#the fact that he had a tea party table set up with his ducks in episode 5 I'm--

[hells-greatestdad]

"You're not coming to my tea party?!"

"BETHANY I MADE BISCUITS!"

Throws that particular duck at the wall

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, edging, pet names, sex toys, multiple orgasms, mentions of body image Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“Hel-lo, is the idiot in the room still with us?”

A slender hand waves back and forth, back and forth, until you awake from your everlasting daydream.

Annie Leonhart sits across from you at your favorite coffee shop looking like the cat that caught the canary.

That knowing smirk hasn’t left her face since she sat down.

Curling her fingers, she pulls her arm and returns her hand to join the other under her chin once she’s finally caught your attention.

The small blonde squints her icy blue eyes, observing, deciding on what you’ll say before you launch your defense.

“That good, huh?”

Embarrassment is your first folly.

"I— What?!”

“I know a blissful climax cloud when I see one.”

“Annie.”

Sometimes Annie could be an ass, too smug for her own good, but she was a fiercely loyal friend and colleague.

Everything is meant in jest — at least, to you. Not many others got to avoid her wrath.

You lean over the table, reaching your hand out to cover her mouth.

She manages to duck your advances, expertly so, and rears her head with a small chuckle.

“Relax, no one’s listening,” she chides.

“That’s not true,” you argue under your breath. “It's a small shop. You know the vultures circle this place.”

“Not since the old thirsties got busted for their smutty book club — which, quite frankly, I resent losing.”

"You resent?" you repeat, mirroring her squint. “But you never ended up joining the old lady book club.”

“Mm, I didn’t,” Annie agrees, picking up her coffee cup to sip leisurely. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t listen. I looked up a couple of those titles for myself. In retrospect, they had good taste.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead.”

She pauses, setting the cup back on the table.

“So… are you going to make me work for the details, or what?” she finally leads, getting to the point while you skate around it with imaginary triple axels. “Did you call again after Friday?”

You did.

In fact, you've called several times — almost every night since last Friday with the exception of Tuesday, since you’d fallen asleep as soon as you hit the couch after working overtime.

It’s now another Friday afternoon, one week from the first time you’d called the hotline, and you’re wondering what constitutes bordering on addiction.

“I have,” you confirm. 

“That’s all you’re going to say?” she chastises with a grimace. “Boo — tomato, tomato.”

“What?! What did you want me to say?”

“For starters, who the guy is.”

“Not happening.”

“Loser.” A beat passes. “But it’s not Bert?”

You shake your head vehemently.

“Definitely not Bert.”

“Thank god,” she exhales. “I like you, but I don’t know if I like you enough to be calling up the same dude to get our rocks off.”

“Jesus, Annie.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a prude.”

You pick up your own tea, sliding it across the table before taking a tentative sip.

“I don’t know how you freely talk about this like we’re trying out restaurants.”

“Because it’s not real?” she suggests, and your stomach flip-flops. 

You know it isn’t. 

It’s a job.

It’s his job.

“I don’t know,” Annie continues, sitting back against her chair with her arm draped across the curve. “It’s no strings attached and hot. I’ll never meet Bert, and he’ll never meet me, and it isn’t like he’s going to ask to hold my hand and beg me to meet his mom.”

“You’re such a commitment-phobe,” you comment with the roll of your eyes. “You won’t ever meet anyone’s mom.”

“Yeah, because I’m not a psycho,” she replies with a snort. “I take it you went premium?”

You nod once. “Levi suggested it.”

Her eyes widen, delighted, and you scowl at your own stupidity.

“Levi?”

Ah.

Fuck.

"Wait." You sit up taller. “Don’t—”

“Oh, that’s a hot name.”

“Annie, I swear to—”

She sours to herself. “Damn, that’s so much hotter than moaning Bert.”

The tea in your cup bubbles from your chortled breath. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not my favorite name ever, but that’s fine — because it’s more like he’s moaning Annie.”

Paired with a wicked grin, your friend winks at you.

“We have two very different wants.”

You squint, and her grin widens. “Wait, do you—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh my god, Annie.”

“What?!” she chirps with a chuckle. “You like the bossy ones, I like being the boss. You’re not allowed to kink shame me. We’re in this shit together.”

“Who said I like being bossed around?!”

She points her finger at your facedown phone.

“Porco Galliard bosses people around. I’m not stupid. And you scream ‘I don’t like being assertive’.”

Great.

The same observation Levi made over the phone without ever meeting you in person.

“Whatever, that isn’t the point,” you wave off, deciding to try and swerve the subject. “I wanted to ask: how many times do you call a week?”

Annie presses the tip of her tongue against her cheek as she considers.

“A week? Maybe two, three at most. It used to be a hell of a lot more, but I’m working a lot of late nights.”

“When you say ‘a hell of a lot more’, do you mean—?”

“Daily?” she finishes for you then tries to recall. “Why? Are you daily right now?” 

You hate yourself for a second. 

“Sort of? It’s only been a few days, but—”

“Hey, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She reassures in that randomly serious way Annie can pull on a rare occasion.

Making fun of people might be her favorite pastime, but if she can sense true withdrawal from her friends, then she’s quick to stop. 

The blonde reaches over the table to pat your hand, but it’s hardly a comfort.

Annie is about as comforting as raw-dog wearing a hand-knitted sweater by an amateur: it's itchy, too tight, and you want it to stop immediately. 

“You’re a grown woman with grown woman money. If guys can go get blue balled at the strip club, then why can’t we call a hot guy over the phone?”

Again: not comforting at all.

With reluctance, you nod.

“You have a point.”

“I know I have a point.”

“Then again, I don’t know how long term this fix can be,” you reason. “It’s very expensive.”

“Yeah, but you know what’s more expensive?” Annie retorts. “Hooking up with a stranger at a bar who’s abysmal in bed. Maybe not so much for your wallet, but definitely for your ego.”

“And your sanity,” you agree, “if they’re weird.”

“Or a creep.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“A weird creep that happens to be a serial killer.”

You both give each other a look, an unspoken conversation of two delusional women saying ‘exactly’ in a singular gesture, as you sync the sips of your drinks.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “Do you ever — ha — use to — oh — ys?”

You’re not sure why you’re so chatty with your rabbit vibrator barely hovering over the hood of your clit.

A week ago, you would've been trying to smother yourself with a pillow for talking.

However, with each night you’ve called Levi, the more comfortable you’ve become.

More bold, if openly using toys tells him anything.

The avalanche that brought you here was quite swift.

Traffic lights no longer remind you of the cars on the road but the man waiting for you on this hotline.

A willing striptease; a compliance to do what you wish but let him take the lead.

All you had to say was ‘my hand’s getting tired’ during an edging session.

All Levi had to reply with was ‘if you had a toy, I’d allow you to tag it in’.

Allow.

Like you’re completely under his spell.

Like you couldn’t have been using one from the get-go, but you listened.

You said you did.

He said grab it.

(God, you always listen.)

Now you’re here, legs spread in the center of your bed with your phone sitting between the valley of your breasts as you talk to him through the speaker.

“I am right now,” Levi replies in that diplomatic way of his, the lift of his voice telling: he’s amused by the way you try to speak to him, even when you’re ready to scream with impatience.

“I meant on yourself,” you exhale shakily.

“On myself?”

“Like on c-calls,” you stammer, forcing yourself to focus.

He loves when you lose your mind.

You refuse to cave so fast tonight.

“A mystery for another day,” he teases, before adding in a firmer tone: “You earned it. Touch it to your clit, but don’t go inside yet. I want you wet and ready for me, understand?”

“You’re so mean.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he softens for just a moment. “And don’t talk back.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you joke, before pressing the device against your clit.

The vibrations surge pleasure down your legs, causing your toes to curl.

You’re not sure if it’s the ‘sir’ or the moan you emit that makes him groan in return.

“The answer is no,” he finally states.

For a second, you think you did something wrong.

Then you circle back, remembering what you asked in the first place.

Right.

The toys question.

“You don’t?”

“Not on me, no.” He exhales, slow and steady. “Too busy making sure I’m hitting the script.”

That’s the funny thing about these calls:

The fourth wall? 

Broken.

He doesn’t pretend to be your boyfriend for the night, just as you don’t pretend he’s only yours.

You’re aware he’s a sex worker, just as he seems to open up about his profession when speaking to you.

At first Levi wouldn’t — it was meant to be a fantasy — but each night he’s divulged more.

Like how he used to be in the military. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he has an affinity for tea, going so far as to have a mild cup with you after a session in lieu of a cigarette. (Unrelated to sex.)

Like how he’s a Capricorn. (Unrelated to sex — kind of.)

In the midst of learning about him, you’ve learned about yourself.

You’re less vanilla than you originally thought.

With Porco, things felt regimented.

Scheduled.

You weren’t willing to open up your heart, much less your legs, because he was too cold behind closed doors.

Focused.

Driven to his work and passions.

Levi, on the other hand, will suggest leaning against the wall with your hand in your underwear, eyes forced to watch yourself in your full-length mirror.

To worship yourself, when he can’t.

To pump your fingers into your weeping core, when he can’t.

To give over complete and utter control with the promise that you’ll come as many times as he asks you to, because if he could be in this very room — this very apartment — he’d easily do it himself.

With Levi, you’re bold.

With Levi, you’re in.

So you’re not shy to arch your back, moaning into the receiver when you feel your first orgasm approaching you like the incoming tide.

“Levi,” you whimper his name, “can I—”

“Shit, baby, you know you can,” he practically purrs, already knowing what you’re going to ask. “C’mon. Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours, huh? Just for me?”

“Just for—”

The last word is garbled by the way your teeth clench, legs snapping together as the first climax hits after a relentless twenty-minute edging session.

It’s unreal.

It’s pain.

It’s bliss.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

(Freedom.)

You pant, pulling the vibrator away from your body for a moment to catch your breath.

You hear him hum with approval on the other end, a low rumble against your chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he says after a beat. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” you confess breathlessly.

“You sound better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Didn’t do much.”

“Oh shut up,” you scowl before laughing.

Turning off the toy for a momentary reprieve, you allow yourself to catch your breath as you grin up at the ceiling.

“Always so goddamn modest.”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffs, shifting on the other end of the line. “Can’t take a damn compliment to save your life.”

You make a face like he can see you in the dark, but you decide to continue the conversation.

That’s a new thing the two of you have picked up — talking.

Lots of talking.

You get off, sure, but he knows your work drama, your chore schedule — your mailmen even have the same first name, funnily enough.

“I’m serious, though,” you exhale. “Do you ever like… get off? Without toys, obviously.”

“During a call?” he clarifies, and you nod. He answers like he can see it. “No, not — not typically.”

“Wow, so you’ve faked an orgasm with me,” you tease with a blissed out snort. “Shame, shame, I know your name.”

“I what?”

“Faked it,” you clarify, fluffing your pillows behind your head as you situate yourself on your bed. “As if I don’t hear you breathing all heavy and shit over there.”

Then something unusual happens.

The man grows quiet on the other side. 

Nothing shuffles.

No huffs or ‘tchs’.

Just… silence.

“Levi?” you ask, brows knit.

A beat passes, but he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Are you good over there?”

“I— yeah, fine,” he clears his throat.

Uh-oh.

You frown immediately, blinking twice. “Sorry, was that a weird question?”

“Not at all,” he clarifies, gruff this time, “just… I said not typically, not never.”

…oh.

Oh.

Suddenly you abandon the rabbit and sit up in bed, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Wait.”

“Scarlet.”

“No, did you actually—”

“I already said too much.”

“No, wait, you can’t just imply that you’ve gotten off with me then abandon ship here, Levi!”

“I’m not abandoning ship — why do you say such weird shit sometimes?”

“How many times?!” you yelp.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Holy shit,” you exhale, “I’m so mad I didn’t pay attention.”

It’s like you can hear Levi squinting, narrowing his eyes with uncertainty on the other end of the phone. “...why would you be mad?”

“Because maybe I want to hear you get off, too?” you suggest simply.

Another agonizing breath of silence.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you place your phone on your sheets and pick up the vibrator, contemplating your next move.

“Because I would totally love to just… I don’t know, make you moan, too? See what you taste like? Feel you lose control, pull my hair, hold my head down while I wrap my lips around—”

“Baby.”

Two syllables shoot out of his mouth, as if overwhelmed with shock.

Huh.

An Uno reverse in your favor.

You’re no Shakespeare, but what you say is as honest as words can possibly be.

“I picture you all the time,” you confess softly, pressing the rabbit vibrator’s first function.

A low rumble begins, and you guide it between your legs.

You’re already soaked from your session.

There will be little give to the toy.

“When we’re not on the phone together, I wonder what it would be like. I could be at work. I could be at a coffee shop. Like, holy shit, I was meeting with a friend today and all I could think of is how badly I’d love to just take you to it — maybe disappear in the back hall, find a bathroom? I’d bend over a sink. I don’t wear skirts all the time, but I’d wear one for you.”

You hear shifting on the other end of the line, but Levi is deathly silent.

Mindlessly, your hand takes hold of the vibrator and you press against your entrance.

With a tiny whimper, you push in, deliciously enveloped in a sea of vibrations.

“You wouldn’t need to wear a skirt.”

Suddenly his voice appears, and you accidentally push the vibrator further in, causing a strangled moan to exit your mouth. 

“Le—”

“Pants are just as easy,” Levi cuts you off, a thread of a whisper. “Couldn’t take that much effort. Wouldn’t give a shit if anyone saw your damn clothes at your ankles.”

Suddenly the room burns.

“I just know you’d fill me up so good,” you whine, and there’s a sharp hiss on the other end.

“Jesus Christ.”

There.

You hear it: the waver in his voice.

“Yeah, baby,” he concedes. “I’d fill you so fucking good.”

You whimper, a pathetic little noise at the base of your throat, and he exhales a large breath — as if he’s been holding back this entire time.

“Promise?”

“When have I ever led you astray?” he challenges, a bit more strained now.

It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“I wanna make you feel so good,” you breathe, ragged and wrecked, and there’s a small groan on the other end of the line.

“You already do, baby.”

“Not how I want to,” you argue in return, body pulsating with the growing need to release a second. “You’re so good at making me cum, but all I want is to take it how you want me — bend me over and fill me up, push me to my knees and stick my tongue out—”

“Fuck,” he curses sharply. “You’re so good for me. So, so fucking good, not fuckin’ fair.”

“Wanna cum with you.”

He groans, louder this time, and inhales the most deliciously jagged breath you’ve ever heard.

“Right there, baby,” he forces out. “C’mon. Give me one more. Just one more.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

You purposefully bite your tongue when you come a second time, squeezing your eyes shut with all of your senses focused solely on your ears.

A grunt, as if he’s holding back just the same before exhaling, slow and languid.

In your mind’s eye, you see it: how he uses his teeth to hold up his t-shirt, painting his abdomen with streaks of white as he holds himself back from climaxing too loud. His whole body trembles. He squeezes the tip, milking himself for all he’s worth.

Pulling the vibrator from your body, you turn it off and toss it elsewhere on your bed. Your body curls around your phone, trying to stay quiet so you can listen.

Shaky.

Exhausted.

Not typically, not never.

You say nothing, can’t, but a small giggle of euphoria emits from your throat.

Surprisingly, Levi chuckles back with that drugged slowness that comes with exhaustion.

“You’re too damn giddy after two orgasms,” he chastises, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Uh-huh, Huff ‘n Puff,” you tease right back, and he tsk’s right against the phone.

And in your heart, you know—

Know you’re in deep shit.

Know that you like Levi, even if it’s impossible to like a stranger.

Maybe when you get this month’s credit card bill, you’ll sober up from your crush.

But not right now.

Just not right now.

.

.

— —

.

.

  The next morning, you’re up bright and early.

Skip the elevator to the apartment lobby.

Walk down the stairs to kickstart your adrenaline.

Skip the coffee at the local shop.

Choose a small cup of chai instead.

By the time you make it to the gym, you’re more ready than you ever have been in your life to take on the day.

.

.

— —

.

.

  Forty-five minutes later, your sweat even has sweat.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, the endorphins from a tough workout only make you feel that more excited to get your shit together. To be more mindful of your time.

(Totally not because your last call with Levi was unreal. Nope.)

Overall, you went from hating your life to — well, this.

Whatever this is.

Owning your self agency and worth after a pitiful breakup?

Unfortunately joining this gym had been Porco’s idea — he’s a treadmill hamster, and you got swindled by the sea of abs under his tank tops.

A ‘couples activity’, whatever that meant.

(Being sweaty and tired without an orgasm to finish it off never did feel rewarding.)

After the breakup you considered trying to get out of your 6-month contract, but Porco dipped first.

He joined Pieck’s crossfit endeavor somewhere else in the city, leaving you and this dingy little gym to commiserate together.

Now?

Now, you excitedly get ready in the morning to the gym — not to get thin or look a certain way to appease anyone else. A revenge body is bonafide stupid.

No — you don’t want to be anything but stronger.

Because Levi would probably think it was hot if you were stronger.

Maybe the next time you call, he’ll be impressed that you’ve taken to strength training. 

Maybe he’ll give you some pointers — one more topic of conversation to be had.

Setting down the free weights back on the rack after a thorough cleaning of the equipment, you step out of the way of the other regulars gearing up for their workout and head towards the locker rooms to shower.

In the small pocket of your leggings, you hear your phone vibrate. 

Digging your hand in to fish it out, you see a familiar name on your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Yo [A. LEONHART]: We’re all going out Tuesday for drinks – u in?

All.

All means the department.

All might mean Porco and Pieck.

Annie must sense your apprehension, before adding:

[A. LEONHART]: Porky probs not going, Pieck’s got a family thing

 

Well, that’s two positives.

[ME]: I’ll think about it. [A. LEONHART]: Think about it????

[A. LEONHART]: 🍅🍅🍅

Her and her fucking tomatoes.

You snort and begin to write back���

But not before accidentally slamming chest to chest into a stranger.

The phone flies out of your hand like a bar of wet soap.

Like a Scooby Doo short, it alley-oops to the sky then smashes down against the black-speckled rubber gym floor.

Before you can even react, the person you’d bumped into is bending to crouch on the floor.

“Shit. My fault.”

Every cell in your body freezes.

Time ceases to exist.

They scoop your phone into their hand, flipping it over checking for damage. 

Luckily, the screen is intact. 

No fall damage.

But that isn’t why you’re frozen.

As they rise to full stance, your eyes are still downcast. 

From their sneakers your eyes crawl up, up, up — noticing the basketball shorts that cut just above the knee with compression under armor peeking beneath.

On his torso is an emerald green tank top, clinging to his flexing abs, the fabric speckled with sweat. 

His collarbones are defined; chin just as sharp as his cheekbones.

Then you meet his eyes.

A blue-ish gray.

The man standing before you runs on the shorter side — under average height for a man.

His ebony hair dangles and sticks to his sweat-slicked forehead, the ends pointed and shaggy.

