#smoking with your shoe off in front of the no smoking sign while on duty. legend

[klingerfashionarchive]

season 3 episode 23

[slothgiirl]

the medic (keith x reader)

17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.

“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.

After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.

“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”

You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.

Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.

The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.

Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.

Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”

You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…

“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”

“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”

“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.

“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”

“Languages are hard.”

“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.

“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.

—————

Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.

“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”

“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”

“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.

“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.

Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”

You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”

The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”

You laugh, “of course you are.”

“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.

You roll your eyes.

Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.

“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”

“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.

“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”

“English.”

“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.

“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”

“Ah.”

“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.

“It timed out.”

“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”  

“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”

Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.

“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.

“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.

“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?

Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”

For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”

You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.

Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”

“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”

“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.

“It’s clay!”

“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”

Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”

You shrug. “No clue.”

Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.

——————

Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.

While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.

You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.

“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.

Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.

He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.

“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.

Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.

You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.

It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.

“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.

“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”

“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”

“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.

You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”

“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.

“Let’s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”

He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”

“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.

“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.

Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.

“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.

“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.

“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”

He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”

“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”

“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”

That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.

“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”  

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”

Keith pops one in immediately.

“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.

“Worried?”

“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.

Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”

“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”

Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.

“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”

Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”

You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”

Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.

“What?”

“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.

“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.

The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.

Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.

You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”

“Hm?”

Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.

Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.

You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”

Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.

You frown, still processing.

“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.

You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”

“If you’re sure?”

Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”

———————

“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”

Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”

“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”

The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”

“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.

You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.

Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.

She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’

“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.

“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.

“Matt!”

“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”

“No!”

Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.

“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.

“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”

“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”

“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.

You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.

“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.

You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”

“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.

You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.

Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.

It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.

Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.

“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.

You laugh.

“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”

“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!

Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.

Shiro gives the signal.

You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.

Matt and you get to work.

“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.

Stupid damn biolocks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.

“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.

You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.

Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.

“You in,” you ask him.

“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”

The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”

The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”

“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”

Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”

“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”

“On it.”

“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.

He steals himself. “Right.”

The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.

You and Matt go out to meet them.

“I could get used to this,”  Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex.  Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.

Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”

There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.

Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”

The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.

“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”

“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”

The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”

“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”

A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”

Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”

“Very good.”

“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”

“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.

“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.

Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.

Keith picks her up.

It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.

“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.

Keith shakes his hair out.

You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.

Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.

“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.

Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.

You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.

“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”

“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”

“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.

Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.

His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”

“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.

Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.

The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.

“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-

“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.

Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.

—————

“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”

You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”

“Starlight.”

“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.

“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”

You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.

Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”

You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”

“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”

You finally hit the motherlode.

Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.

She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”

Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”

Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”

Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”

“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”

“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.

Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.

Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”

Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.

“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.

Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”

“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”

“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.

“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.

Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.

Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.

The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.

A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.

Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.

You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.

He whimpers, curling up further.

“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”

“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”

You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.

You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.

You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.

Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.

You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.

There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”

Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.

You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.

He was also half human.

You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.

“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”

“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”

Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.

“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.

Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”

Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.

“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”

“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”

“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”

“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”

“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.

Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He doesn’t answer you right away.

“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”

He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.

You trusted Keith.

He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.

“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Duh.”

“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.

You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.

You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.

His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.

So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.

He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.

You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.

Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.

“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.

You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.

His hair is damp near his ears.

“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.

You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-

Oh god.

“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.

It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.

Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.

“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”

Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”

“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”

“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.

Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”

“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”

“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.

As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.

You glance over at the red paladin.

His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.

“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”

“Hm?”

“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”

Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”

You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”

He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”

You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.

Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”

“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.

“You’re hurt.”

“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.

“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.

“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”

“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.

The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.

“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.

Bad timing.

“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”

“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.

You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.

“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”

You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.

“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.

“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”

“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.

“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.

Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.

You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).

You nab a table outside the stand.

Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.

“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.

“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.

You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.

“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.

“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”

“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”

“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”

“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.

He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.

You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.

There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.

You roll your eyes.

Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.

Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.

Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.

You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”

“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.

“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”

Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.

The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”

You jab your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”

“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”

“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.

“Thank you Pidge.”

She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”

He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.

You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”

Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”

You throw him a dirty look.

“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…

Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.

Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.

“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”

“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”

“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”

Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.

But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.

Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.

You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.

Keith squeezes your hand back.

Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”

“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”

“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.

“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”

“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.

“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.

You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.

“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”

“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.

Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.

“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”

“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.

“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”

“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.

“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”

Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.

What the heck.

You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.

You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.

The images would never leave you as long as you lived.

“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?

At some point?

Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.

Fuck.

You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.

The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.

The bunker seals and you get to work.

Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.

Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.

“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.

You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.

“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.

It irked you.

“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”

“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.

You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.

“Another then?”

You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.

“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.

Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.

“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”

You snort.

“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”

“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”

“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”

“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.

“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.

“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”

“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.

“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”

“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”

You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”

The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.

Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.

Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.

You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.

You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.

“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.

You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.

“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.

“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”

The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.

The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.

His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.

His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”

You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.

“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?  

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction  Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

[toomanybandstocare]

{Cover Me, Bruce Springsteen}

Program: The diner rush is never fun, but it brings in good money. It seems as if everyone is in a dark mood from the roaring storm this evening, and two patrons can't seem to keep it to themselves. Even though you desperately try to ignore the insults and harsh words, Billy isn't letting it fly. Tonight or any other night. So, the two of you create a little countertop ritual to bare with the shitty coffee.

Pairing: Demo Derby Driver! Billy Hargrove x Server, GN! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Couple of swears, Verbal insult (Reader is called a bitch by two upset douches), Kind of a fight? (Billy defends reader when he hears the insult), Petnames (Cutie and Sweetheart), Reader is referred to as "curious little thing" but not in regardless to stature, Smoking

Tom's Diner (P.1) | Camp Upside Down Masterlist

“Another coffee when you have a second”.

“I asked for hash browns not home fries”.

“Could I get some hot sauce, over here”.

“How long does it take to get seated here? This is ridiculous”.

“Can you read? Sign says seat yourselves, and if you can’t tell, we’re a bit busy today,” you bite back. 

Plates of piping hot food burn your arms as you unceremoniously drop them in front of grumbling patrons. Your feet fly across the linoleum floors before the cook can even ring the window bell. One arm reaches up to grab the sizzling dish while your other grabs a pot of coffee from the countertop burner, and you’re already whirling on your heel. Not paying any mind to the seething pair of men at the entrance, you move past them to do a round of coffee top offs at the booths before you can breathe a little on counter duty.

The entrance chime drolls mutely against the raging storm spitting down on the trolley car diner this late in the evening. You pant lightly from the constant movement and overwhelming feeling of pressure bubbling against your skull.

“I wouldn’t bother with this dump or bitch. No respect for the customer and can’t even provide decent service,” a raspy voice from the entryway silences the diner.

All eyes seem to move in unison and lock onto the asshole who dares try to discredit everyone’s favorite server. Some of the patrons at the front end of the countertop swivel their bodies, ready to pounce when given the word. Everything freezes, and you feel your lungs harden. Embarrassment stings your cheeks as you clutch the coffee pot tighter. As much as you want to look over, you can’t bring yourself to move your watery gaze from your shoes.

“What’d you say,” a familiar voice sends shivers down your spine. Billy’s tone dead serious.

There’s a heavy pause that hangs in the air, before a different voice stammers out: “Didn't even tell us to seat ourselves when we got here. Then proceeded to insult us. Hardly a place that cares about the customer’s needs”.

You pull your head up to look over at the scene. Billy’s hard face glowers down at the two men as he slowly shakes his head in thought. A pang hits your heart that Billy may actually agree with them. Sure, the witty comeback wouldn’t have been an issue with a regular. A quick glance to double check who was on the receiving end would have saved you from this turmoil.

When Billy takes a step into their personal space, you swallow the lump in your throat. In a flash, he grabs the men in each of his hands and raises them off the floor just so that their toes graze the tiles.

“Hey,” you call out, “That’s enough, alright”. You desperately try to get through to Billy as you force yourself over to the altercation.

“You see this server?” Billy lowly growls. The men in clutch at Billy’s white knuckle grip on their collars and nod. “The only server this shitty little diner has? Hauling ass to serve everyone crammed into trolley boothes and rubbing shoulders at the counter. Arms probably burnt trying to get hot plates out to patrons instead of letting them cool for a second to make it easier. You two aren’t even worth the dirt underneath the tattered sneakers sliding on spilt coffee just to do a round of refills. So how about I do us all a favor and show you two out,” Billy’s voice slowly grows in controlled ferocity. His muscles press against his rain splattered jacket as his arms start to slightly shake. Cold blue eyes look neon in the dark diner as he waits for a response.

As everyone in the diner seems to sit in silence on the edge of their seat, even the owner and cook stand behind the hostess station to watch, it dawns on you.

Billy’s waiting for your response.

Not the two paling men in his hold. Not the cook who looks ready to step in at any moment. Not the owner who cares more about money than fire code. The server who seems to always be flying across the trolley car with someone’s shitty food or cup of stale coffee in hand.

“Unfortunately, it seems like we don’t have any more seats available,” you try to level your uneasy voice.

Without missing a beat, Billy lowers the men and drags them over to the entrance door. Shoving the door open with his upper arm, he quite impressively throws the two out the diner with a wet slosh of landing. He adjusts his jacket while walking away and lightly pushes past you in the small walkway.

Rooted in place, you stand in the walkway with a wash of dizziness humming in your head. When the door swings closed the diner fills with muted chatter. The coffee pot in hand swirls as you move behind the counter and resume routine. Your arm sweeps in habit as you grab a mug while moving to stand in front of Billy’s seat. A ceramic shriek shrills in your ear and stings your forming headache.

“Made you speechless, cutie,” Billy coyly asks as he flicks his toothpick with his tongue. His eyes now glow with electric warmth.

“You didn’t have to do that. One of the guys would have handled it,” you reply, crossing your arms across your body.

Billy scoffs, “So, I should have let them escalate their harassment during the dinner rush? When you’re already so worked up from the lack of hands out front”.

Your tired gaze dips from his pointed look. Shifting your weight, you pour his cup of coffee without a word and turn back to the coffee burner. You grab another mug to pour another cup of coffee before settling the pot back into place. The cheap metal edge of the service counter digs into your lower back as you take a slow sip of hot coffee. A combination of the scorching drink stinging your tongue and Billy’s sharp look makes you wince.

“You’ve been coming here for a week now. Why would you care so much about how a couple of nobody assholes treat me,” you inquire over the rim of your mug.

“So, you would let them treat you like shit if no one stopped them,” Billy states while taking out his lighter and pack of cigs. You silently grab the ashtray from its new home on the serving counter and place it in front of him.

“Kind of comes with the territory of an all hours diner,” you bite back, “Again- why does it matter so much to you?” He doesn’t know me.

Billy takes a slow drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke trickle down his throat. The ashy warmth fills his lungs as he takes your tired form in. A twitch pulses underneath his right eye. Why would you let some dirty rags walk all over you?

“How often does that happen,” Billy asks with a sting in his chest. When your eyes can’t meet his own, anger burns his chilled skin. He bristles at the thought. How could you, the shitty diner server who pulls smiles at five in the goddamn morning, let yourself endure this? “Not happening again, you hear me,” Billy raises an eyebrow at you. His leg bounces underneath the countertop, desperately trying not to reach over and pull you closer, so he could make you look at him. Hold your jaw in his scarred and callous hands to draw your kind eyes to indulge his greedy gaze.

Your eyes flash up to meet Billy’s locked expression, which leaves no room to argue. “You can’t promise that,” you breathe out.

Billy grits his cigarette between his teeth in an annoyed snarl as he shoves his hand into his jacket pocket. Furiously rippinging open his wallet, Billy thumbs through his earnings from last night’s show and slams another twenty dollar bill on the table. “Start a fucking tab, then. I guess I just can’t get enough of shitty diner coffee and this countertop cutie,” Billy exasperatedly says.

You bite your lip to hide your growing smile as coffee mixes with butterflies in your stomach creating a warm glee. “One condition,” you murmur.

Billy leans back into his seat and forces his muscles to relax. “And, what would that be? I’m already offering my services to you, cutie,” Billy eyes you while letting a puff of smoke fall from his plush lips.

Wetting your bottom lip, you ignore the crooked smile slithering onto Billy’s face. “A game of questions. Each time you come in, including tonight’s visit, I get to ask you three questions,” you bargain.

“Well, aren’t you a curious little thing,” Billy darkly teases. An enduring pause sits in the air as Billy takes a sip of his coffee. “Deal, but,” he counters, “I get to ask three as well”.

“Deal,” you agree and take the step to stand in front of him. Only the vinyl and metal countertop separates the two of you. The diner bustle disappears as you direct your attention solely on Billy. Not even the broken radio static hums in the background. It’s only the two of you.

“What do you do? I can hardly imagine you sitting at home all day keeping to yourself,” you softly inquire. Your fingers push and pull with each other as you fiddle in anticipation.

“Glad to know you like to imagine me in your daydreams, sweetheart,” Billy grazes his tongue across the inside of his lip. “Demolition derby driver. I’m either out driving for practice, fixing up cars, or competing. Had a show last night,” he shares. His eyes dart at the movement of your hands and without hesitation, Billy loops on his own fingers into your hold. With a little squeeze of his finger, Billy looks up at you and his chest tightens at the blush across the planes of your face. “Do you have a lucky charm,” Billy hums.

You scrunch your face at the question and tilt your head. “A lucky charm? I’ll give you points for originality,” you laugh.

Billy’s low chuckle joins your laughter, “Glad to know I’m racking up points in your book, cutie. Indulge me”.

“I feel like I do that pretty regularly,” you say lightly and squeeze his finger. “I guess it’s this piece of sea glass,” you hum and pull a small chain from the inside of your shirt. A small piece of light blue sea glass sways as the chain dangles from your finger. “Got it my junior year of college, so I’d have a piece of my favorite place when I leave college for break”.

Billy’s other hand leaves the cup of coffee and reaches up to carefully take the chain from your grasp. Barely applying any pressure, he gently pulls it closer to him in contemplation. Your heart hammers as your hips press against the countertop. “S’ pretty,” Billy compliments while releasing your necklace.

You swallow hard to try to ground yourself. “Why did you go so far with those guys,” you continue.

Billy sags at the question and turns his head to watch the splatter of rain hit the windows at the end of the trolley car. “Good question. You get two answers,” his voice thick, “First, no one should feel entitled or comfortable enough to harass wait staff or any service industry person”. Billy grinds his jaw before going on, “Second, those were guys from the derby. Not my guys, but I know them from rosters and competitions. I know them enough to know that I would win without concern in a fight”. He squeezes your hands before meeting your concerned expression with a blank one across his features. “Favorite color,” the words tumble from his mouth with a boyish grin.

You snort at the question and let yourself ignore the tension, “Dark green. Of all the questions to ask, you went with the cliché. Favorite song?”

“Pour Some Sugar on Me- Def Leppard,” Billy shoots you a wink and asks, “Favorite drink?”

A laugh of disbelief bubbles inside you and escapes your surprised expression, “Billy Hargrove, I know I said points for originality, but the clichés are killing me”. When his expectant gaze doesn’t waver from your incredulous look, you throw your free hand up. “Fine, a chocolate milkshake. Always cheer me up without fail”.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Billy’s lips as he takes his final sip of coffee. Standing up, he squeezes your hands and slides the bill underneath your lingering fingers. “Noted. I’ll see you tomorrow, cutie. Gotta get back to the tracks to help lock up shop,” he reaffirms with a flick of his collar to draw more protection from the raging storm.

“Drive safe,” you call after him and hold the bill tightly in your hand. 

Waving his hand behind him, Billy steps out of the diner and into the harsh night. Your countertop crush leaves you yearning for more than the small touch that still tingles your fingertips.

[randomrosewrites]

At the break of dawn

Pairing: Diluc x GN reader Summary: Diluc returns late - very late - from his vigilante duties one day, exhausted and worn out. At the break of dawn, he crawls back into your loving embrace. Words: ~1K Warnings/ tags: Fluff, comfort, Diluc getting affection he deserves TM, kaeya makes an appearance.

A/n: *shakes bags of treats* diluc simps come get your food. (It's been a while since I wrote anything, apologies for the roughness of this. Just a little idea that's been worming its way into my mind.)

You’re awoken by the dim, blue light, filtering in through the curtains. Morning has arrived, but the sun has not yet risen, the window wet with condensation.

You can immediately tell that no one’s in the bed from the lack of warmth, but for good measure, you crane your neck - wincing at the ache you feel; you slept on it funny - to confirm. Feeling along the bed, you’re only met with cold, undisturbed sheets.

He’s late. Very late coming home.

You stretch out on the plush bed like a cat, working out your aching muscles. Swinging your legs over the side, you slide off the bed, wrapping a nightgown around your body. The manor is quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood or the faint tick of the grandfather clock. You tip-toe out of your bedroom and down the hall with careful steps, not wanting to disturb the tranquil atmosphere. No signs of the person you’re searching for - he really didn’t come home last night. How unusual.

On the first floor, you poke your head into the kitchen, nearly scaring the staff half to death. A few maids and cooks who’ve - by the looks of their half-done-up uniforms - have just arrived. They all rush to fix their uniforms, not wanting to be caught in an unprofessional state.

“M-master…” one of them murmurs your name. “We were just about to get started on your morning breakfast. It will be ready shortly.”

“No rush,” you reassure them. “It’s still early, take your time.”

With a chorus of “thank you’s”, you leave them to get to work, treading over to the living room.

It’s tidy, as is everything in the manor. Adeline - the head maid - personally sees to that. Yet you can tell there’s a struggle between her and her employer. The desk by the window is cluttered with papers, accounts, bills, receipts, and all the like in an organized mess, stacked several inches high. Your partner always liked overseeing everything himself, even if it usually ended with him exhausted beyond measure. The papers on his desk are unorganized, left behind after he went out for his nightly duties and never returned to put them away.

You adjust a paperweight on the stacks so they don’t scatter before leaving the desk to curl up on the couch by the fireplace. Pulling a blanket over you, you open a book and begin reading.

The maids come from the kitchen ten minutes later, wheeling in a cart of delicacies and tea. They spoil you at the winery, heavily. Your partner’s wealth ensures you have anything you’d ever need and more. (Though rich or not, you know he would always spoil you.)

“Anything within my power that I can grant you will be granted,” he’d told you, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckle. “You’re precious to me.”

In response, you’d hold him how equally precious he was to you.

Just as your morning tea is being poured, the front door opens with a bang, startling the maid so much she nearly drops the pot.

A tall, hooded figure stands in the doorway, adorned in black clothing. Red-rimmed gloves lift to tug his cloak from his face, and you can’t help the way your stomach flutters nor the way you break out into a smile.

“Good morning, Diluc.”

Diluc Ragnvindr shuffles into the manor, handing off his cloak to the maid and rubbing his shoes against the entrance rug. “ Good morning.”

He looks and sounds exhausted. His shoulders sag as he rests his claymore against the wall before sluggish shuffling over to you on the couch. His eyes are half-lidded, weighed down by fatigue. His hair is a mess as well, it snags on the tassels of his coat as he tries to remove it, earning a mumbled curse from him.

“Busy night?” you inquire, taking the coat from him and laying it over the arm of the couch.

“Very,” he sighs, exasperation seeping into his voice. He kicks his boots off and collapses onto the couch, undoing the ruby crystal at his tie.

You raise a hand to cover his. “Allow me.”

Diluc complies, letting your careful fingers undo his tie. You place the item on the coffee table and scoot over, patting the spot beside you.

“Lay down, darling.”

Diluc is drawn to you like a magnet, body seeking to press up against yours. You pull him into your arms and lay down on the couch together. He sighs deeply as he buries his face into your chest, pressing his ear right over your heart. His arms loop around your torso and his legs intertwine with yours. Snug. Warm.

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging at the elastic holding his crimson locks back until it unravels. Diluc’s hair pools around you, silky, long, and with a hint of smoke.

“Thank you…” he mumbles, so quiet you almost miss it. You don’t miss the affection soaking his words.

You press a kiss atop his head, petting down his hair. “You’re welcome.”

He’s asleep almost instantly in your arms. His breathing steadies and the tension leaves his body as he sinks into you. Your hand remains at his hair, gently massaging his scalp. Diluc’s very warm, and with his body heat, the blanket, and the fire in the hearth, you feel your eyes begin to close, too.

You’re almost asleep yourself when there’s a sharp knock at the front door. It swings open before a maid can get to it and a familiar head of blue hair pops in.

“Good morni- oh Arcons.”

You put a finger to your lips as Kaeya carefully shuts the door behind him, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and joy plastered on his face.

“Quiet, you’ll wake him.”

“Is he sleeping? Oh my god, look at him.”

“Kaeya,” you repeat, fighting off a laugh. “Hush. Let him sleep.”

Kaeya creeps closer, craning his neck like a peacock to get a better view of Diluc. “I wish I had one of those kamera things. I’m never gonna let him live this down. He looks like a little lamb when he sleeps.”

“What do you need, Kaeya?”

He waves a small stack of papers in his hands. “For sleeping beauty, from Jean,” he places the stack of papers on the coffee table with a wink. “Enjoy your morning, I’ve leave both of you to it.”

He leaves as quickly as he comes, slipping out through the front door with a flourish of his cape.

“A nuisance, as always…” grumbles a sleepy voice, making you jump.

“Did we wake you? Sorry.”

“Not you…” Diluc mumbles, shifting in your arm. “Kaeya’s always...loud…”

You can hear the adorable pout in his voice.You rub his back soothingly. “He’s gone now get some rest,” and because you can’t help it, you add, “Sleeping beauty.”

The noise Diluc makes is enough to make you laugh, pressing a kiss against the top of his head in apology.

[juliettalfacharlie]

Day One: “You have to let me go.”

CW graphic violence, injury, animal death (it's dark.)

It had begun as a simple animal trafficking raid; the Creeping Crystal Triad had expanded their avenues into illegal wildlife trade, and a solid tip lead them to a warehouse hidden up in the mountains. When Lin had received the call, she'd been out having lunch with Kya, and the waterbender had insisted on coming in case any animals had been injured.

