he laid alone against the wall of the gym, his eyes examining the promise ring he’d bought you “Kook?” you called again only meeting the short response of leveled breathing, worry was churning your stomach and heat raised to your cheeks “Jungkook, I have work. Call me back” and with that you impulsively hung up the line.

Jihoon shook his head, you dropped your phone onto the bench while grumbling “what?” Jihoon laughed, smiling towards another customer who took the drink leaving the bar empty for you both to conversate openly “Why don’t you tell him?” he asked.

“Tell him what? He can’t even talk properly without slurring cause he’s so bloody intoxicated all the time” it was a painful truth, to cover up his failure he chose a path of addiction and the side he would reside on your bed was left to wallow in the tender touch of winter.

“Tell him that you love him?!?” Jihoon shouted, gaining the eyes of the vigilant visitors. Some began to point to your direction constantly discussing your name very faintly, just like that you were known as his best friend. Something you’ll forever be and that was the painstaking truth.

“You know I can’t do that, Jihoon. No matter how much I love him, how reckless he is, I will always only be the best friend, his right hand girl. It sucks but there’s nothing I can do about it, because no matter how hard I wanna stop feeling, He’ll always have those alluring eyes staring at me, giving me hope” you breathed, tears brimming the edges of your eyes

…….

The sudden knock against your home door woke you from your sleep, glancing towards the broken clock sitting beside your bed as the time read 2.45 am. The knock rung continuously following a few sounds of metal being fiddled with, the struck noise made you rise tirelessly from your slumber, curling a tight hand around the minimal pocket knife placed under your pillow for protection.

The perpetrator groaned, wailing in agony for the door to relish under the mellow light once you turned it on feeling oddly familiarized with the tone. Hand brisking the handle with a tedious turn in your wrist, a heavy breath migrated from your throat with the knife heaving in your sea of worries. pulling the door open, following the broken wood came Jungkook's drunk state, his ear was solid against the door listening to any footsteps you might have produced through your journey, perching himself against the door towards the sudden pull.

 “Have you been drinking, again?” you prompted first in worry, Jungkook was slurring through his words. noticing his car parked across your lawn and the door of his new BMW was opened, left to close itself. He was leant up against your door with an incurable pain in his eyes and a bottle raised to your face “why have you been ignoring me, chubs” Jungkook slurred tripping over his own feet, the hoodie seized on his ruffled hair almost sliding off with every harsh move he made. You ignored his incoherent whines, taking long strides to his car. The smell was revolting, almost like an intoxicating drug was thrown around carelessly wafting into the air of dampened clothes and alcoholic beverages. Not seeing your former for the past week only for him to come barging into your home at early hours of dusk

You turned his engine off and continued to close his doors safely, Jungkook had caught himself on the step lying face-first on the floor. The sudden impact caused an array of wounds to crack open leaving his beaten face bloodied in injuries “Come on, kook. Let’s get you cleaned up, alright” you gasped, lending a hand around his neck after he tousled on the floor with a groan.

Jungkook didn’t have it in himself to fight, shimmering under the bright light was a bed comfortable enough for him to fall into a comatose state.

“God, look at you. You're a mess” You reached behind your small cupboard grabbing a medical kit, leaning in unconsciously, hence being used to bandaging his wounds you began applying a decent amount of ointment and alcohol to his face after cleansing it gently with some water. Jungkook had slightly sobered up, yet he didn’t speak.

Admiring the proximity as you were inches away from his face, peeking from beneath his bangs at you tiredly apprehending his injuries with delicacy. It was all sudden, his strong breath hit your face as he spoke, this time clearly and fully demanding your attention “why have you been ignoring me?” he rumbled slowly

He clearly hadn’t been paying attention towards himself lately, there were multiple reasons as to why you no longer comforted him on his off nights “Just rest up” you replied, ignoring his silent plea which fell on deaf ears “No, y/n. I need answers, you stopped showing up to training. You stopped answering my calls and I’m lucky if I even get a reply to my messages. I’m sure if I had a match this week you wouldn't even show up. So tell me, I have the right to know why you're being so distant.” Jungkook growled, his overflowing bottle of ridicule was filling to a brim

You pinched the bridge of your nose tentatively examining his face “just look at you Jungkook, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore” the truth was weightless on your tongue, darting a tongue across your lips, glistening them in saliva causing Jungkook to stare down at your lips before darting his eyes back onto your face. His eyes wide in frustration “I could say the same for you” he scoffed.

“you show up to my house at quarter to three in the morning drunk off your ass. Thinking I’m gonna embrace you with all my love, you’ve been doing this for the past three months, Jungkook. Three!! Of course I’m gonna be worried about you but I can’t do it anymore” your heart hammered against your chest and the unreadable look on his face was horrifying.

Jungkook was lost for words, just about to defend his acts before you shut him up again “Remember when we were kids, you promised you wouldn’t hurt me, ever, now look at you. It pains me more to ignore you, but right now I can’t even look at you without wanting to cry” Jungkook had stood up with his intricate hair shielding his sight, ready to face the consequences of his actions towards the one he silently loved from afar.

“You said you would always be there for me now look, where were you huh? Where was that kookie who couldn’t even watch a romance movie without crying. You think ignoring you was the worst, you left me every single night to go get high off your kite only to come weeping back into my arms for me to face the harsh aftermath kook. I’m sick of it” Your voice was shouting, the clouded thoughts struck Jungkook harshly as his nostrils flared in anger.

You stood up, matching his posture. Your hand clasp around his chest with your head hung low “I love you Jungkook, but you can’t even be there for me. I’m tired and you don’t even notice, I’m just some punching bag for your emotions like a fucking idiot. But you know I won’t leave you and that’s the messed up part” your tears caressed your cheeks, rapidly seeking an output.

Jungkook leaned his head back suddenly feeling the weight of his loss crash down on his harder than ever, reaching around your nape to embrace your body in his. Seizing your fist in his open palms leading your struggling arms around his tiny waist.

He rested his head on top of yours, the hot tears pooling around his hoodie “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking y/n.” was all he managed to say, in all honesty Jungkook never let any harm befall you, recent times called for him to fall effortlessly in love with you yet you still managed to make him fall deeper, he’d always liked you from the beginning even as a child, you were his number one supporter, never leaving his side amidst the risk.

“Your so stupid, Jungkook.” Came your sniffle, you’d stopped crying a moment ago but preferred to relish in the memories of Jungkook's embrace, when was the last time he held you like this? It was warm, shaded by his cold outlook Jungkook was rarely what the media depicted.

“Look at me, y/n” Jungkook coeed leaning his head back a little bit enough for his hands to cradle your chubby cheeks in his large hands, your tear glistening eyes peered up at him “You deserve the world and if you give me a chance I’ll do anything to give it to you, let me make it up to you and I promise I won’t fuck it up this time” Jungkook words had knitted your frown together, what was he asking?

“What do you mean?” you questioned warily, Jungkook used his tattooed hand as a tissue wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb “I bought you something a while ago, I couldn’t find it in myself to ask you but now I feel like this is the only time I’ll have the courage to do it.”  He proposed nervously, reaching deep into his pocket while one of his arms still tenderly embraced your waist.

Out came an indigo box, the sudden thought brought a gasp from your lips “will you take this promise ring? My love” my love? Everything was so freshen in abundance, you nodded your head in infirmity. Claming to the thin veil of hope that this wasn’t just a dream, the man you loved since you could first remember was suddenly laying his life and career on the line to promise you something you only wished for.

But was it the right choice?  

Jungkook pulled you into a passionate kiss once you screamed a strong and prominent yes, too eager you were to gain his hand in marriage. It was all unfathomable, he’d also involuntarily moved you into his priceless mansion he adjusted to weeks earlier. You were still adjusting to calling him your boyfriend too, knowing a promise ring meant nothing but what was said in the word. A promise.

He made your Mondays more enjoyable, waking up to his exquisite beauty and oftentimes incoherent snores which you came to adore. Bopping his bruised nose while caressing his cheek, treasuring the moment. He yearned for an embrace to coo in and you gave that, the warmth you offered was his to grasp.

He also stopped coming home high off his kite, the alcohol abuse subsidized and you couldn’t be more happy to have the old kook back. Attending his fights every week with a new outlook for the media, notorious for protecting Jungkook and calming him down when others looked down at his abilities and even when they would make explicit detailed things to say to you in hopes of angering their former opponent.

“Just ignore them baby” you would say, holding his hand tightly in remembrance of your existence, roping him back to reality and soothing the red he was growing to see.

“I’m yours okay baby, don’t worry about them” You muttered after the incident, your dress rising up as you straddled Jungkook to gain his attention “ forget about him.” you continued, Jungkook had a dark look in his eyes. Gawking towards your position as his hands placed themselves on your exposed thighs covered in his markings he consciously made nights before “I’ll always be here okay, look at me. I’ve been here since the beginning nothing and I mean nothing will make me ever want to leave you”

Jungkook breathed, blinking rapidly as his head bobbed down leaving you to pick his chin up to face your worried face. The driver had already left the building and you both were off to his next event, yet even with a face as bruised as his own people still recognized him “keep your head high kook, I love you and I just wish the best for you okay” you were pecking his lips in reassurance and he managed to pull the ends of his lips into a simple smile.

“I’ll listen to you” Jungkook spoke, leaning his forehead against yours as you both shared a breath. Reminiscing the days where you cradled each other in friendship “I love you baby”

Nothing was ever harder for a boxer then the constant matches, yet being with one was probably the hardest task of all.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Goodbye - Figaro Drabble #14

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Figaro universe, Superfamily (Tony and Steve adopting Peter Parker)

summary: Nothing can last forever and inviting a pet into your life means saying goodbye one day.

warning: pet death (peaceful and after a long life, but still death)

length: 2 323 words

a/n: I didn’t think that I would have to say goodbye to one more of my cats this year, but we tried, we fought, we lost. I couldn’t do anything more for you, just hold you in my arms, as you moved on. I know that we will see each other again and for now, I promise that your bowl, your sleeping spot, and the love I can’t give you anymore will be for another cat you will send my way. I love you and I will miss you, Little Eye ❤. this fic is for you and everyone who ever lost their pets, please, don’t close your heart and homes, it hurts, I know, but the happy moments outweigh the pain. this is not the last Figaro fic, just my goodbye to my cat and my statement. soon will be back on a happier note, just need some time to rest and heal

————

Goodbye - Figaro Drabble #14

It was… horrible to watch, yet everyone couldn't take their eyes off the scene. Even Natasha, who was skilled in hiding her emotions, had a hand pressed to her mouth stifling the sobs matching the glossy look in her eyes.

"Sweetheart…"

A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder, yet Tony curled in himself, a heart-wrenching sob shaking his whole body and twisting everyone's heart.

"Tony… It's… It is okay now."

Tony choked on his tears, holding the bundle closer. It wasn't okay. It never again would be okay. He felt the small frame and lifeless body he was holding wrapped in a blanket and he couldn't stop crying.

Steve looked at the back at his team, unsure what to do. He received no help. No one wanted to interfere this moment, knowing that it was theirs. Even Peter didn't move, his head cast down as silent tears were rolling down his cheeks and falling to the grass. Clint's hand was resting on his godson's arm in the same consoling manner as Steve kept his hand on his husband's shoulder.

Bruce, silent and with a stoic expression, hid the syringe away into the material pouch. As cruel the words were, everything went fine. He passed away peacefully after a long life of happiness and love.

"Tony," it was Rhodey who first stepped out, feeling that if the moments got any longer, Tony won't be able to end it. He knew that Steve was shaken and grieving himself, but it was time to move on. "Tony, he is gone. It is over."

The words were needed but made Tony's pain explode with a whole new force. He curled even more, almost laying on the soft soil, the wind carrying his cries. Maybe not yet. Maybe he still could feel. They couldn't take him away unless he was sure there was nothing left.

Rhodey looked over at Bruce who gave a confirming nod. The first shot was a sedative, to let him drift into a painless sleep. The second shot was the drug, to stop the heart and brain functions. The dose was precise and there was no mistake.

"Tony, give me Figaro," Rhodey asked in a demanding, yet soft voice. He saw how hard it was for his friend to let go and prolonging this moment would be just more scarring.

Tony didn't answer, only shook his head vigorously, tears streaming quicker with the movement.

"Do you want to carry him?"

Tony nodded. Slowly, and with Steve's help, he stood up, carrying his cat's lifeless body wrapped in a blanket. They all moved in silence, in a grim march, to the back yard of Clint's farm, where Steve had dug a grave earlier. Tony kneeled in front of the soft soil and for the last time run his hand over the blanket, dimly feeling the soft fur that in the last week became matted and thinner. He placed the bundle down, next to the old fish on a rod that was Figaro's favorite toy and a bit of dry cat food in a material bag, in case his cat would get hungry on his way.

"Bye Fig," Tony whispered in a broken voice, tears streaming down his cheeks, "I will always remember you," he closed his eyes, seeing it all again. The day he saw the small kitten on the street, shocked, with a broken paw. The squeaky meows during the first night at the new home. The warm weight, covering his whole torso as Figaro cuddled to him, purring happily. The way Tony shook his head each time, he found that one of his best formal suits was once again all covered in black, long fur. The happy moments and the sad days when Figaro stopped eating, not leaving his hiding spot and meowing in distress. There was no cure for old age. He could only help him to move on without any pain. Tony grabbed the small shovel and put the first mound of earth, saying the final goodbye to his long-time friend. Steve kneeled next to Tony and placed the second.

"Bye buddy," he smiled sadly, eyes shining with tears, "we will meet again one day," he stood up, holding Tony with him, as the rest of the team and their son walked closer to say their goodbye. The couple stood in the distance, Tony hidden into Steve and sobbing, not able to stop. Steve kept rubbing his back, knowing that there was no way to stop it anyway. The pain won't go away on demand and only time could heal his heart and let him see again all the happiness and erase the sadness.

Skillfully, Clint placed the big, marble-like stone on top of the ground. Engraved letters 'Figaro - The First Cat Avenger' sparkled in the sun, reminding of happier days.

"You can visit him whenever you want," Clint turned to Tony, putting a hand on his friend's arm and squeezing reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lucky will take good care of him," he smiled as Figaro's grave was next to his dog's grave. Two years ago, Clint had to go through the same ordeal when Lucky stopped eating and lost his strength, not able to walk anymore. He knew what Tony was going through and how painful it was.

Tony nodded his thanks, not able to smile or say a word, not yet.

"Figaro was a mighty, noble cat," Thor rumbled in a low, pleasant voice. "He will be welcomed in Valhalla with opened arms."

Peter didn't join his uncles who went to talk with his dads. He stayed near the grave and looked at the sparkling stone. His dad was heartbroken and he felt the same way. Of course, he didn't remember when as a baby he was adopted, but his earliest memories always included Figaro. He remembered tugging on the cat's tail, and Figaro being remarkably patient with him. He remembered the first time when he was able to lift the almost thirty-pound cat and how proud he was, carrying the cat around when he was less than ten years old, hearing his dads cheering on him. The time he became Spider-Man and how confused he was with his powers and the sudden changes, and Figaro in his lap, purring out comfort and grounding him back. Figaro was Tony's cat, always had been, but Peter loved him equally strong and easily considered his best friend. It was hard to say goodbye, even if Figaro happily lived to twenty years old, which was pretty remarkable for a cat.

"You okay, kiddo?"

He wasn't a kid anymore, but when he looked at Natasha, his eyes were full of tears. Maybe it was the sun playing tricks, but he could swear that there were also tears in his aunt's eyes.

"Come on, let's head back," she said, extending her hand to the teenager, and walking with him back to the farmhouse, the rest of the team already waiting inside. The apple cider was heating up on the stove and they all could have a warm mug of comfort.

The days were passing, and life was going back to normal. Peter observed his dads, and the way Tony was closing in himself, spending more time in the workshop than he should. He could understand it and knew that his father always bottled his emotions by working himself half to death. His other dad, of course, didn't like it but didn't know how to help and let Tony slip away each morning, not stopping him, letting Tony heal at his own pace.

Peter took in his own hands to make them a family again. He looked through many cat lovers forum, reading about people's experiences with losing their pets and the way they handled the loss and emptiness. There was one sentence that kept repeating every few posts, and while Peter felt disgusted at first, considering it cruel and heartless to move on so soon, it slowly made sense to him and sounded like a good remedy.

"You want to adopt a cat?" Steve asked, lowering the newspaper and frowning at his son.

"Yhm," Peter nodded. No cat would ever replace Figaro, but if they could give a home to a cat in need, why not? He missed having a cat in the house and had a feeling that it might help Tony with his feelings.

"I don't know, Pete…" Steve sighed, folding the paper and thinking about his husband. About how dull his eyes became in the last weeks and how nothing seemed to make him happy anymore. Bringing in a cat not even a month after Figaro's passing away, seemed harsh on his grieving husband. "Maybe we should wait until your dad will feel better and ask if he is ready for a new cat."

Peter tilted his head to the side, eyeing his father. "Do you think he will get better?"

"Of course," Steve lied right away. It may take more days, or more weeks or months, but Tony would move on. They both just needed to give him time and support and be patient.

"Pops…" Peter ran both hands through his hair, sounding genuinely distressed. "I am worried. And I read some articles and I think it really might help. Us all," he added in a quieter voice.

Steve's heart broke a little. He knew that not only their small family was missing Figaro, but every resident of the Avengers Tower did too. He missed having a cat. Wakening up with a face full of fur and having to share his bacon with a little, greedy critter. Sometimes he caught himself in the kitchen, holding a stripe a raw bacon while the pan was heating up and waiting for soft paws to come running and a begging meowing concert to start, before he realized that those moments were not coming back and green eyes won't look at him pleadingly, trying to get a piece.

"Alright," he agreed, hiding back behind the newspaper, "tomorrow we will go to the shelter, but I can't promise anything."

It was all Peter needed and Steve could practically see his son's huge smile from behind the newspaper.

Tomorrow came soon, and Steve was mentally preparing himself for the trip to the shelter. He didn't tell Tony about his and Peter's plan, and as soon as his husband took the elevator down to his workshop, they left the Tower and got into the car, not knowing if they would come back with a new family member.

It wasn't planned, but as soon as Peter saw the cat, he knew it belonged in the Avengers family. On their way back, they picked up all necessary things to welcome the newest resident, accompanied by sweet purring.

"Tony, sweetheart."

Tony lifted his head and moved the goggles up to his hairline, stopping welding for a second, when he heard his husband calling.

Hoping that everything would turn alright, Steve walked closer and smiled insecurely. "I and Peter want you to meet someone."

Just then, Peter walked from behind Steve's back, holding in his hands a carrier. Tony's eyes widened when he recognized Figaro's carrier and he looked at his husband, some anger shining in his eyes. Then he heard it. A meow. He opened his mouth to yell, to scold how dared they make this decision without him and that he wasn't ready and no cat would ever replace Figaro, when Peter put the carrier on the workbench and opened it, taking the pet out.

Immediately, Tony lost his voice, eyes not leaving the cat for even a second.

"This is Stella," Peter introduced with a smile, putting the cat on the bench and petting her for comfort. The cat looked frightened and turned her eyes to Tony, sensing a new person.

Tony blinked, seemingly taken aback. It wasn't a kitten, but an adult cat, and was nothing like Figaro. She was short hair and lean, gray and striped and looked like an ordinary alley cat. There was nothing special about her, nothing that would make her stand out from the other cats. What was more, when she turned her face to Tony, he saw milky blue eyes, nothing like the beautiful vivid green of his Figaro. This cat was blind.

His husband and son came back with an old, blind cat.

Tony's heart beat faster, when the cat let out a tiny meow, feeling that her fate became questionable. Gently, Tony took a step closer and extended his hand. Stella smelled it and head-butted the offered palm graciously.

It was their first encounter and Steve watched with a nervously beating heart how it would develop. Peter kept smiling brightly, already knowing.

Slowly and delicately, Tony took the cat in his hands, causing the cat to struggle nervously at first, until he pressed her to his chest and stroked down the short fur, cooing lovingly. Her fur was a bit matted, but on the right diet, she would become even more beautiful.

"She is perfect," Tony whispered, cuddling the calmed down cat, listening to the happy purring. "I already love her," he said in a breaking voice, hiding his face into the cat's fur. Stella turned her head and brushed Tony's cheeks, her whiskers tickling a bit and Tony giggled quietly. "Let's get you some food. And I will show you where you can sleep," he cooed to the cat, heading to the door.

Steve looked at his beaming son, smiling happily, glad that he listened to the advice. Maybe he should give Peter more credit and listen to him more often. Tony was already looking better and it was the first time in weeks he saw his husband smiling again.

"Are you two coming?"

After the question, Peter and Steve quickly left the workshop, following Tony and Stella, who already became best friends. They wouldn't miss Stella's first day in her new forever home for the world.

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Little Eye appeared in Meow Cafe series as one of the original cats that were first in the cafe. In the fic she got adopted by an elderly couple who I based on my parents

[gaasaku-fanfests]

Under the Vastness

Title: Under the Vastness Author: keltoi-oak Rating: K Word Count: 2389 Summary: Sharing quiet, nighttime moments together might just lead them down the path they were always meant to take. Author's Note: Set some time after the Kazekage rescue mission. Hope you enjoy!

Trope: Isolated/Trapped

The parallels had always been obvious.

Two boys, chosen by their fathers - both of them leaders - to be the sealed vessel for one of the famed tailed beasts. Their bodies to act as cages to keep a monster and its power contained. Although their circumstances were different and involved a different cast of characters, the story of their childhood had been practically the same: a series of experiences marked by rejection and isolation.

Their personalities, though, turned out to be drastically different. While Naruto had been boisterous, enthusiastic, and selfless, there was only one word to describe a young Gaara: dangerous. Sakura would always remember the first time the Sand Siblings had come to Konoha. There was something about the red-headed boy that had put all of them on edge. His actions during the Chuunin exams had only proven them right.

She smiled, shaking her head. Back then, no one would have been able to predict how events would unfold.

She looked up at Gaara now as he sat at the head of a Sunagakure assembly. Albeit showing signs of tiredness, his expression was calm, patient. Words one would have never associated with Shukaku’s Jinchuriki during his early adolescence. That this leader sitting here in front of a congregation of representatives from different villages had once been the unstable and violent boy Sakura remembered was the definition of extraordinary. It was a testament of how much experience had shaped him and evidence of his own efforts to take his story into his own hands.

Long gone were the days when rage and mindless destruction were the driving forces of his life. Although still a powerful shinobi, he was no longer the vessel for the One-Tail. Now, he was a dedicated and selfless Kage, one who zealously protected those under his keeping.

Sitting a short distance away, Sakura took a moment to truly look at him and realized what Gaara gave her was hope. He was the embodiment of a wretched start in life turned into a triumph of his own making.

Finally, the council decided to call it a day and the assembly was adjourned. One could almost hear a sigh of relief echo throughout the large hall. Night-time had fallen a while ago and the long hours of sitting in chairs talking politics were nothing but exhausting. Gaara stood quickly and looked in Sakura’s direction.