It takes a moment until you realize you’ve seen that hair before.

While you’ve taken to walking on the treadmill for your warm-up these last several weeks, he’s typically nestled in the strength training corner of the gym alone. 

Every morning that you’re here, he is also here diligently working on his physique.

He’s always in some squat position or lying on a bench, so you never paid attention to his face—

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“Looks like it’s fine,” he says casually, and your stomach falls out of your ass.

Baritone.

Smooth like honey, low like a rumble.

There’s no way.

There is absolutely no way it’s—

“Here.”

The man holds your phone out for you, brows knitting curiously. 

You can’t speak. 

Hell, you can barely breathe.

He shakes his hand to wake you from your shock.

“Take it.”

You know that voice like the back of your hand.

Wordlessly, you reach a shaky hand towards the phone to take it back.

You part your lips to speak, but no words exit.

All you can do is grasp your phone and pull it to your chest as you catch the scent of his deodorant with a mixture of musk when he passes by, none the wiser.

By the time you turn to say something, anything—

Levi from Scout Services Hotline dips into the men’s locker room.

.

Author's Note:

...oops.

Thank you for reading part three of P4! I continue to be blown away by the response. Because of your encouragement, I wrote one of the fastest updates I've made in ages. How are we feeling now? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[thecommunityfridge]

Playtime Parties

cw: abdl, Mdlb, cucking

That’s right honey; Mommy will be back soon. Be a good boy and play with your cars. I love you.”

His mommy walked out of the nursery in her pretty red heels with her little black dress on, and he knew her friend was coming over soon. She only got dressed like that when her friend was coming for dinner.

The cars were just across the room on the big mat with all the roads and buildings with the Mickey Mouse theme. The baby crawled over for some playtime like Mommy suggested, his eyes on the car that had Mickey in the front seat. It was red just like his onesie!

“Unghh—-”

He began to hear Mommy’s voice from outside the nursery, followed by a heavy bang against the wall. Nothing new there. Every time Mommy’s big man friend came over, there were always weird little noises the baby never heard otherwise.

“Vroooooooom—Hot dog! There’s so much to do before Minnie’s tea party!”, the baby did his best car and Mickey impressions while lying on his tummy. Mickey was going over to the clubhouse! The baby zoomed the car over to the structure where all the other cars were parked already. There weren’t enough friends there, so “Mickey” called Goofy.

“Hiya Goof! Are you coming today to Minnie’s surprise tea party? I need some help decorating the clubhouse to make it special for her.”

“Gawrsh Mickey! I’ll be right over!” The baby reached as far as he could to bring Goofy’s yellow car closer to the clubhouse.

The baby lifted his head momentarily at the sound of his mommy’s high-pitched gasp for air, followed by a low groan that could only be the man’s. The baby hoped his mommy was okay. It sounded like her friend could be hurting her. Why else would his mommy be so loud without words?

He shook his head and went back to his cars. In his world, Mickey was running around the clubhouse grounds placing tablecloths on the tables. Goofy was just arriving and happy to help Donald Duck hang the twinkle lights around the tea party area. Everything was looking so good, and they would be ready for Minnie soon!

There was another groan coming from out of the room, but the baby didn’t pay any attention to it as he started to very slowly move Minnie’s pink car with the white polka dots towards Daisy’s house to pick her up. The wheels made a little squeak as they rolled against the mat. Silly Daisy, she needed Minnie’s help choosing which purple dress she wanted to wear to the clubhouse today. Daisy was in on the birthday surprise and wanted to give the boys more time to set up and make things perfect for her best friend.

Pete arrived at the clubhouse last with a bunch of scones and small finger sandwiches. He was so proud of them, having worked all morning to get them just right. He didn’t think he should have to help the other boys set up the tea party decorations. The baby rolled his eyes. Pete was always his least favorite character.

“Uh! UHHH!!! ALMOST THERE!!!”, the baby heard his mommy’s voice but didn’t bother to stop playing. She said she was almost there, right? That must mean he is almost going to be allowed out of his nursery. He needed to get this tea party going as the last thing he wanted was for Mommy to burst in and say it was bedtime before the day at the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was over!

Daisy and Minnie finally were ready to go over to the clubhouse. The baby zoomed the car to the clubhouse grounds and parked it, pretending that there were big bushes blocking their view from the tea party the boys had set up. He moved Minnie closer to her surprise just as he heard something slam into the outside of his nursery’s wall. A big sigh and groan came from the other side of the wall again.

“SURPRISE MINNIE!”, the Clubhouse gang all cried out. Minnie was so excited by all the decorations and the fact that all her friends were there, that the baby didn’t realize he was being watched by Mommy and her friend through the open doorway.

“Wow babe… That’s your husband? He’s wearing a diaper playing with cars…” Mommy’s friend kept his voice low, almost so low that the baby didn’t register it at all. The friend didn’t seem to like him very much.

“That’s why you’re here… a woman has needs!”

[chrisevansonly]

Momma’s Special Surprise For Arlie (Little Duck au🐣)

pairing: Momma Evans (Female Reader) x Arlie Mae x Chris Evans

summary: Momma has a very special present for Arlie, and she got some help from some very special friends

warnings: none just fluffy goodness

a/n: i’m really excited about this little fic, i’ve been wanting to write it for a while so here it is🫶🏻

You had been planning this surprise for a few months now, Arlie was absolutely gutted when you couldn’t go see Harry Styles in concert when he was in the United States. Despite her best smiles, you knew it gutted her not being able to see her favourite singer, but thankfully you’d been talking to Chris for a while trying to plan something. Harry would start his last leg of Love on Tour in May, and you reached out to him right away asking if there was any chance he could find you tickets to watch his shows in London at Wembley Stadium.

~

“I really want to do this for her Chris, I know London is far, and it’ll be expensive…I think it would make her really happy”

Chris nodded, his arms around you as you sat out on the back patio

“Why don’t we make a family trip out of it?”

“Really?!”

You were elated, eyes wide as you looked at him, a chuckle escaping his lips

“Yeah why not, we haven’t gone anywhere in a while, Arlie’s well behaved, Wes is still small enough to keep close to us, you and duck can go to the shows and Wes and I can get up to some boy stuff”

Laughing you pressed a kiss to his lips, clapping in excitement because let’s be honest, you were just as excited to be going to see Harry Styles live on tour

“I love you, thank you baby”

“Anything for my girls”

~

That brought you to today, setting up the living room with snacks for an afternoon tea party at Arlie’s request, Canyon Moon playing softly throughout your home, Wesley down for a nap.

“Arlie my girl, everything’s all set up, and Momma’s got a surprise for you”

She came in the room helping Chris carry over the tea which was really organic apple juice

“S’upise for me momma?!”

“Yeah for you baby”

Arlie smiled and Chris set the drinks down on the table before she sat cross legged beside you, her eyes bright and full of excitement

“So momma and daddy have been planning something for us as a family, we were thinking of going away on a trip”

“Wike we did the beach?”

You nodded

“Exactly baby, but we aren’t going to the beach this time”

“Where we go momma?”

Chris had pulled out his phone to start filming secretly

“Well we are going to a city called London baby, it’s in a country called the United Kingdom”

Arlie blinked raising her eyebrows

“That the one with the big clock momma?”

“Yep, Big Ben baby, you remembered”

Arlie smiled, they’d been learning about landmarks at school, and she’d made a mental note about Big Ben, asking Chris to go through photos of it every afternoon after school

“Momma has a surprise for you though and why we are going”

“What momma!”

You swiped a loose strand of hair behind her ear leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead

“Well, who’s your favourite singer?”

“Harry Styles!”

She’d finally managed to get the R’s in Harry down after a long time of talking about him

“Mhm, well Harry and Momma have been talking, and we’re going to go see him in concert”

“MOMMA REALLY?! REALLY MOMMA!!”

You laughed as she squealed jumping up and starting to clap

“Yes my love! He wants to have you out, and he wants to say hello to you too!”

“We gonna see Harry daddy!!”

She ran over jumping in his lap to hug him, his arms holding her to his chest

“Yes we are duck! You excited? Was this a good surprise?”

“So good! I’m so happy daddy!!”

He pressed a few kisses to her cheeks before she bounded over to you and jumped into your arms

“Fank you momma”

“You’re so welcome my baby”

She remained in your arms beginning to talk about all the idea she had and everything she wanted to see, what she wanted to say to Harry. This was priceless to see, her pure excitement and happiness at the fact that she would be seeing Harry after thinking she’d need to wait for a while. You’d do anything for your Arlie girl, and felt more than grateful to be able to experience these beautiful moments with your family.

[tutumydear]

Okay WAIT so let me get this straight.

In Akt 24, Duck wakes up at her boyfriend’s Fakir’s house, and finds that he had tucked her into bed the night before because she was OUT. Parties at Drossy’s are no joke. 

She walks downstairs and Fakir is at the stove, watching his story burn. And what’s the FIRST thing he says when he sees her? 

“So, you’re awake. You’re hungry, right?”

OH MY GOD. She has a rough night, he makes sure she gets to bed, and then he wants to make sure she gets FED?

And then! And then! He makes her this BIG ASS BREAKFAST. 

(she’s fine she’s just choking here)

And oh ho ho, what do we have here on the table? Are those...

ROSES, Fakir?

You might already know that roses in a vase like that are used as a motif in this story. There’s some in Mytho and Fakir’s dorm room that reflect Mytho’s heart shards returning to him, as well as his descension toward becoming crow-ified. Maybe they have another meaning, or maybe I just think it would be cute if Fakir set out flowers for bae’s breakfast. 

Either way, I’m inclined to believe that those weren’t there before, but the screenshot before the table is set doesn’t reveal enough. Let’s investigate.

So, this screenshot is from Akt 16, and is the earliest I can remember the story taking place in this kitchen. Duck goes to visit Fakir, gets harassed by the puppet baby, and then they all go inside where Fakir makes her some tea (his love langauge is obvi feeding people). There’s a rose! But we’re also missing a chair. Maybe this one is fluke-y, but we’ll keep it in mind. 

Instead, here’s that same kitchen, this time in Akt 20. Duck is an unexpected guest again, and it seems like Raetsel is the one serving the tea and setting the table. There are some flowers on the window sill, but they’re the ones Raetsel brought with her. Four chairs, and what’s this? 

No roses? So we don’t just have them on the dining table at all times?

I know it’s probably a reach, but it suuuure seems like Fakir likes to set the table with a rose whenever he serves Duck. And the idea of that makes me want to akscnsknckden because combined with the fact that they tend to each other’s wounds and get the other into bed when they’re hurt and that he Keeps Feeding Her, it’s like DUCK! Oh my God!

THIS GUY is so fucking in love with you!

STOP EATING BITCH OPEN YOUR EYES

Anyway. Fakiru for life or whatevah <3

[broadstbroskis]

thanksgiving | jeff skinner

a/n: it’s here!!! this is like 4k that i threw together in like a week after i took it as a personal challenge from @blueskrugs after i asked why we don’t write more thanksgiving fics. a huge shoutout to her and @danglesnipecelly, for inspiration and cheering me on for this, as well as literally anyone else who’s cheered me on to finish thing, you’re all the real mvps and i love you all 💚

-----

Jeff shrugs, and from across the table filled with pizza, beer, and a bunch of other things that are most definitely not on his approved list of foods, you stare at him.

“I dunno. I don’t really have plans, I guess? Probably just sit at home, relax a little?” He says. Your jaw drops. He has...he has what now? “You're going to your parent’s right?” You nod slowly, still stuck on the fact that he’s going to sit at home and do nothing on Thanksgiving, the best of all holidays. Not spend the day with some teammates, not make a quick trip to his family, nothing. “That’ll be fun!” Jeff grins, dimples popping. “What are you-”

“You’re doing nothing?” You get out finally, the words coming back to you.

Jeff’s smile falters, but only slightly, and he nods. “Yeah? I mean, there’s no practice, no games. I’ll just…” He trails off for a second and then shrugs. “Rest.”

“You’re not going to go, like, visit your parents? They’re right across the border!”

“It’s a Thursday.” Jeff says patiently and you abruptly remember that his Canadian-ness is the whole point of this conversation.

“Thanksgiving is the best holiday! You can’t sit at home alone on it; I forbid it!” Jeff’s smile grows again as he laughs and you try and fight your own grin as you shove at his shoulders, to no avail. “Come home with me!”

“What?” He laughs again, but this time, it’s more like disbelief.

But the idea is already growing in your mind. “Come home with me! You know my parents love you, they won’t mind at all!”

“I can’t just invite myself to your Thanksgiving!” Jeff protests.

You wave him off. “You’re not, I’m inviting you! Come on, we’d love to have you!” He still looks hesitant, so you add, “Our Thanksgiving is huge anyway; one extra mouth to feed isn’t going to put anyone out, Jeff.”

“Alright.” He caves, and you grin, pulling your phone close to you to text your mom and let her know. “But ask your mom, okay? Like, really ask her, don’t just, like, tell her I’m coming.”

“Too late!” You say cheerfully, showing him the text you’d sent in your family group chat, telling them you were bringing Jeff with you next week. Your mom’s already responded with a string of happy face emojis and your younger sister with a How I Met Your Mother gif about Canadian Thanksgiving. “Be prepared for a lot of Canada jokes!”

“Is that supposed to be different than any other time I see your family?’ Jeff deadpans, but you’re pretty sure he looks like, at least 50% more relaxed, so you count this as a win and ignore him completely, already mentally planning for the best holiday of the year.

-----

The drive back home to your parents takes about an hour longer than you’d like, stuck in the same godawful traffic as everyone else trying to leave Buffalo on Wednesday so that they can get back home in time to go out that night. 

When Jeff finally pulls his car up in front of your childhood home, you can already see that it’s bustling with activity, getting ready for tomorrow. Most of your siblings have already arrived- only your older brother, with his wife and daughters will come in tomorrow, with the rest of your family- but your younger brother and sister have already come home, a fact that’s even more evident when you and Jeff walk in the front door and immediately trip over three pairs of sneakers.

“Liam!” You cry, grabbing onto Jeff so you don’t fall. “Motherfucker, move your shoes!”

Your brother pops his head out of the living room, AirPods in his ears. “I’m on a call!” And just as you're marveling at the fact that your brother is a real person with a real job taking real work calls, said real person with a real job spots Jeff and lights up. “Jeff! Bro! What’s up, man?”

“I thought you were on a call.” You snap at him.

“I’m on mute.” Liam slaps his palm against Jeff’s pulling him in for a ridiculous handshake-bro hug combo, before he finally comes over and lifts you off the floor. “Yo!”

“Yo!” You repeat, honestly unable to believe you’re related to this kid. If the two of you didn’t look exactly alike, you’d probably think he was adopted. “You still coming out tonight?”

“Hell yeah, this is my last call. I’m ready to go.”

You snicker, looking down at his sweatpants and dress shirt combo- he must have taken a video call at some point today. “Yeah, okay, bud.”

He ruffles your hair, in that annoying way he’s been able to do ever since he grew taller than you. “Don’t you worry, I will be.”

You laugh, ducking under his arm, to let him get back to it. You’ve got no doubts about that. Liam’s always ready to party. “Finish your call so we can start pregaming.”

He grins, like you knew he would. “Now we’re talking.” And then he ducks back into your dad’s office.

Jeff is laughing when you look back at him and you give him a look. “What?”

“Nothing, just forgot how the two of you were when you got going.”

“Yup, and you’re stuck with us for next two days!” You grin.

Jeff rolls his eyes at you, but he’s still smiling when he follows you to the kitchen, in search of your mom. She’s at the counter, rolling dough for biscuits, her only other contribution to the annual Thanksgiving dinner that she hosts, besides the turkey; a holiday that she’d taken over hosting once it had become too much for your grandmother to handle, but only on the caveat that everyone began contributing food toward the meal. It’s been a potluck style holiday ever since.

She’s ultra-focused, the volume on her favorite playlist high (this wild mix of 80’s pop and today’s hits that’s actually kind of a banger), so you sneak up behind her and wrap your arms around her. “Hi!”

“Jesus!” Your mom jumps, elbowing you in the process, but you’re laughing too hard to care. “Don’t do that!”

“Just excited to see you!” You beam at her, squeezing her once more, before pulling away. “Where do you want the pie?” Jeff lifts the pie you’d made yesterday, showing your mom.

Your mom purses her lips, studying the kitchen around her. “Leave it on the counter for now; I’ll have your dad clear some space in the garage.” She gestures with her elbow. “Hi Jeff!” 

“Hi!” Jeff pulls out his best smile, a real one, dimples super popped. “Thank you for having me-”

Your mom cuts him off before he can finish, like you knew she would. “Oh, we’re so happy you could make it! You’re welcome anytime, Jeff!” She assures him.

“Is the guest room ready?” You ask. “We’ll throw our stuff upstairs before Dad sees it at the bottom of the steps and has a fit.”

Your mom fights back a laugh at that- a statement that everyone in your family knows all too well-but then looks almost apologetic as she finishes, “It is, but we gave it to Katie.”

“Oh, Katie’s here too?” Your sister’s roommate at college was, at this point, basically another sister to you. She hardly went home for breaks within the semesters, usually came up for at least a month during the summer, and more often than not came home with Abby when she was back for anything. The “guest room” really was more like Katie’s room at this point. 

“Where else would she be?” Abby appears, right on cue, with Katie right behind her, practically matching in leggings and oversized sorority shirts. “It’s Thanksgiving; she’s ready to rage tonight.”

You actually can’t wait for the babies to be hungover tomorrow-both were 21 for their first Thanksgiving Eve and you know they’re going to be in a super rough spot tomorrow-but you keep that thought to yourself. 

“It didn’t even occur to me!” Your mom says apologetically. “I just gave Katie her usual room.”

“No, it’s cool. Jeff and I can share. He doesn’t mind, right?” But you barely even wait for his shrug and nod in agreement. It’s not like you haven’t before, when you’re either too lazy or too drunk to go home. You’re both adults, it’s no big. “I’ve shared a bed with you before; I’ll spare Katie the bruised shins.” You tease your sister.

Katie cracks up as Abby sputters out how rude you are. “It’s a hazard!” Katie agrees, dodging the swat your sister sends towards her. It sets the two of them off, which you take as your cue to grab Jeff’s hand and drag him (and your stuff) up to your room.

Of course, usually when you’re sharing a bed with Jeff, it’s a king sized bed, or at least a queen- definitely not the double that your parents just shoved in your old room to replace the queen bed that had been in there until you moved out and took your furniture with you. You hadn’t realized how small it was though, not until today, until the idea of actually having to share it with someone, with Jeff, who might not be a giant, but isn’t tiny.  “Sorry.” You apologize, almost unsure of what you’re saying.

Jeff shrugs. “Well, at least you don’t kick.” He smiles, as then it’s like everything’s back to normal, that awkward feeling that was growing over you gone as quickly as it came. 