Once they arrived, it seemed all the clues pointed to an abandoned gig. The sight was absolutely gruesome; Lin found a trailer with two dead boar-q-pines, both terribly emaciated. One had clearly died (note, been killed) and the other had tried to eat it, blood forever staining the wooden walls and floor. As they ventured further onto the property, the conditions were similar. Owl cats that had plucked themselves bare in nervousness, still and unmoving in their filthy cages. A concrete pen housed the remains of a crococat family, kittens still small and fuzzy.

Kya wrapped her arms around herself, beyond horrified. Lin, however private she preferred to be, wasn't so much of a hardass that she didn't comfort her girlfriend, who immediately buried her face in Lin's neck.

Lin lead her back out front while she had two officers sweep the rest of the house. While she'd witnessed occasions of animal abuse before, it had never been on such a large scale as this, and she'd barely scratched the surface of this disturbing scene.

She brought Kya to their car, sure she needed to sit and let the shock wear off.

Part of Lin wanted to call in more backup, but she wanted to subject as few people to the grisly sight as possible. The four men on-site had been on the force for a long time; while it definitely wasn't easy, she knew they'd be able to handle processing it all.

They were twenty feet from their car when the van beside them exploded, throwing both women forward.

Lin had been behind Kya, her armour taking bits of shrapnel. She didn't have time to process their landing; the dense layer of fallen leaves provided zero traction against the sloped drop off, and in what felt like a moment, Lin was falling.

There was a narrow ledge three feet below the side of the mountain, then an incredibly steep descent into a copse of trees. Their momentum deposited them right against the edge of the shelf. Lin felt her metal plates scratching against the rocky cliff face, and her hand desperately clawed for a hold.

Her fingers dug into the earth, creating an artificial grip that she held onto for dear life.

Kya hadn't been able to find purchase, but Lin blindly reached out, and by some miracle she'd been able to find her wrist.

The older woman slipped off the edge, a short shriek leaving her lungs as she felt herself drop.

Lin tightened her hold, solely supporting Kya's weight. She felt something tear in her shoulders, both arms pulled in different directions, and she cried out.

Her muscles were past overworked, and she trembled in exertion. Kya looked up at her in fear.

"You have to let me go." she insisted, and Lin fought with her neck to tilt her head down.

"Like hell I will." she gritted out, pure agony spread across her back. She willed herself to hold on for a fraction longer, right forearm straining. Lin curled her legs up, striking the ledge with her metal shoes. She created a foothold in the rock, allowing her to relieve some of the stress on her upper body with her quads.

It didn't ease her left arm pain, but she actually felt stable enough to continue.

"Kya, I need you to hold my belt. I'll turn my armour into handles so you can climb up." she called, as if she were instructing an officer. Kya swung herself up so that her free hand could grip Lin's corded belt, and Lin grimaced at the new pressure at her waist.

When Kya said she was secure, Lin released her wrist, and the waterbender quickly took hold with her other hand.

Lin bore down on her thighs, using her now-free arm to remove her plates.

Pain throbbed up her shoulder but she pushed through, rolling the flat metal pieces into cylinders that she impaled into the cliffside.

Once she was done she exhaled, letting her left arm hang limply at her side. "Get your foot onto the bottom most peg, and you can switch your grips over." Lin explained, and Kya did as told. As her weight shifted onto the climbing studs, Lin almost sagged in relief.

"Climb up now. I'm going to need you to help me." she continued. Kya carefully ascended three feet until she could pull herself onto solid ground, quickly looking over the edge at Lin.

Her stomach dropped at the sight of her lover just barely clinging to safety, but Lin's face was devoid of visible fear.

"What can I do?" Kya asked, and Lin's eyes studied the ledge, looking for the best route with only one arm.

"I'm going to walk up the side; can you grab my wrist and help pull me?" she was met with a quick nod, and Kya bent her knees to give her the necessary support.

"Ready?" she asked, and Lin quickly loosened her hold on the rock, instead taking Kya's hand. It was the most stressful moment for Kya, the knowledge that any error could cause Lin to fall backwards to almost certain death.

While time seemed to pass slowly, the exchange went without incident, and Kya felt a surge of relief as she began to straighten her legs. Lin created more vertical footholds, allowing herself to climb up like it was the world's most lethal jungle gym.

With one final push, Lin too stood on the short ledge, and Kya couldn't help her relieved sob.

Lin shuffled close, pressing Kya back against the rock as she rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder.

The metalbender caught her breath, letting the adrenaline seep from her body as she gripped her girlfriend's hand.

Above them, one of Lin's officers frantically peered down.

"Chief!" he exclaimed, immediately raising the platform both women stood on.

There was a gash on his temple, swollen and bloody, but a glance towards the house said that wasn't the worst of it.

The storage facility was still burning, black smoke rising from the windows and the collapsed ceiling. Lin and Kya both tightened their hold on one another.

After a moment, Lin asked, eyes sweeping the scene, "Where's Sergeant Kip?"

"She's perfectly fine, ser. She's on the line with dispatch." he explained, gaze flitting about the horizon. Kya could see the telltale signs of shock in his jittery behaviour.

"Clearly this wasn't just an animal smuggling ring. I want to know every damn detail about that building, about the tip, about fucking everything." Lin growled, and the officer nodded.

"Yes, ser." he responded automatically.

Lin shook her head, beginning to trudge towards her Satomobile. Kya was with her at each step.

"Take it easy, Cheok, you've done well. Is your forehead the only injury you sustained?" she asked, and he took a moment to think.

"I believe so. The- I was knocked onto the ground, but I don't think it's serious. Kip was further back, so she was only affected by the sound." he explained.

Lin hummed in understanding, "I'm going to have Kya take a look, alright?" and Cheok agreed. He took a seat in the passenger side of the Satomobile, and Kya leaned down to work on his temple.

Lin would continue on and speak with Kip, but she took a moment to let her mind finally catch up, again staring at the ruins of the building.

She supported her left elbow to lesson the pain across her back. It was a different kind of torture compared to her mental anguish. The devastation of having lost two men, the knowledge she and Kya had been a minute off of dying with them. Their extreme luck climbing back up the mountain.

She took a steadying breath. It had began a wonderfully pleasant morning, yet somehow ended like this.

Lin didn't want to be away from Kya right now, but she had to continue her duties. She began to walk towards Kip's car, finding herself for once unable to compartmentalize her emotions and responsibilities. Catching the criminals had always been revenge enough, but damnit if she wouldn't tear the Creeping Crystal Triad apart doing so.

[rexisnotyourwriter]

by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​

Chapter 2: Feeling Like a Loner

The bell rang. The class full of children emptied in a flurry of squeals. The teacher breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped when she noticed she wasn’t alone. A pair of mousy braids sat by the window watching her peers spill out into the playground like ants under a log. They scattered, dispersing themselves amongst the jungle gym, the hopscotch marked concrete, and the small patch of grass they called a field.

The teacher softly called her name.

They’d had this conversation before, usually ending with her forfeiting her smoke break to stay in the classroom.

The girl didn’t turn around.

“You have to go outside today,” she added. “It’s a beautiful day. And look at those clouds. I think that one looks like a cow.”

The girl didn’t move.

“Sweetie.” The teacher put a hand on her shoulder. The girl finally turned to face her. “Why don’t you go outside, hmm?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s fun. Look. Look at all the fun they’re having.”

The girl looked back out the window and contemplated.

“That doesn’t look fun to me,” she concluded, matter-of-factly.

“You need to go outside today.”

“Why?”

“Because teachers need a break, too, and I can’t supervise you in here,” she responded bluntly.

“Oh,” the girl replied. “Okay.”

She got up from her seat and grabbed her neatly folded cardigan from the cubby.

Once outside, she found a good vantage point - a mostly flat rock at the edge of the field where she can see most of the schoolyard.

A group of boys were playing jacks. They’d made it to foursies, from what she could tell. Another boy hovered around them asking to join, but they ignored him.

The girl turned away from them and took a rubber ball out of the front pocket of her overalls. She bounced it against the ground on her own. Then, she turned back to the boys, still steadily bouncing her ball. She watched. When the time was right, she launched her ball into their game, knocking the jacks out of a boy’s hand. They yelled. She caught her ball without missing a beat.

The girl smiled, then turned her attention to the jungle gym. Almost ten children were winding their bodies between the bars, some resting on levels, others climbing to the highest perch. The few children in the center looked like they were imprisoned. An acrobatic cage. One boy made it to the top, or rather almost. His feet were on the second highest bars, his hands on the highest. He put one foot up on the high bar and tested his balance, releasing the pressure on his other grounded foot. His hand slipped, but he got his grip in time to only suffer a minor embarrassment (one of his friends saw, and proceeded to laugh). The boy climbed down after that.

She looked down at her cream colored Mary Janes and tapped her toes together. In the corner of her eye, inching toward her, was a remarkably fuzzy caterpillar. It bobbed up and down like a wave, growing closer and closer to the shore of her shoe.

“I got it,” someone yelled.

Then thud.

The caterpillar disappeared under a grass stained sneaker belonging to the boy who “got it”. “It” was a rubber ball, and the boy she recognized as the one whose turn at jacks was interrupted.

He ran back to his friends, taking no notice of her or his victim. The insect, upon inspection, hadn’t been entirely crushed, and was still wriggling. She gingerly scooped it up with a sturdy leaf and rested it in one hand while she cupped her other around it like a shield. She watched it writhe with increasing intensity, then intermittently, then not at all.

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

On the following Monday morning, Bill was surprised to see that he had beat Holden in to work.

He poked his head in Wendy’s office.

“Captain America not in yet?”

“No,” she replied, barely looking up from the page in front of her.

“Maybe he finally got lucky,” Bill joked.

He got a smirk out of her that time.

Bill turned around and, seeing that Gregg was preoccupied with a phone call, didn’t bother closing the door.

“I’m going up to talk to Gunn,” he said softly.

“Good.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”

“Marital problems.”

Wendy nodded her approval.

Gregg’s voice got louder from the hallway.

“Is he still on the phone?” Wendy asked.

Bill turned to confirm. “Yup.”

Wendy closed her file.

“This is ridiculous. We can’t be expected to assist in every single murder case across the country. We can’t even keep up with the inquiries.”

“What did Gunn say?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t really mentioned it, not explicitly. He’s not exactly receptive to my ideas. Knowing him, he would probably ask why Gregg was the one dealing with it and suggest I take over secretarial duties.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

Wendy’s eyes flicked up at him. Her look said it all.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bill decided. “Tell him we need to hire someone.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

Holden speed walked into the office, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted.

Wendy got up from her desk and joined Bill in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Holden muttered breathlessly.

“Is everything alright?” Wendy asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. I had to take the bus, but I forgot my wallet at home and…It’s been a morning.”

“How’s your car?”

“What happened to your car?” Bill interjected.

Holden, still exasperated, dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud.

“It wouldn’t start when I went to leave the bar on Friday, so Wendy gave me a ride home.”

Bill threw a side-eyed glance at Wendy who wrinkled her nose in subtle disgust.

No, Bill.

“I got it towed to the shop on Saturday,” Holden continued, “but it wasn’t a dead battery. Turns out I need a new timing belt, and they couldn’t get one in until today. I have to pick it up in a couple hours because they close early, and when I called this morning it still wasn’t ready, which is why I had to take the bus. Hence…” He gestured to his state of disarray and exhaled.

“Happy Monday,” Wendy said before disappearing back into her office.

Bill got roped into a case that delayed his plan to talk to Gunn. It was almost 11am before he was finally able to go upstairs. Nearly 23 minutes later, Bill returned to the basement where Holden and Wendy appeared to be waiting for him. The pair looked at him expectantly.

“It went fine,” Bill admitted. “He gave me some sympathy about ‘the old ball and chain’ and poured me a finger of whiskey. As long as we stay on track and deliver, we’re good.”

“That’s great, Bill,” Holden said.

“And Gunn agreed about hiring an assistant,” Bill added, to Wendy’s relief. “A non-agent, but someone who can deal with the sensitive matter. He said he would talk to you about it.”

Wendy’s face dropped.

“Why me?”

Bill opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. He couldn’t find the right words.

She understood.

“Of course,” she added bitterly. Because I’m the woman.  

Sometimes she missed Boston.

“Oh, shoot,” Holden exclaimed, noticing the time. “I gotta go.”

“Did you send that profile to Osborn?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I just faxed it over,” he replied, already halfway out the door.

“Kids,” Bill joked, shaking his head.

“So, how’d it really go?” Wendy inquired.

“It really did go fine,” he replied sincerely. “Better than expected, honestly.”

“But?”

Bill sat on the edge of the desk.

“I guess I still feel…uneasy about the situation with Brian. How would it look if the FBI found out my kid was involved in a murder.”

“But he wasn’t, Bill. They concluded he wasn’t responsible. It’s on the record.”

“I know. And I know that logically he thought the cross was a good idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t feel good about it. And now I can’t even keep an eye on him. I don’t know if he’s still wetting the bed. Or if he’s started sucking his thumb again, or if he’s spoken at all.”

Wendy offered him a sympathetic smile.

“From what you’ve told me, it seems likely that the regressions are a result of the traumatic experience. Nothing more.”

“I just feel so helpless.”

They sat in silence, neither knowing what else to say.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Wendy offered.

“Thanks. Really. I’m glad you’re around.”

Bill got up to leave.

Wendy passed by the fax machine on the way back to her office and picked up the pages of the profile Holden faxed to Alaska. She scanned the page, then stopped.

That little-

There was a knock.

“All by your lonesome, Dr. Carr?”

“Not anymore,” Wendy muttered under her breath.

She turned around to see Gunn standing in the doorway.

“I don’t know if Bill had a chance to mention it to you,” he said, making his way over to her.

“He did.”

“Good. HR has a standard secretary job posting. I’ll have them send it your way and you can let them know if there’s anything to be added. I trust you to select the applicants and conduct the interviews, but I need to sign off on the hire.”

“Isn’t this something that HR can handle on their own?”

“They don’t know what it’s like in the BSU. The intricacies of your operations. You’re the expert on that.”

She straightened her posture and folded her arms.

“You were involved in hiring Agent Smith, weren’t you?” he added, taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“Yes, but that was different,” she explained. “He’s actively involved in our work.”

“And so will the woman you hire.” She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I thought you’d want to have a hand in who joins this team, Dr. Carr.”

“That’s -” she started, then stopped.

She took a breath.

“I feel that my time would be better spent focusing on our research,” she explained.

“And this is part of that,” Gunn stated confidently. “Everything that happens in this basement is. And beyond. All the cogs in the machine have to be well oiled and working together.”

His tone was final and his feet were already headed towards the door.

“Let me know if you haven’t gotten anything by the end of the week,” he added, already halfway out the door.

The phone rang, as if on cue.

She walked away, letting the sound echo in the empty room.

Wendy was in the break room getting her third coffee of the day when Holden returned from his errand.  

“Hey, is there enough left for me?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a paper cup.

Wendy continued pouring coffee into her cup until the pot was empty. Holden looked at her cup, full to the brim. She picked it up carefully and took a sip from the top, looking Holden square in the eyes, before walking past him back to the office.

He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, before following her.

“Hey,” he called, just as she was about to enter her office.

Wendy turned around, unimpressed.

“Did I miss something?” Holden asked.

She was amused by his question, but not happy.

“Yes, Holden,” she said with more than a hint of condescension. “You missed a significant portion of my professional opinion in the Alaska profile.”

He thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could have been referring to.

“The military thing?” Her look confirmed his guess. “I thought we agreed he didn’t fit the military description.”

“I very clearly stated that it was very likely he did work at the air base.”

“Yes, but then I said I disagreed and you dropped it, so-”

“So, you took that to mean I conceded.”

“Well…”

She’d had it.

Gregg, who took notice of their dispute, removed his headphones to spectate properly, albeit discreetly.

“Look,” Holden said in a softer voice. “I don’t want to argue.”

“If you can’t tell the difference between a rational discussion and an argument-”

“Do you want me to call them?” he interrupted. “Tell them we made a mistake and we’ll send a new assessment?”

Wendy weighed this option briefly.

“No,” she concluded. “The damage is done. It won’t look good if we change our mind unless we’ve been presented with new information.”

Holden exhaled loudly. She stared him down. It didn’t appear that he’d learned this lesson.

“What’s done is done,” she added.

She retired to her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Gregg looked up at Holden. Holden stared back, trying to think of something to say. His mind drew a blank, and he walked away, shaking his head.

The first thing Wendy did when she got home was pour herself the remainder of her bottle of Pinot Gris. It filled her glass well past the acceptable half-way point, but who was there to judge her.

The second thing she did was check her answering machine. She always tried to do it casually - just a quick glance - as if someone might be watching and think she was neurotic. The little red bulb was dark, as it always was. It seemed like a silly purchase now, slowly gathering dust like her love life.

She took a large sip of wine and opened the fridge. It was sparse. There was half a carton of eggs, an opened container of hummus, a three inch block of cheddar, and a nearly empty carton of milk next to a half full carton of orange juice. The crisper contained a bruised apple, two oranges, and a few stalks of celery.

Unmoved by her options, Wendy opened the cupboard only to find a bag of dried apricots where there would normally be cans of tuna. She once again opened the fridge and took out the cheese, an orange, and two of the celery stalks. From the cupboard, she took out the dried apricots as well as a box of crackers from the one next to it.  She sliced the cheese and arranged it carefully on a plate next to a matching number of crackers. Next to the crackers was the celery, cut into sticks, followed by orange wedges and a handful of dried apricots completing the circle. She scribbled down “tuna” and “milk” on the notepad pinned to the fridge before bringing her dinner to the living room.

Wendy settled into her usual chair, curled her feet up, and turned on the television. It was quarter to the hour, right in the middle of any half-hour show and too near the end of a full hour program. She flicked channels through twice before stopping on an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which promptly went to a commercial break.

She took a bite of one of the celery sticks only to find it bitter. It hadn’t looked spoiled from the outside, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tossed the stick back onto her plate and grabbed an apricot to cleanse her palate. Much better.

A man from Sarasota made it to the final round, but couldn’t guess the puzzle. Wendy got it in four seconds. When the episode ended, she turned off the television and brought her briefcase back to her chair. She pulled out the file she brought home on John Wayne Gacy. The Killer Clown.

Gacy’s mug shot was more unique than most. He was looking away from the camera, off to the side, and smiling. It was as if he was having a pleasant conversation with one of the officers when they snapped his picture. He didn’t look nice per se, however he wasn’t glistening with sweat. This wasn’t surprising though, considering he admitted he knew he was going to be arrested. And he confessed willingly, although it was only after police had found the remains in his crawl space.

Wendy read through the details of the first convicted murder, Timothy McCoy - formerly known as the “Greyhound Bus Boy”. Gacy had left a family party to go look at a display of ice sculptures, then decided to lure the 16-year-old to his car from the Chicago Greyhound Bus Terminal. He was on his way to Omaha from Nebraska. Gacy drove him around Chicago, showed him the sights, then back to his house where he told McCoy he could stay the night. He even offered him a ride to the station in the morning in time to catch his next bus. According to Gacy, he woke up early in the morning to see McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife. Gacy got out of bed and charged at McCoy, who raised his hands in surrender, still holding the knife. It cut Gacy’s arm in the panic. Gacy, who was much larger than McCoy, wrestled the knife from him and banged his head against the wall. Gacy kicked him multiple times. He wrestled him to the ground, straddled him, and stabbed him repeatedly. Then, Gacy claims he cleaned the knife in the bathroom. When he went into the kitchen, he found an open carton of eggs and a slab of bacon, unsliced, on the table, which was set for two.

This poor boy just wanted to make him breakfast, as a thank you, and he died for it. All because he didn’t leave the knife in the kitchen.

Wendy swirled the remainder of her drink in her glass, then held her hand steady and watched the wine continue to swirl and splash around the curves, briefly gaining momentum before slowing to a soft ripple.

Maybe Gacy would have killed him anyways. Maybe he never meant to drive him to the station that morning. Maybe McCoy was always meant to end up in Gacy’s crawl space, covered in concrete.

She took a sip and turned the page.

[taking-over-his-life]

The solicitor and the skinhead

It was 2am when I received a call from the local police station. They had arrested a guy for violent disturbance and he had requested a solicitor. I was on duty tonight and there was no way I could get out of it. ,”45mins” I said as I put the phone down. I didn't need the money but decided to do this as I got to meet some real rough bastards, the type I fantasized over. It was the only way I could make contact with this sort of guy. 

One day I'd find one who would want to fuck me senseless.  I got dressed, white shirt, red tie blue suit black shoes, and picked up my leather briefcase, then onto the garage. The Audi was waiting as I sunk into its leather seats. I thought about what sort of dim witted fucker I would meet and it made me hard. I resented these dumb socialist thugs. Never worked, no morals, little diction. I resented how their bodies had grown so strong, their attitude so belligerent while they contributed little to society, while I had worked hard through school and university to get where I was and those low lives just took.

They looked so hard so masculine everything I wanted, I just needed one who I could get into my bed and fuck senseless, and let him do the same to me rather than the hooray henries I usually picked up.

I got to the station and parked in the yard. I was so sexually charged, probably the spliff I had had earlier and the tiredness. I spoke to Andy on the front desk a hot Latin looking cop, damn I wish I was in his pants, but I have to keep up the pretense.I was signed in and briefed on the job I had to see. Malcolm was his name. He beat a young guy senseless as he shouted abuse at him. I looked at the address a block of council flats, typical scrounger I thought.

I was led into the interview room and again shown the panic alarm which was standard procedure. Ill be ok I said as I sat down opposite my client“Hello” I said, “my name is George Anstey”, I am the duty solicitor. He snarled at me, I looked at him and took in every aspect of his look persona and dress. He has the same height and build as me, He put his feet on the table, red 30 hole doctor martins, worn and dirty from wear. I looked at them, tight on his legs, so tight I could imagine his muscles through them and how they must smell. 

I followed up his legs, white and blue bleachers, so tight on his thighs so muscular and that crotch, stuck up so high so packed, damn I was getting hard I was mesmerized when he said… “like what u see”? I was shocked and tried to speak but had to swallow to get a word out, “what do u mean” I said He took his feet off the table and I felt them rub against my legs under the table. It was like an electric shock I started to speak, as I sheepishly looked into his face. He was smirking. I saw his shaved head and face and his eyes peering at me. The ring in his nose glinted against the light and the swastika tat on his neck gave a strong message. “How can I help u” I said clearing my throat, he just looked at me, and rubbed his thigh against mine, I shivered he smiled an evil sadistic smile. “Got myself a bum boi have I” he said. I went red with embarrassment, “you like rough do u Mr. Solicitor” I did and by this time ii was hard and seeping “Get me out of here tonight and ill fuck, you raw to heaven, bum boi” he grunted.I questioned him at length and found a few procedural errors in the arrest. 