Her eyes asked a question and he nodded in reply. On silent feet, he moved hastily towards the back and slipped through the door before anyone could notice.

Sakura chuckled. As much as he loved his role as Kazekage, being around large crowds of people for long periods was something he did not enjoy. A vestige of all those years of isolation.

She stood herself and headed towards the front door of the hall. Predictably she was stopped in her tracks more than once by people who wanted to talk to her. Acting as Konoha’s representative meant doing the rounds, something Sakura, unlike Gaara, did not mind. She had volunteered for the job, after all.

A little while later, she was finally free and made her way up the stairs on the east side of the building. She encountered attendants as she went, recognizing familiar faces. They smiled in greeting but hurried along their way, busy with whatever late tasks they had been assigned due to the assembly. Eventually, she reached a set of doors that led to a small balcony. Stepping through, she immediately felt the chill of the desert night on her skin. This didn’t slow her down, though. Once at the edge of the balcony, she jumped on the railing and lept towards the adjacent building. Channelling chakra into her feet, she ran up the wall until she reached the roof.

Landing softly, she found Gaara sitting on a tatami mat in the dark, a folded blanket to one side. She knew the latter was for her benefit; he barely felt the cold. As she approached, he turned to look up at her.

“I thought we would be sitting in there until dawn,” she by way of greeting. He lifted the blanket and handed it to her. Sakura took it gratefully, wrapping herself in it before sitting down on the tatami. “I thought they would never come to an agreement.”

“They only take their own interests into consideration,” Gaara said. “They don’t care if the rest of us need to sit through 8 hours of discussion as long as they get what they want. Not much we can do about it, I’m afraid.”

Sakura sighed. “Yes, I know. But giving those windbags a time limit would be a significant contribution for the greater good.”

Gaara’s lips curved upwards. “I’ll run it through the council.” He turned to reach behind him as he asked, “are you hungry?”

“No, not much. We had a really late lunch.”

He produced a cloth-wrapped plate and set it before them. When he removed the covering, the smells of some of Sakura’s favourite Sunagakure pastries wafted towards her. Her stomach reacted instantly.

“You cheat,” she chided but only half-heartedly.

Gaara shrugged before reaching for the food himself. “One of the perks of being Kazekage, if I crave anything to eat, I only have to ask.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “You never have food cravings.”

“No, but you do,” he replied as he took a mouthful of pastry.

She would have swatted him but instead she decided to honor the intention of his gesture. For Gaara, friendship was a relatively new concept, one he went out of his way to nurture whenever he could. So Sakura dug in, genuinely enjoying the food.

As if to prove her point, Gaara turned to reach behind him once more. He placed a steaming teapot and two cups in front of them. Here was the leader of Sunagakure, the most powerful shinobi in the village, bringing her tea to keep her warm.

As he poured, Sakura felt herself relax. It really had been a long and tiring day.

They drank quietly for a while and Sakura was glad for the warm beverage. Whenever the wind picked up, the chill got significantly worse.

“Did you come to a decision about extending your stay?” Gaara asked eventually, breaking the silence.

Sakura grinned into her cup. You could always count on the Kazekage to be direct.

“Yes,” she replied. “I received a missive from Tsunade-shisho. She said your aid would be most welcome. Are you sure you don’t mind acting as an intermediary?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” he replied, annoyed.

Her grin intensified. These days he only allowed the temper he was once famous for to show around those closest to him.

“The nomad tribes of the desert have always been notoriously reclusive,” he continued. “If you wish to do some research on their healing techniques, then it’s best for me to be involved.”

She nodded. “Yes, you’ve told me. And I am grateful for your help.”

“How much longer will you be staying?”

“At least 2 months, I think.”

“Good, that’s settled then,” he said, placing his empty cup on the floor.

Sakura did so as well before arranging the blanket more comfortably around her shoulders.

She turned her gaze towards Gaara just as his eyes fell on hers. They smiled.

As one, they fell back to lay down on the tatami.

It had become one of Sakura’s most cherished moments.

The desert sky above engulfed them in its vastness, stars so bright and numerous they rivalled description. A spectrum of glimmering colour scattered across an indigo mantle, shining with reds, greens, blues, and whites. One felt tiny yet gargantuan while gazing at such a display, humbled and dazzled in equal amounts. The chill of the night fell away, leaving only the infinite light show above.

A little over a year had passed since Sakura had first stumbled upon Gaara up on the roof. On her first mission as a Konoha envoy, she had been feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the information presented to her during the first assembly she had attended. Looking for a quiet place to get away from the buzzing meeting hall, she had gone up to the roof of the building next door, one of the tallest in Sunagakure.

It was a shock, to say the least, to find the Kazekage lying down on a tatami mat in the middle of a freezing desert gale, looking up at the sky. He was the last person she would have expected to encounter out in the night while an assembly was taking place. Nonplussed, Sakura had apologized and beat a hasty retreat. The next day, she repeated her apologies when she ran into him before a meeting. Gaara had shaken his head and instead of being cross for having his private moment interrupted, he’d invited Sakura to join him. He was eager to hear any news about Naruto. As an envoy, Sakura knew it would be bad form to reject his invitation, so she went out to meet him that night.

That had been the start of their little ritual whenever she was in town. After long tiring days, the two of them would wind down together, looking up at the breathtaking desert sky.

They would chat here and there but mostly, they just lay down on the tatami in silence. He never said it explicitly, but Sakura had come to understand that the night sky was a source of solace for Gaara; these were moments when he could allow everything around him to dissolve until there was nothing left between him and the vastness above.

Before she knew it, the star-strewn sky had started to have its effect on her. It was as if Sakura could empty herself under it; all the worry and heartbreak trickled away. In the private recesses of herself, she began to look forward to these serene moments in Sunagakure.

And to the company of the Kazekage.

There was something about Gaara that quietened Sakura. His silence was never oppressive; on the contrary, it was accepting. Maybe it was because he had been through so much, he could actually place himself in someone else’s shoes without passing any judgement. She found she could be herself, with her wrung-out heart and emotional scars. She was not the heir of Tsunade’s teachings here; neither was she a Konoha kunoichi or an ex-member of Team 7. All those roles lost their importance whenever she contemplated infinity in the face of the desert sky.

Gaara understood. There was no need to talk about it. If there was someone who knew about the vestiges of psychological and emotional damage, it was him. So they spent their nights together whenever she was in town.

Before long, Sakura began to enjoy their time together immensely, and little by little, she had come to know Gaara a whole lot better. Now, he was a person she confided in.

“I was remembering the first time you and your siblings came to Konoha today,” she told him, “during the first Chuunin exams.”

“Not my best moment,” Gaara conceded. His voice was calm, though. Sakura knew he had already made amends with that particular phase of his life.

“It made me think about you and Naruto. Your differences and your similarities.”

He nodded. “More differences than similarities these days. I’m not a Jinchuriki anymore.”

“Like if I wasn’t there when it happened,” she replied. She sent a silent prayer to Chiyo-san at the memory. “It’s a good thing, in my opinion. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be a living, breathing cage for a tailed beast.”

Gaara contemplated this for a few silent moments before speaking. “True. From my experience, it’s not something I would wish on anyone else. Yet despite the anguish, the sleepless torment, the pain, I do not regret being one. I am now very aware that being a Jinchuriki put me on a life-path that led me here, to who I am today, to this moment I am sharing with you.”

An emotion rose from deep within her, unbidden. It’s warmth spread across her chest and Sakura felt herself soar. She could reach the stars above if she rode the wave of this feeling.

“I wouldn’t have it otherwise,” Gaara finished, unaware of the effect of his words.

“Funny you should say that,” she replied, turning her face towards him. “I came to a similar conclusion about the Chuunin exams. Even if I was afraid of who you were back then, I’m very glad we met.”

He turned towards her, smiling. “I’m very sorry I scared you, but yes, I am grateful our paths crossed when they did. And I am also thankful for everything that’s followed.”

The expansive emotion intensified and Sakura could only nod in reply.

Looking up at the sky once more, she sat laid in silence, aware of what a strange pair they made. A former Jinchuriki and an emotionally scarred kunoichi. Yet it felt right. There was comfort here and acceptance. Things had not been easy for either of them but somehow, when they were together, their stories faded and the present moment was all that mattered.

Sakura abruptly realized something: if she could continue to spend time with Gaara like this, under the vastness that set their hearts free, she would consider herself fulfilled.

Contentedness, it seemed, had sneaked up on her unawares.

Did he feel the same way?

Sakura turned to look at him again as he contemplated the stars and could not help admire his profile. The serenity in his expression did not answer her question but it filled her with expectation.

With that thought in mind, she huddled deeper into her blanket and slid nearer to him on the tatami. Gaara shifted slightly to allow her to come closer. They lay there, next to each other, close enough to feel each other’s heat.

It was all the answer Sakura needed. Such a small signal and it opened the door to a future neither of them would have ever anticipated. Discovering whatever path lay before them might just be the most exciting prospect yet.

Sakura closed her eyes to better feel her eager heart as the cold, star-filled night wrapped around them, filling the future with possibilities.

[marvelheaux]

T'challa’s Outside Daughter (chapter 1)

T'challa x BlackDaughter!Reader or O/C

A/N : Sorry this was super short, not feeling the best right now but here’s chapter one! Don’t forget to check the links below-, especially the prologue if you haven’t already. Enjoy! - Lanna

Description : Zyra is the first born of King T’challa. She moved to the states and grew up with her Single mother with hardly any contact with her father. Queen Mother Ramonda decided that with all the drama and secrets going on, that it's time to bring the family together .

Story Links:

Main Character + Faceclaim

Character List

She met one of her father's Exes (oneshot)

T'challa’s Outside Daughter Prologue , Chp 2

Warnings: Possible Grammar Errors, Angst, Strong Language

Words: 1,313

4:00 pm. Zyra snatched her handbag, clocked out and headed out the parking lot. She hustled home to change into her cheer practice outfit (photo above), to beat the rush hour traffic, on her way to the World Cup Allstars gym.

Zyra soon met up with her teammate's who were already stretching, “Whew I made it on time!”

“I heard coach say something about changing the dance sequence and the music for it, plus ‘minor’ changes to the pyramid.” Kellie said.

Zyra pouted and threw a mini tantrum. “wahhhhhhyyyy!! - I mean changes are made every year before Worlds to spice things up, if we wanna win again, but I was reallllllllyyyy digging the dance music! - Whatever bruh..I'm just excited about my new uniforms” The coach called the team to the mat for a briefing, then began practice.

World Cup Shooting Stars won their 5th Cheer Worlds Championship title last year and the team were a preparing to defend their title in a months time. In addition, this was Zyra’s 10th and final run with the team, since she would be aging out and retiring from the division. Since she was on the team for a long time, she feels as though she haven't felt the pressure of ‘retiring with the ring’.

The Wakandan Cheer athletes and coaches supported her through her cheerleading career and even encouraged her to come home to join one of the teams.

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

10:00pm. Zyra came home limping through the front door due to her sore muscles. Before she greeted her mom, who was cooking dinner in the kitchen, a 70- pound hairy beast greeted his owner at the door, happily wagging his tail and jumping on her legs

“Hey sammie!! - wait let me put my bag down!”

“Hey hun how was practice?” Rae chimed in.

Zyra sighed as she plopped on the couch. “ Its was full-out day! My body is so numb...I feel like the whole of New York jumped me!”

“Drama drama drama!” her mom mocked her jokingly. “Your grandma called for you earlier and Shuri and asked you to send some techy thingamajig….I dunno! Call them, go rest and I'll call you when dinner is ready”

Zyra nodded and gingerly made her way up the stairs, hissing in pain.

Raechella took care of her daughter by herself without any help from T’challa, since she left Wakanda 16 years ago. Even with her busy medical career, she always made the sacrifices as a mother. She never cared for blasting nor talking about her ex to social media or to a lawyer. She hated the “baby-mama” stereotype. The media have buzzed slightly regarding their story but all she cared about was the well-being of her daughter and her career. Rae had since moved on with her life, recently engaged and living her best life.Despite T’challa’s lack of responsibility for his daughter, King T’chaka stepped in and played the father figure role for Zyra. He would constantly call and check up on her, occasionally send her gifts and most importantly teach her about her Wakandan culture. When he passed away two years ago, Zyra felt as though she lost her entire world, and have had a hard time getting use to it.

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

Zyra drew an ice bath to soothe her sore muscles and grabbed her communication kimoyo bead. She winced as she gently sat into the ice cold water and pulled up shuri’s hologram.

“ You rang sis?”

Shuri’s face lighted up. “I've been waiting for your blueprints that you were telling me about? What's taking you so long girl?!”

“They're not doneeee! It was just a random idea, I'm not trying to give my father a new suit”

“Pleasssseeeee I just wanna see it though! I promise!”

Shuri pouted and gave her the ‘puppy eyes’ before Zyra gave in.

“Aite.”

Shuri clapped her hands excitingly. “oh wait before I go”

“Mother was trying to reach you to talk to you about something important”

Zyra mentally zoomed out, and sank slightly deeper into the tub. ‘what's the important issue that she needed to talk to me about?’ , she asked herself. ‘I really hope it's not what I think she's gonna ask me’.

If not for the ice water, she’d be sweating. Zyra stared at the kimoyo bead for the longest while before calling her grandmother.

“Hello yam intanda” Queen Ramonda called sweetly on the other line.

“Hey grandma,” she bit her lip. “Umm, is there something you want to ask me?”

“.......I was thinking the other day about a conversation your grandfather and I had, a couple of months before he died. Since he had plans to extend Wakanda’s hand in peace to the rest of the world, he brought up the fact that our family is very divided and how he wished you can see the wonders of Wakanda….and maybe patch things up with your father”

Whoop there it is

“-So I thought it would be a great idea for you to come visit.”

Zyra mentally rolled her eyes. Visiting wakanda was an adamant priority for the future, but she was not yet ready to face her father, nor his bullshit. She not ready to speak to a sperm donor whom she haven’t seen since she was a little girl. She was not ready. She had been fully aware that he had moved on quickly with his new family and she came to a realization that he doesn’t care. No conversations, no phone calls, no birthday wishes, no graduation visits for 16 years. Just an unwanted visit and a puppy. He clearly wanted to move on with his life with his wife, son and daughter, and erase her from existence.

Her mind was racing and she grinded her teeth with anger.

FLASHBACK

T’challa was happy with his new family, but he couldn't stand to hear the media blogs going off about his parenting skills. So he decided to pay a visit to New York.

“Daddy is that you?” 7 year old Zyra jumped into his arms.

“What's that in the big red box”

“Merry Christmas! It's for you !”

Zyra was taken aback when the box shifted. She lifted the top.

“A puppy!!! He’s so cute!! Thank you daddy!” She hugged her father tightly.

Whilst he held his daughter in his arms, he glanced bitterly at Raechella. She rolled her eyes and stormed up the stairs.

“I’ll be right back my love” T’challa reassured Zyra, as he ran up the stairs behind her mother.

He caught up with her and grabbed her arm forcefully.

“Don’t touch me you son of a bitch!!” she yanked her arm out his grasp. “WHY ARE YOU REALLY HERE!”

“Shut up! I hope you are not flapping your gums about me.”

“Nigga I don’t give a fuck about you nor what you have going on. You never call her to see if she’s dead or alive, she calls you, you never answer, you got two other kids and you call yourself a parent? Get the fuck outta here.”

T’challa figuratively bore holes in Raechella. “She was a mistake and you know it”

Raechella took a deep breath and spoke eloquently “Listen to me carefully. When Zyra grows up and eat your sorry ass alive, DO! NOT! ASK! ME! SHIT! Mark my words. NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Zyra felt terrified listening to her parents constantly yell at each other upstairs.

She jumped as her father stomped down the stairs and slammed the door, without even glancing at her.

-------end flashback------

‘My father never wanted me, why should I go see him?’ ‘Am I to bow down to him and kiss his feet after how he treated me and my mother? Just because he’s a King now?’

“ZYRA ARE YOU THERE?!”

The water spilled on the floor as Zyra jumped out of her skin.

“I’m fine…..I’ll think about it.

"ZYRA! DINNER'S READY!"

**[yam intanda - my dearest (xhosa)] **

**What do you guys think? Do you think she’s pay a visit? Stay tuned for Chapter 2!

Please reblog and leave some comments if you enjoyed it! :) -Lanna**

Tag List: @mxrvelous-bxrnes @melaninjoys @champagnesugamama @ginghampearlsnsweettea @kida114 @royallyprincesslilly @brianabreeze @kumkaniudaku @dramaqueenamby @mbakus-bae @killmongersmistress @theifandbegger @sarahboseman @randomassfandomwho

[airis-paris14]

Redemption 8

A/N: It’s baaack! I’m so sorry for the delay. Happy thanksgiving! Hope you enjoy! Taglist is open!

Warnings: lies,deceit, hurt

“Mama!” Zari leapt from behind T’Challa. She sprinted up the staircase and into her mother’s arms. She buried her face in her neck, breathing in the smell of perfume after a long six years away. Fingers clutching the older woman close, the young woman began to cry, tears rolling down her face. Zari’s mother pulled away.

“Oh my baby, my baby,” her mother’s kind eyes flooded with tears, her hands tracing the lines of her only child’s face. “Baba,” Zari switched turning into the tall man beside her. His arms wrapped around her, the smell of patchouli oil drowning her senses. The fabric of his shirt grew damp, the two reluctantly pulling away before Zari tackled her friend a hug. Tears quickly turned to laughter, the women settling on a hug, for a lack of words to say. “I don’t know what to say,” Zari breathed, her eyes shining as she stared at her family. For so long, the earth had kept them apart, and she had no way to fix that. She dreamed of them showing up on her doorstep, appearing out of thin air, to hug and comfort her. In her head she’d told them everything, about school. How much she’d missed them. The words would spill out with the tears. Watering the front doorstep and christening the welcome mat. But now, with them standing on her steps, she was lost for words. The last six years of her life seemed to be lodged in the back of her throat.

“Why don’t you start by telling us why you ran away from home?” her father interrupted her train of thought. Zari swiveled towards Isha, “You never told them?” her hurt beginning to plague her voice. The young woman shook her head, “Zari, he threatened me as well.” Zari’s eyes widened slightly. “Who threatened you Isha?” Zari’s mother broke the silence.

“My Father,” T’Challa answered for the girls. He walked over Aiden sitting on his shoulders. His large brown eyes zeroed in on his mother. “Mama, why are you crying?” Zari smiled faintly, T’Challa allowed the child down. His feet immediately carrying him to his mother. “Is this him?” Isha asked, stooping down to face Aiden, the little boy held onto his mother’s hand, cautiously taking a step towards the stranger. Zari nodded. “Who are you?” Aiden asked.

“Isha,”Zari’s friend extended her hand for aiden to shake. “Aiden, this is your aunt,” Zari nudged her son. A small smile spread over his face before he accepted Zari’s handshake. “Zari what is going on?” Zari’s mother turned to her daughter once more. “Let’s talk inside. I’m sure you both have alo questions.

[ 2 Years Ago, New York and Wakanda ]

The door to Aiden’s room shut softly. His light snores drifted from under the door. Glancing at the clock, the soon to be college graduate knew it was time. She dialed the kings number and waited. ”hello?”the king answered.

”King T'chaka? This is Zari,” she began. “Hello my dear girl! How are you? How is the boy? May I speak with him?” The king fired off.

“When Hell freezes over,” the woman thought.“I am afraid he is asleep my king,” she answered.

“Very well then, what can I do for you?”the king asked. “I am set to graduate soon,” the girl began again. “I know. I am so proud of you. Your cords and cap and gown have all been paid for already. Was there a problem at the school?”

Zari interrupted, “no,no it’s just. I sent tickets for my parents to the palace. I was hoping you would let them come,” she trailed off. “No.” The only word from the kings mouth. “Please your majesty. My parents should be here for this. They already think I ran away. They won’t suspect a thing. If they ask why I’ll say it’s because of Aiden. I was pregnant, and I didn’t want to get T’Challa in trouble,” Zari was pleading now.

“No. Zari. I am afraid that is not possible.” The king ended. The line was silent for a minute before he spoke again. “Do send pictures of you and the boy.” The line clicked.

“Baba, who was that?” T’Challa strode into the room a minute later. “No one important,” T’Chaka dismissed. “It sounded like family,” The prince tried again. “No. One. Important. T’Challa.” The king roared suddenly. The prince took a few steps back in shock. “Do you not have a meeting to attend?” The king sighed. The prince nodded his head silently. “Very well then. I have work to do.” He dismissed T’Challa with the wave of a hand.

“Mama,?” Once in the hall T’Challa spotted his mother. . The queen smiled, turning towards her son. “Yes?”

“Do we have family in New York?” The prince questioned. He strode down the hall towards his mother. “Not that I am aware of,” she cocked her head to the side. She gracefully extended both hands palm up, an invitation for the now 21 year old. He walked into his mother’s arms, grasping her hands in his. “Why do you ask?”

“Baba,” I heard him yelling into the phone. “He wanted to talk to someone’s boy.” The prince rehashed. “Did you ask him about it?”

“I did, he insisted that it was “no one important’ before dismissing me.” The queen frowned, “I will speak with him about it, but I am sure it is nothing to worry about. It is probably just a war dog friend and their family.” The queen reasoned. “Thank you mama, I must go.” The prince pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling away. “I shall see you at lunch,” the queen called after him.” “Of course Mama,” he smiled over his shoulder.

[ New York, Present Day ]

“So you left by force not by choice?” Zari’s mother sat on the couch next to her husband. Aiden sat in his father’s lap, his head resting lightly on his shoulder. Zari sat next to both of her boys, running her hand through Aiden’s curls. Isha watched the three interact quietly. “Yes, I was with child.” She added, stopping just before mentioning the father.

“That still does not explain King T’Chaka’s interest in you or Isha for that matter.” Zari’s father raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s the probken,” The young designer cleared her throat. “The prince is supposed to be celibate until marriage,” Zari’s voice died off looking back at T’Challa. The king cleared his throat twice before speaking, “If Zari had given birth to my child, the world would have known that we did not follow that particular rule.” The king gripped Zari’s hand on the couch, squeezing lightly. “So Aiden is your son?” Zari’s mother was the first to comprehend. Zari knew instantly, when her father understood as well.

“You got my daughter pregnant in High school!” he roared, leaping off of the couch, aiming right for T’Challa. The king quickly leapt out of the way, almost dropping Aiden in the process. With his son now hanging over one arm, the king made sure to to put some distance between himself and his almost father in law.

“Baba please,” Zari stood in front of her father, blocking his view of the king. Her father visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping slightly. She helped her mother ushered him back to the couch, “He is the king. You can not just go lunging at him.” the older woman chastised her husband. “I don’t give a damn if he is the king. He defiled my daughter.”

“Baba please?” Zari pointed at his seat.