“She’s a bruiser, don’t let her tell you otherwise.” You throw your bag down, rifling through it for the sweater you were planning to wear tomorrow, to hang it up so it isn’t too wrinkled.

Jeff laughs. “I’ll take your word for it.” He’s holding up his shirt, a button down and a tie. “Where can I hang this?”

“You can’t wear that!”

He frowns, likely at the vehemence you’d just spoken that with. “Uhh, why not?”

“You’ll get roasted.” Seriously, you’d told him it wasn’t a dressy affair. God, what part of not dressy does he think requires a tie? “Don’t you have, like, a sweater?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Sweater and jeans, that’s fine.”

Jeff gives you a look. “That doesn’t seem-”

“Sweater. And jeans.” You repeat. He’ll thank you tomorrow, when your uncle doesn’t ask him when tea is. When your cousin doesn’t talk to him only in a fake British accent for the entire night. 

Jeff hands over a sweater, a soft thing you’ve seen him wear on many occasions, and you smile your thanks at him, hanging it up next to yours. “Meet your standards?” He asks; you think he’s aiming for teasing but he kind of misses the mark, sounding a little more nervous than joking.

“Perfect.” He smiles back at you and you laugh. “Come on, you dork. Let’s go see what’s for dinner tonight.”

-----

“Don’t wake me up when you come in tonight!” Your dad calls, as he drops the five of you off at Mel’s, the bar for Thanksgiving Eve. Your friends are already at the bar, you’re anticipating a high school reunion for sure, and you’ve warned Jeff of this, even though he assured you that he could handle it, and he was just excited for a nice, chill night.

You’d actually laughed out loud at that. Oh Jeffrey. 

“Pshh.” Liam waves your dad off. “I haven’t done that since I was like 16 and still having to sneak out.”

Your dad gives him a look. “I was talking to your sister.” He looks over at Abby, who ignores him completely, in favor of taking a SnapChat with Katie, and he sighs resolutely. You all absolutely know she isn’t listening to a word he says. “Have fun, be safe. Uber home.”

Liam salutes him. “Will do.”

Inside the bar, the night starts exactly as you and Liam have started your last few Thanksgiving Eve’s-with a round of shots at the bar as you’re ordering drinks, before splitting off to find your respective friends to start the evening.

Jeff fits in with your friends fantastically, laughing and joking around with them like he’s known them forever, even though you’re sure the only one he’s met is your oldest friend, Ashley. But he greets Ashley and her husband, Brian, like old friends, and quickly joins conversations with all your other friends, and soon hours have passed before your brother is sliding up behind you. “Heads up.” Liam mutters as he passes. “Douche at 3 o’clock.”

You tense as it takes everything in you not to turn and look over. “Hey.” Jeff nudges you, concern clear in his eyes as he looks at you, and you’re not sure what he pulled himself away from, but you must look pretty bad. “You okay?”

You nod, kinda spacily, but leaning in closer to him, and he takes the cue to curl in toward you- you’re not really interested in shouting to the entire bar and you’re really not interested in drawing attention to yourself. “Yeah, just- my ex is over there.”

Jeff purses his lips for a minute and then schools his face back to neutral. “I take it things didn’t end well.”

“No.” You say, thinking of the demise of your relationship with Dylan. “It did not.”

You hadn’t even realized that Jeff grabbed your hand until he’s squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shake your head. “It was...definitely for the best.” It might have taken you a while to see that, but you can now, even if the rare instances you still see Dylan sometimes rattles you. “I thought I was going to marry him, at one point, but I’m so much happier here now.”

Jeff smiles. “Good.”

You squeeze his hand once more, a thanks for his comfort and care, before both of you rejoin the conversation, and you forget about Dylan entirely for the next hour, until you physically run into him coming back from the bar with another round of drinks for you and Jeff.

“Hey!” Dylan beams at you, goes right in for a cheek kiss, like you’re still that familiar, and once again you stiffen up.

“Hi.” You return politely, ready to sidestep around him and return to Jeff and your friends.

“No, wait.” Dylan steps with you, blocking your path. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Let’s catch up a minute, what’s new?”

“No offense, Dylan, but I’m not really looking to catch up with you.” You say flatly.

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can another voice cuts in. “Everything okay here?” Jeff asks politely, stepping very purposefully next to you, and Dylan’s eyes immediately fly over to him.

“Mhmm,” You nod. “Was just on my way back to you.”

“Good.” Jeff says, in a tone far more harsh than you usually hear him take. “Let’s get back.” He positions himself again, clearing a space for you to easily slip past Dylan, and then steps closely behind you, catching up quickly.

“Thanks.” You lean against him, gently, not looking to spill either of your drinks, but Jeff solves that problem by taking his.

“Any time.” Jeff says softly and you don’t have much else to say on the matter so you just nudge him once more in thanks and walk back toward your friends with him at your side.

-----

When you wake up the next morning, you’re warm and comfortable and only a little hungover, which you count as a huge success. There’s not too much noise going on downstairs yet, which means you definitely have some more time to sleep, so you curl back into your pillow, humming contently when it pulls you in closer.

And then your eyes pop open abruptly, because pillows don’t do that.

Except they do when they look like Jeff Skinner, who looks just as soft and warm and comfortable as you feel right now, still sleeping judging by the evenness of his breath. 

It’s just...it’s a really nice way to wake up, with Jeff’s kind-of smiling face, looking super soft and cozy as he breathes just on the wrong side of too loud, but not so loudly that it drives you nuts. 

It’s a little too early to unpack that, and your hangover might not be that bad but it’s definitely bad enough that you’re not ready to think on that, so you close your eyes and let yourself curl into Jeff and fall back asleep.

-----

When you do finally get out of bed, Thanksgiving morning is its usual chaos, running around with last minute errands, cleaning, and helping your mom in the kitchen. The last to shower for the day, by the time you arrive downstairs, the Lions vs. Bears game is well underway, your notoriously early grandparents have already arrived, and your grandmother is already asking your mom where that one turkey decoration she bought her one year is.

You bypass the kitchen entirely and move toward the living room, where you find your dad, grandfather, Jeff, and siblings all gathered, just as you’d expected. You slide down on the floor next to Jeff, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before more of your family arrives and you’re offering your set up anyway, and wait for the next round of chaos to begin.

It doesn’t take long. Your aunts, uncles, and cousins start pouring in and then it’s just introduction after introduction, as you wrap up showing off Jeff to one group just as the next arrives. You are absolutely confident he has no idea who anyone is, but it’s fine, because he’s still laughing and joking around with all your uncles and cousins that have joined you in watching football. 

The kitchen is its own brand of chaos, when you make a quick stop in on your back from a beer run, but chaos has never stopped your aunt before and it certainly isn’t today. “Oh my god!” She exclaims, after you’ve pressed a smacking kiss to the top of your grandmom’s head. “That boy!”

“What boy?” You ask, like an idiot, which is immediately clear from the looks you get from everyone in the kitchen, even your usually oblivious uncle, who’s doing...something...with the ham they’d brought. “Who, Jeff?”

“Yes.” Another aunt stresses. “He’s cute!”

You shrug. “Yeah, I mean-”

But your grandmom cuts you off this time. “And so friendly! Just the nicest boy! Oh, you couldn’t have found anyone better!” She exclaims.

“Well, I haven’t.” You announce, watching all of their faces fall. “So sorry to burst that bubble.”

“Why?” One of your older cousins frowns. “Girl. Get on that. You are not going to do better than that boy in there.”

“I truly don’t know if that was meant to be a dig at me or you all think that highly of Jeff already, but regardless. We are just friends.” Now everyone in the kitchen is giving you a look. You gather the beers and retreat, distributing them as you return to your spot on the floor near Jeff.

He’s giving you a look as you pass him his, but whatever’s on your face must not be too bad, because he just thanks you as you pass him the bottle, and you nod in return as you try to find the same comfortable spot as before, leaning against his thigh.

-----

Your dad catches you a bit later, as he’s coming back with beers this time and you’re coming out of the bathroom, and he nudges you carefully as you take a few bottles from his hand. “So Jeff?”

You groan. The tone of that statement was far too loaded. “Jesus, you too?”

Your dad laughs. “Who else?”

“Everyone.”

“Well maybe that should be your hint.” Your dad says teasingly, but also not? There’s definitely some seriousness to this. “That Jeff’s pretty perfect for you.”

You stare at him. “You’ve met Jeff, like, a hundred times. Why’s this coming out now?”

“I always thought you were my smart kid and that you’d figure it out yourself.” He muses. “Now I realize you’re only book-smart and you’d never figure this out on your own.” And then he leaves you there in the hallway, with your jaw dropped and too many thoughts, as he continues on, laughing at you.

-----

When the call to come serve yourselves echoes into the room, the usual mad scramble follows immediately. It’s only as you’re getting into line behind your brother that you realize that Jeff’s not with you anymore, and you abandon the long line waiting for food, in favor of seeking out Jeff.

You find Jeff upstairs, in your room, just kind of lounging on your bed, and you lean against the doorway. “Hey! Food’s ready.”

“Yeah.” Jeff nods, the smile he sends you back in return far too tight and forced to be genuine. “Be right down.”

But he doesn’t move, so you step in and climb into your bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

Jeff laughs; it’s kind of hollow and doesn’t sound anything like his usual loud laugh or his giggles that you love. “What- nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Jeff.” You say softly. “Come on.”

He sighs. “Why did you bring me here?”

That...was not at all what you expected. “What?”

“Why did you bring me here?” He repeats. “Why did you bring me home, to your family? I thought, maybe, finally…” He trails off for a minute. “Except, there’s like ten other randos here too!” He laughs again, that hollow thing that you’re already hating. “Everybody in this family just brings people home, and that’s awesome, okay? Please don’t ever change that about yourself. I just-I thought we had something special, is all.” He says, sounding almost sad? Melancholy? 

“You are special.” You hate this. Jeff should never be sad; he should always be happy and smiling and joking. This is worse than seeing him after losses, worse than seeing him at low points in the season, that one game when he realizes that shit’s done and they’re just playing to keep playing now, that playoffs won’t be coming this year, again. “Jeff, you’re-”

“I’m in love with you.” Jeff says and it’s so straight-up, matter-of-fact, like it’s never not been a fact for him. “And I’m sorry I’ve fucked things up here for tonight and made this so awkward. I just- being here with you and your family just made me want you that much more.”

There’s so so so much you want to say to Jeff, but it’s like time is frozen. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything except look at him in awe, until he starts to move off your bed, when you reach for him, finally, resting your hand on his thigh, relieved when he looks back at you. “My dad thinks I’m an idiot.” You blurt out and Jeff just gives you a look. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” You take a deep breath, trying to gather the jumble of thoughts in your head. “Or at least, not the only thing. He thinks I’m an idiot because he thinks you’re perfect for me and I didn’t see it. My whole family thinks you’re perfect- cute and friendly and nice- and god, Jeff, you are! You’re all those things!” He’s still watching you, with like, barely the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “I just-didn’t realize you were perfect for me until we came here.”

Now he’s full on beaming, dimples showing, and you don’t even realize that you’re returning the grin until his hand comes up to your face, thumbing at the corner of your lip. “I’m sorry I’m a dumbass.” You finish lamely, too busy smiling at Jeff. “Please kiss me so we can make sure we get biscuits.”

Jeff hums. “I don’t know if I can kiss you now and just...stop.”

“Well I’m not going down to eat until you do.” You say stubbornly. “And you’ve been hyping up those biscuits since breakfast.”

“Fair enough.” Jeff laughs and then you’re smiling into the best first kiss you’ve ever had, tangling your hands into his hair and wondering if you may actually end up missing the meal this year.

[besanii]

Thank you for all of your hard work! For SM, I'd like to see the wedding please =D

Shattered Mirrors #62

“Furen! The palanquin is here!”

Wei Wuxian looks up at the maid’s cry of excitement, the thin brush in his hand clattering to the table. His lips part softly in surprise and he’s half out of his seat before he even realises he’s moving, only to be stopped by firm hands on his shoulders pressing him back down.

“Sit down, you’re not done yet,” Ouyang Shuzhen admonishes him, barely able to conceal the smile pulling at her lips. “Honestly, it’s like you’re so desperate to get married you’ll rush into the palanquin with only one eyebrow drawn. If Hanguang-wang sees you like this he’ll think we’ve turned you feral.”

“Shuzhen…” he laughs weakly, settling down in front of the dressing table bronze again as she fusses over him. “Does Yan-ge know you to be so forceful?”

She snorts, one eyebrow quirking upwards.

“I am the daughter of a general, descended from one of the most prominent military families in Yunmeng,” she says, picking up the brush he’d dropped and holding it to his brow. “Of course my husband is aware. It’s why he married me.”

She puts the finishing touches on his makeup deftly and with practised ease, then stands back to look him over with a critical eye. The maids are hovering at the doors and windows, peeking through the cracks at the commotion outside and giggling amongst themselves; one word from their mistress sends them scattering back to their posts. Wei Wuxian turns in his seat, palms sweaty and heart lodged in his throat. Ouyang Shuzhen shakes her head and clicks her tongue.

“Look at the lot of you,” she says fondly. “The wedding party hasn’t even reached the door yet and your hearts have already flown out of the room.”

Wei Wuxian ducks his head and laughs sheepishly just as a knock sounds from the door. The maids muffle shrieks of delight despite the sharp, silent rebuke this earns them from their mistress on her way past. Wei Wuxian gets to his feet as she opens the door to allow Lan Guoyan to enter. He steps over the threshold and pauses, eyes wide and soft, taking in the sight of Wei Wuxian in his wedding robes.

“Xiao Wei,” he says, suddenly serious. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. I can have the guards hold him off while you make your escape.”

His wife swats him on the shoulder with a good-natured scowl.

“Don’t speak such nonsense,” she scolds him. “The auspicious hour is almost upon us. If you delay the bridal retinue any further, I won’t stop Hanguang-wang from tearing you limb from limb.”

“Zhen-er, ah, Zhen-er, are you not my wife?” Lan Guoyan asks her dramatically. “Why would you stand with Ji-xiong against me?”

“I wouldn’t if you could be serious for even a moment,” she replies with a sniff. She turns back to Wei Wuxian and holds out a hand; one of the maids comes over with a tray, upon which sits a folded piece of red silk. “Are you ready, Wei Wuxian?”

He looks between the two of them with a smile, and nods. She picks up the silk, letting it ripple and unfold between her fingers; the maids gasp when it is fully unfolded and the embroidery is on display��a phoenix, with its wings outstretched, and a dragon winding around it protectively, both in fine gold thread and tiny, intricate stitches. His throat tightens as he bows his head to allow them to drape it over his hair.

“Thank you,” he says, glad for the veil hiding his face from view. “Thank you both for everything.”

Lan Guoyan snorts, sounding more like a sniffle, and then clears his throat. He and Ouyang Shuzhen each take one of his arms and help him to his feet. With the weight of the coronet on his head and the veil obscuring his vision, the three of them make their way slowly to the door, where the maids offer their congratulations in a chorus as it opens.

He can’t see what’s happening up ahead, but he doesn’t need to—the moment he steps into the main hall, he knows Lan Wangji is already there, waiting for him. A familiar hand slides into his, long fingers curling around his in a firm, reassuring grip despite the slight tremor he feels when their skin comes into contact. He sees the embroidered edge of a dark red sleeve and the jade pendant hanging from the black belt lined with gold, and smiles.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but he hears it as clearly as though he were speaking directly into his ear. “You look beautiful.”

“You haven’t even seen his face yet, Ji-xiong,” his cousin teases.

“I don’t need to,” Lan Wangji replies without hesitation. “Wei Ying always looks beautiful.”

“Aiya, please, I don’t think I can stand listening to you say such nauseating things.” A hand claps Wei Wuxian on the shoulder. “Xiao Wei, if he ever bullies you, you come directly to me and I’ll break his legs for you.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, eyes hot and wet. He mustn’t cry, lest the makeup Ouyang Shuzhen painstakingly applied for him is ruined.

“The sentiment is appreciated, Yan-ge,” he says. “But wholly unnecessary. Besides, if it were a fight between you and Lan Zhan, I know where I would place my bets.”

He squeezes the hand holding his playfully and feels Lan Wangji squeeze back. Ouyang Shuzhen interrupts their banter before her husband can get too riled up, with a reminder that the auspicious hour is upon them and they really must hurry if they are to reach Hanguang Manor in time.

“Quickly, then, come on! We still have to perform the tea ceremony!” Lan Guoyan says, ushering them both to the centre of the room where two cushions have been placed in front of the chairs usually reserved for the masters of the house. Wei Wuxian balks.

“Wait, Yan-ge, I don’t—”

—don’t have any parents for the tea ceremony, he doesn’t say. He’s long since made his peace with it, but the sudden reminder still sends a pang through his chest as he lets Lan Wangji guide him to kneel on the cushions. He stares down at the floor, throat tight.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs close to his ear, his breath tickling against the veil. “Have a look.”

Ordinarily, the wedding veil is not lifted until they are in the wedding chamber at the end of the night, but given the circumstances—and the fact that they, in fact, are not strangers in an arranged marriage—Wei Wuxian subtly lifts one corner of the veil. He follows the line of Lan Wangji’s finger to the table before them and freezes.

Two memorial tablets stand side by side, the wood old but well-polished, the gold paint on the names still bright and gleaming like new. The breath leaves his lungs in a rush and he sits back on his heels, all strength gone from his limbs; he doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Lan Wangji steadies him with an arm around his back.

“We recovered them at Lotus Pier after the war,” Lan Wangji tells him quietly over the sound of his own breaths dragging from his lungs. “They were restored, along with the ancestral hall. I thought…you would want them here with you. If you would like, they will have a place in the ancestral shrine back home, so you may visit them often.”

“Lan Zhan…” he whispers hoarsely. “I don’t know how to thank you—”

“Shagua,” Lan Wangji teases him, voice gentle and full of warmth. “I thought we agreed there is no need for such words between us.”

They bow to his parents. Lan Wangji takes the cups of tea that Ouyang Shuzhen has prepared for this occasion and pours them in a line on the floor—first to his father, and then to his mother—and bows again.

“Yuefu, Yuemu,” he addresses the tablets, his fingers clasped before him in a formal greeting. “Thank you for bringing Wei Ying into this world. I promise I will do everything in my power to bring him happiness in this lifetime, and in every lifetime after. So please be at ease and entrust Wei Ying to me.”

The sound of quiet sniffling is heard from more than one person in the room as he sinks into another, deeper bow, touching his forehead to the floor. Wei Wuxian takes a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, and clasps his fingers before him.

“Die, Niang,” he says. “Wei Ying has been unfilial. I haven’t been able to take care of you all these years.” He presses his forehead to the floor briefly, and then rises again. “Die, Niang. Please allow Wei Ying to fulfil my filial duties to you from now on.”

He touches his forehead to the floor one more time. Die, Niang, he says silently. Wei Ying has found happiness. Lan Zhan will take good care of me. You don’t need to worry about Wei Ying anymore.