After an hours discussion with the police they released him on bail.I waited round the corner from the station and saw him walking towards the car, he swayed like a gorilla his shoulders huge in the jacket. 

I watched his legs in those tight bleachers as they caught the light. His huge crotch gently moving from side to side. I saw the light from the street lamp reflect off the rings in his ears and nose. His fists were clenched in tight black leather gloves as he moved closer and closer to the car. I opened the passenger door as he approached he didn”t seem surprised to see me.He looked at me and smiled, and instead of getting in the passenger side he pushed me over and jumped into the driver”s seat.I didn”t resist, I just let him. I knew it was a mistake but I was so horned up I was dripping into my silk boxers.“Nice car George boi, thanks for getting me out,” he said, he grabbed my crotch with his leathered hand and pressed; it was as if 50000 volts had gone through me.“Now lets pay the solicitor”, he looked at me and smiled, his nostrils enlarging showing the nose ring more clearly. I watched him as we drove, 4 rings in his left ear two on the top two at the bottom, ohhh what I would have given for piercings when I was young.I could see we were heading to his place into the worst council estate in the area he pulled over next to a block of flats and got out. As he did I saw his arse properly for the first time. Tight bleachers over two tight hard cheeks, fuck he was incredible.“Follow me georgie” he said as he walked in front of me to an entrance. It was filthy, litter all over, the stink of stale piss. I walked being him as we climbed the stairs, concentrating on his ass and legs, every muscle movement I saw I recorded, his red doctor martins moved with his legs and feet, the leather giving way to accommodate the muscle movements. The soles were worn, as was the stitching, I was just mesmerized by the time we reached the 4th floor. He turned around and looked at me. Smiling he said “you want this don”t you,”“ “want what” I said, “me” he replied, I said “very much,”We walked to the last door on the landing he fiddled with some keys and opened and iron gate which was over the door. In we went. I followed my stomach turning with excitement and my dick raging. When we got in he lit some candles. “No leckie” he said.We walked to a filthy kitchen. He got two beers passed one too me, “here” he said, “no I don”t” I said, suddenly he jumped towards me and pushed me against the wall. “I said fucking drink cunt” he said. I drank. The violence had my dick raging and he could see it. He rolled some spliffs and set them aside. “Now solicitor what do u want” he grunted. he grabbed me and started to kiss me, his tongue entering my mouth. “you like it rough eh”? He said. He lit the spliff and put it in my mouth. I didn”t care anymore and breathed it in. I coughed and then my head started to roll.He was all over me his hands in my shirt trousers, undressing me bit by bit. By the time he finished I was naked. He was there smelling my underpants pushed against his face, moaning with delight.I was totally naked, on the kitchen floor of a filthy council house, a solicitor out of my power clothing being controlled by a bigoted skinhead dumb fuck. 

I had my hands on his doctor martins feeling the worn leather. He sat down lit a spliff and that was it. “lick them cunt” he said and pushed my head to his boots. I was in heaven as I licked and licked that red leather.We played all night I woke up He was standing there, sweaty and dirty from our night of sex. His tattooed body got me hard again as I watched him smelling my undies. He looked at me, climbed on the bed, got sitting on my chest his legs either side of me. “I want you to stay here for a while fucker,” he passed me my blackberry, “tell everyone your sick” he said, “what?” I said looking confused, “text them now. Your sick” he ordered, he grabbed my throat and positioned his ass over my dick, smiling at me, “your sick, OK”? I was as hard as iron, and texted work and friends. “Ok Mal” I said.He went to his stash and lit a spliff and made me smoke it all. I was floating. I saw him smell my undies and put them on, then my shirt, “what you doing” I said (Must be honest it was turning me on) “I need to go out boi, need to look right for the car, eh?” “you make a hot solicitor Mal” I said, “go back to wanking skin fucker”” he said to me. He dressed fully in my clothes, and looked good, checked my wallet and left. I lay there in this stinking bedroom, rubber sheet stained with piss and cum the smell was electric and I was horny as hell, the spliff making it betterI saw his stained yellow jock, I reached out to smell it pushing it against my face and nose, to get his smell all over my goatee. I wanted it to linger, then I stood up and put my legs through the holes and pulled it up so it covered my raging cock. I pushed it tight against my dick and balls so they would absorb his smell as I looked around there on the floor was his gear, I saw the bleachers and started to cum, on my own as I picked them up and started to step into them, the feeling was so intense, and I fell on the bed.My cum soaked into his jock, I started to pull the bleachers up over my ass and dick, and managed to zip them up and fasten the button, as my cock rose to full height.I looked down at my legs covered in his filthy gear, damn I felt so good. I picked up one of his cigs and put it to my mouth, I lit up. I didn”t smoke but this was so hot I felt so horny again and picked up his socks, they were grey with dirt and foot sweat, I smelled them again and again wanting the smell to be mine.I pulled one on my left foot it came to just below the knee then the right one. I could feel his stink entering my pours. Then the pista resistance. His doctor martins. Worn red 30 hole monsters, I picked up the left boot and spent 5 mins with my head and nose it enjoying the smell and my tongue licking and tasting the leatherOn it went my foot fitted perfectly. It took me ages to get the laces on, I was out of it, but the fitted so snuggly and tight. Then the right boot, I looked down, damn I was a fucking filthy worthless skin. I could feel and smell who he was, and I was him for a day. I picked up his Fred Perry vest and savored the smell of the pits It was soon on my body snug and tight. I stood up and found a mirror again without any assistance I shot a load in his jock. I found a beer and another smoke and enjoyed his last spliff, if I was to play him I needed to act like, and fuck was it hot.I dozed off, it must have been evening when he came back, dressed in my gear. I heard something but just enjoyed the enforced sleep. Suddenly I felt myself being lifted, “hey” I said. There he was a pierced dirty skin boi in my suit. I smiled“You look fucking hot as a skin boi” he said, “lets make it real,” he laid out some coke and gave me a straw, “enjoy “ he said, I took two lines 

By this time my mind was floating I would do anything. I saw my reflection in the mirror, fuck I was a low life scum skin. I was so horny. “Sit here skin fucker” he said. I did suddenly I heard the sound of clippers and saw my hair falling to the ground, I put my hand up,” noooo” I said. Suddenly I felt a huge punch to my face and felt my nose break, ahhh I then blacked out.It was the next morning when I woke up, I felt something on top of me and realized it was him fucking my ass, the bleachers and skin gear was still on me and he was panting and sweating as he fucked me raw and senseless, my nose was in pain but the thought of him in me got me so hard he was shouting as he suddenly let rip into my guts, I came in his, no, my jock againHe got off me,” how did you like that fucker” he said, I looked up he was naked, tats down his arm back chest legs, fucking incredible. Strange I thought his hair was growing now. I got up and started to kiss him, my tongue deep on his mouth. As I did I caught a reflection in the mirror, two skins one in gear one naked. Fuck I realized that the one in gear was me. I was shaved, shaved head, face, damn I looked hot.He pulled me over to the kitchen fed me and gave me some e tablets. I took two. “Take one every six hours “he said.” Ill be back tonight.” I felt my legs and feet in the skin gear and rubbed my hands on my new shaved head, fucking hell, whats happening I thought. I looked in the mirror, who the hell was it, a thug, broken nose, shaved head, what was happening.He came out of the bedroom after getting changed. He was in my suit, in fact it was another suit of mine, where had he got it from. He walked up to me grabbed my crotch, stuck his tongue down my throat. “Now smoke these fucker” he handed me two spliffs, two e tablets and a pack of 20 ciggs.” Ill be back at 7 make sure u have had them all. It will be so hot tonight so fucking hot for you skin boi”. he looked into my eyes. “You like being a skin” he grunted, I rubbed my hands on my legs and chest, “fuck yeah Mal”, I said. “Lets make it real tonight fucker”. Think of yourself as me” “ Would you like to be me,”? “ wow”i said “you mean I could take your place” I responded, “yeah” he replied, “please “ I said not realizing what I was asking. I was still high.“Tonight fucker tonight” he said and left. I watched him from the balcony as he strutted in my suit to my car and drove off. I pulled out the cigs, sat on the ground with my dm feet on the railing and smoked two of the ciggs. They made me feel sick at first and then the euphoria kicked in. My mind was just racing at the idea of being a low life skin.I lay down on the rubber sheet of the bed and smelled the piss and cum, I was in heaven. I could smell my sweat mingling with his on MY skin gear, it was mine now, not changed in two days fucking hot. I wore his flight jacket and found his rings and gloves on they went along with the dog tags and thick metal chain around my neck.I stood in front of the mirror and just wanked for hours. I took the e tabs as instructed and the spliffs. I got though 18 ciggs before he got back. I could hear him and other voices along with things they were moving.I came out of the bedroom and saw two huge tattooed guys. “Hi Mal”, they said to me, I smiled and liked being addressed like that. They erected two chairs and some equipment.Mal was there again in my suit, he smiled, his hair was starting to really show on his head. “You shaved hour head today Mal ?” he said, “no sir”i said, “do it now while we set up” he said.He followed me to the bathroom. And gave me a razor and soap. He stood behind me his erect dick pushing at my ass through the cloth.“Take these, he gave me two tablets”, and some water,” swallow Mal “he said, “I like being called that” I said, getting on my knees to suck him, “later boi” he said. “Shave” he instructed I shaved, what an erotic experience. When he came out, the big buys introduced themselves, rod and jay. “Now heres whats going to happen” said Jay smoking a cigar. “I will copy his tats” pointing at Mal “onto your body. It will hurt a little. rod will remove them from Mal at the same time so its like a transfer”.“Tomorrow you will be an inked skin boi”he said smiling at me as he felt my crotch. “Ill start with some holes for you new piercings. what should I call u skin boi”? He said. I looked at Mal, “is it ok if I use your name”? I said “Yeah you be me skinboi”, he said. I looked at Jay, “I”m Mal,” I said and smiledIt seemed to last forever, the pain in my ears eyebrows dick nipples, and the sustained pricking on my neck chest arms back and legs. I was so out of it and watched Mal as he had them removed. I fell to sleep. When I woke up I was in bed, bandages where the tats had been transferred. Mal lying next to me in the same condition. I looked at him, “fuck what happened Mal”, he reached over, and squirmed as his back hurt, “I thought we agreed, who Mal was, you changed your mind skin” he said looking at me angrily, “no sorry” I said, “your George, I”m Mal”, “how u doing George” I said. “Ok Mal” he replied. “Here take these” he said and handed two more tabs and I was out.I must have been out for days. I woke up and he was standing there naked, no tats, smoking a spliff and wanking over me. I kneeled and put my lips around his cock and sucked like never b4 it wasn”t long b4 he came buckets in my mouth, pulling my shaved head to his groin. “You like that Mal. Like your solicitors cum, eh”? He said. “fuck yeah sir”, I said in his voice. “Come here” he ordered. He stood me in front of the mirror and removed the bandages from me. We were both stark naked. He revealed my tatts celtic on my legs and chest, wings on my back, my dick responded and was so hard I came without touching it all over the mirror as I looked at the new me“Lets finish this off skinboi” he said. he went to the kitchen. I just looked at the new me, thinner, shaved inked fuck I really was Mal now no one would know the difference, he came back with a bowl and some disinfectant “lets complete this” he said. He pulled out the huge pa from his dick and soaked it in the bowl of disinfectant. “lets see how it looks on you Mal” he said. My dick was erect again, as I wanted it so much. He got the pa and with difficulty pushed it through the hole the tattoo guys had made. He slapped my dick “horny cunt” he said. I looked down and saw his, no my pa I my skin dick, “fucking hell” I said, “is this real?” “Give me them all I want to fucking be you in everyway Mal” I shouted, desperate for every last piece of the real Mal.He took them out of his nips and put them on mine, then his ears, eyebrows, and eventually the heavy thick ring from his nose. “this makes you a skin pig boi Mal” he said, I was just mesmerized at how I looked and felt, I just gazed and gazed at my new reflection. He lit a spliff.” Here” he said. I smoked got high, and laid on my back as he fucked me raw. We were looking at each other as we changed identities.

After an hour of sex, he stood up and went to get cleaned up. I picked up my filthy skin gear and dressed. Maybe I could go out today as Mal I thought, who would know .He came in suited and booted. “Got go get back to my place today Mal” he said. “Here”s the keys to your council flat enjoy” he smiled.” Heres a few quid to get u by”.”Your m8s will be hear at 8 tonight for a skin fuck fest enjoy, you skin scum” he saidI looked in the mirror at a fucking shaved skin scum, Nazi symbol on me neck bleachers doctor martins Fred Perry a fucking dream, pig ring in me broken nose, rings on me fingers thick silver chain round me neck. My crotch was fucking huge as me huge dick stood to attention. I moved around seeing how masculine and thuggish I was.I pulled out the ciggs and went outside onto the landing and looked over at the estate. A neighbor came out a chav guy, he looked at me. “Aint seen u around for a bit Mal” he said. He thought I was Mal, in fact I fucking was, “been fucking busy m8, outa me head” I said. “He sidled up to me”, I offered him a cig as we chatted about nothing in particular. He rubbed his leg against mine. I looked at him, “you want to fuck cunt?” “Fuck yeah” he said. Within minutes we were inside his place fucking like rabbits. Me inside him, him in me, leaving our cum inside each others guts.I finished went outside and smoked two ciggs. time for a walk I thought. I locked me flat, my flat, I thought and headed down the stairs.

Filthy dump I though. I was greeted by a couple of skins and we chatted. Real fucking rough m8s I thought. Women moved outa me way as I came past. I was shocked when I passed the local shops to see me reflection, it was just like the time I saw Mal as he approached my car, my car, what was I thinking, I was Mal now.

[cassiopeiassky]

Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here.  I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one.  I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall.  Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve.  So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day.  (Inspired by a song?  Me?  No.  Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in.  It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown.  I don’t know.  I just write what the muse tells me to write.  

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper​ for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town 

Plot:  You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K  Yep.  Knda got away from me

One last author’s note:   This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks.  ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!!  It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space.  Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot.  Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants.  The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled.  It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over.  Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married.  And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this.  I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress.  Why am I even here?  What did I expect?”  There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be.  You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in.  You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station.   According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it.  You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked.  There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right?  It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening.  Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened.  “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car.  Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding.  “You know what, Lydia?  Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.”  You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter.  And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands.  He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.  

“Do you have blended drinks?”  He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe.  On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor.  There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines.  On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn.  Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile.  “Would you like a menu?  The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?”  At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri.  “Thought as much.  I’ll check back in a bit.”  You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips.  It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it.  Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign?  He doesn’t speak this time.  It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes.  I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest.  What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf.  I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living?  My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly.  Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that.  But 5th grade?  Damn.   His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International?  They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here.  If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.  

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart.  Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless.  No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights!  You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you!  And so do the horses.  You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along.  Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks.  Wait, you’re Hawkeye!  The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH.  Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly.  He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes.  There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny.  It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program.  You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise!  I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here.  His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus.  You know, rules and shit.  You interested?

Absolutely!  Just let me know.   You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace.  He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me.  But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it.  He seems to have good taste.  He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods.  Duty calls.  Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.  

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.”  A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.  

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him.  If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice.  She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league.  Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what?  Even I have standards.  How do you fuck someone that tall anyway?  I’d need scaffolding!”  They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high.  It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before.  He’s not clever.

Ignore them.  They’re lonely, small little men.

I know.  Thank you.  His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself.  You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries.  You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse.  Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right?  Right.  You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink.  Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you.  In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall.  Are they uncomfortable?  God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables.  You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.  

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?”  A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction.  “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic.  “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them.  The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn.  His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him.  He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image.  Should you…maybe?  No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach.  It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”  Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile.  “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile.  He just stares.  Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings.  Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today?  It does.  It really does.  So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile.  “You’re welcome.”  A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall.  As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top.  A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down.  There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do.  You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror.  “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.”  You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her.  “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it.  I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt.  I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it.  The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men.  “Thank you. That’s really good to know.”  She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.”  The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt.  “Well, shit.  I just bought this shirt.  No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye.  Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out.  Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse.  “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?”  She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you.  “You’re a genius.  And an angel. An angelic genius!”  She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her.  She’s nice.  “You’re welcome!  I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you.  In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town.  He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise.  They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently.  But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.”  She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me.  My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.”  You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar.  What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.  

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him.  The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth.  Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention.  Is this really the same guy that was playing pool?  The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’?  “For what?”  

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard.  “It’s not nice to stare.  My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes.  The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what?  “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.”  He shrugs and studies the bar top.  “Your eyes looked sad, though.  I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes.  Can I make it up to you?  Buy you a drink?”  

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent.  He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses.  Maybe he has some insight.  Is this guy decent?  He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?  

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you.   Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.  He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him.  “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”  He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!”  Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm.  “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not.  Guess I’m really off my game today.  I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter.  “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint.  “Hey, you wanna grab a table?”  He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox.  “It’s quieter there.  We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Why not?  Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement.  So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice.  Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him.  “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA.  I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused.  “That’s your first question?”

“Do you?  Or would you have to kill me if you told me?  Have you been to space?  Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions.  “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.”  You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston?  Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day.  Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology.  But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm.  I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?”  You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle.  “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry.  Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that.  Wow.  So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound.  “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him.  “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet.  “It is really incredible.  Thank you for thinking so.”  He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.”  He meets your eyes again.  “Or both.  I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance.  It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud?  “Well, they suck.  And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look.  But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job?  What are your responsibilities?  What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really.  His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced.  And you thought he was gorgeous before?  His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain.  Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”  Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer.  “Ish hot!  Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met.  Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.  

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth.  “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move.  Deflect or come clean?  You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going.  “Yeah.  It was her daughter that got married today.  Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really?  Why?  What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing.  Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine.  Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close.  She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier.  She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.”  You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong.  In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me.  And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens.  Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else.  I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations.  The thing is, I wasn’t more mature.  I was just tall, so I looked more mature.  Eventually it kind of came true, though.  Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me.  I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.  

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be.  I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm.  Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.”  You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously.  I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now.  I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her.  It just…it puts my head in a bad place.  You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment?  The negative is in everything she says.  Everything.  I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?”  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.  

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers.  Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively.  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors.  I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman.  The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch.  No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding.  Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.”  You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.”  He gazes at you.  “You know she’s a princess, right?  

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman.  She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall?  So what.  You’re fuckin’ royalty.  Own it, Princess.  Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it.  Amazon Princess.”  

“What?”

“Yep.  Say it with me.  Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system.  “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!”  Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy.  “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really?  You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk.  “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases.  But he doesn’t need to know that.  “Yeah,” you murmur.  His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts.  You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him.  She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then.  You grin back and remember what she said.  “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels.  “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that.  I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these.  And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites.  It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in  – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast.  You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar.  He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.  

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet.  For the first few measures, you just stare at each other.  It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.  

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts.  He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist.  Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected.  “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.”  He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck.  “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine.  Fuck. You like him.  One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like.  He feels familiar.  Safe.  You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens.  You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious.  Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours.  “Are you offering?”  

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were.  His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip.  He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.  

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest.  This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable.  The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already.  His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides.  Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things.  “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot.  Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel.  He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.  

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin.  Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door.  It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here.  Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.”  He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain.  He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again.  He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick.  You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off.  Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!”  His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.”  Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again.  Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it.  Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed.  “You like what you see, huh?”  

“Damn right I do.”  You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?”  He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side.   “Goddamn, darlin.”  Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra.  It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him.  And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed.  “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk.  Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.”  His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them.  “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious.  “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass.  You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance.  It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.”  His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal.  You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill.  Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want.  I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.”  Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy.  And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move.  Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.  

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on.  “More.”

“More?  You want me to fuck you harder?  Is that right?”  He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh.  “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold.  Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside.  He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both.  The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move.  Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck.  “Hold on, Princess.”  He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed.  After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body.  “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down.  “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going.  “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.”  He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this.  I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No.  I don’t.”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination.  “I don’t care.”  And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth.  He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.  “Fucking delicious.”  Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits.  Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does.  You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room.  “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin.  You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately.  “I’m – it’s too much.  I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes.  “You’re incredible, you know that?  I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows.  Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress.  “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.  

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god.  “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“  Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention.  His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for.  Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh.  Oh.  Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago.  You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.  

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position.  “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking,  “I did not know I had a spot that could do that.  Fuck.  I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later.  Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard.  Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you.  His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss.  “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are?  You feel so good.  So fucking good.  Wanna make you feel good.  As good as you make me feel.”  Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.  

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon.  Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right.  Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there.  I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now.  Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants.  The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor.  The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow.  He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep.  But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back.  It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?”  Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower.  And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off.  My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?”  He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that.  I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes.  It’s adorable.  “Nah, no god here.  Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before.  Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.  

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches.  This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror.  “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried.  “I’d like that.”  You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.”  Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.  There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink.  It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by.  Some didn’t see you this way at all.  “Don’t look too close.  I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours.  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin.  “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself.  He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake.  The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.”  His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes.  “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up.  “I should probably come clean.  The bartender from last night?  My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks.  He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together.  Oh.  Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder.  “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes.  Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug.  “I’m not mad.  Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours?  It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.”  You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul.  “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did.  We both did.”  It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss.  “Good morning, beautiful.”  It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline.  “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly.  “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet.  “Yeah.  I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup.  “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in.  It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat.  It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away.  You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures.  Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them.  “Whoa.  They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window.  “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm.  They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  “You like horses?  Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd.  You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads.  You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are.  Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy.  Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply.  “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic?  I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture.  “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate.  Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door.  “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky.  I’m not five feet tall.  I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that.  But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can.  You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that?  He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known.  It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab.  “C’mere.  You look cold.”  

It was hot when you��d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car.  “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze.  The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by.  It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am.  Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.”  He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply.  You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet?  Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck.  “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin.  The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.  

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”  

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate.   Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand.  “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you.  But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears.  You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.  