“No he has every right,” T’Challa offered, slowly creeping back around the couch. He handed Aiden to his mother, his little body trembling. The riddle immediately wrapped his arms around her neck, refusing to look anyone in the face. Zari’s fingers immediately began tracing circles on his back. Her lips quietly humming. “I didn’t mean to frighten him,” Zari’s father gestured at the child, currently occupying his daughter’s lap. Silence settled upon the room. Zari’s humming buzzed through the air unaccompanied.

“For six years, I had to live without my daughter. For six years, I lived with the guilt thinking that I had done something to make her want to leave me. Leave her mother. Her home. Now she’s all grown up with a child, and a life I know nothing about. I never saw her graduate. I mean she gave birth. Gave me a grandson. Now to find out I only missed it because your father wanted to protect your image. Can you imagine?”

“I am sorry,” the king lowered his head. “Sorry will not give me the past six years back your majesty,” her father hissed. “Ime Joffer, stop it. The man had nothing to do with it.” Zari’s mother reasoned. “But he is his father’s son,” he spit. “That does not mean I will make my father’s mistakes.” T’Challa asserted, his eyes scarcely hid the fire lurking behind them. “I knew nothing of my father’s plans. They were kept from me right up until his death. But I never stopped loving your daughter!”

“T’Challa you do not have to,” Zari placed a hand on his shoulder. “No! I need to say this.” He insisted, hands shaking with his words. Tears fell from his eyes, “I am the reason you are here. The reason you lived without your family. Gave birth to our son alone. I wake up every day knowing I am the reason. It bears down on my shoulders constantly. But I want to be there for you. With you. Beside you. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you. I’ll be damned if I let you get away from me again Zari. Much less let Aiden get away again. I may be my father’s son. But i will not continue my father’s mistakes.”

“T’Challa knew nothing,” Isha broke the tension “He came to me everyday looking for Zari for months, then years. I refused to tell him where she was.”

“You knew?” Zari breathed. The woman nodded. “I found out a week or so after you were gone. T’Chaka had guards trailing me everytime I left the house. They let it slip one day.”

“You told me-” T’Challa accused . “I know what I told you T’Challa!” She yelled.

“I told you what I had to say to keep your father from ripping the only family I had completely apart. He threatened to marry me off.” Pause. “Your father, he took everything from me. He took my parents from me. … I got a second chance with Zari and her family. I knew I had no way to keep from losing my parents the first time. This time I had a choice, and I made my decision. I did what I had to do to keep my family together this time.”

Aiden’s soft snores pierced the silence. All eyes fell on him, his mouth wide open. “I should put him to bed,” the young mother pushed herself up off of the couch. “I can do it,”The king offered. “No, you stay here son. We’ll go with her.” Zari’s father glared. T’Challa acquiesced, settling back into his seat on the couch. Zari smiled as her parents followed her into Aiden’s room.

The door shut slowly behind them. Zari placed Aiden in her mother’s arm. The couple studied the boy’s features, Zari’s hands digging through the piles of clothing for some pajamas. “You have done well for yourself.” Ime, Zari’s father, commented. His eyes ran over the pictures on the wall. “The king paid for most of it...Gave us a house,” Zari began pushing Aiden’s sleeping form into his pajamas, “Put me through college. Gave us a monthly allowance.”

“He did everything I should’ve done.” Zari’s hands stilled. A frown etched its way onto her face. “Baba,” she began softly. She pulled the covers over Aiden. “This is not your fault.”

“Ime please,” Zari’s mother went to stand beside her husband. “I should’ve been here. I should have been searching. I knew pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit together, but I chose my country. I chose my country over my daughter.”

“But I am here now Baba. We can not change the past. Though we can build from the present.” She walked over to her father, his back tensed under her touch.

“You lied to me,” T’Challa accused once the family was out of earshot. “I did what I had to do,” Isha’s finger pounded the leather of the couch.

“For who? You knew I loved her!”

“But She was disposable to your father!”

“I would have protected her!”

“You were not king!”

“I loved her!”

“So did I! Do not bullshit yourself T’Challa! I will not help you post into your victim/ failed savior complex!”

You knew she was carrying my son!”

I knew she was safer away from your father!”

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @nyneebee @hutchj @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @strictlyashley @afraiddreamingandloving @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @gorjiss @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @yoyolovesbucky @derangedcupcake @builtalongthewayside @ilcb7 @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @dopegalkk @writingmarvellousimagines @justanotherloveaffair

[levirens]

[fanfic] of cold arms and pale lips 1/2

Summary:  Yuuri is torn between laughing and crying at the absurdity of the situation. The whole point of him leaving was so he could run away from the (literal) ghost of his past yet here he is, watching a silver-haired apparition dance ballet to classical music.

By the time the song ends, Yuuri’s cheeks are wet and he finds that he’s been clutching at his shirt, his hand directly above his heart. The ghost stands before him holding a pose, one arm extended towards Yuuri and a pale finger pointing at him. A moment passes before the ghost seemingly sags, his arms dropping to his sides and his body losing its graceful posture. The ghost smiles, a forlorn upturn of pale lips, and he whispers, “Thank you.”

He prides himself on his ability to stay in people’s blind spots, knowing just when to act and knowing how to trick people’s brains into making him blend in with the environment. To their brains, he’s a blemish, an anomaly that they can’t figure out and so they simply erase him from their sight. Nobody takes notice of him unless he wants them to, unless he does something that warrants their fleeting attention.

That’s fine by him.

He feels the slight rumble of the ground and lifts one foot up, letting it dangle precariously by the edge of the platform. No one takes notice, people going on with their lives as though nothing were amiss. He figures that if he does it just right, if he jumps at the perfect moment, he’d get away with it. The people milling around, they would only be able to see him once he gets into the bigger picture— in front of a fast-approaching train.  

That’s fine by him.

The rumbling gets stronger, reverberating inside him through his bones and into the hollow pit in his chest. He sees a girl from the corner of his eye, blond hair tied up into pigtails and a tattered doll hanging from her hand. It’s obvious she’s not one of them, proof being the gaping hole where a fraction of her skull used to be and the red splattered on her dress. For a fleeting moment, he allows himself to think about her, to briefly imagine what life she used to lead and what led to her death, then he prepares for the jump.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Yuuri whips his head around, staring at the man standing beside him. Blue eyes stare back, a ghost of a frown hanging around the space between the man’s eyebrows. Yuuri’s eyes shift and lands on a shock of silvery gray hair, his mouth almost opening to sound a response. He stops, blood running cold as he spots his mistake just as the man hurriedly speaks.

“You can see me?”

There’s a deafening ringing in his ears, his once hollow chest feeling heavy with dread. He turns, willing himself to calm down. Darting his eyes around, he sees that none of the others have paid the exchange much attention, but that would soon change if he doesn’t get away from the place. He can feel the silver-haired man’s gaze on him, a hand raised as if to reach out and grab him.

No, Yuuri thinks. Not this shit again. He remembers how he had once interacted with one of them, a high school girl sporting a gunshot over her chest. She had followed him home, turning malevolent once Yuuri made it clear he was not open to having a roommate. That situation had escalated into a monthly appointment with a shrink and a one-way ticket to live halfway across the world.

He begins to walk, intent on going to a nearby mall area where he plans to lose the silver-haired man in the crowd. He maintains a brisk pace, moving against the rush of people heading for their morning commute. He rounds a corner and uses this opportunity to check behind him, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the silver-haired man still standing by the platform, watching people board the train.

Yuuri runs for it, periodically checking behind him to make sure he still isn’t being followed. He still takes the long way home, making sure he passes by as many crowds as he can, doing his best to blend in. It’s only when he’s checked about a hundred times behind him and another hundred through the peephole of his door that he allows himself to breathe. He makes his way into his room on wobbly legs, his limbs shaking from the effort it takes him to contain the sobs threatening to spill out.

Staying in people’s blind spots is one of his skills, seeing and being able to interact with ghosts is another. One skill he took pride in and utilized on a daily basis, the other the reason why there are scars adorning his skin. Both gifts of sight, one allowing him to evade it and one allowing him to see beyond what is human. He drags a hand over his face, the image of blood-matted silver hair burned into his retinas. The blue-eyed man had seem upset at Yuuri, most probably aware of his own death and unable to believe that one of the living would want that for themselves, would willingly throw away their life when his had obviously been stolen from him.

Yuuri has half the mind to feel guilty. He walks over to the bathroom, stripping himself of the heavy winter clothes while he lets the tub fill with warm water. Tomorrow, he would go look for a job again, hopefully one with a decent enough pay that he can stop receiving the money his parents send him on a monthly basis. Then he’d be able to stop talking to them and stop pretending for their sake that their son is perfectly sane.

His parents love him, that he’s sure of. They make sure he knows this by telling him through text and through call on the rare occasion that he answers the phone. Every time he’d get the envelope containing the cash his parents continuously shelled out for him, there would be a note inside. Sometimes it would be his mother reminding him to never skip meals, sometimes it would be his father asking him when he’d be coming back, and, on rare occasions, it would be his sister asking him how he’s doing.

He never answers any of the notes, but he keeps them in a small container, along with the few items he had allowed himself to take with him from his old home.

Tomorrow, he would look for a job. He’s not hopeful, his bachelor’s degree and various skills usually boiling down to nothing once employers flip over the pages of his resume and they see the medical warning that he comes with.

Tomorrow, he would try, but today he simply climbs into the bathtub and wishes the water would somehow find its way over his head.

   Yuuri wants to act surprised, wants to feel surprised, but he had expected this. The woman behind the desk is looking at him with an almost apologetic look in her eyes, her mouth moving along to the words that Yuuri has been hearing interview after interview for over six months now.

“We’ll let you know, expect a call from us,” is one of the most common ones, most companies not even bothering to come up with an excuse to not hire him. There’s also the mighty, “The spot’s already been filled, but we’ll keep your contact details in case we have an opening.” The woman uses something along those lines, visibly squirming uncomfortably when Yuuri fails to react on time.

“Mister...” she looks down at his paper. “... Katsuki. Mister Katsuki, are you alright?”

“Sorry,” he says slowly, his mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. This had been the last interview on his list, all the others had been failures of similar kind. “Thank you for lending me your time.” He takes his files from the woman’s hands, bows his head, and leaves the building. A part of him wants to scream, wants to tear at his suit and rip his hair out from its roots. An act like that wouldn’t really do much damage at this point, not when everybody already thinks he’s crazy.

The cold air outside hits him across the face the moment he steps a foot onto the asphalt, snow already collecting on the ground. He brings his scarf up to cover half of his face, keeping his head turned down and his eyes firmly latched on the ground before him. He lets his feet lead the way, walking with no particular destination in mind. His hands start to feel numb, the thin gloves doing nothing to protect them from the cold. Each breath he takes is a bit more painful than the last, and when it becomes too much to endure, he lifts his head and looks around, trying to determine where he’d ended up.

His eyes catches sight of a person walking down the street opposite him, facing away from him and giving Yuuri a clear view of his soiled clothes. There’s a mixture of excrement and blood on the hospital gown and Yuuri shivers, turning away before noticing the store in front of him. The neon sign is turned off, cursive letters spelling out Eri’s Music, and the exterior of the store looks like it needs some repairing here and there. What truly catches Yuuri’s attention is the sign hanging around the store’s door, words written out in a crude handwriting.

Hiring: Store Clerk

Yuuri clutches at the documents in his hand, peering inside the shop to see a decent number of customers walking around and perusing CDs and albums. He’s opening the door before he registers what he’s doing, the chime of the bell drawing very little attention from the customers and only an inquisitive look from the man standing behind the counter.

“Yes?” the man prompts when Yuuri just stands there, gawking. “Can I help you?”

“I read the sign,” he blurts out, walking towards the counter. At the man’s raised eyebrow, Yuuri rushes to add, “The hiring. You’re still hiring, yes?”

Yuuri thinks he sees relief wash over the man’s expression before he grins at Yuuri, seemingly in triumph. “Hey boss, what did I tell you about that sign? We already have an applicant.” He turns to Yuuri, leaning over the counter to appraise the latter’s appearance. “You look fancy. You sure you want to work here? Pay’s not bad but it can’t buy you a suit like that.”

Yuuri blinks, looking down and wincing. He had picked this outfit thinking he’d be able to impress the employers, maybe make him look put together and capable of a desk job. He almost snorts at how stupid and naive the idea was. “I’ve been looking for a job,” he explains, glancing up and immediately looking away when he sees the smirk aimed at him. “I’ve worked at a shop before.”

“Fantastic,” the man beams just as someone claps him on the back. He turns to the taller male standing behind him and gestures to Yuuri. “Says he’s worked at a shop before.”

The taller male, a blonde with a muscular frame and a reasonably attractive face, jerks his head at Yuuri and motions for him to follow. He’s lead to the backroom, an office of some sort, and the blonde looks at him expectantly, a hand outstretched. Yuuri realizes the man is waiting for him to hand over his files.

Yuuri’s folder in hand, the man walks around his desk and sits down, briefly flipping through the papers. He stops at the last page, the one detailing Yuuri’s mental health, then opens a drawer and promptly shoves the folder inside. “Kristoff, the guy outside, will be going back to university soon. You’d have to take over his shift. You alright with working until around 10 PM?”

“Yes, sir,” Yuuri answers, his heart beating loudly against his chest. The man briefly asks him about his experience working at his parent’s inn, seemingly satisfied that he won’t be needing any training regarding the counter and customer assistance. He thanks the man, shaking his large hand, and exits the room feeling infinitesimally lighter. The shift would be long, starting from 9 AM to 10 PM, but the pay would be more than enough to cover his rent and living expenses.

Kristoff spots him and nods. When Yuuri answers with the slightest bit of a smile, the other male winks at him. “See you tomorrow.”

   As it turns out, the store has a pretty decent amount of loyal patrons. Kristoff’s job usually consists of locating CDs and albums for customers, restocking shelves, working the counter, and cleaning around the store. Yuuri shadows him for a day and then they split the work between them, Yuuri mostly taking on cleaning and restocking.

A week passes by and Yuuri settles into a routine. He arrives on time, cleans the store, restocks, eats lunch, cleans whenever there aren’t any customers around, and occasionally helps out with the counter. He realizes that there really isn’t much to do at the store despite the long shift, which is probably why he usually sees Kristoff sneaking around the backroom to nap or use his phone. When the other male isn’t doing his job or slacking off, he’s bugging Yuuri.

“You know, you’re really quiet,” Kristoff tells him, watching Yuuri rearranging their CD display. “Like, really, really, really quiet.”

Yuuri laughs, the sound sounding nervous and forced even to his own ears. He doesn’t know what Kristoff expects him to say to that and because he can’t think of a response himself, he goes back to rearranging the CDs. He feels the other male’s eyes on him and turns to Kristoff, racking his brain for something to say.

Kristoff speaks again before Yuuri can formulate something to say. “You are Asian, right?”

Yuuri nods, thankful that this, at the very least, he can answer. “Japanese.”

The other male moves so he isn’t just staring at Yuuri work, grabbing a few CDs and arranging them. From what Yuuri sees, Kristoff mostly just pulls out random CDs, looks at them, then places them back. He asks, “What does your name mean?”

Yuuri hesitates, surprised by the question. “The kanji of Yuuri can be read as “courage to win” or something like that.” At that, he feels Kristoff turn to look at him. Yuuri meets the other male’s eyes and squirms when Kristoff just keeps on staring. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Kristoff says, moving away from the shelves. He opens his mouth, seemingly to say something, but quickly closes it again, his eyes snapping down to glance at Yuuri’s scarred wrist before flicking away. He’s looking at something on Yuuri’s cheek when he says, “I’m off, school starts tomorrow. I’ll see you around on Friday.”

Yuuri hums in response, moving on to the next shelf and waving goodbye at the other male. With Kristoff gone and few customers around, the only thing that fills the silence of the place is the music. The owner had explained to him how to use the sound system and had given him a flash drive containing the week’s playlist. Yuuri is unfamiliar with most of the songs but he finds that none of them are terrible. He would often look at the laptop, liking a song enough that he would write down the title on his phone so he’d be able to listen to it at home.

He sees the customer looking around the counter, a couple of CDs in hand, and he rushes to attend to them. Not many people come in after that, one or two looking around but not buying anything. Around nine, the owner leaves him with Kristoff’s copy of the keys to the front door, tasking Yuuri with closing up. Alone and with nothing to do, he starts flipping through the songs on the laptop, looking for familiar ones.

With a song playing, he wanders around the store, cleaning up as he went. No one comes in, no one usually does around this hour, and he’s able to do the closing cleaning just as the song comes to an end. Another song comes on, one he’s unfamiliar with, so he moves to change it when he sees someone standing in front of the counter.

He feels his stomach drop, his legs unwilling to move any further once his eyes settle on blood-stained silver hair. There’s a tightness in his throat that he knows would result in a scream if he unscrews his mouth open, so he keeps it shut, eyes flickering to the CCTV camera closest to him. He tells himself to breathe, orders his legs to move and carry him towards the counter.

I’ll pretend I don’t see him, he tells himself. He’ll go away. He’ll go away. He has to go away.

Yuuri keeps his face expressionless and walks toward the counter, watching from the corner of his eye as the ghost turns to look at him. He reaches for the laptop to change the song, already about to click on the NEXT button when something stops him.

“Please don’t.”

Yuuri’s hand stills, long enough for it to be an obvious response to the ghost’s words. He wants to punch himself, wants to hurt himself so bad for being so goddamn stupid. He tries to think of his next move, tries to come up with a way that he’d able to brush off his hesitation and keep on pretending that he’s the only one in the store right now.

“I...” the ghost starts, interrupting his thoughts. When the man speaks again, Yuuri notes how his voice is thick with emotion. “I remember this.”

There’s something almost desperate in the ghost’s tone, something that causes Yuuri to slowly look up. The ghost isn’t looking at him, blue eyes staring down at his hands. Then the ghost moves and Yuuri is just about ready to bolt until he sees the silver-haired man twirl, hands extended as if they were holding someone against him.

It takes Yuuri a moment to understand what the ghost is doing. The music, the movement of his body... Yuuri has been able to see ghosts all his life, but he has never seen a ghost dance ballet up until that very moment.

The man dances with the utmost grace, leaping into the air and landing on his toes. Yuuri finds himself entranced, watching everything with wide eyes. He catches glimpses of the ghost’s expression, face filled with such sorrow that Yuuri feels something in his heart flutter in response. He feels tears prick behind his eyes, bewildering him, and he chalks it up to his brain being unable to cope with the fact that he’s watching a ghost dance with both immense beauty and unbearable sadness.

Yuuri is torn between laughing and crying at the absurdity of the situation. The whole point of him leaving was so he could run away from the (literal) ghost of his past yet here he is, watching a silver-haired apparition dance ballet to classical music.

By the time the song ends, Yuuri’s cheeks are wet and he finds that he’s been clutching at his shirt, his hand directly above his heart. The ghost stands before him holding a pose, one arm extended towards Yuuri and a pale finger pointing at him. A moment passes before the ghost seemingly sags, his arms dropping to his sides and his body losing its graceful posture. The ghost smiles, a forlorn upturn of pale lips, and he whispers, “Thank you.”

   When Yuuri arrives the following morning, the owner looks at him strangely. He sees the owner’s eyes flicker down to look at his wrists, an almost imperceptible nod following soon after. “Are you okay?” the owner asks him, much to Yuuri’s surprise.

Yuuri thinks back to what happened last night, belatedly realizing what it must have looked like through the CCTV footage: Yuuri, standing by the counter, listening to classical music and crying while staring into space. He looks down at his arms, wondering if the owner had been checking to see if Yuuri had attempted to do something.

Not that he would see anything there even if Yuuri does decide to hurt himself. It’s been months since he came to the realization that cuts on his arms were just too noticeable, too risky.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, maintaining eye contact with the owner. “I’m okay, thank you for asking.”

At his answer, the owner nods and leaves him to do his job. With Kristoff’s absence, the owner lets Yuuri eat lunch at the backroom while the blonde male takes over the counter. Yuuri eats as fast as he can without choking on his food, the owner’s surprise evident when Yuuri returns to his post not more than ten minutes after he left.

“It’s fine, I’m a fast eater,” he tells the owner. An elderly man approaches them, asking for a copy of The Carpenters’ last album. Yuuri takes this as his signal to get back to work.

The store is busier than usual today, Yuuri noticing how he’s almost never alone the whole time. He interacts with most of the customers, following the tips that Kristoff had given him. On more than one occasion, Yuuri is asked for his recommendation and he timidly suggests a band that he’s recently gotten into. He smiles when a couple of people listen to his recommendation and buy the album.

Before leaving, the owner reminds him he can close shop before 10 PM. Yuuri nods, his eye flickering to the clock. He watches as the number of customers dwindle down until he’s down to the last one, a student who looks around as if only noticing for the first time how late it is and that he’s the last one there. The student mumbles an apology and heads out without buying anything.

The ghost returns right before Yuuri’s about to shut down the laptop, making his heart race and his body go rigid for a second. He feels himself relax when he sees the ghost giving him a small smile. Yuuri thinks he might just be imagining things but the smile looks almost sheepish, a request hiding behind the ghost’s blue eyes. He looks at the ghost then at the laptop, a silent question. The ghost nods, making the hair on the back of Yuuri’s neck raise.

He looks for the same song from last night, ignoring the way his mind screams at him for interacting with a ghost and fulfilling its request. As if to make him painfully aware of the mistake he’s about to make, his mind flashes back to the last time he had been stupid enough to associate himself with the dead, his hand stilling before he could press PLAY. He looks at the ghost, still smiling at him shyly, and remembers how it had simply disappeared after dancing last night.

He plays the song and watches as the ghost immediately starts dancing, the movements similar from last night but somehow appearing more calculated. Yuuri has no doubt that this ghost, this man, used to be a great dancer before he had died. The thought of that reminds Yuuri of the blood on the man’s hair, knowing that if he were to look he would see the wound on the man’s skull.

Similar to last night, the performance ends with the silver-haired man pointing at him and then disappearing into thin air, leaving Yuuri breathless and with a strange sort of sadness that has him screwing his eyes closed. He stays rooted in place for a few moments, the silence surrounding him doing nothing to ease the thoughts scattered around his brain. He starts packing up, his body moving on auto-pilot and his mind still trying racing. He knows he shouldn’t entertain the ghost, shouldn’t have in the first place and shouldn’t continue to do so. On the forefront of his mind he knows this couldn’t possibly end well.

Still, he finds himself listening to the little voice speaking to his conscience, the part of him that tells him that the silver-haired dancer wouldn’t do anything to him. This little voice tells him that Yuuri might not know the man but he knows the look in the dead man’s eyes, knows it because he sees it every time he looks in a mirror and every time he sees himself reflected in people’s eyes. He knows what it feels like to be surrounded by people but still be all alone.

Yuuri knows what it’s like to be invisible.