There is a palanquin waiting outside Jing Manor, along with an entire parade of musicians and servants carrying trunks laden with gifts—courtesy of the Emperor and Empress, despite Wei Wuxian’s protests. The grandiose display is deliberate, Lan Wangji had explained to him beforehand. The grander the wedding, the more people will realise that this union—that Wei Wuxian himself—has the blessing and support of the Imperial Family. A muzzle on the mouths of any dissenters.

He’s safely in the palanquin when the firecrackers are lit, so the din is muffled. Still, his body tenses involuntarily at the sound, his fingers twisting the fabric of his robes; it thankfully does not last long, and he steadies himself against the side of the palanquin as it is lifted from the ground.

The procession circles the city twice, before making its way to Hanguang Manor. The wedding of a member of the Imperial Family is a rare sight, especially from the historically small direct line, so people flood into the streets to watch the palanquin go by, and to admire the spectacle of it. The palanquin is small, only enough to fit one person, and stuffy, so when they come to a stop and it is set down on the ground again, Wei Wuxian breathes a sigh of relief.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur.

He can hear the crowd of people gathered in the courtyard—officials, nobles, representatives of all the major families in Gusu—before he is led into the main hall and directed to kneel once more.

They bow once, to the Heaven and Earth.

Twice, to the elders.

And then finally, to each other.

He is dimly aware of people clapping and cheering, offering congratulations to the two of them as they rise to their feet and walk out of the hall together as a married couple, but he registers none of it. The only solid, certain thing he knows is the feeling of Lan Wangji’s hand in his.

--

Notes:

Shagua (傻瓜) - silly, fool, commonly used as an endearment

Yuefu (岳父) - father-in-law (wife’s father)

Yuemu (岳母) - mother-in-law (wife’s mother)

(Okay so I’m working on the premise that, in this scenario, WWX 嫁给 LWJ. So he’s the ‘bride’ in the ceremony. Because traditional Chinese customs.)

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master post in sidebar!

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buy me a ko-fi: kofi.com/besanii

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[robininthelabyrinth]

Hi!! I really loved your NMJ/WWX/LWJ ficlets!!! I'm very into this ship now lol I literally can't get the idea out of mind!! I keep think about LXC finding out NMJ is also into LWJ and going " Da-ge WTF" :D

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 - aka Pastime (with good company)

Lan Xichen had heard no word from Yiling since Lan Wangji had gone.

It was – distressing. If only he’d known…

He had, though, hadn’t he? Back when they’d all been at the Cloud Recesses together, long ago before it’d been burnt, his brother had always been so fond of Wei Wuxian, even if he’d always denied it. His expression had brightened whenever he’d seen the other boy, his eyes always on him, his attention always drawn to him…

Lan Xichen had thought it was a crush. 

A silly little thing, fleeting: he vaguely remembered one time, when Lan Wangji had been only six years old, he’d asked, in that adorable serious fashion of his, if he could marry Nie Mingjue when he was older. He’d already known not to bring up issues of marriage to their father or uncle, and their mother had recently died; who else could he ask?

Lan Xichen, then nine years old, had laughed himself sick.

Still, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known in the years since then that his brother’s disinterest in women had less to do with virtue and more to do with his personal inclinations. He’d teased him over it a few times, encouraged him in the rare instances when someone seemed to catch his interest, the way Wei Wuxian had; he’d even had a private word with their uncle to prepare him for the fact that any children would have to come from his lineage, not his brother’s.

He just hadn’t realized it was serious this time.

He should have realized. Lan Wangji was six no longer, his attention more serious, his affection sincere –

He’d known Lan Wangji was a cutsleeve, that he liked men the way other men liked women. He just hadn’t understood that his brother had fallen in love – and now he might very well spend the rest of his life mourning his lost chance to win Wei Wuxian, and all because Lan Xichen didn’t realize..!

Some elder brother he was.

By the time he’d figured it out, it was too late to cancel the engagement between Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian without great political cost, and Lan Wangji insisted on going alone as chaperone as he had promised; he’d refused any and all attempts by Lan Xichen to discuss the issue, and the most he had said was that it would be better for him to see with his own eyes that it had happened – the implication heart-breaking.

Lan Wangji had had hope, however foolish, and Lan Xichen had helped kill it. By facilitating the marriage of Lan Wangji’s love to another man, no less – not even a woman, which anyone would have understood…! For political reasons…!

Lan Xichen spent a great deal of time pacing and meditating, trying to calm his unhappy heart and thinking of what actions he could take to take to rectify his mistake.

That’s what he was doing when Nie Huaisang unexpectedly swanned in through the door to the hanshi one afternoon.

“So this is going to be a mess,” he announced, throwing himself down on one of the seats. “A mess, I tell you! All that work, and I’ll have to redo the whole thing, er-ge; it’s really not fair…at least I’ll have your help with it, this time!”

Lan Xichen blinked, a little blindsided by the sudden tsunami of words. “You know I’m always happy to help you, Huaisang,” he said, since that was both true and relatively safe.

“I know that, but now you have to be involved! Where do you want your table for the wedding banquet, do you think?”

At least he was only asking for advice on the wedding. The one Lan Xichen was currently kicking himself for supporting.

“I’m not sure,” he said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Near the front?”

“Of course near the front. You’re part of the wedding party, aren’t you?”

Lan Xichen supposed from a certain perspective he was. “You think I should be seated at the main table, given my role as da-ge’s sworn brother?”

“Well, that too, I guess,” Nie Huaisang said. “Maybe it’ll just be easier to have one big table? We could have your family on one side of the table to represent the bride –”

Lan Xichen held up his hands. “Huaisang. Why would we represent the bride? The Jiang sect is representing Wei-gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang, who’d been all but horizontal, splayed out face down on the table, lifted his head and blinked at him. “Er-ge, don’t be silly. I’m not talking about Wei-xiong. I’m talking about Lan-er-gongzi – oh, I suppose I should call him sister-in-law now, I guess? So, Lan-saozi? No, that sounds weird. I’ll just stick with Lan-xiong.”

Lan Xichen rubbed his ears, wondering if he’d started hearing things. “Huaisang, what are you talking about? Wei-gongzi is the one marrying your brother.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said slowly. “Of course he is. Lan-xiong is also marrying him.”

“…that’s impossible.”

“Not impossible at all; the plan is that they’ll share the position of first wife,” Nie Huaisang said, slowly sitting up. “There’s been more than one Madame Nie before…I’m sorry, did you not know? Didn’t Lan-xiong tell you?”

Lan Xichen stared. “Tell me – what? That he’s – that he’s planning on marrying your brother?”

“And Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said. “Normally, both brides would make their vows to the husband alone, but everyone agreed that it would be more appropriate if Wei-xiong and Lan-xiong shared vows as well, reflecting the prestige of the Sects and their own dignity as men – did Lan-xiong really not say anything?”

“Forgive me, Huaisang. It appears I need to speak with my brother. Urgently.”

He strode out the door, his steps more hurried than the calm pace he was accustomed to using –

Lan Wangji was walking towards the hanshi.

He was coming from the direction of their uncle’s house; he must have arrived around the same time as Nie Huaisang – perhaps they’d even come together – but Lan Wangji had always followed family etiquette before sect etiquette, as Lan Xichen had taught him: he would have formally greeted his uncle first and foremost, shared a cup of tea with him, and only then gone to find Lan Xichen.

To break the news first to the sect leader, presumably.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen called, and Lan Wangji turned to look at him –

He was smiling.

Not a full smile, of course; only the most joyous occasions brought out that rare ray of sunlight. But there was the slightest curve to his eyes that suggested he was pleased, and in the light of the setting sun, Lan Xichen could see the small hint of red in his ears that showed bashfulness.

“Brother,” he said formally, inclining his head.

“Walk with me,” Lan Xichen requested, and led them towards the jingshi – it would at least be private, if nothing else, unlike the currently occupied hanshi. It was only once they were inside that he spoke. “Do you have something to tell me?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Lan Xichen forced himself to sit, as if that would calm his racing heart. “Please do.”

“Before the evening meal, Nie-gongzi will formally deliver to you a letter,” Lan Wangji said, very nearly managing to appear unperturbed to those who did not know him well enough to see his excitement. “Requesting permission to arrange a marriage.”

“With you.”

“En.”

“You and – Nie Mingjue.”

Lan Wangji blinked at Lan Xichen’s unaccountable rudeness. “The vows would be taken between myself, Mingjue-xiong, and Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen rolled the words ‘Mingjue-xiong’ around his mouth as if seeking to taste every aspect of it. His brother was a stickler for proper etiquette; he would never refer to Nie Mingjue by so familiar a name unless he was truly serious about this.

“And this makes you happy?” Lan Xichen asked.

Lan Wangji smiled. He actually smiled, the expression blooming on his face as inexorably as the sun rising; he ducked his head to try to hide it, but it was far too late for that. “En.”

Lan Xichen wished he could just take that as the full answer it was clearly intended to be.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said very carefully, his hands folded in his lap. “When you left – I know you are very fond of Wei-gongzi. I have been thinking of this matter since you left. I have concluded that while the price may be high, if you wish for me to advocate to Mingjue-xiong that you be permitted to marry Wei-gongzi, I will do so.”

Lan Wangji’s smile faded into a look of some bewilderment. He didn’t understand: the expression on his face so very clearly said but I’m marrying him already…?

“If you wish to marry him without Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen clarified. “I do not want you to feel as though the only route to your happiness is through another –”

But Lan Wangji was shaking his head, very quickly. Lan Xichen stopped talking and waited for Lan Wangji to gather his thoughts.

“I would not marry Mingjue-xiong to win Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji finally said. “I would not.”

Lan Xichen softened. “I know you are always sincere, Wangji, and would never act to deceive. But at the same time, this is – very unexpected, you understand? The matter concerns the happiness of the rest of your life. It must be done right. I mean…when did you even become interested in Mingjue-xiong?”

Lan Wangji flushed red and dropped his eyes to the ground. “…six.”

Six? What –

“That crush?” Lan Xichen blurted out, eyes wide. “When you were six and he was thirteen?”

Lan Wangji’s head dipped lower and his shoulders went up defensively.

“You’ve liked him ever since then? Really? You’re not – not just saying –”

With an expression of great suffering on his face, Lan Wangji leaned over and whispered some words into Lan Xichen’s ear – even at that distance, they were barely audible, rushed together into a scarcely coherent mumble, but upon hearing the words ‘spring dreams’ and ‘tried to stop’ and something even more disturbing about Wei Wuxian and the time spent supervising him in the Library Pavilion, Lan Xichen learned in a single blow both that his concerns were misplaced and also far, far more than he’d ever wanted to know about his brother.

“I see,” he said, his voice a little strangled. “And you only got over it by – replacing him with Wei-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji, looking horribly shamed, nodded.

“And now you think about both of them doing –”

Lan Wangji looked up in dumbstruck horror, only to have his eyes narrow as he realized that Lan Xichen had absolutely no intention of finishing his sentence and was only teasing him.

Lan Xichen couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and he didn’t even try. 

“I’m very happy for you,” he said, and meant it. His brother’s happiness was all he had ever wanted, from the beginning, no matter how unorthodox – and besides, having two lovers technically fulfilled their uncle’s constant exhortations that they never allow a single person to become their entire lives, the way their father had.

If either of them were to do something unforgivable (probably Wei Wuxian) or die young (probably Nie Mingjue), Lan Wangji would still have the other by his side to support him through the hardship. He would never be alone.

Yes, this was fine.

Of course, Lan Xichen was still going to have to have a talk with Nie Mingjue about marrying his little brother away from him…

He paused.

“Wangji,” he said, starting to feel a terrible premonition. “Have you raised this with Uncle yet?”

Lan Wangji paused for a moment, and Lan Xichen could see his back straightening as if he could somehow adopt even more of a proper posture than he already had habitually. “…no.”

Lan Xichen knows his brother to be able to infer the rest of that: After all, you’re the head of the family, I had to get your approval first, and also it would be very nice to have someone to act as a shield for me – please?

“…Uncle is going to kill me,” he sighed.

Lan Wangji’s eyes curved up a little, and Lan Xichen felt that it might almost – almost – be worth the truly disastrous scolding he’s about to get.

[pterodactylterrace]

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 3

Chapter Summary: You’re late for tea

Rating: 18+ for later chapters

Warning: Possible swear words, dirty thoughts, nudity

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Friday had been a strange day for Faye.  First, Henry wasn't on set. It took an embarrassingly long time for her to remember being told he had a few days off of filming.

Then, Mrs. Anderson sent her a strange series of texts asking about him. Sure, Faye had mentioned him a few times. Also, Briar was constantly going on about the man with the fluffy dog, so it made some sort of sense that she would ask about him. Not to mention Mrs. Anderson was always trying to find her a 'nice young man' to settle down with, so fixating on the one man she had mentioned wasn't that odd in retrospect.

Then, as she was pulling her beat up car into her driveway, she noticed an unfamiliar, shiny vehicle already parked outside. Maybe that was the new car Mr. Anderson had been dying for? Why would he park at her house instead of in his own drive a few doors down, though? Was it a surprise for Mrs. Anderson?

Now, she was walking into her house only to be greeted by a very excited, very large fluffball at the door.

"Kal?" That was definitely Kal. He was the only black and white Akita she knew with the habit of knocking his rear into her leg for attention, although his getup was rather strange. Why was Henry's dog in her house, and why was he wearing fairy wings, her daughter's dress up fairy tutu and at least a dozen mardi gras necklaces? Also, the floppy sun hat on his head was a nice touch. He seemed to enjoy having it on as well. That, or it was tied on too well for him to get off.

The dog's attire should have prepared her for when she looked into the living room. There sat Mrs. Anderson, her sun hat on along with one of Briar's scarfs and glow in the dark glasses perched above her regular seeing glasses. Next to her was Briar, her full fairy princess costume on, complete with wings, crown and a scepter, pouring pretend tea into the strangest guest's cup.

There sat Henry Cavill, cross legged on her living room floor, tiny plastic tea cup in his massive hand. On his head was perched a plastic crown, a feather boa wrapped around his thick neck, and if the sparkles were anything to go by, Briar had attacked him with her glitter body spray.

"Mommy!" Briar gasped, dropping her plastic tea pot and racing over to her mother, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Hi, sweetie. What's going on?" Faye asked cautiously.

"You're late for tea." Henry replied, taking a pretend sip from his cup.

"I hope it's alright, dear. You did say he was a friend, and Briar seemed so fond of his dog, I didn't have the heart to turn him away." Mrs. Anderson explained.

"Uhh... yeah, it's fine." Faye mumbled, still taking in the sight before her, Kal and Briar rejoining the tea party as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

"My mistake. I thought we agreed on Friday." Henry apologized, pushing himself up. "We've only been here a little while. We can leave if you'd like."

"Oh, no. That's ok." Faye assured, finally setting her bag down, hastily turning over her sketch pad on the entrance table. Some things weren't meant for anyone other herself to see.

"I'll just be heading off then, Miss Warren." Mrs. Anderson excused herself, taking off her borrowed accessories and gathering her things. "You all have fun."

"So, uhh... how... how long have you been here?" Faye asked once she closed the door behind the older woman, quickly scanning the room to make sure nothing difficult to explain was in plain sight.

"Not long." Henry assured, sitting back down at Briar's insistent tugging, folding his long muscular legs back up as he settled on the floor in front of the coffee table.

"More tea!" Briar demanded, holding the cup up to his mouth, prompting him to take another pretend sip.

"You make wonderful tea, miss." Henry complimented, Briar preening in response.

"Mommy, you want tea?" Briar asked, a wide yawn cracking her little face.

"I would love some, sweetheart, but it's time for your nap." Faye pointed out.

"No! I wanna play tea!" Briar whined, plopping back on her backside in a pout.

"Briar." Faye warned, raising a brow at her.

"But... but... tea party!" Briar insisted.

"We can play more tea party after your nap. You're getting grumpy."

"No I'm not!" Briar insisted, her chubby face drawn into a scowl.

"That was grump right there." Faye pointed out, gently scooping up her cranky daughter. "Now let's go lay you down for a nap, and then we can play more tea party when you wake up."

"I don't wanna nap!" Briar yawned, rubbing her hazel eyes in an attempt to stay awake.

"You need one."

"I don't wanna nap, I'm tired!"

"Sound logic, my love." Faye sighed, settling her daughter into her bed, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed unicorn. The little girl was asleep before Faye even reached the door, curled up around her stuffie with her little tush up in the air.

"Sorry you had to see that. She really hates going down for a nap when she's having fun."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to get her wound up." Henry apologized, removing the plastic crown from his head.

"Don't worry about it, she's just happy to have more guests at her tea party." Faye assured, picking up the plastic dishes and putting them back in the toy box.

"She was quite insistent we join, though I do think Kal enjoyed getting dressed up." Henry chuckled, beginning to remove the dog's costume.

"Good thing you agreed, otherwise you would have faced the wrath of Briar." Faye giggled, noticing the unicorn and rainbow stickers all over Henry's back.

"It was a pleasure attending her party. She is quite a wonderful host." Henry laughed, stowing the costumes back in the toy box. "Now, I do believe you requested help with a cake for our little party host."

"Yes, right this way." Faye waved, heading off to her tiny eat in kitchen. "What do we need?"

"Well... you have an oven, so that's a start. I brought the ingredients with me. Do you happen to have a cake pan?" Henry listed, opening the fridge and removing the bag he'd brought along.

"I have a glass baking pan." Faye offered.

"We will work with that." Henry agreed. "Now, measuring cups?"

"They are around here somewhere."

"Do you know how to use them?" Henry teased, setting the ingredients from the bag onto the counter.

"Vaguely. I just usually eyeball everything when I cook." Faye admitted.

"That won't work with baking. It's a science and the measurements have to be exact." Henry explained. "So, we'll start with the dry ingredients. Can you measure out two cups of flour?"

"I have no idea where the cup is. I have half a cup."

"Four of those, then." Henry absently mumbled, scanning over his mother's recipe card again. He glanced over to see her attacking the bag of flour with the measuring cup, wincing to himself as he watched. "Faye?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Forgive me for asking, but do you know how to measure flour?" Henry asked, cringing when she tried to smooth the top down with her hand, causing a flour explosion in her face.

"I'm guessing what I just did wasn't right."

"Not quite." Henry chuckled, stepping behind her, taking her hand in his and dumping the flour back into the bag. "You can use a spoon to sift it. Packed flour and unpacked flour are two totally different measurements." He explained, handing her a spoon and taking her other hand in his, showing her how to sift the flour into the measuring cup.

Faye tried to keep her cool and ignore the fact that Henry Cavill was pressed up behind her, holding her hands and showing her how to measure flour like it was the most natural thing in the world. Surely this was just some dream and if it was, no one had better wake her up.