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you.  “I’ve had him for 20 years.  I got him when he was just a colt.  Trained him myself.  He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.”  Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards.  “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge?  Oh, you like that?  That spot right there?”  You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.”  Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.”  Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you.  Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew.  Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace.  But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time.  “We, uh, we should get going.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?”  You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?”  He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in.  “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs.  “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down.  They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him.  “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno.  I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”  

“Huh.”

“What?”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around.  “That so weird?”

“No, I get it.  You definitely shouldn’t settle.  I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet.  Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so?  How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you?  Genuinely curious?  It’s impossible to tell.  “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend.  You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about.  And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed.  Like, really really good.  You’re the whole damn package.”  When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again.  “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks.  I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”  

“Huh.”  He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down.  Do you need to take it?  No, but you love that he offers anyway.  He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side.  Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.  

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No.  Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy.  “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss.  It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress.  “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head.  “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep.  Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow.  “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!”  It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin.  “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on.  Kind of.  They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating.  “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?  I’m looking for my niece?  I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water?  About my height?  Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing?  It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now.  The thought is nothing short of glorious.    

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh!  A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable?  Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement.  Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour.  I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening.  Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am.  I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out.  “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now.  “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want.  To go,” he growls, stooping down.  “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either.  Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.”  Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck.  I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.”  Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What?  Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.”  Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck.  “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time.  It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant.  “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said.  “What? Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I get it if you have to get back.  But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you.  I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear.  “We can do more of this.  I like this, too.  A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face.  “I’d like that.  I’d really like that.”  Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him.   He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you.  “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess.  A good fuckin’ day.”

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[snowflake-of-destruction]

Grass is Greener // Sibling Shenanigans 1/3

“I might be getting a divorce!” The signs of truth were there. Kairi had a cat carrier in each hand, Astrophe, the princess too good for a carrier, laid across her chest with claws dug into her shoulder, and the long strap of a duffel bag crossing her chest at a slant with the bag itself balanced against a cocked hip. Kairi’s shadow and liner were smudged and eyes too bright. Her smile was forced. Her hair was coiled in a complicated knot, but with several strands fallen out and curling slightly with damp and stuck to her face and neck,  and she was wearing a short black sequined dress with tennis shoes and no socks. She was a definite picture. 

However, her lines were delivered with the air of someone announcing that they had won an all expenses paid trip to Port Royal, and not that the life they had built was crumbling around them, so Axel thought he could be excused when it was with an exasperated sigh and a, “What happened this time?” that he welcomed his little sister through his front door and not a sympathetic and concerned, “Tell me what happened.”

“You know how Vanitas was supposed to be gone this weekend?” The carriers were already on the floor and Kairi and Vanitas’s manx, Ali, had, by all evidence Axel could see, turned to smoke and reformed outside the wire barred door as soon as it was set on the ground before Kairi had even bent to unlatch it, Astrophe running after his sister. “Is Stuffing shut in the bedroom?” All of Kairi’s cats knew Turkey was monarch of the realm, and they were proud aunts and uncles to the litter (Pumpkin, Gravy, Cranberry, Potato, and Biscuit, all of whom were supposed to have gone on to new homes by now, but Kairi suspected were to become permanent fixtures since Axel had not been able to “find the time” to secure appropriate homes so far since “They can’t just go to anyone, Kairi, and I’m not sending them to your broken home either!”) but Kairi’s old wirehair cat, Tillac, who Axel assumed was in the other carrier, and Stuffing had a rivalry that stretched back years. 

Axel didn’t even bother to nod, opting instead to ask, “Is Xion okay?” as he closed the door and then addressed his sister’s other question while bending to pick up the shoes she’d already kicked off so he could place them on the shoe rack by the door which she never remembered to do.  “No, I don’t keep Stuffing shut up unless I’m expecting Tilly, which I wasn’t.” The last was said with a pointed look. “I see you had your hands full, but would it have killed you to call?”

Kairi gaped at him. “Axel, I just took the kids and left my husband, and you manage to take his side by implying the only reason we could have argued is if I had planned something untoward in his absence, insult one of my dearest friends, imply you care more about Xion than your own sister, and whine about how my showing up is going to impact the plans I know you don’t have all in the space of seconds? Axel, your baby sister is distraught!” 

“Yeah, but is Xion okay?” Axel repeated without pause. “She’s sensitive.” He dropped the shoes in their proper place and let out a belated snort. “Untoward? Are you using a word of the day calendar so you can impress the hubby’s friends?”

Kairi released Tillac to go harass Stuffing until Turkey put her in her place, stood up, and tugged the hem of her dress down and readjusted the bodice to try and wrangle everything into a more presentable place. “Not all of us spend our days communicating only in grunts, brother dear.”

“Hey!” Axel gasped in mock offense. “I’m trying my best to teach Demyx human speech, but sometimes I have to meet him halfway.” He opened up his arms and gestured with his hands for Kairi to come hug him, an olive branch she immediately accepted, tripping over the cat carriers to throw herself in his arms. “Now tell me what happened and we can get drunk, or I’ll go threaten the bastard with a weed whacker or something.”  He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. There wasn’t enough information yet to establish whether this was a you’ll work it out moment or a you really shouldn’t go back this time with a side of you could do so much better, so he left no follow up.

“It’s really not that bad,” were Kairi’s first words and Axel could have provided commentary, but led her over the couch instead. Presumably, that meant Xion was fine. “It’s my fault. I picked a fight.”

He waited a second for more details, and, when none came, he urged her along. “Atta girl. Knock some teeth out? He has too many.”

“Axel, please.”

“Didja, blacken one of those creepy gold eyes?” Axel forced an exaggerated shudder to go with his words. He didn’t have to do much to make it happen. He’d found Vanitas unnerving ever since Kairi introduced them (or, rather, failed to, since “Guess who got married in Vegas?” did not an introduction make).

“His eyes are hazel and they are gorgeous.” Kairi sighed, picking up a wandering kitten from the arm of the couch and sitting them on her lap to cuddle (Pumpkin or Cranberry, but with Kairi’s hand covering the the top of their head while she scritched their scalp, there was no way to check the marking).

“Sure, if you’re a hawk. I bet all the lady hawks go crazy.”

“That’s my husband,” Kairi warned.

“Yeah, but for how much longer?” Axel scoffed, brushing his sister’s fight with husband off again, something he still wasn’t sure he wouldn’t regret later, though Kairi’s glare was weak enough he was confident that he would be called to post bail because Kairi and Vanitas were picked up for indecent acts in the back seat of a convertible in the middle of a car show by next week. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kairi had shown up on his door, claiming things might be over. There was a bit of a girl who cried wolf situation at this stage. He picked up his half finished beer from the coffee table and took a swig. “And I’m just saying you have bad taste. Xion excluded. Do you want to put your duffel  and the carriers in the guest room?”

“I don’t have bad taste. You have bad taste,” Kairi fired back and Axel couldn’t help but picture her at eight years old with a missing tooth and a haircut she’d given herself because he had dared her. “Your last boyfriend was literally a serial killer.”

“You have to kill three people before its serial and he was only convicted of manslaughter. Honestly, it’s like you never had a bad relationship before.” Axel’s easygoing reply of the standard line didn’t match the sudden flicker out and fade of amusement from his eyes.

“You do better with bored housewives.” Kairi patted his arm, and it was almost like an apology. “I’ll get the luggage in a minute.”

“I do fantastic with bored housewives,” Axel corrected, “but I’m usually only interested in their husbands.”

“Oh! Speaking of,” Kairi tucked her legs beneath her and sat up straighter, predatory look entering her eyes, “You started work for Xion’s brother-in-law today, right?”

Kairi smiled suddenly with too many teeth--maybe she was well suited to her husband after all--and Axel found it took all his focus to swallow his beer without choking. It occurred to him that the thermostat might have been broken, because the room was getting humid but the air hadn’t kicked on. “Weren’t you distraught?” He furrowed his brow like a good concerned big brother. “Didn’t you have a fight with your husband? You may be getting divorced. I know we don’t talk about things that bother us like a normal family, thanks Dad, but that’s upsetting news! I’m distraught! My ears are wide open.” He took one of Kairi’s hands in both of his and there was a meow of protest from Pumpkin. “I’m listening.”

Kairi pulled away and resumed important kitten petting duties. Unlike before, where her petulance was for Axel  taking things too lightly, her frustration now seemed to be at internal sources. “Sora invited me away for the weekend. Most of that duffel was already packed.”

“What about Xion?” Axel whined his bias. “She was in…” Axel made an okay symbol with his thumb and index finger and whistled between his teeth for effect, “fine form when I saw her earlier. She was wearing this petal pink bodycon number so short I saw that starfish you’re always talking about, and I think she cut her hair again, or at least did some different product. She was wearing that perfume you got her too. I thought you guys had something planned tonight.”

“Maybe she was going out with Ventus.” Kairi was dismissive enough in tone, but her lips pursed when they were done with the words and Pumpkin made a complaining noise like he’d been squeezed. 

“Who?” Axel oozed false innocence and confusion.

“Her husband...fiancé...boyfriend...whatever,” Kairi waved vaguely, more obviously disgruntled by the moment.

“Not whatever. Just because you skipped a few steps with ol’ Vani the Vain, doesn’t mean there is a distinct difference between those three things, typically one that matters to most people.”

“Just those in the relationship,” Kairi countered.

“And those with...what’s the word?” Axel pretended to think as Pumpkin abandoned Kairi in favor of him, and two more cats came bolting into the room as if summoned, sensing Dad was handing out love. “Morals? Boundaries? Restraint?”

“Van and I do have restraints…” Kairi hummed,  trailing off once the joke was made and clicking her tongue to lure Potatoes to her.

Axel howled protest and screwed up his face, playing along, glad Kairi was distracted again before she could get sad. “ Too much information even for us!”  When Kairi giggled--with grateful eyes that said she wasn’t really that amused, but was trying because she saw he was working hard to keep things light from the moment she’d walked in the door--Axel declared that part of his job done and reoriented back to allowing Kairi to tell her story. “So Vanitas was supposed to be gone so you made plans with Sora, and you were just going to leave the cats? “

“Xion was going to check in on the cats,” Kairi clarified the important part.

“You were going to have Xion catsit while you went traipsing off with the flavor of the month?” Axel stretched his mouth and widened his eyes, daring his face to stick in the clowning expression. “You’ll never get her to leave Airvent and marry you instead that way!”

“I’m already married...for now,” Kairi tokenly defended her marriage.

“Doesn’t count. He didn’t get my blessing...and he never will.” Axel was quick on both parts of the rejoinder.

Kairi ignored him as he expected her to and started to confess in a rush, “So Vanitas announces that he’s not going to the conference anymore; something about him finding out some of the last second substitutions in presenters and articles being presented when his was declined in the peer review stage...He was still published, but it’s a whole political thing with being featured in the conference. Anyway, he had to boycott on principle, so he’s home, and he told me to get ready because we were going out to dinner and we were going to order multiple bottles of wine and get kicked out of our favorite restaurant because he’s already a disgrace…his words. He gave me the opening, and I took it, because I’m panicked Sora is going to show up at the door.”

Axel raised his hand like an obedient child in a classroom to be called on, but just went ahead and interrupted even when he was ignored. “Isn’t Sora the yoga guy? Couldn’t he defeat Vani Vain with the power of friendship and love?” He hadn’t met Sora. Kairi was quite adamant that he wasn’t allowed to after he’d been a little more than politely amused at her stories. It was a fair ask since Kairi had, rightly, assumed that the only reasons Axel wanted to meet Sora were to see if he could make him cry for the fun of it, warn him off his sister, or, if he proved to be as attractive as Kairi said, sleep with him himself.

Kairi continued as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “I don’t take it right away. I get dressed, start to do my hair, and then I start throwing things from the vanity and yelling about how he can’t just order me to doll up like that’s all I am, his doll, waiting pretty on a shelf, ready to play with when he remembers I’m there. I point out he never asked me to come to the convention with him, and after we had such fun at last years’.” Axel snorted, knowing that story, and the pattern of being blocked out continued,  “And I know how many spouses come along now. I think I accused him of having an affair. I really don’t know. I half blacked out. A spirit took over, and when I came to, I was packing a bag and insulting his paper because he still wasn’t getting angry enough fast enough to justify me leaving.”

“It sounds like you handled the situation brilliantly,” Axel complimented. “So did you call Sora and tell him to pick you up here, or is the weekend off? Am I on catsitting and husband deflection duty?” He wasn’t seeing a problem yet, not even something that warranted Kairi’s overdramatic divorce line, though a troubling thought did occur to him. “If he smacked you, shoved you, laid a hand on you in any way when you started yelling at him, I will do more than threaten him with the chainsaw. He’s dead. Demyx will help me hide the body. He knows a guy, and he owes me. They both owe me. Plus, I learned some tricks from my ex.” He softened his concern and threats he was prepared to follow through with in jokes. 

“Stop thinking the worst of him at every opportunity,” Kairi snapped, and Potatoes rubbed his head against her stomach to calm her. “He just...took some low blows of his own and things escalated more quickly than I wanted them to.” She shifted uncomfortably.

“Like what?” Axel responded carefully, not wanting to supply guesses when it was a losing game, even if he came from the angle of listing reasons anything Vanitas could have said was untrue.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kairi insisted, which was a prime sign that it did. “I just might be here a few days for real after Sora and I get back. He’s coming to pick me up in an hour.”

Axel was silent a moment, assessing whether he should push Kairi to talk or hope the weekend healed the wounds, then nodded and gently lifted all cats away from his body. “An hour doesn’t give us much time. Go sit at the dining room table. Go!” He shooed her.

Kairi complied without asking for explanation and Axel went into the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses down from the cabinet and an open half a red from the fridge. On impulse, he grabbed a few empty beer bottles from his recycling pile as well and stuck them under his arms. He continued their conversation as he rejoined his sister. “Do I get to meet Sora or is he supposed to stay outside and honk? Put your head down on the table and look listless.” He poured the barest hint of wine in the bottom of the glass he put in front of Kairi, and did the same for the one he put in his spot at the table. He arranged the empty beer bottles with the eye of an artist. “Let me go get my phone. Look sadder, but not so sad it’s unbelievable.” 

“If you want to meet Sora, take one of his classes.”

Axel snapped a series of pictures to choose from, talking to himself, “She’s doing fine, Vanitas. We spent the evening talking. Of course. I’ll send you a picture.” Raising his voice a few decibels, he gestured back to the living room. “Go lie down on the couch, cover yourself with the fleece from the armchair,  put a cat or two on your chest, and close your eyes. We’ll shoot, ‘don’t come over now, Van, she’s sleeping,’ next and then you can change into sweats and grab some board games from the closet. I’m assuming you’ll be too mad to answer phone calls from him anyway, but do you want to take your hair down and get it wet in the sink for some, ‘No, she just got out of the shower, why are you so creepy needing evidence?’ safety shots?”

“You’re seriously the best brother ever,” Kairi leaned up on tiptoes and pecked Axel’s cheek on her way into the living room.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Roxas was watching you today from the upstairs window,” Kairi tossed out nonchalantly. “Xion texted me about it. He wants to smell your hair and cook you dinner.”

“He what?” Axel stuttered and nearly fumbled his phone. So much for a steady hand and unflappable cool. The Howe he hadn’t met yet, having spoken with Isa Howe during his initial looks around and estimates for the yard, had come outside after Xion had left, and all but admitted to watching him at least as long as to comment on Xion detouring to chat with him a minute before she went to her car, and, sure, Axel had purposefully peeled off his shirt and rolled down his overalls to his waist after Roxas had went inside, hoping he was still watching, but he hadn’t seen any proof, and their brief conversation had spent a moment on shock of shared acquaintances (“You know Xion? I knew you were Kairi’s brother--she recommended you--so it makes sense since they’re close, but that’s wild. Small world.”)  and then stayed in the professional (apparently Roxas had been the one who had done the sketches Isa had shown Axel of what the garden in the backyard was supposed to look like when he was done). Maybe Axel had noticed that Roxas had eyes the exact color blue as the delphinium hybrid he had presented at his last flower show (had to keep up the street cred that he was more than just a lawn service guy and a tree and hedge trimmer somehow--even if that sort of thing was his bread and butter), and that he was pretty cut since he hadn’t bothered with a shirt when he ran outside. And perhaps, when the sun caught his hair he looked like an angel out of a renaissance painting. None of that meant anything though.

“He wants to cook you dinner,”Kairi repeated, cavalier. “Be gentle with him. I think it would be his first time out of the box in awhile.”

“I’m not…” Axel pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to keep from getting angry and only managing to count the problems he had with what Kairi was suggesting. “Is this why you recommended me to your friend? Are you my pimp now?”

“He needs a fling.” Kairi had the nerve to shrug. “You are an accomplished flinger. The only person you’re seeing right now is Demyx, and he’s just a friend sleeping in one of your spare rooms….He is still just a friend sleeping in one of your spare rooms, right?”

“Most nights.” Axel left it ambiguous whether Demyx spent the odd night elsewhere or whether the friend lines sometimes blurred. “And my best tree trimmer.”

“That’s what I heard from Ienzo.” Kairi proved the Emberson comedic timing lived well in her. “So what’s the problem with Xion and I wanting to give Roxas a hot gardener fantasy to brighten up his life? He’s a friend.”

“So many things are wrong with that, Thalassa Shell.” In times so serious, Axel had no choice but to bring out family pet names. 

A beat passed. Kairi didn’t apologize for the idea like she was supposed to. Axel didn’t harp on it more. Another question fought its way out of his throat. “Incidentally though, did he say anything else about me?”

[agapaic]

for prompt, how about an au where guan shan is famous and he tian isn't? (i love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

25.

‘I heard he’s an asshole. A mean asshole.’

He Tian lights up another cigarette, crouches down on an overturned crate. The back door is propped open with a thick hardback, spine broken and pages ruined and wrinkled from rain and spilled ink, and He Tian indulges in the heaviness of smoke in his throat, breath stolen for just a moment. 

‘You shouldn’t listen to rumour,’ he tells Jian Yi, who is propped against the back wall, worrying at his lip. Jian Yi’s cigarette is dwindling in his fingertips, half-touched, and He Tian forces himself to look away from it. 

‘Hard not to when the guy’s press team is setting up inside your store for a signing.’

‘My brother’s store,’ He Tian reminds him. 

Jian Yi jolts forward. ‘Which makes it worse! Protect the family name! The integrity!’

He Tian smirks, grinds out his cigarette beneath the toe of his shoe, newly shined. ‘He Cheng? Integrity? That would be the day.’ He presses his hands to his knees, pushes himself to his feet with a small sigh. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘He’ll be here soon.’ 

‘Ready to protect the family honour?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. ‘What little there is of it—I don’t think it needs defending from some celebrity thriller author.’

Jian Yi halts in the doorway. His look is incredulous. ‘Some celebrity? He’s the youngest recipient of the Mao Dun Literature Prize. He’s won it twice.’

There’s a breathless sort of reverence in the words, an adoration He Tian thought the fair man reserved only for one other person. Waxed lyrical like a starving poet first discovering the moon.

He Tian says, ‘I thought you said he was an asshole.’

Without hesitation: ‘Oh, he is. A mean one.’

—

Jian Yi is right: the man is gruff to his staff, dismissive of He Tian’s. He’s hard-tongued to his fans, and delivers his short welcoming speech in clipped tones and the curved accent of someone raised on the backs of city streets. He Tian’s only interaction thus far takes place with the author’s publisher, a sharp-edged, sly man with silver hair and a series of tattoos peeking beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeves.

He Tian watches the proceedings from the upper mezzanine, arms resting on the balcony banister. The bookstore is big, the building inherited from a long line of He’s and, once, housed a group of Literati scholars during the Qing Dynstasy Men and women waiting eagerly in line, copies new and old clutched to their chests, eager for a glimpse at the man who could create such a mastery. Jian Yi stands at He Tian’s side, eyes on the café on the other side of the mezzanine, where Zhengxi stands cleaning the shelves behind the counter, now empty, listening to the voices from below.

His eyes flicker up, and, seeing Jian Yi, he offers a nod, a small wave. Jian Yi looks away, blushing.

‘Really?’ He Tian asks, unable to help himself. ‘Just fuck already.’

Jian Yi’s eyes go wide, silvery and wet with childlike fear, as if he’s just heard the beginnings of creaking from his parent’s bedroom.

‘We haven't—It’s not—Oh, balls…’ He sighs, dramatic and overzealous, a hand pressed to his forehead like a fainting maiden from one of his battered romance novels from the eighties. ‘It isn’t like I don’t want to,’ he hisses, suddenly correcting himself. An almost defence. ‘But Zhan Zhengxi’s…’

'Frigid?’

’Stoic.’

He Tian considers the barista, his dark brows affecting an air of eternal broodiness and a painful duty of thought. Some Byronic figure blessed with dark, philosophical features and bright, cutting eyes. Beneath it, He Tian knows there lies a shadowy, quiet man who is far simpler than the likes of which Jian Yi likes to indulge.

But He Tian leaves him to his fantasies.

Below, Guan Shan is reaching the end of the first wave of guests, those who’d bought tickets for the introductions and a photo pass with the author. He Tian watches as the man states, unflinching, into the camera, flinching each time as a fan presses closer, leans in. There’s a curl to his lip that is purely hostile, and a startled look in his eyes for just a second as the camera flash goes off and He Tian realises that the whole thing is a front.

Guan Shan, he realises, is like most other authors who step over the threshold of the store. Unused to crowds, largely content with their own company, enduring social conventions with an awkward manner that lingers on rude.

‘He doesn’t like this,’ he murmurs.

Jian Yi glances at him. ‘The country’s most famous author doesn’t like going on a tour of adoring fans?’ He shakes his head. ‘Imagine standing on a stage and having a crowd of people singing your songs back at you. The thrill.’

‘Imagine putting your private thoughts and the workings of your mind on show.’ He Tian glances at the publishing representative, the sharkish figure standing towards the back of the store. He has a smile on his face, yellowish eyes glinting in the light. ‘It’s a horror.’

‘It’s money,’ says Jian Yi, a little more practical. ‘I heard he’s got a three-part movie deal for Secondhand Smoke. If it flops, maybe he’ll get a Netflix drama. Maybe a K-drama. He’s set for life.’

More decisions, more executive choices handed over to someone who knows him little and claims a lot. Dreams and secret thoughts set on a screen and gazed at while Guan Shan flinches from the criticism like a camera flash.  