[captainsimagines]

RENT- PART 2

In which eight old friends in dire need move in together for one year.

Warnings: angst; war flashbacks; divorce; language; mentions of ptsd/disability; mentions of suicide

PART TWO

(1) (3)

BUCKY - “RENT”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky yelled, shielding his head from the gunfire. He glanced around his whole team, seeing half of them lying motionless on the ground.

“I’m saving our asses!” the soldier screamed, running into the storm of bullets and shooting at the enemy. Bucky tried to control his rapid breathing. Hyperventilating wasn’t exactly useful in the middle of a war.

“God save us,” Bucky whispered before he followed his partner, spraying bullets everywhere wherever his eyesight went. His own yells were louder than any bomb but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stay hidden and let his friends fight this war alone.

“Tony!” Bucky called, ducking into a bush as a blast went off. A sudden smack to his shoulder startled him but he quickly caught his breath once he saw Tony next to him.

”We’re going to split up, okay? Hey, Barnes!” Tony yelled, shaking Bucky when he noticed his eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Barnes, snap out of it!”

Bucky shook his head and swallowed, studying Tony’s face before he finally spoke. “Yeah, I’m here.”

”I know you’re here, buddy. I just need you to stay with me.”

Bucky registered the meaning of his words, grabbing Tony’s hand and helping him up. “Ready?”

“Can’t exactly stay here,” Tony said, raising his gun and walking in front of Bucky. With each step, Bucky felt there was a large possibility he was going to make it out alive. With each step, he thought about his wife and getting home to her. Each step was a distraction, however, from the danger around each corner.

”When I say,” Tony stated, looking back at Bucky. “We split up and attack on both sides.”

Bucky nodded, guarding Tony’s back as they inched closer to the target.

“One, two-” Tony didn’t finish counting. Instead, he leapt backwards and threw himself over Bucky.

Dirt and smoke clouded Bucky’s vision as he coughed violently. He tried to push the weight off of his body, confusion drowning his senses. But it wasn’t until the smoke cleared and the screaming silenced that Bucky let his mouth fall open. He lay in shock but managed to lay Tony on his side with small shakes from his shoulders.

Looking around him, Bucky took a second and proceeded to throw up. He was fighting the urge to pass out. The moment he realized Tony wasn’t breathing and his left side felt exponentially lighter, did he finally shut his eyes in defeat.

3 YEARS LATER

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bucky’s wife gasped, grabbing as many suitcases as she could. Bucky groaned but remained seated at the kitchen table, stabbing his metal arm with a screwdriver until it whirred its natural hum.

“Babe, what are you going on about now?” Bucky called.

“I can’t stand it anymore. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the guilt you can’t seem to escape!”

Bucky dropped the screwdriver and marched to the bedroom. Bucky gaped at his wife.

“What are you saying?”

She stopped pushing clothes into a suitcase and dropped her head into her hands, “I just can’t do it anymore. I tried. For three years, I tried.”

“You’re leaving me?” Bucky whimpered, stepping into the room. She took a step back and stopped him with her hand. The gesture clawed at Bucky’s heart.

“Our relationship wasn’t working even before you went off to war,” she mumbled. Bucky’s mouth fell open in shock. “I want a divorce.”

_______

Bucky threw the screwdriver at the wall, yelling into his now vacant house. Clenching his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky begged to wake up. The longer his arm whirred and the stinging in his heart grew, Bucky was closer to relapsing. Shutting his arm off completely would result in personal chaos. Smoking three packs of cigarettes in under two hours wasn’t going to solve anything. And skipping his daily yoga routine would result in an upset stomach all day. 

“What am I supposed to do without you?”

She let a few tears slip before she responded. “Live.”

It took an hour for Bucky to finally sign the papers and when he did he felt lonelier than before. Bucky looked at the wall and tried to find a solution to all of this. He could swallow all the pills his therapist prescribed. They had been sitting in the back of the cabinet for months. He could also sell the house and move back in with his parents. He quickly threw that idea out of his head. 

That’s how he ended up packing a few bags for himself and staying at a motel. Being in that house was enough torment.

As he was hanging some of his shirts in the small closet, a crumbled piece of post-it paper fell from an old shirt. The last time he had worn it was high school- high school graduation to be exact. Bucky had no idea why he kept it considering his body bulked up and it was a hideous shirt, but the ten-year old piece of paper seemed to be the reason.

He typed in the number and prayed it was still in service.

”Hello?”

“Hey, man.”

_____

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Steve chanted, extending his arms out as he showed Bucky around his apartment.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was crappy,” Bucky chuckled. Steve smacked his shoulder but laughed as well.

“Just because I said it doesn’t mean you can.”

Bucky smiled widely, setting his bags down near the couch. “Anyone else live here?”

Steve shook his head, “Nope. Just me.”

“Don’t you get lonely? Where’s Natasha?”

Steve rolled his eyes and ignored the second question. “Yeah, well. What else is new? We broke up when I was 23. I’m 28 now, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t push for an explanation. Steve went into the kitchen to grab two coffee cups.

“I haven’t seen you since-”

Bucky walked up to the counter and interrupted him. “Three years ago, I know.”

Steve nodded, “Why didn’t you want to see me or anyone else after you came back? Janet said you were going through some shit.”

Bucky winced slightly at the mentions of his now ex-wife’s name but he brushed it off. Instead, he gathered enough courage to rip off his jacket and expose his short-sleeve shirt. His metal arm was now on full display- the prototype only known by those who made it and close family. Steve momentarily choked on his spit, looking from Bucky’s arm to the coffee machine. With wide and confused eyes, Steve finally uttered a few words.

“Did you-um- did you lose it in the war?”

Bucky nodded and placed his arm on the counter to allow Steve to study it closely. Steve did just that, gawking at its spectacular detail. “It’s very futuristic.”

Bucky laughed at the comment and continued to flex it. “It’s high maintenance, though.”

“I’d assume. I won’t ask,” Steve thinly smiled.

“Thanks.”

Steve handed Bucky his cup of coffee and proceeded to explain the small details of the apartment- how he would have to use the laundry mat, how the electricity gets shut off at least once a day, and how the neighbors have a son who’s practicing the drums.

“Why are you still squatting here?” Bucky joked, his first genuine smile in the last three years showcasing.

“I am not squatting!” Steve argued, throwing a piece of fruit at Bucky. Bucky quickly caught it, throwing it back and hitting Steve in the middle of his chest.

“So, what’s new with you?” That was the question Bucky had been dreading. Still, he wanted to answer truthfully to start a clean slate with his new living conditions and roommate.

“Got divorced, man,” Bucky casually admitted. For the second time in under five minutes, Steve choked on his coffee.

Steve cleared his throat and put his cup down. “Buck, I’m so sorry. You and Janet seemed happy.”

Bucky scoffed, “No, she was right. The spark blew out when my arm blew off.”

Bucky’s words were harsh and to the point which clearly made Steve uncomfortable. However, the sudden admittance of his crumbling life was somewhat relatable. Steve decided to nod along and not respond to gruesome comment.

“And you?” Bucky asked. Steve thought for a second before he matched Bucky’s pessimistic attitude.

“Had a heart attack about the same time you got your arm blown off. Got a heart problem now,” he casually stated. Bucky’s eyes widened exponentially and for once in a long time, he found someone he could relate to. After three years of not communicating with his best friend from childhood he had realized the true magnitude of the negative side effects.

“Steve, oh my god,” Bucky choked out. Steve chuckled lightly, passing Bucky his assorted fruit bowl. Lunch.

“Hey, we all have problems. I can die at any second and you’re the real-life metal man.”

Bucky threw another piece of fruit at his best friend, happy that the atmosphere in the room went from awkward to childish.

Steve’s eyes bulged as he remembered who he needed to visit. “Buck, do you remember the girl you were in love with all throughout high school?”

“It’s been ten years, Rogers,” Bucky rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it, but Bucky’s stomach flipped at the mention of the one that got away.

“You don’t remember Y/N? You had her name written all over your notebooks,” Steve teased, once again enduring another smack by fruit.

“Yeah, I remember. What about her?”

“She’s the one that saved my life three years ago.”

Bucky almost died right then and there. “Seriously?”

Steve smiled and sipped his coffee, “Seriously.”

Bucky rubbed his bottom lip and tried to keep his cool composure. “How’d she do it?”

“Shocked me back to life. I was dead already and she went against orders and shocked me one more time.”

“That’s amazing.” Bucky wanted to say so many things about Y/N. I miss her. I should have taken her out on just one date. I let her go. I should have married her.

“Bucky,” Steve gave a sympathetic look. “She really liked you, too. I’m sure she’ll like you more now.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “She’s probably too busy to even see me.”

Steve huffed awkwardly and stood there with a thin smile.

“What?” Bucky questioned, scrunching his eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m actually going to visit her later tomorrow. You’re welcome to come if you’d like,” Steve offered, dodging the last piece of fruit Bucky threw.

“You set this up!” Bucky screamed, unable to control the wide smile that spread across his face.

“I promise you, I didn’t! I was actually visiting her but then you called and well, I didn’t,” Steve uttered, wincing slightly when his chuckles rattled his chest a little too hard.

“But, yeah. I’d- I’d like to see her again,” Bucky shrugged, the blush on his cheeks giving away his excited behavior. “How long has it been?”

“For you?” Steve thought long and hard, rubbing his chin before the answer popped into his head. “Remember our last day of choir?”

Bucky groaned loudly, “Don’t remind me! Choir was absolute shit!”

Steve’s mouth fell open, “That was the only class we had our little group in! You remember, no? You, me, Y/N, Natasha, and Sam!”

“I couldn’t sing for shit.”

Steve scoffed, “You were the best! What was the song Mr. Fury always made you perform? Razzle Dazzle, from CHICAGO?”

Correction: Now, that was the last piece of fruit Bucky threw at Steve.

_____

“I’m freezing!” Bucky whined, jogging over to the thermostat with a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Steve came stumbling out of his own room, apologizing repeatedly.

“I swear I paid the electricity bill this month,” Steve groaned, tapping the shutdown device. “I have more blankets.”

Bucky was unamused but he took the extra blankets Steve offered. Instead of going back to bed, Steve dragged the large trash bin over to the middle of the room and handed Bucky the piles of paper he had collected. Bucky gave a confused stare.

“Throw them in,” Steve stated while flicking on a lighter. “I’m not about to freeze.”

Bucky marveled at the flames. The feeling was strange but calming. Bucky hadn’t felt this way since he had met Janet or last saw Y/N. Staring at the scene in front of him only reminded him of how lonely he was. However, whenever Bucky looked over at Steve and caught him rubbing his hands together, the cancerous feeling of loneliness would disappear almost immediately.

“Rhodes,” Steve muttered into his phone. “Turn the electricity on, man. It’s fucking winter.”

Bucky stayed silent so he could hear the man’s reply over the cackling of the fire. “Pay your rent.”

That was all that was exchanged before Steve groaned into the phone and set it on the table. “Sorry, Buck. You don’t deserve this.”

“Hey,” Bucky went to stand beside him. He draped his blanket over Steve’s shoulder with him still wrapped inside as well. “Eating is more important, anyway.”

“We’re turning blue,” Steve retorted, snuggling closer to Bucky.

“How much do you owe?”

Steve grinned into the fire, “I haven’t paid this year’s rent, last year’s, and I’m probably gonna be short on next year’s as well.”

Bucky’s eyes bulged out of his head but he didn’t allow Steve to see his startled expression. “You need more roommates if you’re going to keep this apartment.”

“I have you.”

“I mean, like... Five more people,” Bucky laughed.

Steve picked up another pile of loose paper and threw it into the bin. “Tell me when you find them.”

_____

Bucky stirred awake, rustling the sheets silently. The mumbling in the living room seemed to get louder after Bucky cleaned the sides of his eyes. Sitting up in his new bed, he strained his ears to hear what Steve was saying. 

“T’Challa, you can’t do this to me!”

A heavy sigh was all the response Steve received. 

“How could you possibly think this is a good idea? How could the city be okay with this?”

“Rogers, I have allowed Rhodes to excuse your lack of rent for far too long-” T’Challa spoke, but Steve interrupted. 

“What about everyone else in this building? It’s not fair!”

T’Challa made a “shushing” sound before he responded. “Steve... this building is fifty years old and hasn’t had renovations since it was constructed. It’s a hazard.”

“I’d be homeless. Most of the people in the building would be homeless!” Steve begged. 

“My plan is to knock it down and build a new complex. If the vote doesn’t go my way-”

“Then we’re shit out of luck,” Steve finished T’Challa’s sentence. 

T’Challa could only nod. 

“I will do my best to help you and everyone facing the same fate. You’ll see.”

“Wow, don’t make it sound so serious,” Steve rolled his eyes and led T’Challa to the front door. Bucky shuffled along the cold floor with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Peeking out from his bedroom door, he caught Steve shutting the door and sighing heavily.

“Should I be worried?” Bucky mumbled, startling Steve. 

Steve cleared his throat, “We got a year to win over the city or else they’re knocking this place down and replacing it with an office of some sort, I don’t know. But we barely pay rent, most of us are drug addicts, and we live in a bad neighborhood. I wonder what they’ll vote to do.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth, internally thanking the sudden knock at the door for stealing his breath. The sight of a young woman at Steve’s door had him smirking like a high school senior, waiting to see what the response was to a prom invitation. 

“Is Rhodes threatening you again?” Peggy stated, holding her robe closed. The scowl painted across her face wiped Bucky’s face clean. 

“No, T’Challa was just warning me of the vote happening on Christmas,” Steve replied, extending his arms over his head and stretching. Bucky almost laughed out loud, the sight of Steve showing off his stature to a woman not at all concerned laughable by all counts. 

“Merry fucking Christmas to us all, and to all a goodnight,” Peggy groaned, turning to walk away before her eyes landed on Bucky. “Is this the plus one to my dance recital?”

Steve smiled so widely that Bucky’s own jaw hurt. “Yeah! Uh- Peggy, Bucky. Bucky, Peggy. She’s my neighbor.”

“More like ‘lover’,” Peggy joked, smirking at the floor when she heard Steve’s breath hitch. Bucky shook her hand, pinching Steve on the cheek with his glove-covered metal hand at the same time. 

“Steve wishes,” Bucky chuckled, winking at Peggy. Steve slapped Bucky across the chest, the small picks here and there continuing for the next minute. Peggy watched them brawl for a while before she turned to leave, the sound of her door clicking snapping the boys out from their own little world. 

Steve groaned about ‘missing another chance’, but Bucky smiled out into the hallway. He realized that for the first time in a long time, he was enjoying the small moments in life without having to try so damn hard.

TAG LIST: 

@4theluvofall @ihavemymomentsstill @sumafamouxx 

[sakura-blossom28]

The Patient (Part 3)

A/N: Sasuke and Sakura are on their journey and Sakura gets sick! 

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

I don’t own Naruto!

A few weeks had passed since the couple had started their journey.  The whole time they were lucky enough to have decent enough weather.  With the sun shining down on them, they both felt content about the mission that was starting to unfold.  As Sasuke and Sakura traveled to their first hidden village starting their work, they stopped in many smaller villages who didn’t have the luxury of medical ninjas in their own villages.  

Sakura would heal the sick, and Sasuke would do any work that he could find.  Most of the time it was fixing older houses of the elderly who couldn’t do the work themselves.  But the couple did find some fun when bandits threatened the village while they were present.  Seeing Sakura heal was always an amazing thing to see, but when she was in battle mode it always made Sasuke smirk.  He thought back to the war when he first witnessed Sakura’s true power.  Seeing her monstrous strength proved how much she had grown while he was away.  

The village was so pleased with their work that they offered to let the couple stay in the finest house, but with the pleasant weather they declined the offer, opting to stay outside.  With the day’s work done, Sasuke and Sakura found an enclosed space in the forest a few miles away from the village.  With night approaching, the two set to work making camp for the night.  They mostly worked in silence.  Sasuke tended to the fire while Sakura looked for water.  Once they were settled, they sat in comfortable silence.  

Most of their nights ended like this.  Sakura had stopped trying to fill in the silence with chatter a long time ago when they were still young.  Now she appreciates the peace in the silence.  Knowing that Sasuke isn’t dealing with internal demons anymore, she doesn’t have to worry about his brooding.  Glancing at him now, she can see that he is lost in thought, but there is no stress in his body that she can detect.  Sighing happily to herself, she pulls out a medical scroll and moves closer to the Uchiha.  

Feeling Sakura close to him stirred Sasuke from his thoughts. Not thinking of anything too important, he looked down to find her reading next to him.  Out of habit, Sasuke extended his arm around the pink haired girl to pull her closer.  In the short weeks that they had been traveling, this gesture had become part of their nightly routine, and both were very happy about it.  Their relationship had finally started to feel normal.  Without having others around who knew them, they felt they could let their emotions show more because no one was there to tease them to feel embarrassed.  Naruto would have died if he saw how the two of them were sitting right now.

Sakura sighed deeper as snuggled more into Sasuke.  With the warmth from him and the fire, she felt her eyes start to droop, and she was soon asleep.  Feeling Sakura’s rhythmic breathing, Sasuke gently scooped her up and placed her on her sleeping mat.  Most nights ended like this and Sasuke was fine with that.  He preferred when Sakura fell asleep on him because then she wouldn’t fight with him when it came to keeping watch.  Sasuke always felt the need to keep watch, and Sakura would argue that they had no reason to.  She would then insist to staying up with him, but she always fell asleep due to chakra depletion from healing so many people.  

As Sasuke settled in the roots of the tree they were staying under, he gazed upon Sakura’s sleeping form.  He couldn’t help but think back to earlier that day when they first came into the little village.  Walking through the small center they were met with the leader.  After proper introductions and explaining their intentions, they were about to start their work, when the leader made a comment that left them both feeling a little awkward.

“Well don’t you two make a cute couple!  It’s so nice to see two people in love doing good work to better the world!” the leader was an older woman with a sweet smile upon her face as she spoke to the young ninjas.

The two of them tensed as the words sank into their minds to be processed.  Sasuke could feel the heat starting to rise on the back of his neck.  If he was reacting this way, he couldn’t image Sakura was doing any better.  Taking a peek over at her, all he could see was a flushed Sakura gasping like a fish.

“C-c-couple...l-l-love,” Sakura whispered to herself, but Sasuke still heard it.  Either the elder woman didn’t notice their reactions, or she didn’t care because she walked off with a wave to leave them to do their work.

Shaking off this memory, Sasuke thought back to what the woman said.  Love?  Sasuke never thought that he would look like he was in love.  But these months with Sakura really had changed him, so maybe anything was possible.  He liked the pace they were going, and didn’t feel the need to tell her how he truly feels just quite yet.  Sasuke realized on his first journey that he loved Sakura all along, but couldn’t understand the feelings he had until after the war.  He was big enough to admit he wasn’t mature enough to deal with these feelings and decided to bury them.  Now that he could process them, he was feeling more positive about them.  

Thinking about the pace they were going at made Sasuke realize that he was ready to take the next step.  He felt that since Sakura took such a big step for him by leaving the village that she loved so much, he should make the next move in their relationship, but what would that be?  They already hold hands and sit next to each other, what else is there?  He even showed her his sign for love with a poke to the forehead!  Sighing to himself, Sasuke did something he never liked to do.  He thought, “What would Naruto do?”

Being the only friend he had, and the only person he knew who was married, Naruto had obviously done something right to get Hinata to marry that idiot.  What had he seen the couple doing?  They held hands, walked close to each other, and kissed.  Realizing this Sasuke’s face flushed.  Thankfully it was dark out, and if Sakura woke up he could claim that he was sitting too close to the fire.

Never in his life did Sasuke think he would be worrying about kissing.  Sadly he had to admit that Naruto was his first kiss, but he would never say it aloud.  Silently growling to himself from embarrassment, he sent the memory away.  Kissing Sakura would be the next step, but how would he do it?  Did he just come right out and do it, or did he have to work his way into a position that would allow him to kiss Sakura?  Thinking about this kiss was causing Sasuke too much stress so he looked for anything to distract him.

Laying his eyes on Sakura he saw that her blanket fell off in her sleep.  Sighing to himself, he got up from his position and fixed the blanket.  Tucking Sakura back in like he did when they were home, Sasuke gazed at her sleeping face.  Seeing how peaceful she was made his chest swell up.  Why would he be nervous about kissing her?  He knew how she felt and she knew his feelings as well.  It shouldn’t be hard.  Maybe since she was asleep he could quickly get it over with and not have to worry about it anymore.  Leaning down, Sasuke was just inches away from her lips.  Feeling his breath on her face, Sakura stirred in her sleep causing the Uchiha to jump back in fear of waking her.  Feeling the warmth on his face Sasuke knew this would be too much and decided to abort his mission.  

Looking down at Sakura again, he sighed.  Taking a safer route, Sasuke leaned down to place a soft kiss on the purple diamond that was on her forehead.  Sasuke always thought it was strange that she felt self conscious about the size when they were younger.  After he removed his lips, Sakura let out a soft sigh of pleasure and rolled over.  Feeling better about the thought of kissing Sakura, Sasuke returned to his spot by the tree and fell asleep.

*********************************************************************

They both suddenly awoke to the sound of thunder.  Jumping up from their sleeping positions, they realized it was just a passing storm.  Thankfully the forest was thick enough with trees that they weren’t too wet.  Deciding that it was early enough to start traveling again, they cleaned up, put on their cloaks and headed out.

The rain continued on all day.  Early afternoon they came upon another small village to take refuge in.  They were welcomed in like the last village.  Sakura went to heal the sick and Sasuke went around house to house offering to fix leaking roofs.  When Sasuke finished his work, he eventually found Sakura surrounded by dozens of sick children, thankfully it was a just cold that was going around, but a few were sick with the flu.  Sasuke peeked into where she was working to see if she was ready to leave.  He could see how exhausted she was by the bags under her eyes, but this was typical Sakura going above and beyond before considering her own health.  

Once she finished healing the last child, they bid their goodbyes.  Even though the village offered them a place to stay, they refused.  Sasuke would rather rough it in this kind of weather than stay in a stranger’s house.  He knew that since he and Sakura weren’t married most people would give them two rooms to stay in, but Sasuke hated the idea of Sakura being out of his sight in a strange place.  

They were about a mile out of the village when the weather took a turn for the worst.  The rain started to pelt the young ninjas as they were flying through the trees.  It became so difficult to see that they were forced to walk on the ground.  After about an hour of walking Sasuke noticed that Sakura was lagging behind.  As he was turning around to address her, he saw her start to waver in her stride, and in an instant Sasuke was at her side catching her before she fell.  He was about to ask what was wrong, but he could see that Sakura was completely flushed and there was an extreme warmth coming off of her, Sakura was sick.  Feeling panic starting to rise, Sasuke grabbed her up and let his eye bleed red to find the nearest cave.  Finding one, he dashed off to get Sakura out of the rain.