"Got it?" Henry asked, turning his head to look at her, snapping her from her thoughts. Faye did her best not to stare at his lips, so close and yet so far away. She could just lean in...

"Yeah, got it." She quickly confirmed, forcing her attention back to the task at hand.

And so it went, Henry leading the way through the mysterious land of baking, Faye following blindly behind. He even let her lick the spoon when he was done with it, and he in no way stared in awe at the way her tongue moved around it. He was a gentleman, after all, and imagining what else that tongue could do would be highly inappropriate.

It wasn't until after the cake had been pulled from the oven to cool that Briar woke up, wandering into the kitchen with her now disheveled princess costume still on, her hair sticking out in strange angles as she rubbed her eyes.

"You're here!" Briar gasped, taking notice of the giant in the room and scurrying over to him, throwing her arms around his legs.

"Nice to know where I stand." Faye pouted as Henry scooped the girl up, her daughter not even glancing her way in favor of talking to Henry.

"Can we play dollies?" Briar asked, batting her thick dark lashes at him, her chubby lip sticking out in a pout.

"I've never played before, you'll have to show me how." Henry agreed, smiling down at the little girl held securely in his arm.

"Mommy, you look silly!" Briar giggled, finally looking over at her mother.

"That's not nice." Faye gently scolded.

"What on your face?" Briar asked.

"Mommy had an incident with the flour." Henry explained. Shit. Had she really spent the last hour, practically drooling over her guest with flour all over her face? She really should write a book on how to flirt. No doubt, it would be a best seller.

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." Faye mumbled, her face heating up beneath the flour coating as she ducked her head and beelined down the hall.

"I'll be learning how to play dolls." Henry chuckled after her, carrying the toddler back to the living room so her mother could shower in peace.

Fifteen minutes later, Briar was still explaining the different names of her dolls and stuffed animals, piling each on top of Henry and resorting to stuffing them under Kal's paws when she ran out of room on her semi-willing captive. Faye cracked the bathroom door open and glanced to the living room to make sure her guest was thoroughly distracted before she slipped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around herself as she snuck down the hall to her bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief when she closed the door behind herself. She could almost convince herself he was interested in her with the couple times she'd caught him looking her way when he thought she wouldn't notice. No need to scare him off with her mom-bod now.

Sure, it hadn't been that hard on her figure. She wasn't left with the same saggy stomach her mother had after her pregnancies, but then again, her mother had carried two sets of twins almost to term. Talk about a superwoman. Though she did decide no more children after her younger brother and sister had been born.

"You keep giving me a two for one deal, I'm not doing this again!"

Good times. Good times. The wonders of having twins running strongly in your family. Faye had only given birth to one, but she still bore the stretch marks on her stomach and breasts, and the loose skin on her stomach had never really gone back to the way it was before.

Faye was shaken from her thoughts by her daughter's all too familiar exclamation coming from behind her. "Mommy, you're nakie!" She would never understand her daughter's near obsession with pointing out the fact that she was in fact, naked during and directly after showers, but it was without a doubt one of her favorite hobbies. Right behind tea parties if she had to guess.

"Wait, what? Oh!" That was not her daughter's voice. Faye's head snapped up to find Briar's chubby hand wrapped tightly around Henry's little finger, his other hand clapped firmly over his eyes. "I am so sorry! She wanted to get her stuffed dragon, I did not know this was your room!"

Faye snatched her towel off the bed and wrapped it around herself again, grabbing the dragon from the pillow and handing it off to Briar. The little girl happily took her dragon and led Henry back down the hall, not bothering with the door. The wonders of being young and innocent. She had no clue what she had just done.

Faye quickly shut the door herself, remembering to turn the lock this time, though it was a moot point by then. She threw on a tank top, leggings and her fluffy socks before forcing herself to venture back out. Henry was actually sitting on the couch this time, doing his best to focus on what the little girl was saying, though truth be told, his mind kept wandering back to the quick glimpse he had gotten of Faye's backside before he registered what was going on. It was even better than the glances he had gotten when she bent over in front of him to rummage through her make up bag. Nice and round, plump yet firm. The kind of ass you just want to squeeze as you're-

"So... " Faye started awkwardly, quickly breaking Henry out of his own head. "Lunch sound good?"

"Chocolate sandwiches!" Briar quickly suggested, hugging her stuffed bunny to her chest as she bounced around.

"It looks like I'm making chocolate sandwiches, though I could probably also manage a peanut butter and jelly."

"I wouldn't want to impose, though I did want to apologize again-"

"Accident's happen, but we are going to pretend that one didn't, ok?" Faye interjected. "So nutella or peanut butter and jelly?"

"Umm... either is fine."

"Briar, keep them company while mommy makes lunch, ok?" Faye suggested, going back to the kitchen before her false confidence faded. If he was on board with repressing and denying, so was she.

Now, only one questioned remained: Would Henry prefer his sandwiches cut into dinosaurs or puzzle pieces?

[ri-ahhh]

concept: grayson completely falling for his friend sister who is very shy, quite and ‘innocent’ but hes kinda irritated bc his friend told him she’s off limits?

The first time Grayson saw Melrose Clarkson walk through the front door of his buddy Eli’s house six months ago, he had been taken immediately by her. Like, heart dropped to the floor, head in the clouds, rom-com level smitten. He doesn’t know what it is about her that he’s so drawn to right away, but off the bat he finds her outlandishly pretty. And, to be frank, for a young guy such as himself, that’s the only quality he really needs to be able to identify to have his interest piqued.

“Yo,” he muttered to his other friend (and Eli’s roommate) Brooks. The two of them decided to have a kickback, and there’s been a flow of people in an out of the house throughout the night. Grayson nudged him in the side and jerked his head conspicuously at the caramel-skinned beauty that had just floated in with a friend. “Who’s that?”

Brooks looked over and raised a dark blonde eyebrow in surprise. “Melrose? Dude, that’s Eli’s sister. You’ve never seen her?”

Grayson shook his head and sat back on the couch, trying not to look like an awkward creep as he admittedly eyed this girl up — from her white-painted toes in her flip-flops, up her legs to her curvaceous hips that were hugged perfectly in a pair of distressed cutoff denim shorts, over her torso that was hidden beneath an oversized band tee, and finally to a mass of long, wavy hair that flowed wild and free halfway down her back.

Her ultra-casual outfit was polar opposite to what he was used to seeing in the very few LA parties he’s attended. Even the friend that she came with was decked out in a tight-fitting body suit, tiny mini skirt, and the oh-so-predictable AF1’s. Grayson got the impression that Melrose wasn’t there to stand out or impress anyone... and he kind of liked that, too.

His feet were picking him up before his brain even realized what was happening, and he strode over to her with a pseudo-confidence that’s become his signature when approaching women lately. His sex life was fine, but he hasn’t had much luck in the dating department, unable to find someone he’s enticed by enough to spend time with in the light of day and not just in a bedroom.

There was no chance in hell he wasn’t going to take a chance with this girl, though. He’s drawn to her in a way he hasn’t experienced before.

And she’s standing alone now, filling up a red solo cup with a jug of iced tea. That always helps.

He picked a cup from the stack and cleared his throat a little, fixing a crooked smile to his lips even though she doesn’t look up. She’s even prettier up close, and his heart sped up a little.

“Hi.”

Melrose’s eyes raised in surprise. “Oh, uh, hi,” she returned, doing a double-take when she observed the boy in front of her; he’s hot. So hot, she was thoroughly distracted long enough for her hand to shift some, resulting in a splash of tea landing on the countertop right next to her cup.

“Shit,” she mumbled, a pretty flush warming her cheeks that makes Grayson smile wider. She scrambled for the paper towel roll tucked a few feet away and swiped up the mess, blushing harder when she noticed Grayson still standing there. “Sorry, I’m such a fucking klutz. Did you want some of this?”

She scooted the giant bottle towards him, and Grayson wrapped his hand around the handle. He didn’t, really, but also he didn’t want to make her feel more awkward. And he was holding a cup, so who would really be the awkward one if he said no?

“Sure, thanks,” he said. He started to pour it, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she tossed the wet towel in the trash. He’s twisting the cap back on the bottle when she flashed him a small, shy smile behind the rim of her cup and started to pass by him to leave the kitchen.

Fuck. Words, Grayson — speak, use your words!

“I like your shirt,” he managed to blurt, swallowing down his embarrassment at how rushed that came out with a gulp of tea.

Melrose glanced down at the garment in question and gave him a genuine grin, her teeth pearly white behind full, pink lips. “Thanks. You like Cub Sport?”

Truthfully, Grayson hadn’t even read what was printed on her shirt, but his excitement picked up as soon as he matched her words with the image.

“I love them,” he said, and another realization hits him. “I actually have that shirt.”

Her chocolate eyes narrowed playfully, just in case he’s being slick. “Really? What’s your favorite song?”

Grayson pretended to consider her question, looking up to the ceiling and scrunching his nose a little. Melrose thought she had him for a moment, but he comes back with, “I’m partial to Hawaiian Party, I think. How about you?”

She nodded, admittedly impressed that he did, in fact, actually listen to the band. “Trees, for sure. But can you really have just one favorite?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered, holding out his hand. “I’m Grayson.”

It swamped her own petite hand when she grasped it in return, and his body warmed pleasantly at her touch. She bit her lip. “Melrose.”

“You’re Eli’s sister?” he questioned. He didn’t realize he’s still holding her hand until she looked down at them, and he dropped it at once. He could feel his cheeks turning pink again and wondered why he was so easily flustered by this girl.

“Yep,” she answered, ducking her head and tucking a curl behind her ear as she shifted on her feet. “You guys friends?”

“More acquaintances, but yeah. I was friends with Brooks first and got to know Eli through him.”

Melrose smiled and opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly someone is calling her name over the thud of the music and loud laughter of fellow partygoers.

“Melodie Rose! Get your ass over here, we’re playing flip cup and need one more!”

It’s her blonde friend she had walked in with, waving her over with an excited, tipsy grin. Melrose yells back to give her a second before turning back to Grayson with an apologetic expression on her face.

“Party duty calls,” she joked quietly, chuckling when he does. “It was nice to meet you, Grayson. I’ll see you around?”

“For sure,” he said, and follwed her with his eyes as she left the kitchen and wiggled through the increasingly crowded living room to the beer pong table set up in the center of the space. He shook his head a little and made his way to where Brooks was still seated on the couch, now joined by Ryan.

Brooks shook his head with a knowing grin. “Don’t even go there, bro,” he warned jokingly as Grayson plopped down next to him.

Grayson took a long sip of his tea, willing it to cool his overheated body. “What are you talking about?”

“Melrose,” he said. “First off — total prude.”

Grayson was a little taken aback by his friend’s brashness. Brooks talked like a douchebag sometimes, but for some reason it hit a new nerve to hear him say that about her. “So? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I mean, she’s a prude by LA standards; girls that hot are always the fastest to put out, and trust me, I tried a good long while to get in there.” Grayson shook his head, suddenly sick to his stomach. “Second, she’s off-limits. Eli will have your balls on a platter if he found out you were fucking with her.”

‘Fucking with her’ was hardly what Grayson had in mind with what he wanted to do with Melrose, but the former part of his sentence made him sit up a little. “Seriously?”

Brooks nodded. “I mean, it’s kinda part of bro code, I guess. Sisters are a no-go.”

Grayson considered that. Plenty of his friends over the years had had crushes on his sister, but it never bothered him too much. Then again, none of them that he knew of were as big of an asshole as Brooks, or he definitely would have intervened there, too.

He looked to Ryan, his older and wiser friend. “Is that bro code?”

Ryan shrugged. “I think it’s situational, to be honest.”

He shot Grayson a look, and Grayson hid his smirk into his cup; he and his best friend were definitely on the same page.

Just then, Eli strode into the living room, greeting people as he made his way to his roommate and friends.

“What’s up?” he said, leaning down to dap up all three of them.

“Yo,” Brooks greeted in return. “Mellie just got here a little bit ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Eli looked around the room and grinned when he spotted his sister. “Alright, imma go say hi to her. And you fuckers better stay away from her. Brooks, you know parties aren’t really her thing, and she gets touchy when she’s drunk. She’s too much of a lightweight for her own good.”

His tone was joking, but there was definitely some seriousness behind his threat. Sure enough, Brooks nudged him in the ribs and muttered “told you.”

Grayson sighed and took another drink as he watched Eli give his sister a quick hug before slinging his arm over her petite shoulders. He glared down the kid ogling her legs, until the guy shrunk back from intimidation.

A gap in the crowd suddenly formed, leaving a direct line of sight between the couch and the beer pong table. Melrose was bent over with laughter, the soft features of her face even more radiant now that she’s a little more relaxed and under the protective presence of her brother. By some miracle, her eyes catch Grayson’s looking at her softly, and she sends him a friendly little wave.

His breath hitched, and he waved back with his heart in his stomach.

Shit.

[valhallanrose]

Hummingbird

Because I’m a sucker for a first kiss and I love Them. 

Milenko belongs to @sunrisenfool​.

3.5k. No CWs apply. 

Title: Hummingbird by The Gothard Sisters

Had anyone else been nearby, Astoria might have asked to be reminded the next time Nadia hosted a staff dinner how absolutely droll they could be. 

They were certainly appreciative - it was the Countess’s display of gratitude for all departments of palace staff, regardless of level in their respective hierarchies. Dinner did feel like a rather unfitting term, though, as Nadia had a tendency to throw parties rather than simply asking them all to sit around a table and chat about the weather. It wasn’t a requirement, though. It was a chance to mingle, to have some good food and a good time, but they were almost routine after a little while. If you’d been to one, you’d been to them all, and if you were an introvert, they were particularly draining on the social battery. 

Astoria was also very much an introvert.

They almost hadn’t come that night, but something told them they should, if for no other reason than to get a slight change of scenery. 

As the night went on, guests trickled in and trickled out, some familiar, some not. Among those to arrive was Nana, whose arrival was almost expected - rarely did he fail to appear - but Astoria hadn’t expected him to bring a plus one, and especially not Milenko. Not that he was an unwelcome surprise - Astoria just didn’t think he’d have been interested in the affair, though he seemed to blend easily with the crowd as Nana introduced his cousin to some of his colleagues. 

For a while, the two of them had been trading lingering looks here and there, smiles pulling at faces and a step taken toward each other before one of them got pulled into someone else’s conversation. At one point Astoria almost laughed at the near pout on Milenko’s face when Nana snatched him away to introduce him to a face they couldn’t name, shaking their head and giving him a cheeky wave before they let themself get pulled into a healthy debate with a colleague from the archives.

Eventually, Astoria managed to slip away from it all, stepping out onto the balcony with a sigh of relief. Crisp winter air swept over their face and carried the evening bird song to their ears, easing the tension in their shoulders as they pulled their shawl a little tighter around themself. 

They didn’t know how long they stood out there, watching their breath turn to fog and tuning out the chatter they could hear beyond the door that led back inside, but it was long enough for them to not notice the door open and someone approach them once it fell shut. 

The lower edge of a ceramic mug tapped their shoulder, making them jump a bit as they turned to meet Milenko’s warm smile and the outstretched cup, the handle turned toward them for them to take. 

“Thought you wouldn’t want to miss the cocoa when it came out.” He said, and Astoria smiled, nodding as they pulled their hands from their pockets and gratefully accepted the warm drink. 

“Oh, I forgot Nadia likes to bring cocoa out when the weather gets cool. Thank you.”

“I think we’re well past ‘cool’ and into ‘terribly cold’.” He teased, and Astoria snorted into their mug as he leaned forward to rest his forearms on the balcony railing.

“Should you ever have cause to visit Rosinmoor, you’ll be grateful for Vesuvia’s kind of winter. I thought my first winter here would be much worse and I was woefully over prepared for it.” Astoria glanced down toward his feet, then frowned a little, head tilting curiously. “Where’s Ursie? It’s rare I see one of you without the other.”

Milenko gestured loosely over his shoulder, making Astoria look toward where Ursula sat right next to the door - nose pressed to the glass just so to reveal her front teeth - enjoying the warmth of indoors while she kept an eye on her human. 

Astoria couldn’t help but laugh, turning around to rest their back against the railing and sticking their tongue at Ursula playfully, snickering under her breath when a pink tongue slid across the glass as if to answer. 

“Can’t say I blame her for staying in. Nattie would be doing the same if she were here, but I couldn’t wrestle her out of my bed. She’s probably still asleep in my blankets. I’ll probably be joining her before too long, if I’m honest.”

“Tired?” Milenko asked, and Astoria shook their head, letting out a soft sigh. 

“More so bored. I come to these mostly because I don’t want to be rude to Nadia for all the effort she puts in, but...they’re not really my cup of tea. Or cocoa, I suppose.” They raised their mug a little at that, and Milenko chuckled, standing to lean against the railing with them instead.

“I don’t think these are really my scene, either.”

“Didn’t you come as Nana’s plus one tonight?” 

“I did, but I didn’t really come for the party.” He nudged them lightly with his elbow, making them pause mid sip and look up at him. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Astoria raised a brow, watching as he swigged the rest of his cocoa and set the mug neatly on the railing. “Get out of here?”

“Yeah. Neither of us are having a good time here, so...maybe we can go snag a bite to eat and chat for a while before you head home.” Milenko held out his hand, wiggling his fingers lightly as if trying to tempt them to take it. “Unless you’ve got a hot date that you need to get back to.”

With a snort of laughter, Astoria drank the last bit of their cocoa and dropped their hand neatly into his palm - their own mug left behind to sit beside his. 

“Absolutely I do not. Lead the way, poet man.”

“‘Poet man’?”

“Shut up, you know I’m not good at nicknames.”

Snickering, Milenko pulled their arm to loop it neatly through his, dramatically looking around as if to make sure nobody was watching their escape from the dining hall. Astoria, for their part, was more focused on stifling their laughter until they were out of earshot, swatting at his arm playfully as they went. 

Astoria didn’t catch the amused shake of Nana’s head when Milenko threw a wave at his cousin, though they were sure to be teased when they came to work in the morning. 

*     *     *     *     *

The pair had ducked into the first tavern they’d come across, Ursula slipping under the table as they snatched the last empty booth and squeezed into the bench seat. Astoria could feel her tail against the back of their ankles, knowing she’d taken up a space between the booth and the back of Milenko’s legs. They were seated close enough together for his arm to brush theirs as he poured them a glass from the bottle of wine they’d bought to share, close enough that when he turned to pass it to them they could see the way the light bounced off his earrings and danced on his cheeks. 

“There we are.” He murmured, and Astoria couldn’t help but return his smile, tapping the edge of their glass lightly against his when he extended it. “Cheers.”

“Slàinte mhath.” 

“Bless you.”

Astoria choked on the sip they’d taken from their glass as they laughed, spotting his teasing grin and swatting at him after they managed to catch their breath again.

“You know what, I take back my toast, I wish the worst health upon you.” They laughed, shaking their head when Milenko gave them those big brown puppy eyes that killed them every time and trying to steel their resolve -

“Would you really wish ill upon me?”