He Tian stops himself—he’s not a writer. He can’t create characters like this, a caricature of a man—a real man—he doesn’t know.

—

He ducks out for a cigarette when the line begins to thin and the sky has grown dark, leaving Jian Yi to watch over the final signings. He won’t get a chance to leave the shop until the early hours of the next morning, stacking away chairs and tables for tomorrow’s opening and reviewing the accounts from the day’s events, a night holed away in the office with straining eyes and a too-dim lamplight Jian Yi has told him to replace a thousand times. 

He hears the door hinges creak, the stomp of boots, an unfamiliar gait. Somehow—he knows.

‘Got one goin’ spare?’

He Tian glances back, unaffected, and then goes still. He’s different up close; the spotlight attached to the wall beside the fire exit adds a softness that none of his author’s portraits have allowed him. There’s an amber glint to his hair, his eyes, a pellucid quality to his skin. Hard callousness gives way to a strange, chipped beauty that He Tian can’t look away from.

He offers up the carton. 

‘Getting tired of handing out your autographs?’ he asks, only lightly mocking. 

‘Just signed the last copy.’ The author’s lip curls, and he takes a cigarette. ‘I hate this shit,’ he says, and then pauses when he props the cigarette between his lips. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that.’

The corners of He Tian’s mouth quirk. ‘You’re bringing me good business. You can say what you like.’

Mo Guan Shan leans into He Tian’s cupped hands, the flame of He Tian’s lighter snagging on the end of his cigarette until it blooms like a marigold. He kicks a crate over and sets himself down on it.

‘You’re usin’ a copy of Secondhand Smoke to keep your back door open,’ he remarks, unoffended.

He Tian hides a smile. ‘It’s hefty,’ he says. ‘And we ordered too many copies.’

‘A bookstore with an accidental surplus,’ says Mo Guan Shan. ‘What a luxury. Guess you’re doin’ pretty fuckin’ well from where I’m lookin’.’ He leans back, smoke tendrils drifting upwards. ‘Oldest independent bookstore in Beijing, and you haven’t sold the place out to Suning or Yonghui or some other corporate shit like the rest of ‘em.’

‘The building belongs to my family,’ says He Tian, a finite note to his voice. 

‘I know. My publicist gave me some background.’ Mo Guan Shan glances back. ‘Guessin’ there’s some stories to be told in these walls.’

‘You’d be writing forever if you set yourself to writing about my family.’

There’s a pause, and then, ‘Okay. You got archives?’

He Tian leans back. He considers what the man is saying, what he’s offering. It’s not much, not a promise—but it’s something. And that something starts to warm behind his ribs, a ball of air in his throat that feels like panic.

‘If you come in tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll try and get them for you. But no promises.’

The writer shrugs, stamps out the dwindling cigarette from beneath his shoe, and gets to his feet. ‘See you tomorrow then, Mr He.’

He Tian glances back to watch him leave, the slight set of the man’s shoulders disappearing into the store, the door thudding against the beaten copy of his most famous work. A shift, and He Tian murmurs, ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Mo.’

—

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[mynameisjaxx]

Daichi x Y/N

(Stuff happens, so read if you want to.)

I'm currently a first year at Karasuno and it's almost time for spring break. Since starting at the high school, I had special circumstances at the beginning of the year. Mostly because my parents had just died and I had no other living relatives or god parents to take care of me. Due to the fact that I was 15, I was given the choice to stay at a half way home or to go out on my own. Knowing full well, I would never get adopted for being a teenager, I decided to opt out and remain living on my own. For the most part, it was okay, I would crash at a few friends houses every so often to wash my uniform in a place that had actual laundry detergent. It wasn't long until the manager at the store I worked at started letting me have the left overs that didn't sell.

I guess, he got the hint that I was shedding pounds like no tomorrow. So one night, he flipped the sign to close and asked me to step into the back room.

"Hey, kid, how's it going?" He started.

"I'm okay." I shrugged.

"Don't lie to me, now." He  lit up a cigarette.

"Well, if you gotta know, I'm currently living with the snacks I you let me have and couch surfing." I narrowed my gaze.

"What happened with your folks?" I look up and through the wisps of smoke, he was looking into my eyes and waiting for an answer.

"They're dead."

Silence. It last a few minutes and then he took a pull.

"Sorry, kid."

"Yeah, it's not something I'm ready to talk about." I wipe the single tear that fell from my right eye.

Tch.

"Alright, I have an idea, but only if you feel absolutely 100% comfortable with the idea."

"Shoot."

"I have a spare room, if you want you can stay there, instead of couch surfing or staying out in the streets." He takes another pull.

"I don't know, I don't feel right about just staying there. Is there someway for me to repay you?" I look up to him determined.

"Well, you can take on some extra chores around the house and we can call it even." He shrug.

"Alright then Mr. Ukai, thank you so much!" I bow.

"Don't worry about it kid, I just don't want you to end up hurt somewhere. You've been really good working for me the whole summer, and I see you like a little sister." He puts a hand on my shoulder with a light squeeze.

"I promise that I will do my best to not be a burden." I declare.

After our chat, I spend my time minding the store until closing time. I double check the floor and restock what's low and keep the journal of the day's sales. I make sure to keep everything organized before putting together a list of the things we need to order for the next week. Keishin came out with the broom and the mop, he swept and I mopped the floor behind him. We were done rather fast and put away the cleaning supplies. Stepping through the back of the store we take out the trash to the dumpster and then walk a little to the house behind the store.

"Well, this is home." He says.

"It's very nice."

"Thanks." He closes the door behind us, we remove our shoes and I walk in barefoot, taking my socks off and feeling the cold floors.

"Hey put these on, they should fit." He hands me a pair of gray slippers that seem my size.

"Thanks." I slip them on and he shows me around the house.

"So, living room is here, to the left is my room, the right is yours. The kitchen is down the hall and the bathroom is also down the hall. The is a small backyard if you ever want to sit outside and take a break." He rubs the back of his neck.

"Wow." Amazed at how neat and warm the house felt.

"Yeah, I haven't the heart to change a few things because its the way my mom left it. I just do upkeep." he shrugs.

"Well, I will be sure not to move things too out of place on cleaning day." I make a mental note.

"I appreciate that. For tonight, I'll make dinner. What do you want to eat?" He peers into the fridge.

"How about I make dinner and you tell me what my chores are while I work?" I counter offer.

"Oh, Okay." He steps aside.

I pull out the left over rice he has in a tupper ware, the shaved steak left overs, 3 eggs and a mixed veggie tray. Julienning and then sauteing them for a little color, I add the shaved steak to mix in with the juices from the veggies, adding a pinch of onion powder and a few dashes of soy sauce, I stir until the white rice has an even browning.

"So, we would be alternating cleaning duty, you'll get bathroom and kitchen and I'll do living room and front of the house. Following week, we switch. Cooking is up to you. I'm limited in what I know how to make, but it seems like you can definitely throw down in the kitchen." He motions to me.

"Well, I had to learn while my parents were at work, I made myself dinners." I smile.

"That's very smart." He compliments.

Adding the rice into the meat and veggies and adding a splash of water to make the rice a little fluffy again, I cover it. Cracking the eggs into a bowl and scrambling them before hand.

"So, you learned all this from being home alone?" He grabs plates out of the cupboard.

"Yep, we would have left overs and I'd take them to make them into a meal for myself. I hope you like it." with a half smile as I add the eggs to the same skillet. While the eggs cook into the fried rice, I clean all the utensils I used to cook, leaving just the wooden spoon I was using to help mix everything. Almost like a 6th sense, I could feel that it was ready, so I turn off the heat and proceed to spoon out a few into each bowl.

"It smells delicious!" He takes a whiff before carefully putting the steaming hot food into his mouth and hums something that sounded like 'yum'.

"Glad you like it." I laugh a bit.

That was my first night, it was very nice. It really did feel like having an older brother, despite knowing that I was practically alone in every sense of the word. He really made me feel welcomed. We worked out a deal for when I would get to school.

So while I did some early morning shifts to help prep all the sandwiches and meat buns to be sold for the day, he would take care of the store and then I would do homework while I worked the counter and he would take his break and go over to the house and prep dinner for us later.

It's been about 2 months with the same routine and there was this man, Takeda. He comes in once a day to ask where Keishin was and if he could spare a moment, everytime, he was turned away until yesterday. Kei actually agreed to whatever that Takeda man asked him to do.

"I'll be at the school gym tomorrow, so I want you to go there straight after practice. I'm not letting you out of my sight, kid." He sighs as he goes towards the back room.

"Oh, okay, but who will mind the store?"

"I'll get my nephew to watch the store." He pulls out his phone and dials a number.

"Alright, well, I'm off to school, sandwiches are ready to be stocked, coffee is in the machine brewing for the day, and the meat buns are in the steam tray." I put on my shoes.

"Alright, hon, have a good day at school and don't forget to meet me at the gym." He shouts after me as I jog out to school.

The school day was boring and quite frankly, I was just hoping to see what was going to happen after school, but I still managed to take down good notes in class. I wonder why Takeda wanted Keishin. Guess, I'll find out later.

The day ends and I bolt out of class and head to the gym, right outside is Takeda and Keishin, talking a bit.

"Hi, y/n." Takeda bows.

"Hello, Takeda Sensei."

"Lets see what we are working with." Keishin grumbles and puts out his cigarette.

Inside were boys, shouting and running around. They were playing a 3 4 on 4 game of volleyball. There were 3 boys I recognized as my senpais since one of them gave me a tour around the school my first day and introduced me to the other 2. Sugawara was very nice and detailed with directions, Asahi was super shy and told me I was scary until we spoke a bit more and then there's Daichi. He was just, woah.

Suddenly I'm down on the ground, my chest hurt a little. I wasn't sure what just happened. I definitely got the wind knocked out of me, somehow.

"Woah n/n! Are you okay??" Keishin bends down to check on me.

"Y/N!" Daichi runs over and slides right beside me.

"We are so sorry." I hear the boys shout in unison.

I cough a bit trying to breathe. Daichi helps me sit up.

"Hey, Kiyoko, toss me my water bottle!" Daichi looks at the blue haired girl.

She nods and tosses the water bottle at him and he catches it with ease.

"Here drink some. It'll help" I nod and do as he says.

A sip and I try to breath but it sounds like a heavy wheeze. He takes my loose hairs and tucks them behind my ear.

"It's alright, take your time." He stands.

"Alright, Ennoshita, sub for me. I'm going to look after her during this set."  He takes my hands into his and helps me to the bench. He sits straddling the bench and pats the space in front of him.

"Sit with your back to me." He orders.

I do and his chest is warm. I hum.

"Alright, I'm going to rub your upper arms and I want you to take deep breaths with me." He whispers into my ear.

I could feel my face turn red and my chest tighten, but I nod.

After a few breaths, I feel much better. At some point I had closed my eyes and he had stopped moving his hands on my arms and just held me.

"Hey, earth to y/n. You okay now?" He whispers, bringing me back.

"Yes, thank you, senpai." I reply.

"Please, call me Daichi." He insists.

"Well, now that you are a bit better, please go to the bathroom and check if you're bruised, if you want take Kiyoko with you. She'll be able to help with ice or if you would prefer a salve." He motions to her and she comes over.

"Okay" meek and quiet, I leave with Kiyoko to the bathroom and she comes in with me.

Unbuttoning my school uniform, I see the yellow and blue starting to form.

"What would you like for me to do? Salve and bandage or just an ice pack?" She offers, cleaning her glasses on her volleyball jacket.

"Whichever would make the bruise slow down faster." I shrug.

"I'll get the salve and bandage, wait here." She hurries out.

She returns and quietly buzzes about, tending to the bruise.

"Thank you, senpai." I mumble.

"Of course, let me know if you have any discomfort." she guides me back to the gym and I sit quietly on the bench and watch the rest of the 'set'. In between sets, Daichi comes back over to me and asks me once more if I was okay and I nod, choosing to keep talking to a minimum since my chest was still in some pain.

"So, you have yourself a coach, Takeda." I over hear Keishin shaking hands with Takeda Sensei.

"Thank you. The practice game with Nekoma are in a few weeks. Here's the details and I will need you to come by the office tomorrow so we can formally fill out your paperwork as new head coach of Karasuno's boy's volleyball" He's super excited.

"Alright boys, line up." Daichi commands.

"Thank you for coming." They say in unison.

"Boys, let me introduce you to your new coach. Coach Ukai. he's the former Coach's grandson, he also happened to play for Karasuno when he studied here." Takeda lets Keishin take center stage.

"Alright, so the rematch against Nekoma won't be for another few weeks, and I have 'til then to whip you into shape to even be close to a tied game with them. I have faith in what I witnessed today that we will beat them. Maybe not in our first game but definitely in our second." Keishin riles them up.

"Come on, clean up and then you are free to go home." Daichi claps.

The boys grumble. Just like that time passed in a flash, somehow in that time I became the co manager of the team with Kiyoko and we've become really good friends. Though I know I won't see her around much after this year, with her being a third year and all

The practice game came and the boys played their hardest, in the end, they lost making it really close to a tied game. They were absolutely devastated but definitely not discouraged. After the game, Keishin treated them to dinner. As a way to show them that even in their losses they will learn and adapt, but for now eat and work on your strength. Some of them cried and others remained stoic.

It was weeks later that Takeda slipped by the door and announced that Nekoma had invited us to join in on their training camp. Takeda and Keishin shared a glance, one I knew all too well. 'The I'm not sure we can afford it' look. An idea popped into my head, so I decided to go up to Kei and whisper it.

"Doesn't sound bad, I bet if you got the guys to help then it would definitely go a lot faster. I mean you've got the skills." He nods.

"Takeda, I'm not sure if you know, but y/n is a wiz in the kitchen, can they borrow the cafeteria on Thursday night? Y/N wants to have a bake sale for the team. Of course if the boys help out then I know they'll be in good hands." He pleads.

"What a splendid idea, I'll run it by the principal tomorrow morning and have an answer by practice. Just give me a list of what you wanted to bake and what the cost to profit is, I'm sure it will work out just fine." He looks at a determined y/n who's already scribbling away in their notebook the recipes and how much the items would cost, specially through the store as a vendor they knew they could get a bit of a discount.

On a new sheet of paper, they write down the cost to profit and hand over the menu to Takeda, who looks in awe of the menu.

"Are you sure you can make all this?" He asks.

"With help, of course. I just need to know if I have permission before I go asking the team for help." I nod confidently.

"alright then, I will pass this along." He puts it into his folder of to-do.

The following day at lunch I got the approval of cafeteria use for the thursday night which was in 3 days. Yachi who was the other new co manager created posters to put up around the school and town. The school wrote a check for the cost and I gave it to Keishin when we ordered the ingredients. The entire team agreed to help, even salty Tsukishima. It was a nice night, we took off of practice and spent the evening working hard. The boys followed my every order, I was running a tight ship that night.

By nightfall, we were all packing up the small bundt cakes in the wax paper and twine. The muffins were placed into boxes to contain them for the night and the sweeter things we baked, we left for the afternoon. The entire day Kiyoko and I were manning the cash box, and thanking students for buying and donating the change.

At the end of the day we had made back what we spent on ingredients and more than tripled our profit. We gave back the initial investment that the school spent and we took the rest to the bank. Got the coins changed into larger bills. Gave the money to Takeda who in turn, put it towards the bus to take us to the training camp and food for those two weeks. Even after that we had a little left over, which we had decided we would save for any club emergencies.

"We did it!!!" We announced.

"We're raised enough money to go to the training camp!" Yachi jumps up high like Hinata.

"Yay!" He jumps even higher.

"Rest up, we leave next Friday after school and get there by evening. We are going to be there for 2 weeks." Keishin reminds them.

Time flies and it was just a a few hours by bus to get there. It was finally here, training camp weeks with Nekoma and Fukurodani. Being the last to arrive, the Nekoma team are the ones to greet us.

Everyone is polite enough, though the tension between the captains is so awkward. It makes me want to be a turtle and hide inside my shell. Being here was incredible. The days were spent between exercise and practice games. There were many losses for the boys, but with each game they learned more about their opponents, which in turn they adapted their strategies.

The night before the last day Daichi approached me with a concerned look.

"What's wrong sen-Daichi." I tilt my head.

"Well, tomorrow there's the barbecue and I think we have enough, but I'm not sure. If there's a shortage would you mind going to the store with Kiyoko and two of the boys to help you bring things back?" He places a hand on my shoulder.

"Of course, what kind of a manager would I be if I didn't take care of my team." I laugh it off.

"Thank you for taking such good care of us, if it weren't for your idea, we probably wouldn't have been able to participate." He squeezes.

"It's no big deal, besides, Yachi's posters were also a tremendous help with donations and you guys helped me back and pack all those tiny pastries. It's my pleasure, honestly." I raise my hands in front of me.

"Thank you." He smiles and walks away.

Practice felt like it flew by and the coaches had already started the grills to heat them up. The captains of each team was manning the grills and making sure that everything was cooked to perfection. Daichi gave me the look so I took Kiyoko's wrist and she understood. Looking around the only two boys that seemed the least busy were Tanaka and Nishinoya.

It was a short walk to the store, but while we were there, we had a slight hiccup. Some guys from Fukurodani's regular students were there. They had chosen to hit on Kiyoko and she looked uncomfortable. I tried to distract them from her, but failed. It didn't help that Noya and Tanaka got involved, until I stepped in between and diffused the situation a bit.

"Listen guys, I know she is really beautiful, but she can't go out with you, because she is with me." I step in.

"Yeah, sorry boys. Can't split up the happy couple." Tanaka makes his iconic intimidation face and Noya has a demonic look in his eyes.

"Now, if we can all go about our respective days, that would be amazing." I insist and drag the boys away with Kiyoko and the food cart in tow.

We paid and we left, thinking it would be the last of it. We got back in time with the meat and more soda. The boys celebrated our return and immediately took the items out of our hands and began prep work while the last of the meat had just been put on the grill, but the time it was cooked, the meat we had brought was being put on. The rest of the afternoon goes on with lots of laughter and a light atmosphere.

It was evening by the time the teams had began slowly breaking off to go shower and hit the sack. The captains and a few members stayed behind to help with clean up. Between us we finished up in an hour and placed the trash into the dumpster. The sun had already set and the navy blue sky, like a blanket being pulled over the day to rest.

I wasn't tired so I didn't go back yet, instead I decided to walk around a bit, take in the last views of the school before morning, since we'd be leaving around 7 am to get back by noon and send the team home to rest and study for the exams the rest of the week had instore for us. Thinking over the checklist of things that I could do to kill time, I thought it would be a great idea to go to the store for a last minute run, pick up some cereal bars, or jell-o cups, some kind of snack that didn't need much prep incase the team got peckish on the ride home. Mostly because we weren't going to make breakfast, just pack up, clean and leave.

Apparently the boys from earlier just didn't know when to stop. They just had to follow me at a distance, but I didn't even realize it. It wasn't until I had gotten closer to the gym that they started vandalizing school property. I saw them, with their trash and the faint smell of alcohol hit my nose. I took out my phone and dialed Keishin but he didn't pick up, so I called Daichi.

"Hey y/n, what's up?"

One of the guys had ran towards me and I dropped what I had in hand and my cell phone, luckily it didn't cut off the call.

"Hey, back off, you can't be here."

"Like hell, we can do what we damn well please," one of them slurred.

"Come on cutie, drop the bluenette and come have fun with us instead."

That was all he needed to hear to grab the team and race outside to where I was. Surrounded and trying to find a way out. Nothing seemed viable so I did what I thought and tried to duck under their arms and run, but they caught me by my jacket. I unzipped it and left it in their grasp. I ran until I bumped into something that was soft but sturdy.

"Where are they?" A stern voice.

"Back that way" I answered with my eyes closed still waiting to hit the floor.

"Noya, Tanaka, and Suga, go in first. Rest of you, stagger in." He orders.

"Hey, they didn't touch you right?" He lifted my chin up and I opened my eyes.

"No, but it was really scary." Tears pinching the back of my eyes, just thinking about what could have happened had I not worn the volleyball jacket.

"Shhh, it's okay now. You're safe." He tried to comfort me.

"I tried calling coach but he didn't answer."

"It's okay, we told Kiyoko to stay behind and look for all 3 coaches." He pet my hair.

We stayed like that for a moment until he pulled away first.

"I don't want you walking back alone so come with me and stay behind me. I'll make sure they don't lay a hand on you." He promises.

"Okay" I hesitate.

So of course it caused a commotion and a brawl broke out. Someone called the cops and Noya, Tanaka and I were taken in because of the fight. Daichi had driven to the station with Keishin and Coach Nekomata. While there, the boys were placed in the holding cell while Noya and Tanaka and I were sitting, cuffed on a bench.

"I'm taking the fall, you guys just say it was me that did all the fighting and that they tried to attack you so it's self defense. Okay? I started the fight. You guys can't get into trouble, they'll kick you out of school or something. I'll be fine. So don't fight me. I am your manager and I will hear no protest." I turn to either side of me and they nod in defeat.

After questioning about what had happened I made up a story. About how I was walking back to campus and they were just drunk and spewing nonsense. I tried to get them to leave until one of them grabbed my wrist and I pushed him off as defense, which escalated when his buddies joined in and I fought back, having called my coach to alert him of what's happening. Noya and Tanaka said similar things so the detective gave us all breathalyzer tests to fact check.

We we let go after a few hours.

"Kids!" Keishin is waiting in the lobby to pick us up.

"We're okay coach, a little shaken and roughed up, but we'll be fine." Noya answers.

"Let's go back to campus and you can retell what happened." He looks me up and down to make sure I was okay.

Once back, we went to an empty class on a different floor than the one where everyone was sleeping. I retold what actually happened and the lie we told the cops.

Tch.

"But, they didn't touch you, right?" Kei knelt in front of my seat.

"No, Kei, I'm fine. Scared, but fine." I assure him.

"God, kid, I don't want to think about what could have happened." He engulfs me in a hug.

"I know" muffled into his chest.

Headed to the floor where the rest of the team was, they couldn't sleep. Too anxious about what happened. They try not to crowd me and I bow.

"I'm sorry for worrying you." A few tears slide down my cheek without meaning to.

A chorus of 'don't' could be heard and I couldn't help but feel relief. They ended up giving me a group hug and then they let go after a little. I smile and wipe the tears.