Reaching the cave, Sasuke was thankful that it was out of the way enough to be dry in the back.  Setting Sakura down against the wall, Sasuke got to work making their camp.  Their sleeping mats thankfully stayed dry in their packs, so he laid one out and placed Sakura on it.  Carefully removing her soaking cloak, he found that her clothes were wet as well.  He made a mental note to pick up a cloak like his in the next village.  Next he started a small fire to warm up the small cave.

Feeling the warmth, Sasuke felt better about the situation.  Looking back at Sakura, he knew she couldn’t stay in the wet clothes.  Deciding it was no time to be childish, he dug into Sakura’s pack and pulled out a pair of extra pants she brought, but he couldn’t find her shirt.  Without thinking he went into his own pack and took out his shirt.  Seeing that it was so much larger, Sasuke put it on Sakura before removing her own shirt.  He couldn’t even imagine how much trouble he would be in if Sakura woke up to him taking off her shirt, so he took all necessary precautions.  He took of her skirt, but left her black shorts on and slipped on her pants over.  

Thankful that the worst was over, Sasuke changed himself.  Realizing he didn’t have an extra shirt, he walked around shirtless thinking Sakura would be asleep for a while.  Next he laid out their wet clothes by the fire to dry.  Thinking back to the small amount of medical knowledge he did have, Sasuke walked back over to Sakura to see how warm she was.  Placing  a hand on her forehead, she burned to the touch.  He vaguely remembered Sakura telling him about aspirin to reduce a fever.  Going into her pack again, he got out the right pills and some water.  Sitting Sakura up he gave her the medicine and helped her drink the water.  He placed a blanket on top of her that he received from a woman in the village to thank him for the work he had done on her house, now thankful for the gift.  

When he placed her back, Sakura woke up.  Looking around she had no idea where she was.  Feeling Sasuke’s chakra around her she didn’t worry.  She realized that she had a fever and ached all over.  Great, one of those kids probably gave her the flu that they had.  She attempted to heal herself, but found that she had no energy to do so.  With the attempt she felt her mind fog up, “Great, now the fever is making me dizzy.”

Looking over to find Sasuke, Sakura had to do a double take.  Her eyes met a shirtless Sasuke working over the fire cooking.  Being so close to the fire caused a thin layer of sweat start to develop on his pale skin.  It was pleasurable sight for Sakura to take in.  Seeing him like this make Sakura let out a small moan.  Hearing her stir, Sasuke looked up from his work to see dull green eyes looking at him.  Hearing the moan, Sasuke thought it was out of pain and made his way over to her.

When he was hovering over her, Sakura noticed the worry in his eyes.  Sakura was so pleased to see that he cared that she let out a small giggle.  When she saw his confused look on his face from hearing her giggle, she laughed even more.  

“Aw Sasuke-kun are you worried about me?  You look so cute like this!” Sakura said with a dopey smile.  In the months that they had been together, Sakura only spoke to Sasuke like this a few times when she was extremely happy, so he was thrown off a bit.  It was her fever that made her like his.  Not sure of what to say, Sasuke just went to get the soup he made and attempted to feed it to Sakura.

With only having one arm, Sasuke was forced to sit Sakura against the wall while he tried to feed her.  He had some difficulty because at this point Sakura had no energy left.  Once she was fed, Sasuke laid her back down on the mat.  Sasuke never realized how hard it was taking care of someone who was sick, he would have to thank Sakura for all she does when she’s better.  Feeling her forehead she still had a fever, but she wasn’t as hot as before which made Sasuke feel better.  

When he removed his hand, Sakura started shivering.  She had bunched the blanket all around her, but she was still cold.  

“Sasuke-kun I’m so cold,” was all she said.  Hearing these words, Sasuke’s body moved on its own.  He laid down his own mat next to Sakura’s and rolled her over so that she would face the fire.  He himself laid down behind Sakura and got under the blanket with her.  He remembered body heat was the best way to warm someone up.  Even in her fever state, Sakura knew what was happening and stilled in her shivering.  Sasuke inched closer to her and wrapped his lone arm around her.  Feeling his warmth instantly made her feel better.  For a while they laid just like that.

Finally warm enough Sakura rolled over to face Sasuke.  Her hands instantly went to his chest and that’s when she remembered that he was shirtless.  Not knowing if it was the fever or her blushing, Sakura’s face went red.  

“Sakura, and you feeling alright?  You’re all red again,” Sasuke asked as he moved his hand to her cheek.  This made her flush even more.  Realizing what was making her blush like that, Sasuke put his arm back around her waist.

“Why are you shirtless?  Not that I mind or anything, just curious,” Sakura blurted out.  The fever made her delirious enough to forget that she didn’t talk this way to Sasuke.  

“I- I gave you my shirt because I couldn’t find yours,” he stammered out.  He had no idea how Sakura would react with knowing that he changed her clothes, but in her fever state she didn’t seem to mind.  They were silent for a while.

“Hmm Sasuke-kun isn’t this nice?  I wish we would cuddle more,” she continued on while she buried her face into his chest.  Not sure of what to do or say, Sasuke just rested his head on top of Sakura’s head.  Her hair was finally dry and it smelled like the rain.  If this is what cuddling was like then he had been missing out.  Pulling Sakura a little closer, Sasuke closed his eyes was he started to drifted off to sleep.  He never thought that it would feel this good to hold someone in his arms.  He truly felt at peace.  

Lifting his head to look at Sakura, he saw that her hair was in her eyes.  Slowly he raised his hand to brush the hair behind her ear.  There was still a slight blush on her cheeks.  Sasuke loved the way she looked when she was like this.  It always made him think back to when they were genin before all their troubles started.  It reminded him of how some things never change, like how he could always make Sakura blush.  He moved his only hand gently on her face and brushed his thumb across the blush on her face.  He couldn’t help but smile while they were like this.  This was the most intimate they had ever been and he was so surprised at how easy it was with Sakura.  

Feeling his gaze on her, Sakura looked up to see Sasuke smiling.  She felt her breath hitch in her throat from seeing Sasuke smile so sweetly at her.  Even though it was just an upturn of the corner of his mouth, it was enough to get Sakura’s heart racing.  She couldn’t believe that this was the same Sasuke from her past, but the man before her was new and she loved him all the same.  She wasn’t sure if it was the fever or Sasuke that made her feel dizzy.  All she could do was smile up at the man who was looking at her in such a loving way.  

“You know you look cute when you blush like that,” Sakura heard Sasuke say.  Now she must be dreaming.  Sasuke would never call her cute.  She wasn’t even sure if he could say the word!.  Blinking a few times, Sakura looked at Sasuke again making sure he actually said those words.  All she saw was a smirk on his lips, but he still had all the affection in his eyes.  Seeing that Sasuke really had said those words, Sakura blushed so much that she closed her eyes and just buried herself into him.  

Sasuke chuckled to himself.  Knowing that Sakura would never expect him to say that,  he had to take the chance to see how she would react.  He figured that with her fever she would either forget what he said, or she would think it was all a dream.  Feeling stratified, Sasuke fell asleep to the sound of rain outside with the woman he loved in his arms.

*********************************************************************

The next morning Sakura woke up feeling very warm.  Before opening her eyes she did a once over to check her vitals.  She was still a little sick, but she had enough chakra now to heal herself back to her old self.  Within a matter of minutes she healed herself completely.  Slowly opening her eyes she was met with a shirtless Sasuke again, but this time she was read for it.  Smiling to herself she couldn’t believe that they fell asleep like this.  They hadn’t slept next to each other since the night that Sasuke asked her to come with him on this mission.  She expected him to have gotten up in the middle of the night and slept somewhere else, but she was happy to find herself in his hold.

Realizing that they had been sleeping so close all night long, Sakura was worried that Sasuke might have caught was she had, so she gently placed her hands on his chest and sent her chakra into his system, but didn’t detect anything to her relief.  Feeling Sakura’s chakra in his system, Sasuke woke up.  Feeling her charka always relaxed him so he didn’t wake up in a panic.  Looking down at her, his dark eyes were met with her green eyes, thankfully the shine was back in them showing him that her fever was gone.  

They didn’t say anything for a while, they just looked at each other.  Wordlessly they got up and cleaned up the cave to get ready for the day of travel.  As Sakura was picking up their now dried clothes, she was about to toss Sasuke his shirt, but he was already wearing one.  She actually remembered asking him why he was shirtless last night and he told her that she was wearing his spare.  

She gave him a look and asked, “I thought you didn’t have an extra shirt, hm?” All she got for an answer was a shrug.  

They finally had everything in order and were ready to leave the cave.  They were standing at the mouth of the cave when Sakura stopped him.  She gently placed her hand on his arm waiting for him to look at her.  When he did she stepped up to place a light kiss on his cheek.  Seeing the look of surprise on his face, Sakura had to giggle.

“Thank you for taking care of me Sasuke-kun.  It was very sweet of you,” she said with a light blush on her cheeks, his favorite look.  Without knowing what came over him, Sasuke stepped closer to Sakura and wrapped his arm around her waist and bent down to place a soft kiss on her lips.  

Not expecting this Sakura gasped when she felt his lips on her own.  Realizing what was happening, Sakura relaxed and put her arms around Sasuke’s neck, kissing him back.  It wasn’t the most perfect kiss in the world, but the two had no idea what they were doing, but they wouldn’t have had it any other way.  When the kiss finished they just held each other, with soft smiles on their faces.  They both internally knew that they were taking the next step in their relationship, and they were ready for it.  They walked out of the cave arm in arm, looking forward to what the future had in store for them.  Sasuke knew one thing moving forward, he would never sleep again without holding Sakura.

The End

[batfam-imagines]

Some Girl, Special Girl:

Some Girl Special Girl - Part 2

———————————————————————————–

“I can’t go on patrol tonight, I have plans”

Tim rolled his eyes and turned to glare at Dick, “What plans? This is the third night this week that you’ve ‘had plans’ and couldn’t go on patrol”

Damian walked over from the sparing mat with Jason, “We have had to take over your patrol since you are unable to do it, and yet you still won’t tell us why you are so busy?”

“Yeah, Dick. This has been going on for over four months, and we still haven’t gotten a straight answer out of you” Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, unwilling to let him get out of this again.

“I’m sorry guys, I don’t mean to inconvenience you, but I don’t think …”

“No, you don’t think, Grayson! You cannot continue to avoid your responsibilities, it is thoughtless. I demand that you tell us what your plans are” Damian growls, fed up with his older brother’s excuses.

“I have plans with my girlfriend, she doesn’t know that I’m Nightwing. We’ve been dating for a year and got in a huge fight a few months back when I told her that I couldn’t stay the night, again. She thought I was cheating on her because I wouldn’t stay the night and when there was an emergency I would leave”

Jason looks at Dick incredulously, “You haven’t been going on patrol because of some girl?”

“You’ve been avoiding hanging out with us because you’ve been more concerned with getting laid?” Tim snapped

“I haven’t meant to avoid you guys! I promise! I can bring her here to meet you guys, and then we can all hang out together!” Dick held out his hands, trying to pacify his furious brothers, “I’ve been meaning to bring her to meet you anyway! This way we can all win!”

Damian’s lip curled in disgust and turned away from Dick, “I am quite tired of this conversation, I am going out on patrol”

Dick watched as his younger brothers all walked away. He hoped that when they met Y/N they would all accept her. He doesn’t know what he would do if the people he cared about most hated each other.

–

“Are you sure I look alright?”

Dick grinned at you, “You look beautiful, sweetheart. Don’t worry so much about how you look.” You nod, smoothing out your shirt and brushing invisible dust from your pants, “Just remember that my family can be a little … strange. So be prepared”

You chuckle, “Well, my family isn’t exactly normal either, so I think I’ll be alright “

Dick pulled you close and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Mine might be a bit worse, so just be prepared”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

You and Dick get into his car and head to Wayne Manor. You’re nervous and excited to meet Dick’s family, you really want them to like you.

–

Pulling up to Wayne Manor you look around in awe. It’s beautiful here.

“Come on Y/N, I’ll give you the tour some other time, right now I really want to introduce you to everyone.” Dick runs a hand through his hair, “Listen, I really want to warn you about my family …”

You smile, “I already told you, Dickie, your family won’t scare me”

“Master Dick, there is no need to lurk, please come inside and introduce us to the Young Miss”

Walking up the stairs you reach out and shake Alfred’s hand, “Hello, my name is Y/N. I hear the you are the one who I should thank for keeping Dick alive all these years.”

Alfred cracked a smile, “I suppose that I am to blame for their continued survival, though they try their best to undermine me”

“Hey! I resent that!” Dick shouted, slowly making his way up the steps, “I have been cooking and taking care of myself for years now!”

You roll your eyes and look back at Dick, “Cereal doesn’t count as cooking and I know for a fact that Alfred comes over to wash and irons your cloths”

He flushes pink, “Fine! You caught me! Alfred comes over and helps out around the apartment, happy now?”

You lean over and kiss his cheek, “immensely. Now, is it time to meet everyone else?”

“Ah yes, Master Bruce is in the study with your brothers, Master Dick. This way”

Alfred leads you inside and down several hallways, he stops in front of a large oak door. “Thanks, Alfie, but I think I can take it from here”

“Very well, Master Dick. I will be in the kitchen if any of you need me” He turns to you. You can see the amused twinkle in his eyes, “If you need anything Miss Y/N, I will be just down the hall”

You smile and wave as Alfred turn and walks away. Dick looks at you one last time, “Last chance to back out, baby, once I open this door you can’t run away”

Rolling your eyes you put your hands on your hips, “If I didn’t know any better, Richard, I would think that you don’t want me to meet your family”

“I just don’t want them to scare you away”

You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “No one could scare me away from you”

Dick let out a resigned sigh and opened the door. Just inside the door a large man in a suit is standing there waiting for you and Dick.

He steps forward and extends his right hand, “Hello, I’m Bruce, Dick’s adopted father, and you must be Y/N”

You let out a nervous laugh and shake his hand, “Yup! That’s me! It’s really nice to meet you Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce hummed and released your hand, “These are my other three sons, Jason, Tim, and Damian” None of the boys even bother to look over and your smile falters, “Boys!”

The oldest, the one you assume is Jason, grumbles as he heaves himself up off the couch. “Hey, I’m Jason”

“I’m Tim, it’s … nice … to finally meet the person who takes up all of Dick’s time”

You glance over at Dicks youngest brother only to find him glaring at you. “I do not understand why we must go through these pleasantries, it is obvious that we do not want you here”

“Damian!” Dick shouts

You give Damian a strained smile, “I’m sorry if you don’t want me here, but I am really looking forward to getting to know you all, Dick talks about you a lot”

Tim snorts, “He’s never around to talk about you”

You take a shuddering breath, and open your mouth to respond but before you can Alfred steps into the room.

“Dinner is served, please follow me Miss Y/N”

You don’t notice the glare that Alfred levels at everyone, or Dick’s snarled words behind you, they only thing you can focus on is trying to control your breathing. Anxiety is racketing up despite the pill you had taken before getting to Wayne Manor.

“I think it would be best if I left, Alfred” you whisper

“Nonsense, my dear. The young men of this house tend to overreact, and besides, I would hate for you to leave the Manor hungry”

“Alright, I’ll stay”

Alfred leads you over to a chair and pulls out the seat for you. “I will serve dinner shortly, as soon as the young Masters arrive at the table”

You give Alfred a shaky smile and quietly wait for everyone to come into the dining room. You don’t really know how much longer you can be verbally attacked by Dick’s family, your anxiety is already making it difficult to just stay here.

–

Dinner is, thankfully, a quiet affair, at least at first. You try to extend an olive branch, “So, Jason, what is it you do for a living?”

Jason sneers at you, “None of your damn business” and then he went back to eating.

“Um, alright. What about you Tim? Dick told me that you’re one of the youngest CEO’s in history.”

Tim let out a sigh and set his fork down, “This isn’t working.”

“Tim …” Dick growls

“No, Dick. I think she should leave, it’s obvious that none of us want her here, so I think she should leave”

You throw your napkin down, “Fine, if my presence here is so grating on everyone then I’ll leave.” You shove away from the table. “I think you should stay here for a while, Dick. It’s obvious that your family misses you.”

“Yes, you do that. Here, I will even show you the door” Damian snapped

“Y/N!! Wait for me, I’ll go with you!”

“No, Dick, you won’t!” Tim shouted, “This is the reason we are having this problem! She is the reason you are never here! It’s her fault you haven’t been able to do your job, you’ve abandoned the Mission! The rest of us had had to pick up your slack!”

Tears fill your eyes and your hand clench into trembling fists, “Then I’ll leave. You won’t ever have to worry about me again”

–

Dick watched Y/N leave, still in shock and unable to stop her from driving away.

“tt, it’s about time the wench left, her chatter was growing tedious” Damian sniffed.

Dick whipped around, “How dare you …” He looked around the table, making eye contact with everyone, “I brought her here to introduce my family to the woman that I love. She was nothing but kind, and all of you were cruel to her. I love Y/N, and I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience for you, but I’m not going to give her up!”

“We didn’t mean to scare her away, Dick. We are just concerned that all of your time has been taken up by Y/N.” Bruce said, standing up. “We understand that you are … infatuated … with her, but you have a duty to this city, Dick. You cannot let some girl get in the way of that duty”

Dick let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair, “Some girl? You think she’s just some girl?! I love her and you might have just driven her away from me forever!!!”

Everyone is jerked out of their glaring match by the phone ringing. Alfred is the one who answers, “Wayne Manor … Who is speaking? … Yes, Richard is here … Of course … We will be there shortly … Thank you commissioner” Alfred hangs up the phone and walking into the dining room. “Miss Y/N was in an accident. A drunk driver hit her while she was on her way home. She is waiting for surgery right now; they aren’t sure if she is going to make it. Master Dick, you are listed as her medical proxy, the hospital is requesting your presence.”

Dick jerks up, “I don’t have a car …”

“I will drive you, Master Dick. Quickly, get your coat while I get the car” Dick sprints out of the room, hearing for the foyer. Alfred turns back to the four men still standing in the room, “If she dies, it will be your faults”

“It wouldn’t be our fault, it would be the drunk drivers fault” Jason snaps

“She would not have been on the road at the time of the accident if you had not driven her away. You are lucky that she told Master Dick to stay here, or he would have been in that accident as well” Alfred shakes his head, “I do not know if Master Dick will be able to forgive any of you if she dies. He loves her dearly, even this old man could see that. Would you truly deny him happiness? After everything he has been through?”

–

You know that it isn’t a good idea to drive in your condition. Your anxiety is through the roof, your hands won’t stop trembling, and your vison is blurry from your tears. But you need to get away, you need to get back home, where you won’t be attacked anymore.

“Knew I should have brought my extra meds, but no! I thought they would be nice, thought they would like me! ‘m stupid, stupid” You glance down into your purse and grab your phone. You quickly speed dial one person you know will make you laugh.

“Hey, monster! It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you!”

“Hey, Mom”

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Have you taken your meds?”

“I-I can’t right now, I’m on my way back to the apartment now. I just need someone to distract me”

Your mom sighs over the phone, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about your day”

Mom dives right into a funny story about the idiot she encountered at work that day. It’s enough to get your mind off of Dick and his family, and it even makes you crack a smile.

“How ya feelin’, kid?”

“Better now, thanks. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’m gonna have to visit sometime …” squealing tires and crunching metal interrupt your sentence. Airbags deploy and the car is rolling, you hear a crack, and suddenly it’s hard to breath.

“Y/N!!!”

“Mom …” you wheeze.

You’re upside down in the car, weakly reaching over to unbuckle the seatbelt. You land hard on the roof of the car, right into glass shards.  Glancing around quickly you notice that your phone is within reach, and that it seems to be in fairly good condition. The phone must have disconnected when the car crashed, you reach over and slowly dial 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Car accient, send an amblunace … please … hurry …”

“Ma’am, ma’am, can you tell me your name? Ma’am! Hold on ma’am I have you location and an ambulance is on it’s way. Can you tell me your name, ma’am?”

“Y/ … N”

“Alright, Miss Y/N, I need you to keep talking to me”

“C—can’t”

The phone slips out of your hand, you’re so tired. Everything hurts and you just want to sleep. For once the anxiety isn’t consuming you, and the pain from earlier this evening is nothing compared to this. It would be nice to just go to sleep, so that’s exactly what you do. You miss the ambulance arriving, and the frantic call from the commissioner to Alfred.

–

The first thing that you are aware of is the pain that seems to be radiating from the left side of your body. You let out a soft groan and try to open your eyes.

“Y/N?!”

Finally opening your eyes you come face to face with your mother and Dick. “Hey guys” you rasp, “what’d I miss?”

–

I turns out that you had needed three blood transfusions, to have a metal rod put in your left leg, your ribs wired shit, and your shoulder reset. That didn’t include the glass shards that had to be taken out or the concussion.

“Damn, that was one hell of an accident. What even happened?”

Dick sits forward, he had refused to let go of your hand even after you woke up, “A drunk driver ran through a red light. He hit you full on, going 60 miles an hour. We’re lucky you aren’t dead!”

“It’ll take a bit more than a drunk driver to get rid of me, Dickie.”

Dick leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips, “I thought I lost you. You scared the shit out of me, sweetheart, don’t ever do something like that again.”

You chuckle, and immediately grimace when that moved your ribs, “I’ll do my best to avoid drunk drivers.”

“You better!” Your mom snaps, “My heart can’t take another phone call like that! You could have given me a heart attack!”

“I know. Now, mom, you need to head home. Let everyone know I’m alright, and tell them that they can visit me tomorrow.”

“I can stay here tonight”

“Mom, I would like Dick to stay with me. You need to get a good night’s sleep, or you’ll be grumpy tomorrow”

She nodded quietly and leaned over, giving you a kiss on the forehead and, bidding you both goodbye, she left.

Dick turns back to you, “Listen, Y/N, I need to apologize …”

“Don’t even think about it, Dickie. You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s not your fault that your family can be assholes. I still love you, babe”

Dick let out a relieved sigh, “I love you too, sweetheart, I love you too”

You scooch over on the bed, “Now come up here and cuddle with me!”

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t, now get your hot ass up here!”

“You’re something else, Y/N”

You let out a tired giggle, “Something special”

“Yeah, my special girl” Dick whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and holding you until you both fell asleep, safe in each other’s arms.

———————————————————————————–

Let me know what you think! Send any ideas or requests you have to my Ask Box!

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

~(I’m terrible with titles halp)~ [Pre-Road Trip Fic; 9700 Words]

[ISEB Author’s Note: Well, it’s finally here—the long awaited, highly NSFW fic I’ve been promising my followers for weeks. And it’s long. Like, stupidly long. I compiled all three parts into one for your viewing pleasure; I didn’t mean for the word count to escalate out of control the way it did, but that’s the way the literary ball bounces. In hindsight, I could’ve probably done away with the first two parts, but I suppose every good payoff requires a thoughtful setup. Feel free to skip to the end if you’re just here for the juicy parts!