Mission failed.

“No, but I’m still going to pout about the fact that my nose burns now.” Astoria wrinkled the feature in question before they cautiously sipped at their glass again, giving him a teasing side eye of sorts once they set it down. “But you can make it up to me by telling me more about that article you’re working on. The one you were talking about on our way in?”

Milenko nodded, curls bouncing as a smile pulled across his face. “Right, I was. I think I’d just told you I passed it along to my editor…”

The two fell into easy conversation, flowing between them like the ale from the taps or the water in the side canals mere feet beyond the tavern door. 

Astoria had always enjoyed his company. Milenko was warm and welcoming, the smile that came to his face amplifying the natural presence he had about him. They tried to return that friendly warmth as well, but they had come to realize that those feelings of friendly warmth had changed into something new. Not that they minded - in fact, with him, they’d welcome the sort of romantic affection that was blooming if it were reciprocated. 

But for now, with one hand propping up their chin as they listened, they let the world narrow down to just Milenko. 

He made their heart feel like a hummingbird, beating so fast in their chest every time they crossed each other’s paths that they thought it might pop straight out from their ribs and follow him when he left. 

They weren’t sure anyone had ever made them feel this way before. They’d attempted relationships a few times in the past, but the connection never felt like it was there. They were too strange, too work obsessed, too cold - that one had particularly hurt - but always too much for things to work out.

Milenko saw them as they were, and hadn’t been put off by what he’d seen. In fact, he’d embraced it fully, all the way down to their last peculiarity, and seemed to always come back for more. 

They snapped back to focus when they heard him mention that if his editor gave it the all clear, his article would likely be published before the end of winter if all went according to plan. 

“I hope everything goes smoothly, then.” Astoria said with a smile. “Do let me know when I should keep an eye out for it. I’ve always enjoyed reading your work. The content is always interesting, but I find that the way your passion and your intrigue seeps into your writing so enthralling. Usually when I pick it up I can’t put it down.”

“I didn’t know you read my writing that closely.” He said after a moment, a warm flush coloring his cheeks, and Astoria’s gaze dropped sheepishly to stare into the burgundy wine.

“It’s important to you, isn’t it?” They gave him a light smile, tracing the tip of their finger around the rim of their glass. “You listen so intently when I tell you about bones, or heartbeats, or the time I went on a thirty minute tangent about how butterflies are - how did I put it?”

Milenko tried - and failed - to hide his grin behind his drink. “‘Badass little bastards’, I think.”

“Right, badass little bastards.” Astoria was about two seconds from repeating said tangent before they felt their face heat, clearing their throat in order to continue. “But you know it’s important to me, so you listen. And I know your writing is important to you, so I read it whenever I can.”

“I hope you don’t feel like you have to read it just because I listen to you.” He said after a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “I listen to you because I’m interested in what you have to say.”

“No, no, it’s much the same for how I feel about your writing. I do find the topics you choose fascinating, so it’s also particularly easy to get invested in. The fact that you wrote it is a fun little bonus. And...” 

Maybe it was the wine - definitely not, knowing their own tolerance - but they hummed softly for a moment, mulling over their thoughts as they tried to piece together what they wanted to say. 

“I think you’re strange.” Astoria said after a moment, and Milenko let out a bewildered laugh, giving them something of a bemused look as he set his glass aside. 

“I do hope you mean that in a good way.”

Astoria laughed, nodding as they pushed their drink away from the edge of the table. “I do, I do, I promise. That was poor phrasing I mean that I like you because you’re strange. I’ve always been peculiar, what with my bones and my heartbeats like we said and my preference for dead people -”

“I know, I’ve been flattered to make the cut of breathing individuals you spend your time with.” Milenko laughed as Astoria smacked him with one of their gloves, the leather flapping harmlessly against his arm and their disgruntled look ruined by the smile they failed to hold back.

“I’m being serious, Milenko, only one of us is good with words so let me have this.”

He raised both hands in playful surrender, and Astoria tucked their gloves into their pockets with a lighthearted roll of their eyes, drumming bare fingertips idly on the surface of the table. It took them a few moments to gather their thoughts, but when they did, their eyes were fixed on their empty glass, watching the light and shadows dance across the surface. 

“I don’t often find myself in the company of the living because I know my peculiarity puts some people off. I am still grateful that my observations on your heartbeat did not do the same, though usually when I mention it to someone, I don’t get asked to have an extended conversation about matters of the heart.” Astoria’s mouth twitched up at the corner as they cast a bemused look at him out of the corner of their eye. “But I’ve come to know you. You are strange too, in your own way, and unabashedly so. It’s endearing. And I want to experience more, but...I’m not sure how I can just yet.”

“What do you mean?” He asked gently, and Astoria made a noncommittal sound that was far more casual than how they actually felt. 

“I’m quite awful at reading people.” Astoria shrugged, reaching for the bottle of wine again. “I don’t know what you’re willing to share with me, so I intend to follow your lead. But your writing lets me learn a little more about you, in a way, and a little more about what you’re willing to share with me. So I keep reading.”

Milenko fell quiet for a moment, but out of the corner of their eye, they could see him looking at them - watching as they poured a little more wine into their glass - and when they turned slightly, they poured some into his own, watching as his gaze shifted to the flowing liquid as it swirled and caught the light. 

“I’ve only ever seen you make that look before you take a dip in the canals.” They teased, and Milenko snorted, an amused look on his face as they set the bottle down. “Did the wine have some secrets to share?”

He laughed a little at that - Astoria knew he’d said once before that he’d once had visions manifest in flowing beer - and shook his head, pushing the glass aside rather than taking a drink from it. 

“No, only an inkling this time.” Milenko rested his cheek against his hand, elbow propped against the table as he watched them take a small sip of wine. 

“But if you want to know, it told me you could kiss me tonight.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Had he not been a foot from them, they might have screamed when it finally clicked. 

Had he really been flirting all this time? They knew they were oblivious to some social situations, but damn, this was a new one. They could practically hear Edrine laughing at them for how oblivious they were in the next letter they wrote home, but perhaps it was worth it. 

When they managed to compose themself internally, they let out a slow breath through their nose, trying to steady their sudden nerves at the realization that those romantic feelings might not be so one sided. 

Maybe he’d been sharing more than they’d though.

“Did it, now?” They mused, setting the glass down and pushing it back from the edge of the table. “Presumptuous of the wine to think I’ll do all the work. You could kiss me instead, you know.”

They didn’t flinch when Milenko’s fingertips skated across the back of their ungloved hand, instead smiling lightly as they turned their palm over and felt his hand settle on their own. His other arm rested along the back of the bench seat, warm against their shoulder as he gave them such a soft, pretty smile it made them feel like mush.

“Well, if I kiss you, I would hope you’d kiss me back.” Milenko said softly, and when he began to lean in, Astoria was more than ready to lean in themself.

He met them halfway - Astoria had slipped her free hand up onto his shoulder, toying with the ends of his curls lightly before giving him a soft, chaste kiss that made everything else feel like it had disappeared. 

It was gentle and sweet, a kiss with not an expectation beyond it. It made them so warm, from the crown of their head to the tips of their toes, as they melted nearly completely into him with the gentle weight of his hand falling upon their back. 

When they broke apart after a moment, Astoria blinked once, twice, before they blurted out a “This isn’t just because of the wine, right?”

Milenko looked at them somewhat owlishly. “What?”

“The wine. You’re not inebriated, are you? I know I’m certainly not, but I don’t want you to do this if this is the wine making your decisions for you.”

“No, I’m not drunk.” Milenko chuckled a little, lifting his hand to gently rub his thumb across their jaw as they let out an audible sigh of relief. “Were you that worried?”

“Only a little.” Astoria smiled sheepishly. They leaned in after a moment, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then to the corner of his mouth, warmth heating their cheeks as they met his eyes again. “Mostly because I wanted to ask you for another, and I thought it would be a very poor thing to do if you weren’t thinking clearly.”

Milenko smiled at that, the hand against their jaw shifting to gently tip their head up once again. Their hand slid down to rest against his chest, hardly any space between them as they cracked a smile at the feeling of his heart beating rapidly under their palm. 

“Your heart is racing.” Astoria teased, as if their own didn’t feel like it was going to leap straight from their chest. “I thought perhaps another kiss was in order, but if I do you might make the hummingbirds jealous.”

“You’re full of shit.” Milenko chuckled, laying his free hand over the one on his chest and giving it a gentle squeeze. “May I?”

Astoria was already leaning in again, meeting him in another kiss, this one deepening slightly and lingering rather than being chaste. They could have turned into a puddle right there as they started to notice a bit more beyond the kiss this time - the warmth of his hands against their skin, the sound of their own heart in their ears like wingbeats, the smell of parchment and ink that lingered on his skin for all the writing he did. 

When they broke away this time, their foreheads pressed together, Astoria couldn’t help but match his smile as his nose rubbed lightly against theirs. 

“Let me walk you home.” He said, voice soft, and to Astoria’s amusement, sounding entirely like he didn’t want to follow through with what he’d said seconds prior. 

Astoria hummed softly in thought, a playful tone clear in their voice. “Done with me already?”

Milenko’s chuckle made them smile, closing their eyes as he pressed a kiss to their brow and slid out of the booth.

“Alas, I just heard the last call, and it’s late. But tomorrow is a new day, and I’d be more than happy to take you out for lunch.” When they slid out behind him, Astoria tucked her hand into his, gloves shoved neatly in their pockets and coat wrapped snugly around them. 

“My schedule just so happens to be clear.” They said, and Milenko laughed, giving their hand a squeeze as they made their way back onto the streets.

“Then lunch it is. Think about where you want to go.”

Together they’d begin the woefully short - in Astoria’s opinion - walk to their apartment, where Milenko would give them one last kiss to bid them goodnight and tell them that he’d pick them up at eleven thirty for lunch wherever they chose. 

And Astoria would dream that night, face buried in Nathaira’s fur, of red wine kisses and ink stained hands to hold them close all over again. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompts: Sternay, Centaur, NSFW. Thank you!

Here you go!

Note: I use “races” here in the D&D sense.

Most nights, Barclay works undistracted until the end of dinner. Tonight, looks out the kitchen window so often Moira teases him that she’ll close it to save him from cutting off his own hand by mistake. 

He can’t help it. Every time a new party returns from an adventure or demands a table so they can sit and plan their next epic quest, he pokes his head into the dining room of Amnesty Lodge to see if a certain orc is among them. 

Technically, Joseph is half-orc, as his father was an elf, but his orcish traits dominate in all but his build and his ears. He’s so handsome, the first time he addressed Barclay by name he blushed for an hour afterwards. 

That was the second time they’d met, Joseph having returned from his job as the hired rogue of a party of treasure hunters. He’d been a spy during the last great skirmish, and now put his observation and information gathering skills to good use for a fair price. He, like other adventurers for hire, used Amnesty Lodge as his base, as it welcomed creatures of all kinds and had the best food in all of Kepler. 

When Joseph became a regular, it didn’t take long for him to post up in the place where it was easiest for him to talk to Barclay, and more than once he stayed to help the centaur put up chairs and wipe down tables. Four months ago, before he left to help some mages in search of rare artifacts, he knocked on Barclay’s door in the pre-dawn rain and kissed him goodbye, telling him to consider the kiss an offer he could refuse or accept on Josephs’ return. 

Barclay kissed him back immediately in reply.

Ever since that morning, Barclay’s orientation towards time changed. He no longer saw his life in weeks and months; instead it was divided into times when Joseph was in town and times when he was gone. It helps that Joseph prefers quests that are about knowledge and have a low chance of death, as he has little taste for violence (in fact, the only orc he knows with less taste for it is Duck, who seems annoyed at the fact the universe thinks it’s his destiny to fight).

When the last diner stumbles upstairs to their room, Moira pats his side, “I can get Jake to help me clean up. You go on home.”

A short walk brings him to his cottage on the edge of Amnestys’ grounds. He gathers his mail, starts a kettle for tea, and contemplates if he should take a bath now or wait for Joseph in the hopes he might join him. 

Knockknock

He hurries to the door, throws it open and finds a disheveled but pleased looking Joseph holding a bouquet of branches. 

“Hey” his brain offers no further thoughts, too busy drinking in the sight of the boyfriend he’s been missing these last ten days. 

“I’m sorry I’m late, we ran into some kind of conflict between two water golems and had to take a longer route. I, um, brought some apple blossoms as an apology.” 

“No need to apologize, blue eyes” Barclay takes the flowers, “I’m just glad you’re back in one piece. Uh, do you, uh, wanna come in? I’m making tea and, uh, I was gonna take a bath if you wanna join me.” In spite of the fact Joseph is already through the door and taking off his shoes, Barclay worries he’s moving too fast. 

“A bath sounds great, big guy” Joseph cups his face, takes his time kissing every inch of his lips before releasing him, “I’ll go get it started.” 

Barclay shuts the door and trots towards the kitchen. He munches two stems of blossoms and then sets the rest in some water on the table. 

He joins Joseph just as the orc closes off the sluice that directs the water from the hot springs outside into the massive, rocky tub. It’s designed with multiple wide, stone benches so Barclay can sit comfortably with his legs tucked beneath him. He sets the mugs of tea by the edge of the pool and wades in, settling on his preferred bench as Joseph floats over to him. A grey scar runs up one side of his green chest which, combined with the stylish piercings in his ears and the one stud in his nose, make him look a mixture of tough and debonair that never fails to make Barclay paw the ground with frustrated desire. 

The orc is so handsome, has kissed Barclay breathless and given him the honor of tasting his cock several times, but there are things Barclay wants from him that he will never ask for. And so, as the orc drapes his arms around his shoulders, he puts those lurid thoughts from his mind. 

“Do you want me to get your back?” Well-trimmed claws scritch the sensitive line where fur meets skin. 

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph splashes to his side, retrieving one of the milky-white bottles lined along the rocky edge. The scent of oatmeal and chamomile fills twines into the steam as the orc guides a generous line of the shampoo down his spine. Barclay would never admit it in public, but he uses this blend in part because it brings a shine to his dark bay fur, the color of which he is immensely proud. 

“You have such a handsome coat” Joseph murmurs, fingers creating a path of suds as he rubs them in circles, “then again, the rest of you is handsome too, so it’s only remarkable in that it puts every other centaur I’ve seen to shame.”

Barclay squeezes the loofah he’s using on his shoulders, groans when Joseph digs his fingers into the spot on his back legs that is always sore after a day in the kitchen.

“Look at all that strength buried right here” Joseph pets up his leg and along his flank, “gods, Barclay, maybe I should count myself lucky that you work somewhere you aren’t seen so that I’m not constantly fighting off every centaur who passes through town and sees what a catch you are.”

“Babe please” he dumps water over his head, which does fuck-all to clear it, “please, when you talk like that it’s, I’m-”

The hands switch to soothing circles, “I’m sorry, if it’s making you uncomfortable I can stop.”

“No, no it’s more like, uh, fuck” he takes a deep breath, “talking to me like that while you touch me, while you’re right there all naked and perfect I, it turns me on and I don’t want to make you deal with that.”

Soft splashing as Joseph moves in front of him, “I think now is the time to tell you I’m, um, more than happy to deal with it. In fact, I was kind of hoping we could do that tonight. We can take our time, since neither of us has work tomorrow and I, um, well let’s just say I thought about you a lot while I was gone and wanted the chance to act on some of those thoughts.”

Barclay snorts, softly, “Trust me, babe, even if you think it’s a good idea now, you won’t when it happens. Lots of people love the idea of fucking a centaur right up until the moment and then they bail. And I mean, like, that’s cool, I don’t wanna fuck someone who’s freaked out and they can call it quits whenever but...yeah. I appreciate the thought, blue eyes.” He smiles, trying to show that he means it, because he does, he loves that Joseph thinks of him that way.

Joseph massages some of the shampoo into his hair, the two of them still face to face, “Do you remember that black trunk I left here last time?”

“Uhhuh” He closes his eyes, neck relaxing, “said it was stuff you needed to keep at my place.”

“It is, and now I know you didn’t peek at it. I did a bunch of research into the best way to prepare to get fucked by a centaur, and everything we need is in that box.”

“Aw babe, you did a research project for me.” Barclay hides his face in Joseph’s shoulder.

“It’s my love language.” Joseph kisses his cheek, “Barclay, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that this isn’t some idle fantasy for me, with you filling the role of hot centaur. This is something I want to do with you, my boyfriend who I adore and want to get fucked by.”

“Promise you’ll say something if I’m hurting you?” Barclay mumbles against soap-tinged skin.

A kiss on his head this time, “I promise.” 

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

Joseph is conscious of his reputation. He always has been, whether that was how his superiors saw him or how his potential clients see him now. This is why he’s well-aware of the joke that goes as follows:

Did you hear about the undiscovered creature?

No. What is it?

A race Joseph hasn’t fucked. 

That’s the translation from orcish, anyway. 

It’s not as if he has a checklist of beings he wants to bed. It’s that he’s never seen a creatures race as a deterrent. Not the very charming bugbear who bought him a drink his first time up in Vogel Pass. Not the shy dragonborn who asked him to dance at the Festival of the Two Moons. And certainly not the sweet, gentle centaur who owned his heart from the first time he smiled at him. 

Joseph considers himself practical, but Barclay forces him to confront the romantic streak running through his heart. He’d debated how best to show it, considering traditional gestures of orc courtship or a long, long letter, before an exasperated Duck pulled him aside and told him to just tell him, please Joe for fucks sake this is painful to watch. 

Over the last few months, he’s learned which flowers to bring his lover, what places to pet and scratch to melt that strong body beneath his hands. He’s also observed that Barclay is sexually pent up yet never asks for release, no matter how many times he swallows or strokes Josephs’ cock. So, while his research and subsequent offering of his ass are far from selfless, he hopes it will show his boyfriend that he will put in the work to bring him pleasure. 

He’s busy laying out the four glass cocks of increasing sizes next to the largest bottle of lube they had at fantasy Costco while Barclay arranges a set of cushions, bars, and ropes near the bed. When put together, the items form a rig that allow centaurs to fuck smaller partners. Barclay bought it the last time someone expressed a desire to fuck him; it’s never been used. 

Joseph sits on the bed, all his supplies in reach, and pats the large mattress to indicate Barclay can join him. 

“Should I help?” The centaur tucks his legs under him, tail twitching once. 

“Yes, by holding me while I warm up. You won’t be able to when you’re fucking me, so I need to get my fill.” He rests his back against Barclay’s bare chest, tips his head up so his boyfriend can kiss him, “if you’re good, maybe I’ll let you open me up some of the way.”

Barclay whines, nuzzling his hair as he preps the smallest toy. It slides in easily, Joseph working it back and forth with soft moans. It’s not long before he trades it for the next size, the one he uses most often. The centaur’s arms twine around his waist and his chin rests on his shoulder, jostling in time with Joseph’s thrusts. 