One of the boys managed to grab the things I had dropped and brought them inside. The bag from the store was pretty intact, but my phone sadly was not. It was cracked and had a few scrapes on the exposed metal.

I take my phone and put it in the bag with the things I got. Leaving to the managers room, the tears flow freely. It was scary. I was alone until the guys came to my rescue. I was too scared to lash out. I couldn't move. God I was so stupid.

"Hey, hey, you're safe now, honey." I heard a soothing voice.

"I know, but I could've screamed, done something."

"No, no, none of that. You called us, you did do something and escaped them before we got to you." He cups my face.

I sob a little, but he leans close and looks into my eyes. Its like I was over come with warmth. Like a security blanket wrapped around me. Taking even breaths he thumbs away my tears and gives me a small smile. I flush and my cheeks start getting warm, feeling the blush spread, I look away but he follows my gaze. So I place my hand on his wrist.

Suddenly our lips are just whispers away from touching.

"Are you sure, because I don't want you to feel pressured." our noses grazing each other.

"Kiss me"

It was the sweetest kiss. So soft and gentle, he was treating me like a fragile, porcelain doll.

"I-"

"How about when you feel up to it, I take you out on a date. I'll make it special."

"I would like that." I blush having forgotten all those scary thoughts.

[klarriel]

Nimrod

Dean Winchester spends his life working two jobs to make ends meet. In the small town of Smith Center, he keeps to himself, his father's words in his head a never-ending reminder of the past he'd rather forget.

When Castiel Novak moves into Apartment 7, guitar case in tow, Dean realises that maybe life isn’t just about surviving, and sometimes all it takes is knocking a few walls down to hear the music.

A story about love, set to the soundtrack of its inhabitants.

(multi-chapter, ao3 link under cut) 

Dean knows it’s not going to be a great day the moment  he wakes up 30 minutes late, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and almost collapsing to the floor, his breaking bedframe throwing him off balance.

He doesn’t even have time to stop to complain when his key jams in the door again, but that sonofabitch Zachariah will definitely be getting a piece of his mind - that’s if he’s ever around, at least trying to pretend that he’s performing the basic duties of a landlord.

He’s on the opening shift at the shop, as he is most days. As he unlocks the doors and switches on the Harvelle’s General Store sign, illuminating the still lightening sky, he wonders if the change in the wind he feels this morning is some sort of misplaced optimism, or maybe he’s just looking forward to his weekend off. As he’s getting supplies to restock the candy shelves and a box of canned beans falls, almost hitting him on the head, and spilling its contents all over the stockroom floor, he realises it’s probably the latter.

The day is filled with the middle-aged residents of Smith Center. The men are usually looking for spare parts for their tools or household machinery. Some of the women that come in wink at him suggestively as he cashes up their items, but today he’s in a pretty crappy mood, and so most of the time he doesn’t have the patience or the willpower to play along, shooting them quick, fake smiles as he hands them their bags. When the school day ends a flurry of teenagers pours in, counting out enough coins to buy packets of Sour Patch Kids and gummy worms. One boy complains moodily that the slushy machine still isn’t working - ‘-and it’s been four weeks now! - but Dean just shrugs with an apathetic ‘ Sorry kid ’ , asking if there’s anything else he can help him with or if he’s done taking up space in his shop.

Kevin calls in sick for his shift, and so Dean begrudgingly agrees to cover until Jo comes in at 5.

When she arrives, she can barely get out a ‘Hey Dea-’ before Dean is running out, grabbing his coat and throwing up a hand in a wave. She shakes her head softly, brow furrowing and drawing her lips into a hard line as she watches Dean slide into the driver’s seat of his Impala.

‘Excuse me dear, I was wondering when you’ll next be stocking up on your canned beans?’

- - -

As he pulls up, Dean’s too engrossed in figuring out the meaning behind the flashing light on the Impala’s dashboard to notice the U-Haul parked outside his apartment block. As he gets out the car, staring down at his phone to type in the number for Billie’s Pizza Delivery, he also doesn’t notice the guitar case falling towards him

‘Oh, look out!’

Dean barely has time to look up, before the hard case smacks him on the head. He falls back a few steps, one hand catching the guitar before it falls to the ground, the other holding his head.

“Ah-!”’

Dean looks up to see a girl who can’t be much younger than Sam was the last time he saw him. A strand of her red hair that has escaped her messy bun falls to drape around her face as she bends towards him, worriedly checking over his head as she reaches to grab the case from him.

“I am so, so sorry,” she rushes out, drawing the case towards her body as they both stand, “I pulled it out and it just flew completely out of my hands. I guess I don’t know my own strength…’

She laughs nervously, and Dean gives her a short smile, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead.

“Hey, don’t worry about it” he sighs, and all he wants right now is his couch, Dr Sexy reruns on TV, a triple meat feast deep dish and a four-pack of beer, “happens to the best of us...”

Before he has a chance to escape the conversation, she smiles excitedly and nods towards his apartment building

“You don’t happen to live here do you?” She asks, biting her lip worriedly, the slight blush across her cheeks a hint of the embarrassment she was still feeling.

“Who’s askin’, you the FBI or somethin’ ?” he replies, raising his eyebrows.

She laughs, her nose crinkling.

“Nah, just want to get to know the neighbours. Me and my brother just moved into Apartment 7 today!”  She says, jostling the guitar into one hand and throwing the other out in front of her and smiling, “Anna Milton”

“Dean”, Dean replies sceptically, looking down at her and dropping the hand from his head to shake her own, “And yeah, I'm in 5.”

“Ah that’s just below us!” She smiles, before looking back at the U-Haul, still mostly full of what looks to Dean like a mix of musical equipment and cardboard boxes, “Well, I better get back to that, these boxes won’t move themselves, nice to meet you Dean!”

Dean watches her turn and grab a guitar amp with her free hand, heaving it onto the pavement. She stands and enthusiastically wipes her brow.

His dad’s voice - Never let a lady carry her own luggage -  echoes in his head.

Dean sighs. This day just gets better and better.

“You want any help with that?”

“Wow! Yes, that would be so kind of you!” Anna replies instantly, before picking up a microwave and waiting expectantly, smiling widely.

He clears his throat awkwardly, picking up the amp and the guitar that he had just been viciously attacked by, and follows her into the building.

- - -

As the door to Flat 7 creaks open, he glances around. He’s never been in another apartment in his building before - it’s kind of disturbing to see an apartment identical to his that isn’t his. The identical shelves of the kitchen alcove on the left are packed with kitchen appliances not yet stored away. A ratty maroon couch sits to the left of the main room. A rolled-up rug leans against the far wall, between the two windows looking out onto the street below. The golden glow of the evening sun streams in, basking the floor in warmth.

“You can just put them down wherever” Anna smiles, placing the microwave on the kitchen shelf, before calling out, “Cassie, I met our neighbour!”

Dean places the items down and glances towards the source of rustling noises coming from the room on the left -  judging from the layout of Dean’s apartment , the bedroom. The door is closed just enough that he can’t see who’s there. As the door opens, the golden light filtering in through the bedroom window illuminates the figure from behind, casting a shadow over them so Dean can’t see their face, but can make out through his powers of deduction that it’s a dude.

‘Oh, hello…? ” A gruff voice tinged with surprise.

“Dean!” Anna interjects, “Dean, this is my brother Castiel.”

Castiel walks over, and Dean can make out his blue eyes, and the hints of stubble covering his face topped with a mess of brown hair. He holds Dean’s gaze, his expression not quite readable.

“Hello, Dean” Castiel says, smiling slightly before his eyes drop down to linger on the items Dean has discarded on the floor beside him

“Anna!” Castiel scolds, turning to her, “Please tell me you have not shirked your responsibilities onto someone you met mere moments ago.”

She wordlessly drops her gaze to the floor, guiltily scuffing her shoe on the wooden floorboards.

Dean could get mad, especially considering the guitar-to-head incident, but if he’s honest he just doesn’t have the energy. Plus, the kid looks like she could use a break.

“It’s fine really, I was just walking in and she looked like she could use a hand,” Dean says, turning to meet Anna’s gaze, “No biggie.”

Castiel huffs out an annoyed breath, running his hand through his hair and furrowing his brow, but he smiles anyway.

“Well… thank you Dean.” he says, before rushing to pick up the items, “We really won’t keep you any longer”

Dean doesn't let himself think that Castiel looks kind.

He takes the opportunity and leaves with a wave, hearing a “Thanks, Dean!” from Anna as he walks downstairs.

- - -

Dean doesn’t see a lot of the Milton’s for a while. Every now and then he’ll bump into Anna or Castiel on the stairs, and they’ll share polite smiles but nothing over the top. Sometimes Anna will be on her phone and won’t notice him, or Castiel will be searching for something in his bag and will be too focused to shoot Dean a glance.

Six weeks go by before he enters Apartment 7 again.

His recent car repair expenses mean he’s had to pick up some evening shifts at Benny’s bar, and as he lies awake at 2 AM having only got home an hour an a half ago, he realises booking one of these shifts before a 7AM Saturday start at the store could have been a massive mistake.

In all honesty, he’s never been that great a sleeper, but the intermittent bangs and cackles, and the faint thump of bass shaking the ceiling aren’t helping at all.

He waits half an hour before he decides to drag on his dressing-gown - yes dressing gowns are extremely manly - and trudge upstairs, rubbing his hand groggily across his face. Knocking on the door, he stares at the golden 7 for a few moments until the door opens, a woosh of warm air laced with the scent of cigarette smoke and sickly sweet cherry introducing him to someone he’s never seen before. She’s shorter than Dean, with thick brunette hair and red lips curved into what looks like more of a smirk than a smile.

She leans on the door frame, studying his face for a few moments before speaking

“Well hello there Freckles,” She says, her voice a sweet drawl, although she can’t help slurring her words slightly.

Grabbing his hand, she drags Dean towards the group in the centre of the room, his protests seeming futile.

“Found a straggler outside” she announces to the group, who all look up. There are only three people, sat sprawled in a circle: Castiel, Anna, and another man Dean doesn’t recognise sit surrounded by half-full bottles and glasses, with a deck of cards distributed between the members of the group. The man smirks up at him at the same time as Castiel’s face changes from tipsy to tipsy and alarmed. Castiel, Anna and the man speak simultaneously at the sight of Dean.

“Oh my gosh Dean I am so sorry, I told them to keep it dow-”

“Well, well, well… who do we have here then?”

“DEANNNNNNNNNNNNNN!”

Exclaiming excitedly, Anna jumps up and wraps her arms around Dean, squeezing him. He has a few moments to register the embrace, sleep still not allowing him his normal reflex time, before Castiel swiftly follows her up, dragging her arms off of Dean.

“Anna!”, he whispers, looking apologetically at Dean

“Sorry folks,” Dean continues, holding his hands up, “don’t want to intrude and ruin your little get together, just wondering if you could keep the noise down a bit? I’m up early tomorrow is all”

Castiel nods emphatically, Anna just smiles brightly at Dean. The others don’t act so enthusiastically.

“So… what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” The unknown man drawls, coming to stand next to the woman, leaning on her shoulder as she lets out a chuckle.

“This is Dean!” Anna interjects, “He’s our neighbour! Well, he lives downstairs …. Dean, this is our brother Gabriel, and our friend Meg. Guys, this is Dean!”

“We get it, name’s Dean,” Meg says, smirking at him again, and he feels the unsettled pit in his stomach grow, “Pity, I so preferred Freckles.”

“My little brother hasn’t told me much about you  Dean,” Gabriel says, as Castiel walks over to the speaker to turn the volume down, glancing to look at his brother at the mention of his name, “Stud like you could be living it up in the city, why you certainly wouldn’t be out of place at a frat party - plenty of boobs n’ beer amirite ?”

He chuckles, slapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder, before tilting his head, his expression quizzical. Dean doesn’t know why he doesn’t just leave the room.

“In fact, even Kansas city has enough of that. You don’t exactly seem like a layabout, so tell me - how do you end up in a town like this? Amazing job prospects? Excellent options for first time home buyers?”

Gabriel smiles.

“Running away from something?”

Dean’s face hardens.

“Not tryin’ to be rude, “ he says, gritting his teeth, “but that’s none of your business.”

He looks at Castiel.

“Like I said, ” Dean shrugs the hand off his shoulder, feeling himself get more annoyed by the second, “try and keep the noise down.”

He walks out before he can hear any more.

Keep to yourself, stay out of trouble, don’t get attached

If this is what he’s got for neighbours, he doesn’t want anything to do with them.

Continue reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394898/chapters/64296610

[lonestorm]

The Inugami - Chapter 15

Summary: When Kagome Higurashi moved to the bad side of Chicago to help with her grandfather’s restaurant, she expected chaos. Being thrown into a fake gang, caught in the middle of a drug war and grudge that stretches centuries back in time, befriending a grumpy half demon along with a ragtag bunch of three other misfits… wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. High school AU. Inukag.

Rating: T (some language)

Pairings: Inukag, Mirsan

Chapters: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 |  Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15

Shorts: 1. Sesshomaru | 2. Miroku | 3. Shippo | 4. Sango | 5. Sesshomaru | 6. Inuyasha | 7. Shippo

**Also on ff.net here and ao3 here.

The Final Chapter! Thank you to my faithful beta, @akela-nakamura!

Kagome’s boots barely echoed softly through the kitchen of the empty restaurant. It had been kept sparkly clean, smelling strongly of bleach, each surface shining and lonely at the same time without food on the countertops. She knew that hours had been reduced until the Higurashis were to return. 

She lowered her hood, brushing snow from her arms. She was moving mechanically, as if displaying overly human actions would verify her racing heart and anticipation. For the first time in six months, Kagome was about to see the friends that had brightened her world, and the man she was impossibly in love with.

After countless late nights spent speaking quietly over the phone to him, just about how their days had gone, something funny they’d seen, anything that anyone could talk about, she was finally going to see Inuyasha again, face to face. 

He didn’t know that, though. Of all Shippo’s schemes, this surprise was her favorite. Apparently, she was to be Inuyasha’s Christmas present, a role she was all too happy to fill. 

The Higurashis had finished moving back to Chicago just yesterday, into a nicer house this time. The rent was surprisingly cheap for such a decent neighborhood (compared to the last, at least.), and Kagome didn’t bother voicing that she was sure the landlord name “Nonemu” was code for “Sesshomaru trying to not look nice.” 

She startled at the sound of the bell jingling from the front, her frenzied heartbeat coming to an abrupt halt. And then she heard it in person, his gruff and so, so loveable voice only meters away. 

“This had better be good,” grumbled Inuyasha’s voice. Her breath caught. The sound of clomping snowy shoes on the welcome mat. “Comin’ in on one of my only days off…”

“I promise, your Christmas present will be worth it,” Shippo said firmly.

“Why aren’t Sango and Miroku here? Didn’t you get something for them?”

“Of course I did! But this is just for you. They’ll come a bit later, give you some time alone with your present.”

“What? Why would I need- Ugh, Shippo, did you dump five gallons of bleach in the place? I can’t smell a thing!”

Kagome smirked; Shippo had really thought this out.

“Stop whining! You’re about to get the best Christmas present ever.”

“Sounds cocky. I once got a whole sock from my brother.”

“I’ll just assume that’s a ‘Wow, that sounds so thoughtful, Shippo! I don’t even need a present because your friendship is enough of a gift.’ I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Wh-wha-you’re just leaving me here? You’re just planning on locking me in here, aren’t you?”

“For fuck’s sake. Just… stay here. As one Inugami to another, just trust me.”

“...fine.”

A second jangling of the bell--Shippo had left. Kagome breathed in slowly, steeling herself, shaking out her hands as trying to rid them of water. She paced to the door that led to the dining area. Each step seemed to take too long and not long enough. 

Finally, Kagome pushed the door and immediately saw him, standing with lowered ears, hands in his pockets, characteristically annoyed. Affection swelled in her chest, seeing Inuyasha in that red jacket, beat up boots tapping on the cracked tile. It was as if she’d been blocking out how much she cared for him, and the waves how much she’d missed him crashed over her in an instant. But she was frozen, hardly able to breathe until he finally caught sight of her.

His jaw dropped, and a startled sound seemed to stick in his throat. But he wasn’t still like her--he immediately came forward and leapt over the counter. In an instant, he was embracing her, and she had forgotten how warm, safe, smelling like leather and wind and-

“Home,” she murmured into his chest. “I’m home.”

“I love you,” was all he said back. “I love you.”

SIX YEARS LATER

There was a jangle from the front door, and Kagome looked over to see one of their regulars, Joseph, walk in, smiling and pulling a brown-haired boy behind him. The second boy looked skeptical and closed off, scrutinizing every wall and inch of the ceiling. Kagome watched her husband turn and regard the boys, resting his arms on the bokken that laid across his shoulders.

“Oh, a newb!” Shippo whispered to her in excitement. “Oh boy, Inuyasha is gonna do the thing! I love this part.”

Kagome allowed herself a small smile of agreement. She’d seen such a scene many a time before, but it was always inspiring to witness it again. This was the purpose of the Inugami now, after all. 

“Hey, Joe,” Inuyasha greeted, giving a nod. “Who’s the kid?”

With mildly hidden enthusiasm, Joseph tugged his friend up behind him. “This is my buddy, Derek. He’s the one I talked to you about last week. I talked about Inugami a bit with him and he was thinkin’ about joining. Ain’t that right, Derek?”

Derek huffed, “Tch,” as he was pushed forward to stand about four feet away from Inuyasha. The boy shoved his hands in his jean pockets, clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes up at the older man.

Inuyasha, in turn, stared down at Derek, golden eyes sharpening and chin raising. Finally, Inuyasha growled, “Don’t gimme that entitled teenage bad boy shit face, kid. If you wanna be Inugami, we’ve got a code to follow. So are you gonna listen up or get out like a loser?”

A pause. The boy seemed startled by Inuyasha’s attitude, but soon realized that Inuyasha was truly waiting for an answer. “Uh… Okay, I’ll… listen,” Derek mumbled back.

“What was that?”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re listening…?” Inuyasha drawled, gaze biting.

“S-sir. I’m listening, sir.”

“Alright.” Inuyasha took the bokken off his shoulders, slamming it to the ground at his side. Derek startled backwards into Joseph, who hid a snicker.  “The Inugami have self control. The Inugami do not involve themselves with gangs or gang activity. The Inugami don’t smoke or do that drug shit or even vape. I hate the damn smell and they make you weak. The Inugami don’t drink underage and if they are of age, they don’t drink irresponsibly like a deadbeat. The Inugami go to school and do their damn best in it. The Inugami do not fight unless in defense of self, defense of another, or a controlled spar supervised by an Inugami leader. The Inugami do not steal. The Inugami do not threaten, intimidate, or hurt others. The Inugami respect all humans, demons, and otherwise equally. The Inugami do all they can to help their neighbor. The Inugami keep a cool head and don’t respond to fucking morons that are trying to provoke them-”

Beside her, Shippo coughed in a way that sounded a lot like the name, “Koga?”

“-Inugami don’t whine about shit or think they’re entitled to shit. The Inugami work hard, challenge themselves, and don’t blame other people for their problems. The Inugami accept their cross to bear, their responsibilities, what can and cannot be changed, and their duty to become the best they can be.”

Inuyasha walked up close to the boy, staring down at him with an intense light in his eyes that Kagome had fallen in love with. Derek backed up even further, stumbling, but Joe steadied him. Inuyasha’s bokken was back in its sheath, and his powerful arms were crossed as he went on, “Now, if you think you’re incapable of those simple, moral and reasonable rules, if you just wanna be born as a street rat and die a thug that didn’t leave the world any better than it was when he was popped out of his poor mother’s womb, then you can turn your ass around and get straight back out that door. I ain’t here to give you free shit or coddle you or let you do whatever the fuck you want, whatever feels good.”

Tilting his head, Inuyasha said more quietly, “But if you stay… The Inugami is here to support you in doing shit that does good. The Inugami will have your back, teach you defense, give you a place to go, and make you something to be proud of.” 

Inuyasha pulled the bandana off of the handle of his bokken; Kagome knew it was situations like these for which he always kept an extra red bandana around. The red cloth was held out to Derek, who was eyeing it wide-eyed and white-faced.

“So?” Inuyasha said, hand open. “You gonna stay or go?”

Kagome clenched her fists, an excited smile bursting on her face.

Derek stared down at the bandana, back to his friend, and then up to Inuyasha. “I… I’m gonna stay.”

Finally, Inuyasha gave the kid a quick, rare grin. “Good choice. Here.” Derek took the red bandana, gripping it tightly. His friend gave a whoop and clapped him on the shoulder while Inuyasha dug around in his bag for the registration.

“Just a little stupid paperwork, brat,” Inuyasha explained, holding the paper and a pen out to Derek. “Liability shit, and we wanna be able to contact you if you need help. I’ll give you my number, and the other four Inugami heads will probably give you theirs eventually. What are you doin, signin’ that already?! Always read a contract before you sign it, idiot. There ya go…”

By the time Derek was finished registering, the other Inugami had begun to file in, ready in their training clothes and chatting with one another comfortably, about twenty-five of them today. Kagome couldn’t help but smile at all of them, greet a few; these teenagers, all coming in here trying to make their inner-city life better, to improve themselves. These kids were the dreams of all the original Inugami, and it’s why she came every day without regret.

Inuyasha was talking to some of the kids. When he looked over at her, beginning to start her stretches on the bench next to Shippo, his entire body seemed to relax, and he returned a smile. But when he started to make his way over…

“Whoa,” she heard Derek say quietly, not too far away, to Joseph. He was pointing at her. “Who’s the chick? I’d tap that so hard.”

Joe looked panicked and was about to answer, but that’s when Inuyasha hit Derek in the back of the head, causing a resounding SMACK followed by a high, “Ow!”

“She,” Inuyasha snarled, “would me my wife.”

“Shit,” muttered Derek.

“I guess since you haven’t seemed to catch on to the specifics of ‘respect all humans, demons, and otherwise’ and you have a problem with thinking with your dick, I’ll have to add that the Inugami men are not fucking perverts or fuckboys. The Inugami other than me do not even think about daring to touch her in a way any more than a consented hug. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”

“Don’t apologize to me, boy; apologize to her!”

“R-right.” The boy turned quickly and practically bowed to her. “I-I’m sorry, um…?”