My apologies to my LGBTQ+ followers—this probably isn’t the fic you were hoping for, but I did try to leave the backdoor (heh) open for future speculation of the strategist’s arguably ambiguous sexuality. For now, I plan on refocusing my attention on the few Asks I still have sitting in my inbox, but I might need to abscond from Tumblr for a little while to catch up on some other projects I’ve put on the back burner. Thank you so much for your endless patience; I hope it was worth the wait!] [ISEB Author’s Note #2: Reminder if you didn’t read the excerpt I posted earlier —> the color blue = blue joke = dirty joke. Happy reading!]

Ridiculously NSFW

“I could go for an Ebony about now.”

Her temper flares and she sees red as she stumbles forward and down onto the crash mat. He had leveraged her own momentum against her to his advantage, parrying her lance deftly using—of all things—a paltry set of daggers.

But even through the unbridled rage that is currently clouding her sight, the redhead notices something… odd. In the two months since she had been promoted to the Citadel’s interior security detail, he had scarcely said a single word to her other than the usual introductions and academic formalities; her associates had warned her about the spectacled man’s habitual aloofness, so to hear him say anything beyond the customary Good morning—much less crack a wry quip at her expense—gives her pause.

She picks herself up off the floor and brushes a lock of auburn hair aside to hide her scowl. “It’s rather unfair for one of us to be switching weapons mid-strike, wouldn’t you say?”

He cycles through the arsenal of armaments he has at his disposal without glancing up. “If you are not content with what the lance has to offer, I’m sure Gladio would be happy to introduce you to the finer points of the broadsword.”

She doesn’t have his ability to summon weapons out of thin air; that privilege is reserved solely for the Kingsglaive, as well as the three individuals appointed as royal Crownsguard to the prince. Witnessing the crystal’s magic in the flesh never quite ceases to amaze her, but attempting to defend against its awesome power has admittedly been trying at times—like now, for instance.

She wrinkles her nose as she hefts her own weapon. “No thank you.”

“Too challenging? I’ll concede that broadswords can be rather unwieldy, but they have their advantages.”

“Hardly,” she scoffs. “Gladiolus would be a much better sparring partner if he could train himself to keep his gaze above my neckline.”

He settles back on the lance and tightens his grip around the handle. “All the more reason to approach him. If you know what his weakness is, you’d be remiss not to exploit it.”

She narrows her eyes as she readies herself against his next assault. “And what, might I ask, is your weakness?”

“I’ll throw you a bone,” he says, tapping the rim of his glasses with a gloved hand. “I can’t see worth a damn.”

She knows not to underestimate him; they don’t call Ignis Scientia The Strategist without good cause. He is deadly in the field of polearms—and daggers, and magic enhancement, and whatever bloody else he keeps up his leopard-print sleeve—even if he does have to rely on a pair of spectacles to correct his dubious vision. It’s the whole reason she sought out his guidance in the first place; she’d been recruited from the lower echelons of palace security thanks to the promise she showed with a spear, and if the rumors swirling around the fitness center’s locker rooms were to be believed, the man could skewer a Dualhorn and a Thunderoc in the same stroke without even breaking a sweat.

“Duly noted,” she replies, and meets his oncoming lunge with a fierce riposte of her own.

She ought not to have even bothered rising from the mat, because she’s back on the floor again in half a heartbeat, and he’s standing above her adjusting his lenses with an infuriatingly blank expression glued to his features. “None the worse for wear,” he chides. “Shall we start again from the top?”

“What for?” she growls, and brushes aside the hand he has extended out to her. “It seems rather pointless to continue when I can’t even succeed at getting my blade past the tip of your nose.”

“Your mistake is treating a pike like it’s a sword. It’s designed to be a piercing weapon, not a slashing device—few people master the art of the lance without first learning how to properly thrust from the shaft.”

She rises to her feet and barks out a frustrated laugh. “If I thought you had an actual sense of humor, I would’ve taken offense to that.”

He dismisses his weapon and turns on his heel. “And if I thought you were capable of recognizing the color blue when you saw it, I would’ve been more subtle.”

His pointed barb leaves her speechless, and she stands frozen with her mouth agape for several moments as she watches him stride toward the edge of the sparring mat. “I suppose you’re the expert on handling shafts,” she finally manages to choke out.

It’s hardly a clever retort; referencing other, more… salacious palace rumors surrounding the strategist in a foolish attempt at getting under his skin is a disservice to her shrewd intellect. But gossip was often rooted in a seed of truth—the man was scarcely seen outside the company of his fellow Crownsguard—and she isn’t quite sure how she stumbled into this infuriating battle of wits to begin with.

Her insinuation has no discernible effect. “Mum’s the word,” he says, as he treads off toward the locker rooms. “Same time tomorrow?”

As she breaths heavily under the weight of her failed efforts, she ponders whether anyone else within the Citadel’s walls had borne witness to his tongue that was even sharper than his daggers.

She comes prepared the next morning; she’s handled a shaft before—forged or otherwise—and she knows now where his vulnerability lies. She thinks she may have been a little overzealous in her frontal assault, so she spent all last night reading up on defensive strategies; her twilight studies in the Citadel’s library have left her more lethargic that she cares to admit, but it’s nothing a stiff cup of Ebony won’t help to rectify before the regularly scheduled slaughter begins in earnest.

But she doesn’t get the chance to indulge in her preferred beverage of choice, because he’s already waiting for her on the sparring mat when she arrives with her lance tucked under one arm. The clink-clink sound of weapons being conjured and reconjured echoes throughout the fitness center’s vaulted ceilings, until he makes his selection—a magic flask, curiously enough—and turns to face her without so much as a proper military salute.

A more undiscerning person might have assumed the Crownsguard also had the ability to warp-strike like the prince, because he crosses the distance between them in less time than it takes for her to blink. But she knows her eyes are not playing tricks on her—she has seen the definition of his tightly-coiled hamstrings rippling beneath his trousers—and raises her lance in an attempt to thwart his lighting-quick charge.

She blames her slow reflexes on the lack of caffeine in her system when she’s half a heartbeat too late; he’s already two steps behind her, the flask in his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. The burning sensation of raw firepower captured in a bottle instantly sends her careening to the crash mat; her weapon escapes her fingertips and clatters to the ground, and she recoils angrily like a caged Sabertusk as she springs to her feet.

“A polearm is rather sluggish against lightweight consumables,” he comments, “but it was an admirable effort nonetheless.”

She smothers the last of the flames that lick at the hem of her tunic and takes a deep breath to quell her rising pulse. “You’re too generous.”

“On the contrary. Don’t think I didn’t notice your true intentions.”

She hesitates as she moves for her wayward weapon; indeed, her parry had a secondary, more nuanced effect. Because when she went to guard against his superior speed—despite being thrown humiliatingly to the floor—she had been able to roughly gauge the distance between the business end of her lance and the circumference of his reach.

He’s certainly earned the nickname, she thinks, and resumes a defensive posture. “I suppose the error was mine to presume I could pull the wool over your eyes.”

“You won’t need Garula fibers to blind me if you can pry these spectacles off my nose.” He switches weaponry once again, and is now wielding a dagger in each hand. “From the top.”

He’s as fast as his last advance—perhaps faster, if it were even possible—and she has but a nanosecond to groan internally at her own folly before her knees are buckling under his strategically placed backswing. It’s only a small measure of mercy that she managed to maintain a hold of her weapon this time around, and she reestablishes her grip over the shaft as she staggers to her feet.

But the rough estimate she had tabulated earlier is more precise now, and she’s feeling a little more confident in her chances of landing a strike. “Again,” she pants.

Two more times he fells her within moments—once with a halbert, the other with a flask of lightning—and two more times her calculations grow closer to exactness. On his third pass, he opts for a lance identical to hers. “All else being equal,” he quips.

He’s on her again in an instant, but she resists the urge to deflect his blow and instead falls back a step to allow his forward motion to carry him past her. Only then does she tilt her staff to the side nearest his right temple; he jerks his head around without disturbing his momentum and brings his own lance to bear. “Too slow—”

But she isn’t aiming for his forehead like he predicted; she was merely hoping to graze a few tawny hairs above his ear, and his sudden neck twitch positions the hinge of his glasses right up against the tip of her blade. She kicks at the base of her weapon with a booted toe and—using her dominant hand as a fulcrum—catapults his spectacles clean off his face.

Weakness, she grudgingly surmises as her jaw hits the mat with an audible thud, is entirely subjective; even with his sight impaired, he had managed to correct his maneuver and appropriate it into a reverse thrust that had landed squarely between her shoulder blades. This time, she resigns herself to wallowing in pain on the floor for several seconds, until the view of his shoelaces materializes in her burry vision.

“That’s it,” he says, and drops to the ground beside her.

“What’s it?” she mutters sarcastically. “Have you come up with a new recipe?”

It’s only when she pushes herself to her knees and glances over at him that she realizes she has never seen his face without his glasses before. “No,” he chuckles. “Targeting my spectacles—that displayed an impressive amount of ingenuity.”

His cheekbones are more chiseled than she was expecting; she supposes there’s something about wearing the equivalent of two magnifying lenses over one’s eyes that rounds the features a bit. “You knew I was going to try something,” she counters. “Why would you even let me get within twenty feet of you if you had ranged weapons at your disposal?”

“Does the probability of oncoming traffic ever stop anyone from jaywalking?” He helps her to her feet and dismisses his lance. “I took a careless risk. It clearly didn’t pay off quite the way I would’ve liked.”

“Perhaps you and I have contradictory definitions of the word ‘clearly’. I was the one eating the mat stuffing, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I told you, I can’t see worth a damn. Had you been a Voretooth, I very likely would’ve been formally introducing myself to the Draconian by now.”

More sentences strung together in one sitting; more silly quips being dished out in jest. If the redhead wasn’t careful, she might begin to erroneously presume the man had a personality.

“I loath to steal your catchphrase,” she says, as she stretches out the knots he left behind in her shoulders, “but I really could go for an Ebony about now. I missed the window of opportunity to pour myself a cup before you unleashed your scholarly wrath on me.”

“I’m happy to see at least one other person within the entire constituency of Insomnia has an appreciation for the perfect coffee bean.” He retrieves his spectacles from their final resting place and returns them to the bridge of his nose. “Although you’ll have to walk all the way over to the cafeteria, since the fitness center’s lounge only has offerings of watered-down Coeurl excrement.”

She recalls to mind his bare face unencumbered by corrective lenses, wondering what it might look like in a more relaxed setting and not clenched in concentration under his efforts at knocking her senseless. “Care to join me?”

He hesitates as he moves to exit the sparring mat, and for a brief moment appears to ruminate over her offer. “Another time, perhaps,” he says finally. “I still have more fish to fry, and my recipes won’t write themselves.”

TWO-HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE THUNDEROCS HIDE IN RAVATOGH’S DUNES SHELTERED TOWARD RESPECTIVE ELECTRICAL ENTITIES TILL MIDNIGHT

It requires an embarrassing amount of mental gymnastics on her part to decipher the puzzle he leaves on her Citadel-issued cellular later that morning; she somehow knows it’s from him, although how he even acquired her number in the first place was another mystery entirely. When she does finally crack the riddle, however, she fully expects the evening to take a turn toward the peculiar.

Which is ultimately how she finds herself standing outside the address encoded in the message, at the precise time indicated: 221 T.H.I.R.D.S.T.R.E.E.T.—MIDNIGHT. She is hesitant to play along with this silly game of his, but something about the extensive precautions he took to encrypt his message warrants further investigation. She takes a deep breath, smooths down her skirt—Why did I choose a skirt? she wonders—and rings the doorbell to an unassuming apartment located two miles from the Citadel’s walls.

The strategist doesn’t even offer a formal greeting before he is whisking her inside and locking the door behind her. “My apologies,” he says in a low voice. “There’s only a brief window of time before the change of guard is finalized.”

Peculiar, she decides, is a massive understatement; utterly and baffling are the correct adjectives she was looking for. “Change of guard? What in Astrals are you talking about?”

“There are two guard stations situated near the parking lot,” he explains. “They switch off every four hours. It takes them about ten minutes to complete the protocol until they’re back on their respective watches.”

He might as well be speaking in divine tongues, for all she can understand him. “Why are there guards stationed outside your apartment?”

“Because of the crown prince, of course. He lives three doors down.”

Her hand goes to her mouth, and her thoughts suddenly veer toward her career; specifically, she envisions it torpedoing into oblivion if she were to be caught prowling the royal residence under highly suspicious circumstances in the dead of night. “He didn’t see me, did he?”

He snorts softly as he moves into the kitchen. “Highly unlikely. It would take the Archaean himself to pry Noct from his bed after he’s shut down for the evening.”

As fast as the wheels are turning in her mind, she is still unable to make heads or tails of what he is telling her. “Is that why you live so far from the Citadel? Because the prince resides all the way out here?”

He nods from behind a kettle warming on the stovetop. “Truth be told, it would be significantly easier on everyone if he would agree to move back into the palace. But, he understandably cherishes his freedom.”

She finally tears her eyes away from him long enough to take a proper gander around the living room; she isn’t quite sure what she had expected, but the austereness of the space seems to add up to what little she knows about the man. “Are you very close to the prince?”

The clinking of ceramics being retrieved from a cabinet echoes off the sparse walls. “I did his laundry for many years, so I suppose as close as two friends can be—short of scrubbing his back in the bathtub, at least.” She then hears him chuckle. “And before you ask, I only did it the one time. He’d had a nasty encounter with a Cockatrice, and was having trouble reaching behind his shoulders before the petrification wore off.”

The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee circulating in the air works wonders to take the edge off the worst of her bewilderment, and she feigns a gasp. “A personal anecdote, coming from the lips of The Strategist himself? I never thought I’d survive your sparring sessions long enough to see the day.”

He returns to the living room with a cup of Ebony in each hand. “Yes. Well. We all have our more… perturbing secrets.”

“Speaking of secrets,” she says carefully, “are you going to tell me why you summoned me all the way here out of the blue like this?”

He then sets one of the mugs down on a small coffee table in the center of the room, claiming the other for himself as he settles in on a sofa. “It was hardly out of the blue—you asked me this morning if I wanted to join you for coffee, and I deferred your invitation in favor of a later date. Consider this as me cashing in on my rain check.”

She peers through the nearest window and out at the pitch black darkness. “At midnight?”

“There was a guard change at eight, but Noct likely would’ve been sitting out on the front porch playing King’s Knight around then.” He sips nonchalantly at his beverage and raises a spectacled eyebrow. “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the other fish bait if they caught wind of me showing even the slightest bit of nepotism to one of my pupils anywhere on palace grounds.”

Come to think of it, she can’t seem to recall ever seeing the strategist in the company of anyone save Prince Noctis and the two other men appointed as his personal retinue; Ignis Scientia regularly advised other members of palace security like herself in the art of warfare, but outside his role as tutor, he could generally be found browsing the morning newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee at a table for one. “Is that what you call your students? Fish bait?”

Another sip; another wayward eyebrow. “I suppose that would be an insult to the food chain.”

The last of her caginess ebbs, and she reaches for the second mug of Ebony as she lowers herself onto the love seat across from him. “How very enlightening. Well then, Ignis—er, may I call you that?”

“Certainly. What else would you call me?”

It had never really occurred to her to view him as anything other than the Citadel’s resident polearm authority, or The Strategist when his drills proved to be particularly grueling. “All right—um—Ignis.” She takes a long sip of her drink and lets the warm liquid pool on her tongue. “While I’m flattered to know you hold me in high enough regard to invite me into your home, I can’t help wondering what was is about me that drew your attention in the first place.”

He studies her for a moment, then adjusts his spectacles as he crosses one knee over the other. “It was your accent. You’re from the north, correct?”

“I am.”

“As am I. Hearing your voice takes me back to my childhood.” He drains the last of his Ebony and sets his empty mug aside. “The king was also reared there, although Noct was born in Crown City, which is why he talks like an uncivilized barbarian.”

She smiles at his quip, but the uncharacteristic openness of his demeanor perplexes her more than a little. “I must admit, it’s a bit unusual to hear you speak so candidly. At the risk of stroking your ego, I’m happy to report that the rumors about you being one-dimensional are quite unfounded.”

A tart expression touches his features. “My pride is positively basking in your adulation.“

“Sorry,” she laughs. “It’s just that your stuffiness inside the Citadel has a tendency to ward off more curious observers.”

“Is that what my pupils say about me? That I’m stuffy?”

“Only when you refer to them as fish bait.”

“All’s fair in the great battle between teacher and student.” He draws himself up off the couch and retrieves his empty mug, then stops beside her and gestures to her own. “Would you like a refill?”

She shakes her head. “Thank you, no. I fear even the one cup will result in keeping me awake for hours.”

His fingers brush against hers when she lifts her mug toward his outstretched hand; the way they linger there a moment longer than would normally be considered polite makes her heart skip an odd beat.

He appears not to have noticed her sudden diffidence. “I’ve found that sleep is highly overrated,” he says, as he moves back into the kitchen. “My friends find it endlessly amusing to chastise me for my Ebony habit, but you’d be astounded at how much free time one is able to accrue without the pesky requirement of regularly scheduled unconsciousness.”

She rises from the love seat as the sound of water splashes in the sink. “What does a man like yourself do with his personal time? Do you have a secret stamp collection I don’t know about, or is your bedroom as empty as your foyer?”

He shuts off the tap and returns to the living room. “Care for a tour of it?”

“Rather forward, aren’t we? You haven’t even given me a proper kiss yet.” She then offers him a wry grin. “Or am I too feminine for your tastes?”

She recognizes the audacity of her joke almost as soon as the words tumble out of her mouth; asinine banter during a sparring session was one thing, but alluding to his rumored personal preferences in the intimacy of his own home—a space she had been invited into in confidence, no less—was a line she had never intended to let herself cross. He closes the distance between them and touches a hand to her elbow, and she averts his gaze in anticipation of his ire.

But Ignis surprises her, because instead of promptly escorting her to the front door like she expects, he brushes his lips across her left cheek. “Not at all,” he says quietly. “My tastes are admittedly rather eclectic.”

It’s neither a confirmation nor a denial; knowing what she knew about Ignis Scientia, the redhead would likely never uncover the honest truth behind his veiled sexuality. But it doesn’t matter now, because the gentle pressure of his fingers tightening around her arm is causing her face to grow inexplicably warm, and she is suddenly viewing the strategist in a whole new light.

She finally forces herself to look up at him; his expression is one of friendliness, his magnified irises slightly softer than before. “Good to know.”

He then drops his hand from her elbow and strides across the living room toward a door on the far side of the apartment. When he holds it open for her, she tentatively follows him and tiptoes inside; it’s only after she’s taken a moment to glance around the tidy space—and is relieved to find herself in neither a stamp collector’s workshop nor a sadomasochist’s flagellation chamber, but a completely ordinary bedroom—that she allows herself to let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“The decor is inarguably drab,” he concedes as he stops beside her. “I don’t have quite the same eye for design as Prompto.”

She points to the singular personal artifact embellishing the otherwise stark walls—a set of gilded daggers crossed at the hilt, and mounted on a wooden plaque. “I’m surprised you don’t keep those locked away in whatever alternate dimension you store your other armaments.”

“A birthday present—Regis gifted them to me when I turned eighteen.” He moves to rub at a speck of dust on one of the blades with his shirt sleeve. “They couldn’t cut so much as a strand of candy floss, but at least they’re pretty to look at.”

Her inquisitiveness overrides any reservations she has about being in such close quarters with her superior, and she strolls past an ornate dresser before pausing at a framed picture perched on the end of it. As she peers down at the four adolescent faces that fill the image, she immediately recognizes the bespectacled youth hovering near the edge of the shot. “Look at your bangs!” she laughs, gesturing to the mop of brown fluff that envelopes his forehead in the photograph.  “What kind of friends would ever allow you to pass through the front gates of the Citadel with that kind of haircut?”

His cheek twitches in mild annoyance. “It’s rude to stare.”

Her lips spread apart into an earnest smile. “You have nothing to worry about. If I may be so bold, you’ve aged quite gracefully into your present form.”

He sniffs irritably, but the twinge of humor that laces his features is unmissable. “Your flattery is noted.”

She then glances back down at the image on the dresser. She knows all their faces; it’s part of her job, understanding who she serves under, and who she is assigned to protect. Gladiolus Amicitia, back before his mane grew wild and his skin was unblemished by either scars or tattoos; Prompto Argentum, a little on the plump side but no less endearing; and, of course, Noctis Lucis Caelem, whom she had seen brooding around the palace grounds on occasion but had never formally met.

She picks up the photograph and presses a finger to the prince’s visage. “I should like to ask for his autograph one day,” she teases. “Perhaps you could put in a good word for me?”

Ignis pushes at his spectacles to mask a grimace. “His head would never fit inside the Regalia again if I did.”

Her eyes narrow at him as she returns the picture to its proper place atop the dresser. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the sentimental type,” she says. “As a matter of fact, before tonight I might not have been persuaded to believe you weren’t actually a robot.”

“I find emotions to be more of a hindrance than an asset. Compartmentalizing things helps to keep a level head.”

“Is that why you’re so aloof around the Citadel?” She returns to his side and pinches gently at his shirt sleeve. “Are you even capable of feelings, or are the rumors about electronic circuitry running under your skin in place of joints true?”

“Of course I’m capable of feelings. I wouldn’t have a photograph of my closest companions displayed at my bedside if I were a heartless magitek soldier.”

The way his eyes harden behind the steely gaze he is leveling at her makes her heart pound, but she doesn’t let go; instead, she swallows her uneasiness and grips his taut bicep more firmly in her grasp. “Then why don’t you ever talk about yourself, Ignis? I’ve studied under you for months now, and I still don’t know a thing about you.”

A pause. “What would you like to know?”

“I suppose inquiring as to why you felt the need to enshroud your message in such secrecy is as good a place as any to start.”

His emerald irises linger on the hand she has clutched around his arm, but he doesn’t pull away. “I have a propensity for keeping the details of my personal life as private and confidential as possible. Surely that’s something you yourself can relate to.”

His observation is not unfounded; whispers surrounding her own proclivity for maintaining a cordial distance from her peers—and persistent male suitors—had circled back to her own ears, and she’d been content to allow them to perpetuate purely out of self-interest. “You and I have differing circumstances,” she says. “My job is not nearly as secure as yours.”

“Perhaps, but the reasons are the same. Maintaining an air of professionalism requires considerable precautions to be taken.”

She purses her lips for a long moment. “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“I was wondering if you’ve ever been married before.”

“Other than to my service to the crown? Not as of yet.”

“But you’ve involved yourself with other parties, correct?” Her mouth twists into a knowing grin. “The palace rumors don’t exactly paint you in a particularly… virtuous light.”

“I’ll have to double down on those pesky palace rumors.” He snorts softly and presses a finger to his spectacles. “There is record of intimate liaisons in my personal history, to be sure. I’m just a man, after all.”