The third toy has a flared base and he grunts, spreading his legs wider as he pushes it in. He stops mid-way, needing a moment to relax. Barclay rubs his thighs, asking if there’s anything he needs. 

“A little distraction might help.”

“I can manage that.”

“GAHahnnnnm, shit, that works.” Joseph moves the toy incrementally deeper as Barclay nibbles his ears. The playful pain always makes him shiver and submit to whatever’s happening, and soon the toy bottoms out. He fucks himself with it until the idea of taking more feels not only possible, but wonderful. 

The fourth toy is, according to his research, to inches shorter and an inch and a half thinner than the average centaur cock. It’s an intense stretch and he groans, falling back in Barclays arms. The centaurs breath is coming in hot puffs on his neck and chest, and the bed is moving more than it was a minute ago.

“Enjoying the show, big guy?”

“Uhhuhnnn, I, fuck babe this is making me so fucking hard but I, I didn’t wanna say anything in case you needed to back out.”

“My sweet, considerate Barclay. Here, I have an idea.” He tips forward, splaying out on his stomach with the toy sticking part way out of his ass, “I want you to finish getting me ready.”

“Okay” He can feel Barclay’s hand shaking through the length of the toy, “fuck, your ass looks good like this.”

“It’ll look even better with yours in itAH gods, that’s a good speed for it, gods that feels so good.”

Barclay growls, pushes the toy all the way in as Joseph arches off the bed with a wall-shaking moan.

“That’s it, ohmylord, see big guy, I can take whatever you give me. You won’t break me, won’t hurt me, just fill me up and make me cum so hard I white out-”

“Who says you’re gonna get to cum, blue eyes? Maybe I’ll just fill that tight orc ass up and leave you there until I’m ready to breed again.”

There’s a smack just as the toy stops moving. Joseph turns to see Barclay with his hands clamped over his mouth. 

“‘M ‘orry.”

With some effort and another moan as the toy shifts, he rolls onto his side and holds up two fingers, “First off, I’ve heard way more explicit ‘breeding talk’ including from my own kind. Second of all, if it bothered me, I wouldn’t keep talking about how strong and capable you are when I want to wind you up. I was a spy, Barclay; I’m very good at telling what people want and what they’re hiding.”

“Joe….” it’s a whine. Rarer still is the use of his nickname, something Barclay only does when he’s far gone with desire. Joseph allows himself some internal smugness before smiling at his boyfriend. 

“I’m ready for the main event if you are.”

Lube drips down his thighs as Barclay helps him into place. There’s a large, square cushion with very little give shoved up against the wall. It’s waist-height for Joseph, so he bends over it and lets his boyfriend strap his wrists and ankles down against the faux-velvet. 

“Is that okay? You don’t need the extra pad under your feet?”

“Assuming we’re at a comfortable angle for you, I’m all set.”

“Right. Cool.” Barclay sounds almost impatient; what an evening of firsts this is turning out to be. “I’m gonna put the last piece on.”

A cool circle of stainless steel sits snugly against Joseph's ass. In his reading, he learned that a common issue was the cock slipping out during the precarious first pushes, leading to frustration for everyone. Since Barclay can’t guide it with his hand from the angle he’ll be at, the ring offers a tactile clue and keep him on course once he pushes in. 

The centaur moves so he’s behind him, then steps forward so his front legs are on either side of the block Joseph is strapped to. From here, the heat of his body surrounds the orc and he feels safe instead of smothered. After three mis-judged nudges, his cock threads though the ring, the flat, wide head of it parting Joseph’s ass as they both groan. 

“Shit” Joseph hisses. Barclay freezes above him, so he adds, “that was good cursing.”

It remains so as the thick head stretches him open, and he gasps with relief when it’s done breaching his body. The shaft is narrower, so that’s the hard part over with. Better still, his preparation pays off; the cock slides most of the way in with little resistance. 

“Can I start moving?” He can’t really see Barclay’s face from this angle, but the centaurs' shy, lustful hope is clear in his voice.

“Yes, big guyFUCK! Ohfuck, yes, holy hells that’s good.” The first thrusts make the purpose of the straps clear; if Joseph weren’t tied down, he’d be bounced this way and that, increasing his chances of injury. Trapped as he is, there’s less chance for accidental harm and no distraction from the massive cock relentlessly thudding into him. 

“Fuck, Joseph, you feel so good baby, fuck I never think of you as small but it’s like I can reach the back of your fucking throat like this.”

The comment draws his attention to what he assumes is a lump in the flat surface of the cushion that’s causing his stomach to rock at an angle. 

“Holy shit that’s, that’s your cock. Barclay, it’s, it’s literally bulging my stomach out.” He wishes the set up allowed him to see it, he wants to sear the image of Barclay’s cock molded against his flesh into the deepest corners of his memory. 

“I can feel it babe, believe me. Fuck, such a tight fit, you’re like a fucking toy, stretching to take me.” More force behind the thrusts, suggesting Barclay is using the bar enchanted into the wall for this exact purpose, “shouldn’t waste a breeding load on a toy, but fuck me if I care.”

“Gods almighty” that fact hadn’t appeared in his research, but makes perfect sense; if a centaur hasn’t fucked in awhile, their biology might generate a greater amount of cum the next time around in hopes of continuing their kind. 

“Yeah, you like that, like the idea of taking my cum so deep you’ll be able to taste it. Gonna fill you up babe, fuck, gonna leave you dripping for weeks.”

“That’s right, big guy, you can cum as much as you want.” His comment dies out into a prolonged whimper as his cock ruts against the cushion, pushing him towards orgasm. 

Barclay stops, huffing, and rumbles, “It’s cute how you think you get to make that call, instead of taking me for as long as I fucking say like the needy little piece of ass you are.”

“Sweet fucking hell” Is all Joseph gets out before his words give way to desperate, ecstatic sounds. Barclay fucks him so hard and fast it shakes dust from the ceiling and a picture from the wall. The entire lower half of his body is stretched and pounded so mercilessly and with absolutely no pauses, meaning his orgasm only registers when splatters across the floor. His sensitive cock gets no reprieve, bouncing in time with Barclays increasingly sharp thrusts and making Joseph gasp whenever it rubs against the cushion. 

His assumption that Barclay is going his fastest goes out the window when the centaur quickens his pace, Josephs wrists and ankles twisting in their bonds as his mind falls silent. All he hears is Barclay grunting as his cock tries to go deeper into his ass. 

“C’mon babe, c’mon, take it, take me deep, take the whole godsdamn fucking thingohfuck, Joe.” There’s a deep, broken cry as cum pumps into him, his body aching at the further intrusion. Barclay whimpers and moans above him, hips still jerking as he keeps cumming. By the time he gives a final thrust, cum is escaping back down his shaft, Joseph’s body unable to contain it. 

“Do, do you want me to pull out all at once?”

“Yes, best to get the mess over with instead of dragging oOWut.” His body gives up any pretense of supporting itself when the centaur slides out of him. Thank goodness for the cushions. Barclay isn’t faring any better, knees wobbling as he undoes Josephs’ restraints and helps him to the bed. The orc just manages to remember to toss a towel out for him to lay on so he doesn’t stain the bed sheets with the spend still running down his legs. 

Barclay nestles protectively around him, guiding his head to rest on the still-shiny fur of his back, “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“For us. I don’t know if you noticed, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”

“Kinda got that sense, yeah.”  Barclay rests their heads together, “Even so just...thanks. Thanks for taking the time and effort it takes to fuck me.”

Joseph toys with Barclay’s hair, tucks it behind his ears, “Barclay, I love you. Part of that means figuring things like this out together. Even if being with you, in any sense of the word, was a hundred times more complicated, that wouldn’t be enough to stop me from trying.”

Barclay doesn’t ask if he means it. Instead, he draws him into a kiss, works his magic with his lips and tongue until Joseph is practically draped over him, content and exhausted. Before the centaur scoops him up for another bath, he kisses his cheek and rumbles, “Thanks, babe. And I love you too.”

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 49]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

I have a bit to edit right now. Not sure how much I’ll write on this, but I’ll do it for a while.

Chapter 20

Logan let out a slow breath as his father closed the door behind him. That could have been very, very bad. He turned his attention to Virgil and Patton. Patton had curled himself around Virgil as much as physically possible and had tucked the boy’s head under his chin.

Logan slowly rounded the bed and knelt in front of them. “It’s alright,” Logan said, cautiously moving to put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil didn’t pull away. “I asked him to leave. It’s alright.”

Virgil tilted his head slightly too look at him. Logan rubbed a circle into his back as he slowly got control of his breath.

 Logan smiled softly at him and reached out to touch his cheek with a gentle hand. “You… didn’t hurt him. You didn’t even try to hurt him.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Why not?” Logan asked curiously. “It was a perfect opportunity.”

“Promised Patton,” Virgil mumbled, and the idea that perhaps the thing that had saved his father’s life was a pinky promise just about gave Logan a migraine, but then Virgil ducked his head. “And it would make you sad.”

“I see,” Logan said, heart in his throat.

Virgil kept looking towards the floor, his eyes starting to fill with tears again. “Are you going to turn me in now?”

 He was shaking and barely holding back a fresh wave of tears. Logan knew of course that no one would hurt him here if he turned him in to his father and the guards, but he also knew that Virgil would be terrified if he did so. He was already terrified. Logan didn’t want to know what he thought the fate Logan would be condemning him to.

“No,” Logan said before he could even truly think it through. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Virgil asked.

“Well, there wouldn’t really be a point, would there?” Logan asked. “The reason we planned to turn you when father got back in is because you posed a danger to him, but you have just demonstrated that is no longer an issue.”

 “Really?” Virgil asked, sniffling a bit and Logan saw Patton’s arms tighten even more around him.

“We will have to figure out a better cover for you than just that you’re new to the castle, but I believe it will work fine. No one besides the two of us would ever guess your origin anyway.”

“S-so I can stay?” Virgil asked, “and you won’t throw me into prison or execute me?”

“I promise you were never going to be executed Virgil,” Logan said. “Even if we turned you in, but yes you can stay with us. We’ll figure out a backstory for you that doesn’t involve assassinations and you’ll have to keep up the lie, but I doubt anyone will question it.”

 “I’ll do whatever you want,” Virgil said, chocked up. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to go.”

“Well, you’re our friend now so there will be no going anywhere,” Patton said kissing him on the cheek. Virgil relaxed back into his hold, pleased with the affection.

Logan smiled at them both. “Can I see your wrists, Virgil?”

Virgil blinked but offered them and Logan tapped the restraints doing a quick incantation. They popped off after a moment.

“You’re letting me go?” Virgil asked, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Logan said. “We’re not just going to keep you prisoner for no reason.”

 “That’s…” Virgil said, eyes watering as he clearly was trying not to cry. “You’re the best people I’ve ever met.”

“I wish that was not so clearly the case,” Logan replied. He slowly reach up and set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go speak with my father. Patton will stay with you.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, seeming a bit hesitant.

Logan smiled softly and leaned forward to gently touch their foreheads together. “I will be right back,” he assured. “We will finish our slumber party, though perhaps we will table the rest of the dress up activity for another night.”

 He stood then, leaving Virgil in Patton’s capable hands to exit his own bedroom and cross the hallway to his father’s. He took a brief moment to compose himself before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” his father called.

Logan opened the door to see his father sitting on one of the armchairs in his room. Despite the almost disaster that had taken place a few minutes ago, Logan found himself smiling at the man. It was nice to have him home.

“Sorry about that,” Father said.

“It was more my fault than yours. If I knew there was a risk of you coming home today, I wouldn’t have left him alone.”

 “Is he alright?”

“I believe so,” Logan answered. “Patton is with him and will certainly smooth out any lingering distress.”

“Good,” his dad said. “That’s good.” There was a pause and then he gestured at the seat beside his.

Logan settled himself down on it. “How was your trip?” he asked. “You’re back a week early.”

“Yes,” Father said. “The trip went better and worse than anticipated.

“How so?” asked Logan curiously.

“Well,” Dad said. “The purpose of the trip was to convince the new queen of Lamir, Cecil not to ally with Mocnejsi, but by the time I’d arrived there wasn’t really a risk of that.”

 “Why not?”

“After investigation, it turned out that Cecil’s mother had been poisoned by an assassin from Mocnejsi.”

“Oh,” Logan said, mind already racing.

“They figured out that one of the young women who had been hired on in the kitchen for the winter had done it, and had learned her origin when they questioned her,” Dad informed him. “Considering Cecil was immediately approached for an alliance with Mocnejsi, their aim was likely to manipulate her going forward because of how young she is. Luckily, Cecil is a smart girl and has the help of her mother’s advisor as well as her own. By the time I got there, my only real role was to extend my condolences and reaffirm out alliance. I would have stayed longer, but the possibility that Mocnejsi may think to attack us in a similar way hastened me home.”

 “That…” Logan said. “That is wise. I assume you are going to institute more security.”

“I am, yes,” Dad replied. “I would like your input on plans in the coming day.”

“Of course,” Logan agreed.

Dad smiled at him, “But for now,” he said, “I think it’s time you get back to your slumber party and I get to finally go to sleep.”

Logan nodded and got to his feet. He leaned over to hug his father perhaps a bit longer and harder than was strictly necessary, but Dad did not seem to mind at all. “Goodnight,” Logan said.

“Goodnight, son.”

  Chapter 21

Virgil woke with something soft but kind of stringy in his face. That was weird. He didn’t know what in the closet would feel like that. In fact, as he woke more he noticed more things that he couldn’t sus out the origin of, particularly the warmth curled up against his side. Curious, he blinked open his eyes. Oh, right. Patton.

The soft stuff in his face was Patton’s hair and the warmth next to Virgil was the rest of the boy’s body. Patton had all but refused to let Virgil go last night after Logan had taken off the restraints and Virgil hadn’t minded the attention. They must have fallen asleep together in the piles of pillows and blankets on the floor.

 Virgil brushed his hair gently away, internally (for fear of disturbing him) shaking his head at him. He’d fallen asleep hallway on top of an assassin. He had no self-preservation instincts. He looked at his wrists. It seemed no one had any self-preservation instincts. This of course, included himself as instead of running off when free in case they decided to turn him in after all, he had fallen asleep on the floor with Patton too.

He looked to the side and saw Logan was already awake, reading on one of his chairs. He seemed to sense Virgil’s eyes on him because he looked up after a moment.

 “You can get up if you like,” Logan said. “He is a heavy sleeper and won’t wake up if you squirm out of his grip.”

Virgil frowned, unsure if he wanted to risk it.

“I have breakfast ready for you.”

Okay, Virgil was going to risk it.

He carefully squirmed out of Patton’s grip, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead in apology for leaving him before getting to his feet.

Logan handed him a plate of eggs and toast when he walked over and gestured to the chair next to him. Virgil sat there to eat while Logan continued to read.

 Virgil ate his food quickly, and then glanced over at Logan once he was done. Virgil was honestly at a bit of a loss. Usually, they came and got him out of the closet only once they were ready to do something, but Patton was still sound asleep on the floor and Logan looked engrossed in his book.

Virgil fidgeted slightly, unsure what he should be doing or even if he should be doing anything. Considering Logan hadn’t given him any instructions, he should probably not do anything. He didn’t want to screw up the first day of… whatever this was now.

 Logan glanced over at him after a few minutes. “Don’t forget about the potion,” he reminded.

Virgil nodded and stood, walking over to the closet since it would still be in there from the previous morning. It was about half gone now and it had gotten to the point where Virgil didn’t feel any immediate affects from it anymore other than some warmth. It basically just felt like drinking tea.

He said as much to Logan when he walked back over to him.

“That’s good,” Logan said, “it means it has been working. It has healed any damage it can from malnutrition. Any internal organs that were damaged should be mostly healed. You may even notice your eyesight getting slightly better. Your immune system should also be boosted. You will likely also find it is easier to gain muscle and while you likely will never be as tall as you could have been, you will likely still grow a few inches during your next growth spirt.”

 Virgil studied his hands where they were sitting on his thigh now as though he could see the changes that allegedly had already taken place in his body. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Logan replied, eyes already back on his book like it was some normal thing and not a huge kindness he’d bestowed on Virgil before even really knowing him. As though Virgil didn’t just owe him more than just his life going forward.

They sat in silence then for a few more minutes, before the was a soft sigh from the floor and Patton started to wake. He sat up and looked around. His eyes landed on both Virgil and Logan sitting together and he seemed to light up.

 “Good morning!” he chirped.

“Good morning, Patton,” Logan said as Patton popped to his feet, “I have breakfast for you.”

“Thank you Lo,” Patton said, throwing his arms around Logan’s neck, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. Virgil presumed from the lack of surprise on Logan’s face that this was normal for morning Patton, not that the fact surprised him considering how night Patton acted.

He still managed to be somewhat surprised by the fact that Patton turned to hug Virgil a second later. Patton’s lips were pressed briefly to Virgil’s head and then he turned to grab the plate Logan had saved for him.

 “So, what are we doing today?” Patton asked.

“I was thinking Virgil and I could continue our reading lessons if he is not opposed,” Logan said. Virgil nodded, happy with that prospect. “Other than that, I have no plans. I have already spoken with my father before the two of you woke. He is going to spend most of his day catching up on things he missed and said I could take the rest of the day off royal duties.”

“A whole day to relax then!” Patton said, happily chewing on his toast. “Reading sounds fun, but we should do something more active too.”

 Logan hummed. “We can show Virgil the courtyard after the reading lessons,” he said.

It took a moment for it to register, but then Virgil froze. “Wait,” he said. “We’re going outside?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

“So, we’re leaving your room?”

“Are you alright with that?” Logan asked cautiously.

Virgil nodded quickly.

“Oh,” Patton said at his enthusiasm. “I guess you have been cooped up a while, haven’t you?” He smiled sadly and turned to Logan. “Maybe we can do reading lessons in the garden.”

“That would be satisfactory.”

“Great!” Patton said. He looked over at Virgil. “If we’re going out, we should probably put your hair up and get you in some clean clothes.”

 Logan nodded. “You finish eating, and I will help Virgil find something to wear.”

Logan found him an outfit, though it was a bit baggy on Virgil and the hem of the shirt went halfway to his knees. When Patton finished breakfast, he sat Virgil down and carefully worked a brush through his hair.

“Can I braid it?” Patton asked.

Virgil hummed his consent. Having his hair brushed and done up by another person was a lot more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. He’d liked it when Logan did it the night before, though he had to very firmly push away thoughts of where that led.

 “Okay!” Patton said after a few moments. “You look good. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded and they both led him out into the hall. He paused before they got to the door. “What about the guards?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’ve already given them the same story as I did Dad,” Logan replied. “They know you’re here.”

Virgil still hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Patton promised. “Here, hold my hand?”

Virgil took the offered hand immediately, and Logan stepped in front of them both. Virgil felt himself relax a bit knowing the prince was between him and the guards.

They led him to the door.