Kagome smiled in amusement. “Mrs. Tashio will do.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tashio.”

“I forgive you, Derek. Welcome to the Inugami!” She stood and held out her hand, which he shook tentatively. “I’m so happy you’ve joined us. Oh that’s right, I made cookies today! Do you like chocolate chip? You can have some-”

“Kagome,” Inuyasha sighed, looking only minisculely more grumpy than usual. “It’s like you’re rewarding him!”

“I am!” she said with a huff, putting her hands on her hips. “He joined us! He apologized for what he said, so I think he should get a cookie. Besides, I tried this new recipe and I want the kids to say if they like it…”

“You made it. Of course they’ll like it.”

Her heart swelled. “Oh Inuyasha, really? You think so?”

His cheeks were turning about the color of his bandana that was tied around his head. “Keh, you know I think so.”

Kagome gave him a long kiss for that, and then went back to find the cookies in her bag. As soon as she found them, she began passing them around (with intermittent munching on her own part).

She pretended not to hear Derek whisper to Joseph, aghast, “How did such a cranky, terrifying dude end up with an angel?”

“No one knows exactly how it happened, but Papayasha and Magome are super into each other,” Joseph answered with a shrug. “Also, don’t count on the angel thing. I chose to challenge her to a fight one day and it was the worst decision I ever made.”

“...what did she do to you?”

“I don’t remember much, but I remember that I sure as fuck didn’t like it and felt it for the next week.” 

“Inugami!” Inuyasha boomed. “Assume the position!”

The students scampered into a circle around Inuyasha, Shippo trailing behind, who began to explain what techniques they would be learning that day. As this process commenced, the charming tone over the door chimed, indicating the entrance of Miroku, Sango, and the twins. Both were dressed in gym clothes and each carried an eager toddler, looking windswept and tired, but both smiled at the sight of Kagome waving to them. 

Sango hadn’t changed much in six years; despite having two children already, she kept up with her training well, especially now that they had two extra giggling girls that liked to ride on their parents’ backs during push ups. Miroku had cut his hair to keep the babies from tugging on it incessantly (he’d insisted for months that he’d felt some spiritual energy leave him as it was cut and therefore he was the reincarnation of Samson), so that he looked far more mature than he actually was. 

Kagome greeted them both with a hug and lifted the most wiggly kid from Sango. “Hi guys! So glad you could make it on such short notice!” 

“Ah, we wrapped up the latest case this morning anyway,” said Miroku, setting down his daughter so that she could join in on tackling Shippo. “First case in nearly a year where Sesshomaru hasn’t poked his nose into our P.I. business--not our fault people around here don’t trust the cops and we make major bank.” Miroku rolled his shoulders, stretching out the gun holsters that decorated his sides on straps. He shot a winning smile. “Just surprised we have a short notice call that wasn’t: Help, Inuyasha got poisoned, or help, Kagome was kidnapped, or help, Inuyasha got tackled by a furry convention and is now setting them on fire-”

Sango jumped in before Kagome could stop them, “Help, Kagome put a force field around the pie until I apologize, or help, Inuyasha is out of the dorm room because we were canoodling too long in the library make out corner, or help, Kagome heard me sleep arguing with the drapes and now thinks I have a secret Japanese lover-”

“Yes, okay, noted that we need to call you guys under better circumstances,” Kagome covered hastily. “But this is a great circumstance, I promise!” She stuffed another cookie in her mouth, eyes gleaming. “Cookieh?”

They took a cookie. 

Another chime of the door, and Emma came skipping in, her stoic father gliding behind her. Sesshomaru looked emotionless and statuesque as ever in his full Commander’s uniform, an image of intimidation marred only by the flower crown perched atop his silvery hair. Judging from Emma’s matching set, it was of her creation and insistence. All the teenagers glanced at him or even flinched as he came in, indicating that the cuteness did not, in fact, ruin his effect. Kagome was impressed. 

Sesshomaru beelined for Kagome as soon as his icy gaze found her, and he stopped abruptly several feet away. “What is the urgent matter of which I must attend? Emma and I were on our way to the park. I would prefer if this afternoon activity were not interrupted by my brother’s next grievance.”

Kagome laughed him off. “Oh no, no grievance. Just something we wanted you to be here for and then you can be on your way!”

A half millimeter quirk of the eyebrow. “Why.”

With a nervous laugh, Kagome scurried closer to the circle of students and waved a hand over their heads for Inuyasha’s attention. Best not to trust dog demons to be patient, she’d found. 

His white ears perked up, and he stopped in the middle of demonstrating a new headlock on Derek. “Everyone here?”

“Yep!”

He released the teenager to his half laughing, half pitying peers, and pushed through to her. “Before I get on with the lesson, Kagome and I have an announcement that we wanted you all to be here for.” He put an arm around her, “It regards why she won’t be helping with any sparring from now on.”

The collective “aww” that arose from the kids actually touched Kagome, though she ignored Joseph’s not-so-subtle, “Thank God.”

Inuyasha looked to her with those shining, golden eyes, prompting her to say, “‘Papayasha’ is gonna be an actual Papa.”

The gasps and happy shrieks almost covered Inuaysha’s groan of, “Why are you encouraging them to call me-?”

Sango grabbed her shoulders. “You’re pregnant?!”

“Yup.” Kagome patted her tummy. “Can’t fight any of you--Magome’s got one in the ol’ incubator.”

Sesshomaru was grimacing. “I feared this day. The day in which an army of small Inuyashas are born. I surrender. You can keep the sword. I recognize when I am outnumbered.”

Shippo was in full on tears, clutching his face. “Tiny Inubabies with puppy ears and without Inuyasha’s horrible personality… adorable!”

Miroku only shrugged. “I’m honestly just surprised it took this long. You guys are like Catholic rabbits.”

Sango smacked him, but Kagome was too busy laughing. Surrounded by love and her growing family, she felt so far from that scared, weak girl she had been all those years ago, who felt so far from home. Home was something she created, right here, with her Inuyasha, and with the Inugami. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Playing Games (baon)

Summary: In the aftermath of Internal Disputes, Sans wasn't alone, not when his own thoughts could be haunting him.This wasn't how things were supposed to work, none of it, and there was nothing he would do but wait.

Tags:  Kustard, Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Major Character Injury, Hospitals, References to Collaring

Notes:  Now, I want you to know that I say this with the greatest sincerity possible, but all you people that got me shipping kustard? I hate you all.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The hospital chairs weren’t bad when it came to comfort, especially if you ran a little shorter in the pants than average. Not that it would’ve mattered much if they weren’t, Sans was well-trained in how to get to sleep in any and all places, knew exactly how to curl up in a folding chair for maximum comfort, no matter how hot or cold the climate got around him.

Tonight, he was only too tired to sleep. That didn’t matter either, he’d been worse off plenty of times before. Only thing that mattered was that Paps was the one sleeping, and that was enough of a topsy-turvy to make Sans want to check they hadn’t missed an exit and were still in the right universe.

Probably were; from what Stretch said, when you first took a sideways step into another world, you could feel the wrongness of it in your bones. His bones felt shaky and sore, a fine litter of bruises all along his side where he’d hit the asphalt, but none of them were sending out Morse code squawking that the sky was falling, so they were all right there. Chicken Little would have to wait for another day, though maybe he’d check in with Stretch’s little flock, see how their bones were feeling--

Sans ran a weary hand down his face, smelling the lingering smoky char. Fuck, he was tired.

In the hospital bed surrounded by machines and IV’s, Papyrus was lying perfectly still, and it was so fucking wrong to see. Even when he was sleeping Paps usually twisted and turned like he was training for the next Olympics. That little quirk cost Sans plenty of his own sleep when they were kids, nights huddled together for warmth beneath a threadbare blanket and all the while his baby bones bro tried to sleepwalk a watusi up his spine.

Sometimes Sans missed that little kid.

The fancy suit Papyrus always wore when he was playing ambassador was gone, replaced by a hospital issue gown that would give a peepshow of his pelvis when he stood. His old clothes were past the dry cleaning stage, scorched all the way up his spine and yeah, that sight was gonna haunt Sans’s dreams a coupla times in the near future, as was the bitter taste of his own soul in his throat when he crawled over to him, all the dazed moans and screams around them as he clung to his brother, frantically checking him over.

Yeah, let’s close that scene and set the memory box aside for those upcoming dreams to rifle through. No need to re-live the nightmare during the daytime, too.

Sans shifted in the chair, pulling his bare, bony feet up onto the cushion. He hadn’t changed his own clothes yet; about all he’d managed was kicking off his shoes, his filthy socks draped over them like the peels of the world’s most disgusting fruit. His travel outfit was a lil’ different than his bros, a hoodie and shorts were about as fancy as he cared to get, maybe a pair of sunglasses if he was feeling particularly feisty about it.

That getup was fine for someone on security team, something Papyrus very much was not, and Sans was planning to have a nice, long chat about that with him whenever his brother finally woke up.

He was gonna wake up and Sans was gonna be here waiting when he did, thanks.

As if magnetically drawn, a compass endlessly searching for north, Sans’s eye lights slid back to the bed towards his sleeping brother. His skull was still abnormally pale against the pillowcase, a revealing sign of magic drain despite the IV steadily dripping at his bedside. So very pale, except for the fine line of a fresh crack running down the side of his skull. Barely visible, really, someone who didn’t know any better might mistake it for a cranial suture.

Sans knew better.

It’d been a lot worse before Tori started in on it, crawling over to them through the rubble on the tarmac, ignoring shouts to stay down and her normally pristine white fur had been filthy, hands already caked with crimson marrow even as she reached out to Papyrus. The ugly wound Sans could barely stand to look at vanished beneath a thick green glow and that little crack was all that was left, a souvenir of Papyrus’s first trip to California. His brother had slumped to the ground after, those thready, pained moans fading. He’d been unconscious ever since.

He was gonna be fine; both Tori and Blue told Sans’s that over and over on the plane ride home, gonna be just fine. He was out cold was all, used up his magic down to the last dregs generating enough of a shield to cover himself and two other people besides. Right now it was nothing but a waiting game, Sans moving his pawn across the board until he landed on the ‘good morning, sunshine’ spot.

Just fine, sure, and Sans believed them. But he really wished he could roll doubles right now and speed up the process.

Most of his thoughts were either being firmly suppressed or focused the still figure laying on the bed, but Sans did manage to spare one or two leftover balls from the ones he was mentally juggling to wondered tiredly how Stretch was holding up. He’d been eating shit sandwiches himself this weekend, and now honey boy was topping it off with big ol’ slice of disaster pie. At least Sans had the luxury of being with his bro from the get-go. Trying to picture how he’d feel knowing only the bare details of what’d happened sent a cold frisson through his soul. That was enough for him to offer sending Edge out in the first ambulance; at least he was with his brother, Edge and Blue were both stuck in limbo all the way home.

Besides, he’d gotten to see plenty of the show on the flight home in the moments when Edge wavered into brief wakefulness. No wonder he never wanted to smoke weed or even drink much. They’d doped him to the gills without mercy, and now Sans was gonna have to live with an eternity of regret that the loss of his phone meant he didn’t get a chance to record Edge massacring a heartfeltly sung rendition of ‘I Want It That Way’.

Since Tori and Blue were no fun at all and refused to do it either, seemed the best option was to send Edge out and hope Stretch got a front row seat to the second act.

That show had been a helluva lot better than the inflight movie Edge’d given them on the way out. Stoic and distant since the second he’d gotten on the plane, a fuckton more so than usual. Wasn’t until Blue snuck in a whisper to Sans what was up that he got it. Anniversary tomorrow, yeah, husband back home while he got stuck playing lead babysitter with Sans as backup ‘cause Red was off saving the world or catching an early bird sale, some bullshit, anyway.

(not thinking about red, better not to, better to not)

Stretch probably pitched a bitchfit about Edge tagging along without him and Sans hadn’t registered to vote in this election, but he was gonna go with Stretch as his candidate. There was no good reason he could think of to make Stretch stay home past paperwork and pissiness, and the fact that Blue thought his Papy staying home was the better choice told him all he needed to about that.

They’d been Aboveground for a few years now and Stretch was nowhere near as bad off as he’d been back when they’d first shown up on the doorstep back in Snowdin. He’d gone the good boy route, got himself a therapist and everything. He was happy, anyone could see that, and HP issues aside, it was ‘bout time to cut the apron strings let Stretch mess up his own cooking.

Edge was better about it than Blue, but looked like he was still trying to play sous chef ‘cause Stretch wasn’t on the plane. Their fearless leader had put up a good front, but any moron could see he was upset, and Sans wasn’t just any idiot on the street. Whatever his reasoning, Edge obviously wasn’t happy about leaving his honey behind.

Welp, Sans had a feeling Edge wasn’t super eager to add Stretch to the roster now. Not after spending some quality time laying on the crumbled tarmac waiting for a stretcher, banged up and bandaged the best they could manage on the fly while the Human side of the contingency ran around squawking out orders, getting everything on lockdown. Trying to keep everything on the down-low until they could get a proper press release in order, yeah, that was the right procedure.

Sans still didn’t have a single qualm about slipping Edge that phone so he could let Stretch know he was okay. ‘Course he’d probably scared him shitless the way he started rambling on like it was his deathbed confession hour instead of just saying ‘alive and kicking’, oops, but eh, couldn’t win ‘em all.

Sans wasn’t winning a lot of ‘em lately.

The stack of blankets were tucked around Papyrus with generous care, but Sans got up and went over to him, anyway, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles in covers. His hands were beneath the blanket, the better to keep them toasty warm. Probably for the best, it was bad enough having to look at his skull, that single ragged crack. If he had to keep looking at his bro’s bruised, battered knuckles, Sans might go nuts.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was his duty to play big bro, his, he’d taken that on years ago while he was still in his own striped shirt, his very first job. He was the one in Security, he was the one who was supposed to fucking protect, and even if Sans thought maybe he’d fucked that up a time or two before, suspected that there was a memory he didn’t possess, a

(reset)

past that wasn’t theirs. But he’d been keeping up their end of the bargain since his bro decided to be an Ambassador and Paps wasn’t supposed to break it, he fucking wasn’t—

The door creaking made Sans jerk, heat rushing to his fingertips in a heady blurt of magic for an attack that stopped forming the moment he saw who it was. He took a long, slow breath, shaking away his exhausted agitation the best he could, cause he was going to need every wit that hadn’t been blown away in the explosion to deal with this.

Red was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. The light pouring in behind him cast him in shadow except for the smoldering glow of his eye lights burning out from his sockets.

Sans only ignored his awful horror movie impression and wandered back to his chair, crawling up to settle on the cushion with a weary sigh.

"you done with skulking around trying not to talk to me?" Sans asked. He didn't mean to sound as pissy as he did, but did Red really think he wouldn't notice? On the plane, outside the ambulance, even here, Red'd been all over, watching but not getting close.

No answer came, no sardonic comeback, no angry snarl. Red stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with disturbing care. Probably only playing at kindness for Papyrus’s sake, but something about his expression was unnerving, the lines of his face laid out in a way that Sans didn’t know.

He came close to the chair without reaching, only stood there, hands visibly fisted in his pockets. Crimson eye lights resting on Sans, but more like Red was looking through, like Sans wasn’t even there and Red’s gaze was laser-focused on the wall behind him.

“came to tell you i’m taking off for a while,” Red said, every word filled with deliberate indifference, “dunno how long.”

Sans only nodded. “yeah. thought you might.”

“wanted to see if you’d keep an eye on that fucking cat of mine.” Again, nothing but cool detachment, Red speaking to the wall and expecting answers.

He made no mention of asking Edge and Sans didn’t either. “sure, why not, i could use a few more scrapes for my collection. maybe i can trip over him on the stairs, add a few broken bones to the tab.”

There, a veritable hit; Red winced visibly, the distance in his gaze wavering. It was almost fascinating, really, watching with his own detached interest as Red tried to force it back. Must be a sign of his own shaken control, all of it unraveling, snapping into its proper place as he actually looked at Sans.

Sans had a pretty good idea what Red was seeing. The force of the explosion had thrown them all to the ground in spite of any shields, leaving behind a nice collection of mottled bruises and bloody scrapes to share around. His own pain had been secondary, unnoticed until they’d been shoved back on the plane for a ride straight back home. He’d been sitting next to Paps when Tori came over, watching the metronome precision of the rise and fall of his rib cage like only the force of his will was keeping his brother breathing.

The cold wetness against his skull had stung and it was only then that he noticed his own hurts. He’d sat there and concentrated on keeping Papyrus breathing, let Tori gently clean him up the best that she could.

So he didn’t have any illusions about what kind of eye candy he was right now. Another note of interest that Red didn’t seem to be able to look away, the minute flicker of his eye lights moving as they traced over those bruises and scrapes.

“i need to go,” Red repeated, but that indifference was wavering, seeping away, leaving behind something that was almost pleading. Huh. How about that. “i gotta. this is my fault. i’ve gotta—"

“listen to the ego on you,” Sans snorted. “even you can't know everything.”

“no, you don't fucking get it.” Shattered desperation, like nothing Red ever showed. Seemed like those walls Red kept up weren’t quite as impervious as Sans always thought; words were spilling out of him, vomited out in pained rush. “i didn't have shit going on here. i didn't come along on this trip because i knew you'd go without me and i…i wanted you away. for a couple days. wanted some time to get my head on straight and i didn’t give a shit who i pissed off to get it, i—"

Yeah, Sans could believe that. Fucked over his own brother and Stretch, and why not? It was only to get out of a Security detail that would’ve left him sharing a hotel room with Sans, left them out in the open in front of everyone. Made them obvious in a way that somehow Red didn’t think they’d been before, fooling no one but himself, but it was a lie Red somehow needed.

Knowing that was a different sort of bruise, on his soul instead of his bones, and every word out of Red was giving it a rough press. It was satisfying in a strange way, to know Red was panicking over him, made him want to feel it again.

"all right,” Sans said calmly.

"no, it ain't all right!" Red snarled, his voice cracking, breaking, breathing too heavily. "if I hadn't've fucked off--"

"then you would've been there instead of edge and it would all have happened the same way." He felt oddly serene, floating in his own peculiar calm. "you're one person. even you can't be everywhere and know everything. ‘sides, if that’s your fault, this is mine.” He flung his hand out like an attack at the hospital room, towards his brother lying unconscious in front of him. “’m getting sloppy, should’ve reacted faster.”

Red twitched, stepping closer, grasping that line of thought with eager gratitude, “reacted to what? how did my brother know? toriel ain’t sure and neither was blue—"

“intent.” Sans shivered, remembering the prickle of it washing over him, virulent hate that came a bare second too late for him to react. The memory of it made him remember something else, a delirious question forgotten in the aftermath, “didn’t think edge could beat me when it came to sensing intent.”

Red waved that off. “he’s been practicing ever since andy got turned into a pincushion outside that chinese place. what else?”

Of course he was, Edge probably spent his lunch hour wandering the streets to see how much hate he could pick up, that was a filling meal. “it was coming from the driver. edge was a lot closer to the car, he must’ve felt it before i did. he yelled for everyone to get down but by then, paps already had me face first on the asphalt.” He shrugged, trying not to think too deeply of the wash of vicious heat, the sound of it, the screams, fuck, all the screams— “after that, it gets a little explody. i can still hear it a little, it’s like listening to a seashell lodged in my head. doc said it might take a day or two for the echo to fade out.”

“that it?” Red’s gaze bore into him.

“that’s all i’ve got,” Sans drawled sourly. He turned in the seat, lounging with deliberate casualness, his legs hanging over the arm. “that’s the shit, the whole shit, and nothing but the shit. so that happened and our bros got hurt, yeah, but they’re gonna be fine. so, now, you wanna take off and go headhunting? you go on ahead. play your little game, start following your clues. just remember after paps wakes up and i can see he’s okay? i’m coming to find you.”

Red had been nodding along and Sans could see the moment realization bled through, the indignant rasp as he snapped out, “the fuck you are!”

“the fuck i’m not,” Sans countered, tauntingly. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting his own sweat, the bitterness of smoky residue as he goaded, “how are you gonna stop me? ask edge to chase me down while he plays hop along cassidy on some crutches?” Fury was sparking in Red’s eye lights like a firecracker as Sans went on with fractured glee, “he’ll be a coupla weeks recovering, you know. even you harping on him to get up and play protector ain’t gonna change that. gonna tattle on me to asgore, gonna lock me up? tie me to your bed?” Sans tapped a finger against his cheek bone pensively, a mockery of thinking, “or maybe i won’t go after you at all. maybe i’ll see about playing a little on my own.”

Ah, that, that right there. Sans could feel the impotent fury rolling off of Red, about the only time he couldn’t get it up, hands flexing as if he wished there was something in them and for a distant moment, he thought Red might actually attack him and wouldn’t that make for an interesting problem to explain.

Then it was gone, all that anger and frustration swallowed into nothingness. Interesting how Red managed to break without so much as changing expression. Must be a gift.

“you win,” Red said abruptly.

“we playin’ something?” Sans asked lightly,

“only with our lives. ain’t like anything important.” There was a sharp prick of frustrated anger in that, wasn’t all gone, then, only banked. A point Red proved by stalking forward to take Sans’s chin in two sharp fingers, yanked it up. Crimson eye lights searched Sans’s face and he couldn’t begin to wonder what they hoped to find. “you even know what you’re getting into here?”

“i’ve been fucking you for over a year.”

“i ain’t talking about fucking.” Those searing eye lights pierced deeply into him, crawling over the depths of his soul. “do you know?”

Deliberately, Sans lifted his chin more, exposing the bones of his cervical vertebrae. Red’s gaze dropped, lingered over them with hypnotic weight, and his fingers followed, coiling around Sans’s throat like a metaphor.

“if you like it, then you shoulda put a collar on it,” Sans said, soft and singsong. “i’ve been fucking you for over a year, fucking around three times that, you think i don’t know? collar me, claim me. may as well, i ain’t going anywhere, anyways.”

Red shuddered, lurching forward another step and his fingers tightening convulsively, not quite painlessly. “collar you? like you’d be fucking obedient.”

“from what i saw of you wearing one, i always figured the obedience part was an optional add-on. besides, at least i’m housebroken.”

The thin fingers around his throat tightened again, so very close to choking and Sans only shivered, yearning into that grip even as Red whispered with low, virulent intensity, “should’ve known i couldn’t keep dodging you forever.”