Her fingers are still wrapped around his bicep; her mind urges her hand to release him from her grasp, but her heart has other plans for her wayward extremities, and she runs an open palm up his shoulder. “Did you really invite me to your apartment just to chat over a cup of Ebony?”

Her attempt at subtly is fruitless; he finally yields under her touch and pries her fingers away from his arm. “I didn’t have any ulterior movies behind my summons, if that’s what you’re implying.”

The blood in her veins turns to ice in an instant—perhaps the frozen corpse of Shiva has reanimated herself in ethereal form somewhere in the strategist’s coat closet—and she drops her hand to her side. “Forgive me,” she says quickly, burying her attention in the folds of her skirt to hide her embarrassment. “It was presumptuous of me to read into your hospitality like that.”

She isn’t looking at him; she can barely endure her own humiliation at having her advances unceremoniously spurned by the strategist, much less meet the judgment of his spectacled gaze. But she can see his feet shift toward her, and suddenly she feels the heat of his warm breath circulating against her forehead.

“Only because it would tarnish my reputation as a consummate professional,” he says quietly.

They stand in silence for what feels like an eternity; he doesn’t move to touch her, and she doesn’t glance up at him or dare to even breathe. “I suppose that would probably complicate matters a bit,” she whispers.

His light exhales against her skin only serve to amplify the burning of her ears. “Probably.”

“I recognize it’s rather unbecoming of me to ask you to put your respectability on the line in that way.”

“I’ve taken greater risks.”

She then swallows her reticence and meets his gaze with an uncertain one of her own. “Would you even want to pursue something? I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit to being slightly awkward about my intentions, and you’re a challenging person to read.”

His eyes convey a certain measure of restraint; he glances over at the fingers he is now tracing along the lines of her arm, until they reach the crook of her neck and brush back a lock of red hair behind her ear. Her spine tingles under his gentle probing, her heart beating furiously like a herd of Spiracorns stampeding inside her chest, and her breath catches in her throat when he closes the distance between his lips and hers.

It’s a chaste kiss; nothing excessively overt or sloppy, and it’s over almost as soon as it has begun. The eyelids she hadn’t even realized she’d closed flutter open, and she tracks his motions with inquisitive orbs as he moves to stand behind her. Her own feet are rooted in place, seemingly anchored to the hardwood floor by some invisible titan of the underworld—the Infernian, she presumes, if the heat pumping through her veins is any indication—and for a moment she fears her knees may give out entirely when he nuzzles his nose against the tender spot under her right earlobe.

She then feels a hand glide down her forearm and ensnare her palm. “Apologies for my ambiguity,” he says. “Hopefully I’ve managed to clarify things for you.”

Her small fingers tighten around his longer ones. “Quite.”

His other hand drifts to the base of her neck, brushing her fiery tresses aside and probing at the trio of buttons that fasten her blouse. Gooseflesh ripples through her skin when he teases the closures loose; she is sure his fingers must be losing circulation by now—she has them involuntarily locked in a vice grip—until he releases her digits and moves to press his hand to her abdomen. His chest is up against her back; she can feel the taut musculature of his physique through the thin fabric of her tunic and his slow, deliberate breaths warming her cheek.

The stillness of the strategist’s bedroom is in sharp contrast to fire roaring in her belly; he tugs on her sleeve and drags his lips across her bare shoulder, no more or less urgent than before. Her hands search desperately for something to hold onto, and she clutches at the pockets of his trousers; her eyelids then seal themselves shut when she feels the distinct sensation of his arousal hardening against the small of her back.

After a silent gasp escapes her lips as he rakes his teeth along her earlobe, and she can barely keep herself upright under his electrifying touch, she finally turns to face him. His lips tentatively meet hers, gently at first, then more insistent as she sifts her fingers through his hair. He tastes like Ebony and desire and all the things that make men of his astute intellect so delightfully tantalizing, and she can’t quite stop herself from nipping playfully at his tongue as she drinks in his flavor entirely. His strong hands are everywhere at once, tracing her jawline, running down her spine, slipping beneath the hem of her tunic, until he liberates her from the billowy fabric obstructing her upper body and discards it somewhere in the direction of the dresser.

She is already fumbling with the closures of his own shirt, her fingers trembling like a new Anak calf taking its first clumsy steps. When she can’t get the third button undone, he captures her hands in his own and lowers them. “Perhaps the Ebony I brewed was a bit over-caffeinated?”

“Sorry,” she laughs. “By the looks of it, you’d think I was a newly deflowered virgin.”

He finishes the task of unbuttoning his shirt and offers her a smirk. “Are you?”

She returns his quip with a grin of her own. “I suppose you’ll just have to determine that for yourself.”

He finally strips himself of the stubborn article and drops it to the floor; it’s only when she lays eyes on his bare chest that she realizes how toned his body truly is, befitting a trained gymnast of his caliber. Her hand immediately reaches for his chiseled curvatures, gliding over the sculpted muscles of his torso until her fingers eventually drift south and stop at the top of his trousers.

“I wonder,” she teases, as she coaxes the zipper loose, “just how many of your pupils have seen you in your birthday attire.”

“A mystery for the ages,” he demurs, and deflects her hand in favor of tackling the clasp of her undergarment.

In a maneuver he had clearly mastered countless times before, he frees her of her lingerie in mere seconds, and it’s her turn now to field his gaze. She shifts uncomfortably under his probing eyes for a brief moment, but her shame evaporates when he draws her to his chest and captures her cheeks in his strong hands. His kiss is less restrained than earlier, his ardor more insistent as he lowers his nimble fingers to clutch at her breasts; his lips eventually follow suit, and she grits her teeth in an attempt to thwart the moan bubbling out of her throat when she feels the warm sensation of his tongue encircling her nipple.

As much as she relishes in his expert touch, however, she doesn’t let him get very far; he was the one who invited her here, she surmises, so it’s only fair of her to do some of the legwork. She pushes him away and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed, then gestures for him to remove his shoes before he allows her to tug on the hem his pants.

“You’re certainly more ambitious than the other virgins I’ve deflowered,” he jests.

“You of all people should realize I’m a quick learner.” She kneels before him and traces her fingers under the elastic waistband of his tight boxer briefs. “The spectacles I pried off your face this morning certainly haven’t forgotten.”

She then grips at his smallclothes and releases him from the confining accoutrement; she’s been in enough intimate positions to know not to ogle directly at any bare skin for too long, but she can’t resist running a hand across the rigid flesh centered amidst his thighs. When he doesn’t immediately flinch under her touch, she shoulders his knees aside and positions herself more closely between them.

But then he does stop her, clutching at her red hair and gently pulling her away from her intended target; in a moment of hesitation that was rather unusual for him, his voice falters. “That’s… really not necessary.”

She briefly considers responding to his reticence with a cheeky quip; ultimately, she decides actions speak louder than any words her occluded mind could conceivably think up, and pushes onward to draw him fully into her mouth. He doesn’t let out so much as a silent groan, or thrust himself annoyingly against the back of her throat like every other paramour she’s erroneously entertained; she is, however, intimately aware of the sound of his breath shortening in his lungs. His fingers are still wrapped up in her hair, but instead of holding her back, they now twitch lightly with each caress of her tongue.

He’s bigger than she would’ve given a man of Ignis’ slender build credit for, but size has scarcely ever factored into her own gratification, and anticipating satisfaction on a first go around with a new partner is a lofty expectation besides. So she simply enjoys this private moment he’s offered to share with her, gripping his athletic thigh in one hand and supplementing her tongue strokes with the other. He allows his fingers wander down her neck and across her shoulders, taking great care never to buck his hips or choke her senseless with his rock-solid erection, until the firm pressure of his hands pushing her away from his equipment causes her to stop what she’s doing and peer questioningly up at him.

“It might be best if we switched places,” he breathes, as he draws her to her feet. “Wouldn’t want this night to end rather abruptly on my behalf.”

She gives him a teasing look, but lowers herself onto the bed and stretches out on top of the comforter. He seats himself on the edge beside her, running his fingers along her collarbone and breasts on his way down her abdomen, and then leans over to touch his lips to hers. His kiss is chaste once again, his hunger from before evidently having abated; she traces the outline of his jaw as the scent of his cologne swirls in her nostrils, until her hands get tangled up in the rim of his spectacles.

“Shall I take your glasses off for you?” she chides, as she watches him readjusts them. “Or are they a necessary part of bringing yourself to orgasm?”

“Not quite, but they may factor into your own enjoyment.” He then positions himself between the pleats of her skirt and focuses his attention on the zipper at her waist. “I certainly can’t manipulate what I can’t see.”

His hands move quickly, and soon he is tugging her garment down around her hips before casting it aside entirely. His face hovers near her belly and he fingers the black lace that encircles her thighs; the heat in her lower abdomen matches the warmth of his breath on her skin, and he finally removes the last barrier separating one another from sensual bliss.

But he doesn’t immediately plunge his spectacles into her nakedness like she is hoping, and instead tilts his face slightly to tickle the insides of her thighs with his cheek. She gnaws on her lip in displeasure at not having her earlier services reciprocated; when he continues to tease every inch of her skin with gentle nips—save for the one spot she desperately wants him to ravage—she arches herself up against his mouth to make her insistence known.

“Do try and be patient, Darling,” he murmurs. “Trust that I have a strategy in mind.“

She bites back a frustrated growl, and resorts to gripping the blanket beneath her to curb her annoyance. His mouth wanders back and forth between her legs and the surrounding area—always circling toward her arousal, but never quite indulging her in desire—until he places a single light kiss against her aching nub before moving disappointingly away from her nether region to nuzzle her ear.

She opens her mouth to enlighten him on his grievous oversight, but the abrupt sensation of his long fingers pressing themselves inside her walls silences any intelligible argument she might’ve had. He lowers himself beside her, covering her slightly parted lips with his own and delving ever deeper into the folds of her warm flesh with a skillful hand. She releases her grip over the comforter and snakes her arms around his neck, drawing him closer than any mechanized gravity well could accomplish while simultaneously rocking her hips against his methodical touch.

An inkling of shame trickles down her spine when she feels her own wetness touch the insides of her thighs, but he doesn’t appear to mind; on the contrary, he uses her natural lubrication to his advantage, massaging her with a slick thumb as he drags his teeth along her collarbone. The pressure in her abdomen is building now, her body stiffening against his rhythmic probing—not too roughly, nor too gently, but just enough to encourage the momentum of her arousal ever onward—and even with her eyes closed, she can almost visualize the culmination of her ecstasy nearly within reach.

But a whimper escapes her when his hand disappears from between her thighs, and she glances up to see him parting her legs before nestling his narrow hips between them. The taste of bitterness floods her tongue—she was this close—and she turns her head aside to hide her disappointment.

It’s only after he rests his hands on either side of her shoulders that he peers down at her with a concerned look on his face. “Something wrong?”

He wouldn’t be the first lover to leave her unfulfilled; it was foolish of her to expect this strategy of his to bear any real fruit. Still, she heaves a sigh and pokes disinterestedly at the pillow beneath her head, her eyes suddenly absorbed in the details of the fabric. “Not at all.”

She isn’t looking at him when he grazes his lips against her ear, but she can feel the heaviness of his breath on her skin. “I asked you to trust me,” he whispers. “I won’t ask a second time.”

He says it not unkindly, but the seriousness in his voice causes her pulse to suddenly quicken; she has but a moment to see him toss his spectacles aside before lacing one hand through her fingers and guiding himself inside of her with the other.

There is clarity, she surmises, at the eye of every storm; even with her mind a chaotic jumble of longing and desire and frustration at the rapture he is withholding from her, she is able to lift the veil that clouds her thoughts and focus on the singular divine sensation of being penetrated by him. He’s as hot as forged iron and twice as hard, and only a man christened after fire incarnate could have scorched every fiber and cell of her being merely by bringing his weapon to bear.

Her green orbs widen as she clutches at his fingers, and she says his name; he has both of his hands wrapped around hers now, and he covers her lips with his own. But a kiss isn’t enough to silence her gasps, nor does pinning her wrists down stop her legs from slithering around his waist involuntarily, and it’s only when she has his slender hips captured in a vice grip between her thighs that he presses a palm gently to her forehead to ease her sudden trembling.

“Be still just a moment longer,” he says. “I’ll do my best to make it worth your while.”

She gives him an imperceptible nod, but she can’t even see him clearly, because his searing heat inside of her is causing the edges of her vision to blur. He reaches down to pry away the Malboro tentacles seemingly suctioned to his body, then slips a hand around the small of her back to angle her hips up toward his own; she resists the urge to question his logic or writhe beneath him without his consent, and instead allows him to shift his weight forward onto his forearms until he is positioned directly above her and the base of his shaft is wedged firmly against the most private and intimate part of herself.

This is not, she realizes as he begins to move, two idiots fumbling around like awkward Adamantoises in the throes of carnal passion; it’s a master study in Euclidean geometry, because of course it is, because Ignis Scientia has a strategy prepared for every facet of his existence, even in his approach to tasks as instinctual and intuitive as making love. He’s as precise with his flesh-and-blood lance as he is with a real one, and her fingers dig into the taut muscles of his back as her nub pulses furiously with each slow drive of his hips. She can’t bring herself to say anything, because her throat has tightened and she is physically incapable of expressing her ardor without sounding like a lumbering Garula in heat, so she lets the arching of her back and her own dripping fluids acknowledge the magic he is working inside of her.

His hands don’t stay at her waist for long; they are gripping her thighs, caressing her breasts, gliding over her shoulders and brushing aside a stray lock of red hair from her glistening temple. His lips don’t linger in any one place either, and instead nibble at her collarbone and neck while his movements inside her grow more deliberate, more precise, more methodical in their unwavering effort at bringing her to climax. Her aching nub is throbbing in agony now, his shaft just grazing the sensitive hood with his rhythmic strokes, applying concentrated pressure only long enough for her to relish in a brief instant of gratification before he’s backed off and left her desperate for more.

Any last vestiges of shame she felt at conveying her fervor evaporate, and she finally stops trying to conceal her moans from him; if anything, her newfound voice only serves to urge him onward, and her thighs return to his waist as she feels the pressure in her abdomen reach its tipping point. His forehead is pressed against her head now, his mouth covering hers in between each disciplined thrust, and she bites down hard on the thickest part of his shoulder when the first crest of her orgasm rips through her and tears her nearly in two.

He helps carry her through each subsequent wave, sustaining his movements until the convulsions that rack her body begin to abate. When her tremors eventually cease altogether, and her cries of ecstasy have run their course, he leans down and kisses her lightly on the lips; it’s only after she touches a hand to his cheek that she notices the light sheen of perspiration coating his brow, and she immediately realizes the monumental effort it must have taken him to restrain himself long enough to push her over the brink.

“You’re a man of your word,” she says, as she studies the planes of his bare face. “I ought to have known better than to underestimate a strategist.“

He snorts softly before pushing himself upright; after a moment, he moves to withdraw himself from her. But her thighs remain firmly wrapped around his waist, and he is unable make it farther than half an inch before she begins to pull him back toward her. “We can stop for the night,” he says. “I’ve already kept you out late as it is.”

“I’m not letting you get off that easily.“

“Getting me off isn’t the hard part.” He pats her legs as he tosses her a wink, but she refuses to relinquish him from her grip. “Really, Darling—it’s fine.”

“And if I insist?”

He hesitates; after several heartbeats, he gently pries himself from her clutches. She grudgingly releases him, wondering if she had turned him off somehow—it was hard to tell, when his obvious erection was still at full attention—until he gestures for her to kneel facedown on the bed. “May I?”

For a brief moment, she considers denying his request; a submissive position was far from her favorite, and she’d spent many an evening staring at the length of her fingernails and pondering whether she’d left the stove on at home while some faceless paramour went to town on her backside. But she had already underestimated Ignis once tonight—and his inquiry was hardly unreasonable in light of his own generosity, besides—so she rolls over onto the comforter and tentatively props herself on all fours.

She can feel the bed shift behind her, and soon his hand is gliding down her spine; a shiver races through her as he traces the outline of her left buttock before stopping between her legs. He drags his mouth across her hips, pressing a finger inside of her to test her readiness, and she gnaws on the inside of her cheek to stop her cries from potentially disturbing the neighbors—or worse, the crown prince three doors down—all over again.

He then leans to rest his weight on the palm of one hand, his right arm parallel with hers; she can feel his warm chest against her back and his probing growing more insistent. “Is this all right?” he asks.

She responds not with words, but by lacing her fingers through his own; he withdraws the hand he has between her thighs, evidently content with his findings—how she is still soaking wet is entirely beyond her—and replaces his digits with the head of his shaft. A sharp hiss escapes her lungs as he eases more fully into her warmth, until the two have become one again and the mass of his body envelops her like a protective blanket.

For the first time tonight, she hears him utter a low growl; it’s scarcely audible over the creaking of the headboard, and had she been a less perceptive lover, she might’ve dismissed it as simply the sound of his apartment settling in on its foundation. But when she leans into him and clenches her pelvis muscles, he drops his head to her shoulder and lets out a gasp.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Just… give me a moment, if you would.”

The fact that he expresses remorse mid-coitus doesn’t exactly surprise her—this was Ignis Scientia she was dealing with, after all—but it’s how he says it that gives her pause. Because, in a way that was very unlike him, he had dropped the more formal My apologies he generally favored in day-to-day Citadel life, and his sudden loss of control in the heat of the moment is rather telling in her mind. She tightens her fingers around his own and tilts her face to his cheek; he responds by pressing his lips to her temple, and then pushes himself upright and takes a firm hold over her hips with both hands.

It’s only when he has regained his composure and resumes the slow and steady cadence of his thrusts that she realizes how intimate the position she is in can truly be. He isn’t yanking on her hair, or shoving her face annoyingly into a pillow; his draws his fingers down her spine instead, stopping occasionally to grip at her buttocks or reach underneath her to massage her breasts. A cry claws its way up her throat as he buries himself ever deeper inside of her walls, and she tilts her head down onto the comforter to stifle her moans; his chest is pressed against her back again, his arms braced against either side of her shoulders, and she can hear the sound of his breath growing ragged in her ears.

The mutual rhythm they find together is almost second nature, as innate and automatic as breathing; their bodies were made for each other, she decides, because her hips are at just the right angle to support his increasingly erratic movements, and his lanky torso is just long enough for his cheek to touch hers. She lifts a hand to caress his jaw, and soon he is kissing her neck, her ear, her lips; his trembling hands search for something to hold onto, until they find her outstretched fingers and entwine them in his own.

He is quiet when he climaxes; the only indication that anything in his behavior has changed is the staggered jerks of his pelvis and the teeth he has clenched around her shoulder. His fingers tighten and relax with each warm pulse flooding through her lower abdomen, until the light pressure of his chest against her back abruptly doubles in weight.

The pinching in her shoulder then softens, and he presses a tender kiss to the love bite he left behind before pushing himself upright and withdrawing from her. Her arms and legs suddenly turn to rubber beneath her, and she collapses onto the comforter in delirious heap. He doesn’t move to rest beside her like she expects, though; out of the corner of her swimming vision, she sees him stride across the bedroom and throw open a nearby window. As the cool night air nips at her bare skin, she surmises that a man who was the embodiment of fire needed some way to quell the inferno coursing through his veins.

She watches as he stretches out his long limbs, entirely unconcerned that his naked backside is on full display for her viewing pleasure. When the chill gets to be too much even for her, she peels back the comforter and slips between the sheets; he retrieves his spectacles and returns them to the bridge of his nose, and she can sense the aloofness that has come to define Ignis settle back in on his features. “I suppose you were right about the Ebony,” he says.

She frowns slightly at his cordialness, and lifts the blanket to hide her shame. “I suppose so.”

“At the risk of sounding like I’m trapping you here against your will, the next change of guard isn’t for another few hours. It might be best if you linger until then.”

“Of course.” She then bites her lip and hesitates. “Um, Ignis?”

He plucks his boxer briefs from off the floor and seats himself on the edge of the bed. “Yes, Darling?”

“I presume you’re not really one for pillow talk, but perhaps it might be worth it to discuss some things.“

“All right.”

“I’m… not entirely sure how we ought to conduct ourselves moving forward. At the Citadel, I mean.”

She eyes him as he stuffs himself inside his smallclothes. “I see no reason not to carry on as we have been, provided you’re willing to maintain a professional rapport. If you ever find yourself in the mood for more intimate company, you know where I live.“

“Is that an open invitation?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Her heart skips, and she can’t quite conceal the small smile that touches her lips. “Well then, it might be pertinent to lay down some ground rules.”

“To be sure.” He draws himself up off the bed and turns to face her. “What did you have in mind?”

“Are the hours disagreeable to you?”

“Not at all. I’m up late as it is.” He reaches for his trousers and steps into the legs. “Although you’re welcome to stay until the eight o’clock guard change, if you don’t care for stealing away like a thief in the night. Noct’s never up before eleven, anyway.“

“Best not to take any unnecessary risks. Four o’clock is fine.”

“Anything else?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t get into the habit of calling me ‘Darling’. Pet names are generally reserved for more… loving relationships, wouldn’t you say?”

He peers at her through his spectacles and shrugs on his shirt. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

“Is there anything you care to add?”

“Nothing I can think of.” He moves to stand beside her as he tackles his buttons. “So we are in agreement?”

She nods. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Splendid.” He then leans over and pecks her lightly on the cheek. “Can I get you anything? A cup of Ebony, perhaps?”

She runs a hand down his torso, offering him a mischievous grin as her fingers pause at the waistband of his trousers. “Not unless you plan on entertaining me for the next few hours.”

He hesitates for a long moment; then he is unbuttoning his shirt once again and discarding it on the floor. “I think we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

[ourheartsbeatas1]

writer’s tag!

Tagged by the lovely @shirasade, @miazeklos, and @darknesshadows! I considered doing this on my main @calculatingthestars, but all of them were Jace-related in some way so it felt right to do them here. XD The basic idea was to post a paragraph/snippet from five Works-In-Progress, but I opted for slightly longer excerpts. Please heed warnings!

Tagging: @camboyjace, @morgandeeyue, @dnteverdoubtme (because I know you’ve got that P&P WIP hidden away), and whoever else wants to do it!

1) Jalec. Blind!Jace AU. (Part of a short fic where Jace is blind and grows up as a ward of the NY Institute but is not raised by the Lightwoods.)

“I want to see you,” Jace says, and the point of his chin is turned away, head half-cocked as he listens for the tell-tale skip in Alec’s heart beat.

It does.

Wordlessly, Alec drops his staff onto the practice mat and takes Jace’s hand. He puts it against his cheek, allows him to run it, terribly gently, across the contours of his face.

It’s unspeakably, unbearably intimate; Jace is still pressed against him from thigh to chest and he touches Alec’s face like he’s made of something far more precious than flesh and bone.

“Thank you.” When he moves to pull away, Alec catches his wrist. His heart is pounding in his chest and they’re pressed close enough together that he can feel the thud of Jace’s heart, hammering against his ribcage.

***

2) One-sided Jalec, unrequited love. Angst. (I think it’s fairly clear why I couldn’t bring myself to finish this, but it was supposed to be based in season 1 and dealt with Alec finally confessing his feelings.)

“Say something,” Alec says. Even without the bond, every line in his body is screaming of tension, the air in Jace’s room thick with it. “Damn it, Jace–”

“What do you expect me to say?” His parabatai is pale, his back literally pressed against the wall. Alec has never seen him look so uncomfortable. “Alec, you know that I–”

“–don’t feel the same way about me,” Alec finishes. He’s so predictable. He doesn’t know why he’s angry, doesn’t know why he’d thought Jace would say anything else, really, but still his chest aches with disappointment and all he wants to do is leave.

“I don’t– I don’t know what you want from me,” Jace says. “Love isn’t a thing, Alec. I can’t rip out my heart and give it to you. You know I would if I could.”

*** 

3) Jalec. Excerpt from “the Light of Other Days”, chapter 3. (This chapter has been languishing in the depths of WIP hell for months now, and I really REALLY want to finish it.)

“Why did you change your name?” The question hangs in the air of his makeshift office, Alec’s hands moving restlessly against the crime scene photos that he’s stacked and ordered across his desk.

Jace shrugs. “’Wayland’ was always a lie, and ‘Herondale’ didn’t feel like it was ever mine,” he says. “I thought a Lightwood should be running the New York Institute, since…”

“I left?” Alec supplies, mouth tightening. 

“Isabelle, too, after the war,” Jace says, and looks away. “She decided she’d rather teach, and when they reopened the Academy…” He shrugs. “But I’m sure you already know that; you’ve kept in touch with her.” He doesn’t even bother trying to hide the accusation in his voice.

“She’s my sister.” He doesn’t mean the sharpness in his tone, but the old bitterness seeps into it like bile. Alec is tired of this, tired of the game that Jace is so obviously playing, tired of the steady throb of their parabatai bond that is so much harder to resist given their proximity.

“And what am I?” Jace asks, mismatched eyes flashing.

“You’re—“ Mine. “Needed in the briefing room.”

***

4) Jalec. One-sided Sebastian x Jace. Westworld AU. NON-CON, torture, sexbot trope (in line with Westworld’s canon depiction of the treatment of their hosts). 

Basically, Jace is a host, Alec is a newcomer, and Sebastian is head scientist at Morgenstern Park. In its entirety, this fic is probably shaping up to be the most fucked up thing I’ve ever written, but this snippet is one of the less graphic parts of it. It depicts a scene where Sebastian tricks Alec into watching him perform a “systems analysis” on Jace. PLEASE do not read if this is not your cup of tea

(Due to the nature of its content, the snippet has been put up as a private post, linked here.)

***

5) Jalec. The 100 AU. (Basically a Jalec spin on a fairly popular canon Clexa scene.) This was a drabble for @lunaswondrousworld that I never managed to finish. ;_; Putting this under a cut because it’s less of a snippet and more a drabble without an ending. (I suck, I know.)

“Are you here to tell me that you told me so?”

Jace shifts from one foot to another, staring up at Alec with those lovely eyes of his. The bandages on his arm and hand have soaked through, and Alec can see the black blood showing against the rough cotton.

“No, I–” he pauses, shrugs. “I just wanted to thank you, I suppose. For backing me.”

Alec regards him a moment longer, then steps back, holding the door open. “Come in, then,” he says. ”Sit.”

The duel is all too fresh in his mind; he can still smell the stench of blood from the arena, the smell of the wet ground mixing in with sweat and fear.

It had been a close fight. Far too close.

Jace holds himself stiffly as he drops down onto the couch, and Alec brings fresh bandages when he sits beside him.

“Let me change that for you,” he says, and he smiles slightly when Jace extends his arm without hesitation. There is history between them– not all of it good, certainly– but no matter how hard Alec tries to fight the feelings that well for him, his efforts remain fruitless.

The kiss that they’d shared ages ago had been in simpler times, but even then, Alec hadn’t been ready. Even now, when they’re in the middle of a tenuous, fragile peace and Jace has barely made it out of a coup attempt with his head intact. If there’s a worse time for this– whatever this is– Alec doesn’t know it.

“Your ambassadors tried to kill you,” he says finally, and his large hands are gentle when he unwraps the bandage from the commander’s arm. “Are you going to let that stand?”

Jace is silent for a long moment, watching him. “We all do what we need to in order to survive,” he says. “Nia rallied them, and now Nia is dead. Roan knows that I put him in power and that buys me time. Maybe the rest of the clans will let this go, and maybe they won’t, but for now…”

He exhales, the sound of his breath little more than a sigh. “Thank you for backing me,” he says. “I know you didn’t want to.”

Alec finishes with the bandage but doesn’t let go of his hand. “I wasn’t going to go,” he admits. “But I did what was best for my people.”

“So did the other ambassadors,” Jace says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Alec look up, searching his face. Jace sees him staring, forces a faint smile. 

“To be commander is to be alone.”

[purrcraze]

The Ultimate Guide To Grooming Your Maine Coon

Grooming your Maine Coon is not only a necessity, but it’s also a joyous moment that you can share with your feline friend. It promotes bonding, and when done right it can increase the trust that your cat has in you. But how exactly do you groom a Maine Coon cat?

There are many elements involved in grooming a Maine Coon. You have to consider brushing their coat, and whether or not trimming is necessary. You need to be prepared to bathe your cat and know what the right products are. You have to consider their nails, as well as many other elements.

Lucky for you, we’ve put together this ultimate guide on grooming your Maine Coon cat. Read on to find out everything you will ever need to know in order to be able to care for your furry companion to the best of your ability.

How to get your Maine Coon kitten used to grooming

It’s always better to prevent than to cure, right? Especially if you’ve ever seen those scenes where someone grabs the brush or shampoo bottle and their cat decides to take a sudden extended trip to Florida.

There’s no use in knowing exactly what to do if you don’t have a willing participant to do it on, so ideally, preventing these kinds of problems starts as soon as your new kitten gets home.

Your main goal is to get your cat to happily sit on your lap and get brushed, as well as allow you to touch her paws, ears, mouth, and any other sensitive area without fear or danger.

And while convincing a cat that bathing is fun may be a bit more challenging, don’t believe the myths that all cats hate water! It can absolutely be done with patience and care.

The best way is to take baby steps every single day and reward your cat for any progress you manage to make. Keep an eye out and try not to spook her, and back off if it looks like she’s not happy with you.

Start right away by frequently picking up your kitten just to give her a treat. Touch her paw, give it a light squeeze, and reward! Touch her ear and do the same. Repeat this process daily.

Whatever area of your cat you never touch, and whatever action you never do is very likely to become a problem for her.

This is what a step by step schedule would look like for any goal you wish to achieve, such as “I want to get my Maine Coon to sit still for 5 minutes while I brush her”.

Use the same general idea for any other grooming goals you have.

Example Brushing preparation plan:

Day 1. Just pick up your kitten and reward and pet. No need to rush into anything.

Day 2. Bring out the brush. If the kitten is relaxed, give one light brush. Reward, pet.

Day 3. One light brush and lots of rewards. Don’t jump the gun just because she seems fine.

Day 4. See if you can get a good few consecutive brushes in. Reward.

Day 5. The same amount of brushes, plus one in a more sensitive area such as under her belly. Reward heavily if she allows that one, take a step back if not.

Day 6. Aim for one minute of brushing. Reward every 20 seconds if necessary.

Day 7. Double the time, and remember to touch the more sensitive areas as well.

After that point, slowly work your way up to whatever goal you want.

For some cats, it may be as simple as holding the brush in your hand and letting them do all the work – they just love rubbing up against it! But you can’t assume that every Maine Coon kitten will just love to be brushed.

However, you can assume that they all HAVE TO, so it’s good to have a plan.

Brushing and caring for your Maine Coon’s coat

While we’re on the topic of brushing, let’s take a closer look! You probably already know by now that Maine Coon cats require regular brushing, and do shed a moderate amount.

However, if you have a happy cat which is well used to being groomed by you, brushing will become less of a “requirement” and more of a pleasant cuddle session for the two of you.

Your Maine Coon’s coat is a work of wonder, and the least you can do to maintain it is brushing it daily with a soft, rubber or nylon brush.

It might not look like it’s taking away loads of loose hairs, but a soft nylon brush really does two important things: it begins the grooming session, getting your cat to calm down and enter grooming mode, and it starts to untangle the long Maine Coon coat and get all the hairs to lay in the same direction.

Any normal soft brush from the pet store will do for this part.

Once that is done, what you need to get is a really good wire slicker brush.

This is the one that’s going to really get in there and lift all of the loose hairs from your Maine Coon’s coat, helping to prevent excessive shedding. In this case, you’re looking for something pretty stiff, that will reach through your cat’s spectacular coat.

Something like this cat slicker brush from Amazon will really get the job done.

Click/ Tap Here For More Images!

As an added bonus, it’s retractable and really easy to clean!

Any nice, stainless steel comb will be a wonderful addition in your arsenal.

No matter how much you pay attention, your Maine Coon might still get the occasional tangle, and it’s a great idea to have a wide-toothed stainless steel comb handy to untangle her fur before it becomes truly matted.

If mats do happen, you want to take as gentle an approach to resolve them as possible.

It can take years for the luscious coat of a Maine coon to fully develop, and you don’t want to ruin it by cutting a hole into it with scissors.

It can also take years for your cat to completely trust you to groom even sensitive areas such as her belly, and you don’t want to ruin that trust by poking her with scissors either. Very serious mats and tangles might be a good opportunity to consider seeing a professional groomer.

If you do decide to DIY, a special tool called a Mat Splitter can help you separate large mats into smaller ones which you can then attack with your comb.

Always remember to introduce all new tools slowly. Don’t assume that a new brush will be accepted right away just because an old one was.

If anything startles or upsets your cat, go back to the introduction plan we discussed earlier and take it from there.

Should my Maine Coon cat get a haircut in the summer?

It can be tempting to just get rid of your Maine Coon’s fur for the summer season, and many people resort to what is commonly known as the “lion cut”.

This is actually a shave in which only the fur around your cat’s head and paws is left, making them kind of look like a little lion.

Cute it may be, but it also damages a beautiful coat that took years to grow, and that could have been the pride of your Maine Coon if cared for properly.

On top of that, if your cat is an outdoor cat, you may actually be increasing the risk of sunburn by doing this.

Many people also insist that such extreme haircuts actually bother the cat significantly, so at the very least you should consider the matter seriously before jumping in.

If you think your Maine Coon may be suffering from the heat, which can be the case if you live in a warmer area than the breed is designed for, there are several things you can do before resorting to the feline equivalent of a military buzz cut.

Providing cool and shaded areas to nap in as well as lots of fresh water is a great start. Frequent grooming in order to get rid of excess hair and promote the even distribution of oils across the coat is also important in warm months.

If you have any doubts, it may be wise to stop by your local veterinarian first and ask for their input.

They may point out that what you are imagining to be “suffering from the heat” is simply your cat napping more during the day and being more active at night, as would be normal in the summer months.

If both of you decide that a haircut is a good idea, he can also help you find a local professional to handle it.

This is definitely the kind of job you would hand over to a professional. While there are shaving kits available for purchase online, and it certainly can be done in theory, practice is a different matter entirely.

It’s not easy to do it quickly and without distressing the cat, and if you are forced to leave the job half-completed because you cat now hates you, the results may be more than a little ridiculous.

As a final consideration, however, do keep in mind that even extreme haircuts like the lion cut have a place and a purpose. They can be a good (and sometimes only) solution to extreme matting and tangling.

They can help you in case of skin conditions that require the regular application of medication and be useful for keeping an eye on healing injuries.

Most commonly, they can be a great tool for elderly cats which have problems grooming themselves and may be more prone to many of these problems.

A Maine Coon with a lion cut.

Use your judgment, and always keep the best interest of your cat in mind above considerations such as looks or your amusement.

How and when to bathe a Maine Coon

The old myth that cats and water just don’t mix really needs to be left behind. Not only do Maine Coon cats need regular baths, but they can also learn to enjoy them!

Do yourself a favor right now and have a look at the short video below posted by proud owners of this fierce breed. You will see that, with enough care and attention, bath time will soon be something to look forward to.

Like anything else related to grooming, take care and take baby steps. Bathing is probably the most frightening of all elements of grooming for both cats and dogs, so patience is key.

One good way to get your Maine Coon to NEVER come anywhere near running water is to pick her up and dump her in a bubble bath on her first go.

All you will succeed in doing is scaring your cat and basically subscribing to making regular monthly payments to your local grooming center.

Bathing is definitely something you can do at home, however, if you follow these basic principles!

Take it slowly. Imagine how slowly you should take it, and do it half as slowly as that.

Reward any small progress. Even just getting into the tub happily with no water at first is cause for celebration.

Do not, under any circumstances, hold your cat in water by force.

If your cat is distressed, take a step back and try again later!

If you keep these principles in mind, and if you have the well being of your cat at heart above all, you will do fine.

As a Maine Coon owner, you might actually be luckier than the owners of any other breed, because they do tend to be much happier around water and might enjoy it much faster than you imagine.

Even so, always let the cat dictate the rhythm.

Here are the steps you should take when bathing your Maine Coon at home.

Step 1: Preparation.

Gather your tools together. Make sure that everything (brushes, shampoo, etc) is within reach and you won’t have to leave the cat alone in the tub even for one second. Make sure that the room is warm.

Set down a bath mat in the tub for comfort and safety, and get a few inches of warm water in the tub. Make sure you have towels and the dryer ready too.

Step 2: Getting Soaked

Get your Maine Coon into the tub (assuming you’ve already introduced her many times to the bathroom, the tub, a bit of water, the noise of the shower, etc, and she is fine with everything.)

Use your hands and the water in the tub to soak your cat as much as possible. It may be harder than it seems since a Maine Coon has pretty thick fur, but do your best to get right in there.

No need to spook her with running water yet at this point, just use what’s in the tub.

Use a soft brush to brush through the fur and distribute water everywhere, as well as get rid of any tangles and excess fur.

Be sure not to get water in your cat’s eyes and ears! Use a damp washcloth to gently wipe her face.

Step 3: Shampoo

Once you’ve got a nicely soaked coat, shampoo. Unless your Maine Coon has particular needs, a good all-round all-natural shampoo like this one will cover you. Follow the instructions on your shampoo bottle accurately. You can use the soft brush to lather up and distribute the shampoo evenly throughout the coat. This would also be a good time to start breaking out some treats and reward your cat for being good so far.

Step 4: Rinse

Set your shower head to a lukewarm temperature and a low setting. Let it run for a bit without bringing it close to your cat, just to be sure she’s not going to get spooked and lather up your whole bathroom.

When you do begin to rinse, use a brush or your fingers to get in deep and be extra careful to get all of the shampoo out. Don’t get any water on your cat’s face or in her ears. If you got any shampoo on her face, use a damp washcloth to gently wipe it off.

Be extremely thorough in getting all of the shampoo out.

Repeat steps 3 and 4 as many times as you need to. The shampoo instructions should give you a hint, but do keep in mind that Maine Coons usually need one extra round because of their thick fur.

Step 5: Dry

First, try to gently ease off the excess water by hand with a firm downward stroke. This will make it a lot easier to towel dry later.

Wrap your Maine Coon up in a towel while she’s still in the bathtub, and set her down gently onto another towel.

Take your time towel drying your cat. This should not look like a rough, backward and forwards motion such as you might see with dogs. Use gentle, long strokes in the direction of the hair and be prepared to change to a second towel pretty quickly.

Using good quality, highly absorbent towels such as microfiber can significantly shorten drying time. With a Maine Coon, you may have to use a third towel to get them all the way dry.

This part is actually the most time-consuming, however, it is also the easiest because it’s quite enjoyable for your cat and there isn’t much that could spook her.

If you want, you can try to get your Maine Coon used to blow-drying. It’s not necessary, and it can be quite tricky to accomplish, but it can be done. Be sure to use a low heat setting, and check the temperature constantly on your hands.

Bonus steps: Dry-cleaning

In between washes, or if you’re just having an extra busy weekend and don’t have time for a full bath, there are a few products you can use that will get you through another week.

Wet wipes designed especially for cats can help extend the time that you can spend in between baths, and often have added properties like dandruff control or extra shine. Another great helper is dry shampoo.

There are no-rinse water-less shampoos available which you can also consider using. This is a great solution for cats that are having trouble getting used to bathing, and in those early days when you’re just starting the process of acclimatizing your kitten to the bathtub.

None of these, however, should be considered a permanent replacement for a good, healthy bath!

Maine Coon nails trimming and maintenance

A cat’s nails are an important part of her body. They may seem like dangerous weapons to you, but to her, they are essential tools for comfort, balance, and protection.

For this reason, any modifications at all that you are considering doing to your Maine Coon’s nails should be done with the fullest respect and consideration.

Except in severe cases and for health reasons, declawing your cat is absolutely not an option.

This is a procedure that should only ever be chosen under advice from a veterinarian, and under no circumstances is it a “good way” for you to save your couch from harm.

A cat that has been declawed will feel the impact of her missing tools throughout her daily activities and may need extra care and supervision.

The great majority of your cat’s nail maintenance should come under the form of a good quality scratching post.

Think about it – you can get your cat to exercise and have fun, and at the same time naturally, wear down the tips of her nails at a rate which is healthy and organic.

You never risk injuring her or trimming too far in this way. A good quality cat climbing tree should be your go-to, as well as a few different textures of scratching surfaces to give your Maine Coon plenty of options.

Placing these in strategic locations under windows and by the couch ensures their use, and guarantees a happy cat and owner. You can find advice on amazing scratching posts in this article! We have compiled 5 of the best scratching posts for Maine Coons there.

There are situations in which a very light trim of the tips of your cat’s nails may be in order. This is especially true for elderly cats who are unable to get the required wear and tear on their own, and for kittens who should be accustomed to this type of action from a very early age.

In these cases, a good quality nail clipper might be useful, however, an even better and gentler option is a nail file.

Since your goal is not to cut the nails as you would for a human or a dog, but only to soften and wear down the very tip of them, a nail file really is the best way to go. It takes longer, yes, but is overall less stressful than clipping, and many cats actually end up loving having their nails filed.

Introduce the file slowly, as you would any other grooming tool. Be gentle, use circular motions, and don’t press down hard. Your cat may only let you get one nail at first.

Accept that, let her go and try again tomorrow.

If you decide you must use a clipper, again, remember that your goal is to simply round down the very tip, rather than clipping the actual nail. Give her extra time to get used to the clipper, as the snapping noise can be very unpleasant.

There are electric nail files, or grinders, which will make your life much easier. Take a look at this model which is USB-chargeable!

Click/ Tap Here For More Images!

You’ll notice that, although it has great reviews, one of the main complaints reviewers have is that this electric file only works for rounding sharp corners, and not for taking actual length from the nail.

However, that happens to be exactly what we want for our Maine Coon! The electric nail files are no different from normal files except for saving you manual labor, and lots of cats love them.

Brushing your Maine Coon’s teeth

Before you ask, yes, sometimes you have to do it. If you don´t feed dry food regularly or if you feed the wrong food, your cat´s teeth will suffer.

While it’s true that cats have lived for many generations without the benefit of brushed teeth, it’s also true that they had shorter lifespans and better, natural food.

If you want to give your cat as much time as possible with her beautiful, pain-free teeth, brushing three times a week is a small sacrifice to make. Especially considering that it will only take one minute! It doesn’t have to be a grand event in front of the bathroom mirror.

Your best friend, in this case, are finger brushes. These are brushes specially designed for pets that go on your finger. Have a look at this one!

Click/ Tap Here For More Images!

You can use them in combination with cat toothpaste.

Under no circumstances should you use human toothpaste which contains fluoride and can be extremely toxic to your cat! You can also simply use them with plain tap water, as toothpaste is optional for pets.

Put on the finger brush and gently brush your cat’s teeth in a circular motion. Don’t force the issue if she resists, but if you make no progress after trying to take it step by step, it might be a sign of pain.

Schedule a visit to the vet just to be sure, and in the meantime continue to try to make small steps towards your goal.

Other things to look for while grooming your Maine Coon

While you have your cat on your lap and are giving her a good brushing, there are several things you can check which fall under the general category of “grooming”.

Most of these aim to help prevent injury or disease and detect them early on when they occur, as well as being a good way to accustom your Maine Coon to being handled. This can prove invaluable later on during visits to the vet!

1. On the body

As you pet your Maine Coon, feel for lumps, bumps, and strange textures. Take note of anything unusual, and pay attention to any areas which seem to be sore. If you can, gently stretch and flex her legs to check for stiffness and pain. Check for fleas and lice.

Look closely at her coat and skin. Check for any scabs, dandruff, inflamed areas, allergic reactions or excessive biting or scratching.

Ensure that she is relaxed and allows you to touch her everywhere. Try to find her heart rate, and see how often and how deeply she breathes. Knowing these rhythms may help alert you to any problems later on.

2. On the head

Look at your Maine Coon’s ears. Accustom her to having them touched. Look inside them and check for dirtiness or excessive wax buildup, sores or bleeding, and swelling. Take note of any evidence of heavily scratched ears, which can be an indication of parasites.

A little bit of ear wax is normal, and if you like you can wrap a paper or cotton towel around your finger and gently clean the inside of the ear (the part which protrudes outside the head, not the ear canal.)

Never use anything to clean inside the ear canal. If you have any doubts about the discharge, or her ears smell bad, talk to your veterinarian right away.

Check that her eyes are clear, and not red or swollen. Check that they are free of discharge, and alert your veterinarian if you see any of these signs which could point to an allergy or infection.

Touch your cat’s nose. Make sure there are no unusual lumps or bumps. It should be moist, but not heavily snotty. Excessive discharge in this case too can point to an infection.

Take a look at your cat’s mouth. Get her used to being touched there from a very young age. You have to be able to check her teeth and gums without distressing her, and the only way to do that is to do it frequently from when she is a kitten.

Check that her teeth are clean, white and healthy. Immediately alert your vet of any visibly cracked or broken teeth. Smell your cat’s breath (Yes, really.). While a certain amount of fishiness is a given, it shouldn’t be terrible.

3. Feet and nails

Touch each paw individually. Touch each pad of each paw. They should not be sore or inflamed. Check for splinters and pebbles that can be embedded between the pads. Check that the toes are mobile.

When your Maine Coon is relaxed, her claws should be retracted and fully hidden in her pads. If they are poking out, it might be time to get her a rougher scratching surface, or even file down the tips a little bit. Check that none of the claws are broken or cracked.

Conclusion

As you see, when it comes to grooming a Maine Coon, there is a lot you can do.

However, that doesn´t mean that you have to do all of these things.

Some Maine Coons need baths pretty often, others (mostly the ones that are indoor cats) rarely need baths.

Take what you need from this guide, but always make sure to have an eye on your Maine Coon to see what she needs.