Red leaned in, but not for a kiss. His mouth was suddenly hot on Sans’s collarbone, dragging over I, uncaring of the sweat and filth coating him. Sharp teeth nicked tantalizingly against bone and Sans couldn’t hold back a cry, edged with a near sob because he wasn’t supposed to get this, he wasn’t, wasn’t supposed to have this suddenly thrust into his lap like a gift. His magic gave stirring an unfortunate try, but he was thankfully too tired to demo how much his psyche was absolutely going for the sweet threat in that touch.

"i wanna to keep you," Red muttered, mostly to himself, something like desperation curling around every word. Sans answered anyway, mumbling mindlessly.

"okay. okay, yeah."

"wanna keep anyone else from touching you,” whispered against him, a promise, a threat, Sans didn’t know. Red’s tongue was winding around his clavicles, sharp fingertips tearing Sans’s t-shirt, exposing more. “wanna put my collar you, warn the whole world that you're mine."

"yeah," Sans breathed brokenly. His hands move of their own accord, not bothering to ask for permission as they clutch at Red’s shoulders, blunt fingertips digging into the leather of his coat with creaking force.

"That sounds very romantic and potentially disturbing, but may I ask if you could do that in your bedroom and not here in front of me?"

Sans came pretty fucking close to kicking Red to the floor as he jerked up to see his brother’s sockets open, blinking at them owlishly. It wasn’t even a thought to scramble down and go to him; reaching for Papyrus was as automatic as drawing a breath. His brother reached back and if his hands were shaking a little, if there was something tremulous and almost fragile in that touch, Sans didn’t care.

His brother was awake and reaching for him, pulling him up on the bed and into his arms.

“Hush, there’s no need to cry,” Papyrus scolded gently, but he held on to Sans with enough force to get his bruises singing out an Ava Maria. “I’m perfectly all right and even if I’m not, you are, so that’s fine.”

“that is so not fine, paps, it is completely the opposite of fine,” Sans wiped away embarrassing flood of tears, sniveling humiliatingly into his sleeve even as Papyrus flailed and tried to reach for the box of Kleenex on the bedside table. “me and red are the ones working in the security department, we—”

He turned back to the chair, trailing off when he found it empty.

Well, shit.

“know something, bro?” Sans sighed out, even as he settled into his brother’s arms. “that whole vanishing thing is fucking annoying when i’m not the one doing it.”

Papyrus smoothed a hand down his spine, more gentle than not, and if he had an inkling of what he just interrupted, he was kind enough not to ask. “Never fear, brother, you are always fucking annoying whether you’re trying or not.”

Probably true. Hearing his brother swear was always enough to give his soul a seizure, even if he knew Papyrus only did it to get a rise out of him. He needed to go find one of the docs, let him know Paps was awake and there were probably tests that needed to be run, x-rays maybe, who the fuck knew.

It could wait a minute. Right now, the only place his soul wanted to be was right here.

But later, he thought maybe he had some dice to roll. Some asshole in a stupid hat once said the game was afoot and now that he knew there was a chance?

Sans was playing to win.

-finis-

[kitaychan]

White Flame

Chapter 8

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological Horror

General Summary:  Royal/ Magical AU. As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: Ivan took out the clock and showed it to him, smiling slightly at the other. “Oh, you mean this?”

Vladimir stepped back, frowning and glaring at him.  “I… I advise you to clean that… as well as the wolf,”

“Pardon me?”

“Holly water won’t erase those stains,” his red eyes glinted mischievously, he darted away without other word.

Observing

The fireplace was lit, the windows closed to keep the warm air inside, the room was neat, except for the pair of shoes thrown aside carelessly. In the floor laid a spacious carpet, the beautiful engraves in it hidden by the figure sitting on top of it. Blonde hair was tousled and moved with each shake coming from his owner. Clenching at his stomach, with teary eyes, laugher escaped from the blonde’s lips.

Tolys’ voice broke into the room, he sat beside the blonde, crossing his arms. “Don’t laugh Feliks, I felt really bad for her. She was crying when the guards took her out, she said something about her family but I don’t remember very well.”

The laugher ceased and Feliks sat up. “Oh, no Tolys that’s awful. I am not laughing at that. I am not heartless,” -He wiped a tear from his eye- “but Ivan made a fool of himself in front of everyone. He acted like a child, Yekaterina had to calm his tantrum.”

The brunette furrowed his eyebrows. The wood was cracking and the fire grew brighter. “I don’t see why you are happy, now he will be mad all week. You also need to be more careful with how you treat them and how you talk about me.”

A small laugh and Feliks purred. “Oh, poor Tolys is scared of what Ivan might do to him?”

Tolys glanced back to see the blonde passing his hand through the carpet. “You don’t understand Feliks, It’s not funny, I don’t want to push my luck in here. Yekaterina seems kind but she isn’t stupid, Lady Natalya has suggested throwing me out of here and so far Ivan paying no heed to her is what has kept me around. They don’t trust me.”

Feliks paused, staring intently at the royal engravings in the fireplace. “I know, that’s why I am planning to hide you away.”

The brunette let out a nervous laugh, glancing at the door. “Don’t joke around like that. If he hears us he might ask for your head in a plate.”

“As if he isn’t now.”

Tolys took the blonde’s hand giving it a light squish. “You have to be careful.”

Feliks enveloped him in a hug and whispered. “No, you are the one who has to take care of yourself. I don’t want them to kill you.”

The brunette returned the embrace, muttering softly. “They won’t, Ivan has been decent, he might be a good friend.”

Feliks pushed him apart and scoffed. “Yeah, said that to the ones who died because of him and his greediness.”

“Feliks, that was his father, not him.”

The blonde stood up, walking to the fireplace his eyes following the dance of the flames. “He was there with them. You didn’t saw him, he was galloping with the soldiers, he was leading the army that besieged my city. He killed him.”

The brunette stayed silent, it was of no use to talk to Feliks now, when he was in that state he would get furious, trashing at Tolys if he dared to defend Ivan. Tolys understood the blonde’s frustration, it was humiliating to be under other’s reign, but he also understood Ivan’s situation, being the prince he had to take part in the battles, even more so with such father, it was part of his duty as the heir.

After some moments of silence, Feliks spoke up again. “Why do you think he made a fuss over a clock?”

Tolys shrugged, reaching for the abandoned shoes on the floor. “His father gave it to him.”

Feliks turned to him, receiving the footwear. “It’s not a secret that Ivan hates his father if that’s the case, he’d be glad to get rid of it.”

“I don’t know, perhaps he feels regret, he must be grieving after all. Yekaterina has weighted him with her sorrows but not even once have I seen her asking him how he feels.”

The blonde sat down to try on the shoes, glaring at the untouched state of them. “Tolys, you talk about him as if you pitied him, I want you to disobey him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Feliks stood up, giving some hesitant steps. “He is not your friend, he doesn’t deserve your kindness.”- He jumped making Tolys step back.-“You’ll leave with me tomorrow.”

The brunette looked worriedly at him, fidgeting with his hands. “Feliks-”

The blonde headed to the door, interrupting him. “No excuses, we’ll have a trip to the countryside.”

Without any other words, Feliks left, leaving Tolys confused and anxious. He glanced at the fireplace, the flames had died down, the ashes and the little wood left were still burning, coated in a bright red warmth.

He straightened his posture and went back to the main hall, if not they would notice his absence.  

---

Ivan searched around in the library.

Unluckily, he could not find any book regarding magic itself, there were mentions of it in the history books but none of them gave actual instructions. At the end, he had entertained himself with a book of tales tales that his mother used to read to him, it was more of a epic tale than a children’s book, describing battles against a wicked enemy with outstanding detail. He remembered half of the stories but the endings were new to him as he’d usually fell asleep somewhere between the middle.

He heard someone’s footsteps, and turned around, Katya’s face was beaming with excitement and her eyes traveled around the shelves, she smiled at him. “I am glad that you are trying to learn by yourself.”

Ivan nodded, burying his face in the book again.

“You know that Roderich has quit, right?”

He hummed, going through the pages quickly until Katya’s hand stopped him, she closed the book. “Now I have to find another tutor.”

“Good, I didn’t like him anyway.” Ivan opened the book again, an illustration of a tower engulfed in flames could be seen, a cloud of smoke rising above, soldiers nearing the place, following  a general that pointed towards the fire but what got him interested was the clock hanging on the horse reins, it looked like a strange detail to add.

Katya shook his shoulder, raising her voice. “Why do you try to make things harder for me?”

”You brought him from a foreign land and expected me to discuss philosophy and literature with someone who only deems his culture as valid. I asked him about the arts of magic and he evaluated that knowledge  as “basic and plain”, everything I do is wrong because it’s not refined or modern.”

She took the book from him, glancing at the pages and rolling her eyes. “Perhaps it is plain, we have to make a lot of changes, you like this library, I picked the books based on their advances and we can’t rely on magic because we know nothing about it, this library was filled with old books, full of dust and cobwebs.”

Ivan frowned. “Katya, we don’t even know what the laboratory is for, Where are the older books?”

“Some were burned, others were gifted and I left the one’s father used in his office. I spared the one you are holding because I know how much you treasure it but I regret doing so, these fairytales are useless.”

“Those fairytales are part of our history, Katya. You can’t erase that.”

Ivan glanced down at the book, scowling. He'd have to search in his father’s office, the place gave him chills, not only figuratively but literally, it was the coldest room in the palace, even Katya refused to stay in there longer than necessary.

Her voice was thunderous, echoing in the library, she was showing him the same illustration from earlier. “We can’t keep looking back, look where that has brought us! Two reigns of constant war, we can change that, we already did.”

Ivan looked at her intently, her eyes were tearing up. He stood up, taking the book from her and embraced her, she hugged back tightly.

Her voice shook as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, Katya. I was behaving poorly today”

She sighed, turning to the table and smiling again. “No,  Feliks was difficult. You have my permission to insult him next time.” she glanced at the book again and chuckled, pointing at the drawing,  “that looks like father’s clock”

Ivan nodded, feeling a prickle of regret at the mention of it.

As they were walking together into the hall, Tolys approached them, bowing slightly and  addressing Yekaterina. “Some of the guests are planning to leave and Lady Natalya is asking for you.”

Katya hurried off to talk with Natalya, leaving Ivan without a word. He stood awkwardly with Tolys, next to a window, Ivan tried to seem interested in the view.

A familiar man greeted him, this was prince Vladimir, the last time they’d seen each other he was signing his loss and accepting the terms of the repositions.

He had a sly smile on his face, his eyes standing out for their strange almost reddish color. “I see that you are just as superstitious as your father, I don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended,”

Ivan frowned, staring back, it was strange how he talked with such confidence towards him. “Excuse me, I do not know what you are talking about.”

He snickered, glancing outside of the window. “You didn’t have to wear silver to meet me. Be coherent with your sister's words, there must be a bit of trust between all of us.”

Ivan took out the clock and showed it to him, smiling slightly at the other. “Oh, you mean this?”

Vladimir stepped back, frowning and glaring at him.  “I… I advise you to clean that… as well as the wolf,”

“Pardon me?”

“Holly water won’t erase those stains,” his red eyes glinted mischievously, he darted away without other word.

Ivan felt uneasy, he glanced at his hands and the clock, it kept on marching consistently, the silver artifact was completely clean.

He put it back on his pocket, flinching when Tolys placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Do not pay him any heed, your majesty. Vladimir has always been a bit strange, he used to claim to be a vampyre.”

Ivan nodded slowly, shaking his head. “Tolys what happened to the girl?”

The brunette shrugged. “I escorted her out as you asked.”

“I need you to bring her back.” Tolys’ eyes were questioning but he didn’t utter a word. Ivan averted his gaze. “I made a mistake, it is only fair that I apologize.”

---

The moonlight sipped through the window, barely illuminating the delicate hands moving mechanically, blue eyes darted from the wooden door to the window. Natalia was observing quietly, her silent and patient demeanor were the key of her existence, without them, she would have gone crazy a long time ago. Ignoring the dearest person to her was not easy.

Natalia focused on the handkerchief and the needle on her hands, a haunting thought made her heart clench, what if he didn’t love her? what was her purpose if she failed in the only thing she had to fulfill?

Shaking her head, she glanced down, trying to embroider a sun as she was instructed to do, her mother said activities like knitting and embroidery were relaxing but she was desperate, she wanted to tear the kerchief apart and run away.

A sight escaped from her, she would not keep following her mother’s instructions, she came back to her task, mind and heart in it, patience, she reminded herself, doing stitch after stitch, changing the thread, humming to herself, stealing a glance to the moon, and returning to her work, placing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, and adding the final touches to it.

When it was finished, she smiled to herself, proud of her work an embroidered sunflower with delicate leaves around it, making it seem like it was falling, she folded the kerchief, and placed it in a little box alongside some letters.

She heard footsteps in the hallway, could it be that he wanted to talk with her? Natalya waited patiently but the footsteps grew further away, she opened the door slowly, barely catching the sight of Feliks and behind him a nervous looking Tolys, he glanced to his sides before disappearing from her view.

Natalya frowned and closed her door again, she would not give him more letters, they didn’t work, words were meaningless, she had to show him she was useful, loyal and brave, she had scared him and she knew it, he was avoiding her. So, she’d be his eyes outside of the palace, she’ll keep those two under her gaze, and if necessary, she’d interviene,  that way he’d  realize the truth, that she loved him even if it meant to separate from him. She would assure him her devotion.

[saltmageelliexiv]

Disclaimer: The story below deals with dark/mature content consistent with sexual themes, drug use, and mentions of physical abuse. Also, my writing skills are incredibly rusty, so please do not expect professional-level writing.

It was that time again; evening had began to set, the shops in the bazaar had began to close their doors, and the bars near the Red Lantern district had begun to open. While a majority had taken the path back to their homes or the inns, the remainder drifted away to the crimson-lit path. Along with common bars, bath houses, oddity shops, and even brothels were opening their doors, some even having workers stand out to draw in the eye of potential customers. Though there were a number of people who stood out in the crowds, there was one woman in particular who seemed to draw more than enough eyes in the crowd, from both men and women alike.

A statuesque woman, she stood, and walked, proudly, the sound of her heels making a soft thud against the cobblestone of the streets. She had a reputation in this part of the city, possessing many names and monikers from her profession. But to anyone familiar with her profession, she was known as ‘The Matron of Sins’. An infamous brothel madam, even running her own business didn’t stop her from conducting her own affairs, her business keeping her away from her business the entire previous night. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy ponytail, damp with water that gleamed softly in the light. She even wore a black and crimson kimono, the chest of her robes being left loosely cinched to reveal a generous portion of her bosom.

Walking through the district, she could hear the whispers and murmurs even through the loud and boisterous conversations going on about the area. Some of them speaking in disbelief of her brazen appearance, some damning her for her shamelessness. None of it bothered her, for hidden in her pockets was enough coin to sustain her business for a fortnight. Despite how disheveled and shameless she appeared, she could stand proud knowing that she had a man desiring her body so bad that he was willing to pay a small fortune to know her pleasures.

‘They damn me now and call me a shameless whore... but I could have every one of them kissing my feet in a mere minute.’

The Madam couldn’t help but smirk at the thought; confidence, or egotistical, there was no denying that she could take whatever words anyone had to throw at her. After the ordeal of walking back to her business, she was greeted with a small, modest building; dim red lighting showing through the windows, and in the front, a sign of the double sided doors reading ‘CLOSED’. It seems that no one opened up yet.

‘They’re probably still getting ready...’ The Madam let out a sigh. ‘I need a drink. And a change of clothes.’

Grabbing the handle of one of the doors, the Madam gave it a quick turn, surprised to see that no one had locked it. As she entered the building, she could already hear numerous footsteps, some yelling, and even giggles. Her hunch was correct, but she could also tell that no one sensed her presence yet.

Clearing her throat, she’d close the door behind her, locking it for safety. “If you all did something I don’t approve of, you’d better hide it now!” Though her voice was raised, the mischievous smile on her face deceived her tone. Not long after, a couple young ladies had made their way to the front door; both of them couldn’t have been older than twenty, one of them half-dressed.

“Madam, we weren’t expecting you to be back so late. Are you okay?” One of the girls took some of the bearings from the Madam; coin satchel, shoes, whatever wasn’t needed. Along with it, she shooed away the half-dressed girl, offering to take care of the woman herself.

The Madam gave a nod, groaning slightly as she made her way further into the building, examining everything she could on the way to a staircase. “I’m fine, just tired. I already bathed before I came here, but I need to change my clothes. I need to get that man’s stench out of my robes...”

Barely a thing out of place, at the very least, the business was fine during her night away; perhaps she could go out and take care of business in the evening more often. Making her way upstairs, the young woman followed right behind her, following like a duckling would follow their mother. All throughout the building, young men and women alike were fluttering about, getting their best garments on, and some even assisting others with their hair and garments.

“Let them know that we’ll be opening an hour late. They can’t be running around like this. They will fall over, or Heavens forbid break something. Meet me in my room when you’re done.” The Madam would give the command to the young woman, the woman giving a nod in acknowledgement, before running off to carry out her duties.

Escaping the insanity in the building, the Madam evaded all the scrambling men and women, managing to escape into her room. Unlike the rest of the building, this room was free of people; large and luxurious, it appeared to look more like a small apartment. A bed, bookshelves, table, desk, a large vanity and boudoir, even a stand to hang a kimono. The room smelled of decadent perfumes and incense; a pipe, small box, and bottle of rice wine rested on the table. Pulling a cushion out from beneath the table, the Madam quickly made herself comfortable, letting out a drawn-out sigh as she felt a moment of relief from all the walking she did.

‘Well, since I’m alone... might as well ‘medicate’.’

Grabbing the small box, the Madam popped open the top, revealing a small silver tin inside, a musky scent wafting from inside. Twisting the top of the silver tin, she’d give it a couple taps, pulling it off to reveal dried leaves on the inside. Taking a pinch of it, she’d set it in the pipe, placing the mouth piece between her lips. With a snap of her fingers, a small ember began to flicker at her fingertips, bringing it to the dried leaves in the pipe, taking a deep inhale. With just that inhale, she could feel the pain in her head begin to fade, her thoughts going cloudy, her body going light as a feather. She’d hold in her breath for as long as she could, before releasing it slowly, a plume of white smoke billowing from her crimson lips. The stress and anxiety were flowing away with every plume of smoke that she blew away.

-Knock. Knock. Knock.-

‘... well that didn’t last long.’

Putting out the ember in her pipe, the Madam put away any evidence of her ‘bad habit’, even going as far as cracking open a window before breaking her silence. “Enter.”

Slowly opening the door, the young woman from before poked her head in, looking around to make sure she was going to be alone with the Madam. “I apologize for my delay, everyone is relieved to hear that we no longer have to rush.” Entering the room, the young woman closed the door behind her gingerly, making sure it wouldn’t make a loud noise. “Did you need me to do anything for you, my lady?”

The Madam scratched softly at her temple; she needed to get changed, her hair was a mess, and she was too tired to tend to herself. “I would appreciate your help. Can you grab me my kimono off the stand? I’m too sore to tie it on my own. If I could get some help with my hair as well, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

The young woman gave a nod, and even a soft smile. “Of course, my lady. I’m glad to help.”

While the woman worked on getting the Madam’s new kimono on, she would work on removing her current garments. Having put them on rather half-haphazardly, all it took was a couple strategic pulls of the cloth to get it to unravel itself. Normally, the thing that would draw anyone’s eye would be the Madam’s beautiful figure, but this time, something else would be catching her helping hand’s eye; a number of bruises and scrapes that covered her body that managed to be hidden beneath her clothes. As the young woman turned around to see the Madam’s bare form, she let out a gasp, nearly dropping the kimono to rush over to her.

“My lady, you’re hurt! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have called someone to help.” She was beginning to fret around the woman, gathering the kimono back before it would fall to the floor, trying to rush over to the Madam’s side while keeping the luxurious garment in her arms.

The Madam shook her head. “No need to call me Lady in private, just call me Eliceyn. And there’s no need to call for help. These will heal in time. Besides, I got paid enough to support us for two weeks, so this is a small price to pay to keep everyone here fed.”

Eliceyn held her arms out, waiting for the young woman to help her slip her arms into the sleeves of her new garments. Despite her hesitation, she followed the orders of her boss with reluctance. Carefully putting the garment on the Madam, she made sure not to brush against any part of her body that sustained an injury, even helping her sit back down on the cushion when she was dressed once more.

“My la--” The young woman stopped herself, clearing her throat. “Eliceyn, why did you do this to yourself? Money is not worth it if you let someone beat you; you would throw out anyone here who would do that to us. Why do you put up with it yourself?” As she continued to ask her questions, the young woman took Eliceyn’s hair out of it’s bindings, grabbing a brush that she had shoved in her pocket, carefully letting the Madam’s hair pass through the delicate bristles.

“It’s my duty to make sacrifices for my employees, dear.” The Madam closed her eyes, letting her ‘assistant’ do her job. “Besides, if I didn’t take the hit, someone else here would have. I cut off his contract here after that, and told him to look for a husband if he wants someone to fight.”

The young woman raised a brow, moving aside the locks of hair she brushed through, carefully working out any knots or tangles. “What do you mean, Eliceyn? Did he want someone specific?”

Eliceyn gave a nod, though she remained silent for a brief moment. “He wanted the new girl. The small one who we took in a month ago. The one who has been helping the others and taking care of cleaning. I told him she wasn’t available, and that he would need to pick someone, or I could set him up with someone.”

“Why wasn’t she available? If she’s not here to learn the trade, then why is she here?”

“She’s just a child. I’m not going to sell her soul to a disgusting pervert for coin.” The Madam went silent. “She was on the streets begging for coin. I felt pity; so I offered her a job, but said that if anyone tried to lay a hand on her, then it’ll be the last time they have hands.”

“I see...” The young woman continued to tend to Eliceyn’s hair, showing extreme gentleness, and care in every stroke. “I am glad to see that you care, Madam. There are not many who have a generous heart like you do. Pity you don’t let others see this side of you.” The young woman chuckled softly under her breath, smiling after seeing the softer, more protective side of the Madam.

The Madam let out a huff, a coy smirk curling on her lips. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll have you washing the floors for a week AND tending to the laundry.”

The young woman snickered. “Alright, deal.”