 Logan greeted both of the guards at the door, and they said good morning back. Both of them glanced at Virgil curiously for a moment making him shrink into himself, but they quickly averted their gazes.

Patton pulled him past them without incident and soon they were in the small dining hall Virgil had passed through his first night here. He remembered how he’d snuck around at the edges of the room in the shadows with the aim to kill the king, but now he was being pulled through the middle with the prince having just wandered past the royal guards in broad daylight like it was nothing.

 It was so strange, and Virgil still couldn’t totally believe this was happening. The retraced his exact steps back down the spiral stairs near the kitchen and out of the door he and the nice gardener had came through. He could even see the shed he’d been hiding in from here. With a blink, he remembered they were going to the garden, and he wondered if he’d see the man again.

For now, he just looked around them as Logan and Patton led him past the garden shed towards an area with many trees. Orange and yellow leaves were starting to fall from many of the trees.

 They made a satisfying crunching sound under his feet as he was led to a tree. He had seen the group of trees when he’d first arrived here and had even thought about hiding amongst them instead of in the shed, but they’d seemed scary in the dark. They were pretty in the daylight, however, and Virgil found himself tilting his head to watch the branches sway in the slight wind.

Logan sat down under it and pulled out a book and some writing materials from the bag he’d brought. Virgil settled down next to him so they could both look at the book at the same time and Patton flopped down on the other side, immediately setting to work tying fancy knots in the yarn he’d brought with him. Patton shuffled slightly to the side so they bumped shoulders as Logan opened the book and started Virgil’s reading lesson.

  Chapter 22

Patton bit his lip to keep from laughing or awing. “Do you like the flower, Virgil?” he asked.

Virgil glanced up at him briefly and then his eyes returned to the flower he’d found. “It’s nice,” he said.

They’d finished the reading lessons and let Virgil explore the garden a bit. He’d found a dark purple and yellow flower (a pansy, Patton thought) and seemed to be endlessly fascinated by it. He’d been staring at it for minutes now, almost as though he expected it to do something. Patton did not quite understand his interest, but he was still adorable.

 Logan sat next to him and the flower, smiling at him softly. “I imagine you’ll enjoy the garden in the spring,” Logan said. “There are many more flowers then. Of all types. We’ll have to show you all of the best spots. Mr. Deknis has a particularly good eye for colors, and it is always quite beautiful.”

“Who is Mr. Deknis?” Virgil asked.

“He’s the head gardener,” Logan said. “He’s a nice man, though a bit prickly when it comes to his garden. We may see him today if he’s in this part of the garden.”

“Would he have been the multrum I saw in the gardening shed when I hid there?”

 “Ah, yes, that would be him. I was unaware you interacted with anyone in the castle.”

“He caught me in his garden shed, but he wasn’t mean,” Virgil said, he tilted his head curiously at Logan. “Why…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Logan asked.

“Why is he the gardener?”

Logan looked confused, “Well,” he said, “I guess because he wants to and is good at it.”

“No,” Virgil said with a frown. “I mean. Shouldn’t he… he’s…”

Logan seemed to think hard for a moment. “Right,” he said. “You’ve been under a blood compulsion. I’d guess you would have only worked with multrums in the military.”

 “I guess I didn’t realize that they could be other things…”

“Of course, they can,” Logan said. “Their abilities don’t make them any less of people. Mr. Deknis likes to garden so he gardens.”

Virgil blinked at him.

“…Of course, all things considered, that may not be a familiar concept to you.” Virgil turned back to look at the flower instead of answering. “Right,” said Logan.

There were a couple of awkward beats of silence. Patton bit his lip and happened to glance up. “Oh,” he said. “Speaking of Mr. Deknis.” He gestured to the gardener who was coming up the path between the trees.

 Logan sat up on his knees as Patton waved at him. He saw Patton and turned to walk towards them. “The two of you had better not be up to mischief in my garden,” Mr. Deknis called, his voice a bit gruff. He clearly did not see Virgil who had laid flat on his stomach to stare at the flower.

Logan rolled his eyes automatically. “We were just reading Mr. Deknis,” he said. “Your piles of dirt are safe.”

“No mud cakes?” Mr. Deknis asked skeptically still coming towards them.

“It has been a literal decade…”

Patton saw when Mr. Deknis was close enough to see Virgil.

 He stopped in his track and looked down at Virgil who was already watching him a bit warily. “Hello,” he said, his voice a lot softer than it’d been a few moments before. His expression completely flipped in a moment to something very gentle when he saw Virgil and the cautious look on his face. Virgil did seem to have that effect on people.

“Hi,” Virgil replied.

Mr. Deknis looked at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Virgil. “This is our new friend, Virgil,” Patton offered.

“Hello, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a nod.

“Virgil, this is the gardener Mr. Deknis.”

 “He’s not nearly as grumpy as he sounds,” Patton assured.

“Well,” Logan said, “yes he is.”

Mr. Deknis shot him a look that only served to prove Logan’s point if Patton was being honest. Logan just smiled back. Mr. Deknis apparently decided to let it slide because he turned back to Virgil.

“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Deknis said. “Are you feeling better?”

Virgil nodded. “I’m a lot better,” he said. Mr. Deknis considered him for a moment, clearly reading how true that statement was. Patton was glad he seemed satisfied with the answer.

“I see you’ve met these two.”

 “Yeah,” Virgil said.

Mr. Deknis smiled slightly. “Be careful with this one,” he said, pointing to Logan. “He’s a bad influence.”

Virgil frowned in confusion. “He’s the prince,” he pointed out.

“And a bad influence,” Mr. Deknis repeated. “He’s a beacon of irresponsibility and mischief and he corrupts that one,” he nodded to Patton.

“I am completely responsible,” Logan replied.

“Need I remind you of the cucumber incident.”

“I was 8,” Logan said.

“I know how old you were,” Mr. Deknis replied, “and you are hardly any older.”

“I resent that.”

Mr. Deknis just smiled and turned back to Virgil who was watching the interaction with pure curiosity.

 “I just picked a few more of those apples for Patton’s mom to make into apple sauce. Would you kids like some?”

Virgil glanced over at Logan and Patton.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Patton replied for them all, standing up. Seeing that, Virgil also climbed to his feet.

“It’s back this way,” Mr. Deknis said, inclining hid head back the way he’d came and then turning to lead them that way. Patton followed him. He glanced back to see Logan put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and give him a gentle push to get him going. “So, what are you kids up to today?”

 “We wanted to show Virgil the garden and courtyard,” Patton said. “He’s been cooped up inside for a bit.”

“I see,” Mr. Deknis said. He glanced back at Virgil. “Feel free to come out in the garden anytime you like. As long as you don’t go about purposefully destroying stuff, I don’t mind you being out here.”

“I won’t destroy anything,” Virgil promised instantly.

“Well I hope you manage to keep that attitude even while befriending the large upright groundhog behind you.”

Virgil looked a little bit nervous. “He’s just teasing Virgil,” Patton assured. “He loves Logan.”

Mr. Deknis glanced back again and seemed to read the same thing Patton had read on Virgil’s face.

 “Yes, of course,” Mr. Deknis said. “I have simply known the prince for a long time and joke with him in that way often. Logan is aware of that.”

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, his hand squeezing a bit on Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil relaxed a touch.

Mr. Deknis stopped and reached down into a bucket next to a tree. “I wouldn’t offer my apples to people I don’t like,” he said, tossing an apple underhand to Logan. Instead of trying to catch it, his eyes widened and he dodged out of the way.

“You would however throw apples at them despite knowing they have never been able to catch things.”

 Mr. Deknis just rolled his eyes fondly, but Virgil frowned and turned to Logan. “You don’t know how to catch things?” he asked scandalized. “You should know how to catch things. What if someone throws a knife at you?”

Mr. Deknis looked… probably the right amount of concerned about that statement coming from a 14-year-old’s lips.

“Haha, yeah,” Patton said awkwardly. “Maybe you can teach Logan how to catch things Virgil, but later. Right now, why don’t we just get the apples and then show you the courtyard.”

Virgil was still frowning, but he did not argue with Patton’s suggestion.

 Thankfully, Mr. Deknis did not push, though Patton did have to dodge many a meaningful side eye. He might… need to make sure he did not get cornered by the gardener in the coming days… or brush up on his lying without lying skills.

For now, though, he just handed out the apples, not tossing them this time. Virgil thanked him softly and Patton could see the way the usually fairly gruff man went all melty at that. He even slipped an extra apple to Virgil for later which Virgil perked up at.

Patton and Logan pulled him away gently after that so Mr. Deknis could go back to work, but Virgil seemed happy with the apples and copied Patton at waving goodbye to him cheerfully.

Despite the fact that he liked Mr. Deknis and he’d been nice, Patton still took a calming breath when they were no longer at risk of lying about something and getting caught by the man’s powers. They went back into the castle towards the courtyard.

  Chapter 23

Logan was unsurprised that after showing Virgil the large courtyard, Patton almost immediately decided to instigate a game of tag. They were, after all, here with the goal of getting Virgil a bit active after having had him only in Logan’s room for weeks.

He was also unsurprised that Virgil seemed confused about the concept of tag, and Patton had to explain the game in detail to him.

It made him wince, but he still was unsurprised when Virgil went about inquiring after the consequences of losing the game.

He was, however, very surprised when, after getting all of the facts about tag settle, Patton was chasing after Virgil trying to tag him and suddenly the boy disappeared.

 Patton almost ran into a wall in his confusion. He stared at his hands stretched out and just a couple of inches from touching the wall for a moment, before slowly looking up.

“Virgil!” Patton exclaimed. “What?”

“What?” he asked.

“…What are you even hanging onto?”

“The wall,” Virgil replied.

Logan walked closer to the two of them and tilted his head up to look at him. Virgil had jumped up and somehow managed to find hand and foot holes on the seemingly smooth wall. He climbed about 5 meters above their heads and was peering down at them curiously.

 “Okay,” Logan said. “New rule. Virgil is not allowed to scale walls during tag.”

Virgil frowned down at him. “Why only me?”

“Because Patton and I cannot do that anyway,” Logan said. “We would not be able to actually play if you remain up there.”

Patton glanced over at him and reached over to touch Logan’s shoulder. “No tag backs,” he said. Logan glared at him. “Why don’t you come down sweetie?”

“But Logan will tag me,” he said.

“Well, honey, that’s part of the fun,” Patton reasoned. “Don’t you want to try being it?”

Virgil seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Okay,” he agreed.

 To Logan’s terror, he simply let go of the wall, falling straight down and landing crouched. He blinked at Logan. Right. With a start, Patton took off, so he’d have a head start. “No tag backs means a 10 second head start for me,” Logan reminded. Virgil nodded, and Logan reached out to poke him in the arm before immediately running off in the opposite direction as Patton.

Logan’s strategy worked out since, knowing he couldn’t go after Logan for a few seconds more, he chose to turn and go after Patton. After finding one of the statues to hide behind on the edge of the courtyard, Logan risked glancing back.

 Virgil was faster than Logan (and likely Patton) had accounted for. Patton had gotten a good head start on him, but Virgil closed it quickly. Patton shrieked as Virgil barreled into him, bringing them both to the ground.

“Virgil!” Logan heard Patton giggle. Logan figured he was more than okay despite the tackle. “This isn’t how you play tag!”

“I combined tag and tackle hugs,” Virgil declared, making Patton giggle more.

“That’s very innovative, honey,” Patton said. “Now are you going to let me up?...Virgil… I’m counting down your 10 second head start in my head, and if you don’t let me up I’m going to tag you again.”

 This did not seem to have the intended effect as Virgil did not remove himself from Patton’s person. Patton laugh when it became clear he was not going to move and began counting down “7, 6, 5, 4, you’d better let me go sweetie, or you’re going to get tagged again.” Virgil did not seem to care. “3, 2, 1.” Patton reached up and bopped him on the nose. “Tag!” he declared.

Logan was surprised when Virgil instantly jumped off Patton at that. He whipped around.

‘Oh,’ Logan thought as the boy’s eyes narrowed in on Logan immediately, ‘I see.’

 “Virgil was already halfway across the courtyard towards him before Logan could even think about running away. There was no way that he was fast enough to outrun him. Perhaps he could outthink him, he thought. His eyes scanned his environment in the seconds he had left and landed on a large square piece of stone that held flowers in the spring. It was just full of dirt now, but it was still about waist high. Perhaps if he kept that between them, he could outmaneuver him. He sprinted towards it and scrambled to the opposite side from where Virgil was heading.

 He really should not have been as surprised as he was that Virgil did not even slightly slow as he approached the planter box, instead grabbing ahold of the side of it and vaulting over it. Logan stumbled back, bracing for impact, but instead he just got a quick tap on the shoulder.

Logan blinked at him.

“I don’t know if you would be okay with tackle hugs,” he explained.

Logan considered him. “I would be okay with a nontackle hug.”

Virgil happily jumped forward to hug Logan, pressing his nose into Logan’s shoulder. Logan chuckled and patted the top of his head. “Six,” he said, “5, 4, 3…”

 Virgil bolted away suddenly, actually making Logan stumble a bit. He paused just out of reach of Logan, looking at him with anticipation. “2,1,” Logan finished with a raised eyebrow. He already knew he was being played with, but he indulged him by starting towards him. Virgil danced out of the way, eyes alight. Logan sighed. “Is this truly how it’s going to be?” he asked.

Virgil didn’t answer, but to watch him with wide, excited eyes.

“Fine,” Logan said. He dashed towards him again, only to have him continue to maneuver just out of Logan’s reach each time Logan went forward. He’d call it taunting if there was any sign of malice in it.

 They ran around the courtyard in spirts of Logan charging at him and Virgil expertly dodging. Eventually Patton came closer to them. Logan could tell that Virgil was aware of his presence, by how he glanced back at him briefly, but considering he was not ‘it,’ it seemed he chose to disregard him. However, he was not aware of the way Patton winked at Logan as he walked up behind Virgil.

Logan, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. He went to spring for Virgil again, and Virgil again moved to dodge, but this time Patton grabbed him around the waist, allowing Logan to actually tag him.

 He turned slowly to face Patton who started to giggle immediately at the perplexed look on his face. It cleared into something else as soon as he heard Patton laugh. “Traitor!” he claimed. “We were on the same team and you betrayed me.”

“I just thought we should probably have mercy on poor Logan,” Patton replied.

“Hmm,” Virgil said, eyes again full of that playful mischief Logan had not seen until today. “Plea for mercy not accepted.”

Patton once again half-shrieked half-laughed as he was pounced on. The two of them went rolling across the grass, Virgil clearly keeping the rolling going longer than it should have as they made it a good few meters.

 Virgil sprung off of him a few moments later.

“Oh, is it my turn?” Patton inquired with a huge smile. He slowly got to his feet. “Hmm, I’m probably at about 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” He took off after Virgil, but Patton had a bit more endurance than Logan, so instead of doing quickly calculated lunges at Virgil as Logan had done, he just ran at him full tilt without stopping.

Virgil ran from him, though Logan was pretty sure he was intentionally slowing himself down a bit so Patton had some amount of a chance. He kept turning to check behind him and make sure Patton was still somewhat close as he ran.

Which is why he didn’t see the imminent disaster in time.

  Chapter 24

Thomas should have been paying more attention, but his mind had been on the meeting he’d just had with the castle guards about increased security in the wake of the possible threat from Mocnejsi. He’d decided to take a brief walk around the courtyard to clear his head but was still distracted with mulling over the options that had just been presented to him. He stepped into the castle courtyard and did not have time to step out of the way of the much smaller body rocketing towards him. Virgil slammed into his front, but not before Thomas got a good look at his face.

 Virgil’s expression changed dramatically in the few seconds between him registering Thomas was there and running into him. For the briefest moment, Thomas could see that he must have been having a lot of fun. He’d caught the wide smile and sparkling eyes as Virgil turned his head back from looking at Patton who was chasing him across the greenery. He’d looked very happy which made it all the more painful to see that happiness die in and a few instants. When his head had turned back towards Thomas, there was a flicker of confusion at something being in his path.

 Then, clearly everything about the situation registered, because his eyes blew wide in horror as he tried to stop himself, but there was no way he’d be able to in time. Thomas saw that fact register on his face the moment before he hit. Gone was any trace of happiness or joy in that split second. All that was left was dread that had no place anywhere near a children’s game of tag. It was the expression Thomas would expect from someone who felt ice give way under their feet in the middle of a lake they had thought was frozen solid.

 He hit hard, but he wasn’t nearly big enough to actually harm Thomas. Thomas was thrown slightly off balance but managed to stay on his feet. He reached out a hand to his shoulder automatically to steady the child. There was a moment of pseudo calm where they both absorbed the impact and stilled.

Then, the boy’s shoulder slipped out of Thomas’s grip as he went crashing to the ground in a move that made Thomas wince for the state of his knees. Thomas couldn’t quite grasp what was happening for a moment as Virgil face planted onto the ground in front of him, but when he did, Thomas couldn’t help but flinch and take a step back from him.

 Thomas had been bowed to before, of course, seeing as he was a king, but this was not out of respect or courtesy or even just tradition. This was out of terror. He was begging for mercy and it made Thomas feel sick.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meek and shaky into the ground, and there was almost something worse about the fact that he did not beg for forgiveness with his words, but only his posture. The way his breathes came far too quick and shallow said he was likely on the verge of a panic attack, but he was not blubbering through apologies or even not speaking at all. He gave a clear, if shaky, apology, and waited for whatever he thought Thomas planned to do to him. There was no way that was not learned.

 “You don’t…” Thomas stuttered. “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but he reacted in no other way. He did not even react when Patton made it to his side and knelt down next to him. Patton’s hand hovered over his back, clearly wanting to touch down, but he pulled back on that instinct.

“Virgil, honey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. No one is mad. It was an accident.”

Virgil did not react to this at all.

Thomas caught Logan’s eye as he hurried over to them himself. “Sorry,” Thomas mouthed. Logan just nodded and turned his attention to his friend.

 “There is no reason for any of that,” Logan said, his voice firm, almost clipped. “You are not in trouble. Now sit up.”

Virgil did respond to that, slowly shifting back on his knees. He kept his head down looking at the ground. “Sorry,” he said again.

“I…” Thomas said, surveying the three kids on the ground in front of him. Thomas slowly sunk to the ground to be at their level. Virgil was tracking his movements out of the corner of his eyes, his head still bowed and his shoulders tensed. “Hey,” Thomas said softly. “Were you three playing tag?”

 Virgil hesitated, eyes flickering as he debated whether he should respond or not.

“Yeah, we were,” Patton answered for him after a moment of stressful silence.

“Well that’s fun,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry for interrupting the three of you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Virgil glanced up at him for just a moment before looking away again. Patton apparently felt it was safe enough to touch Virgil, because he settled a hand on the boys shoulder.

“Yeah, we’ve just been having a fun day,” Patton said, carefully matching Thomas’s light tone. “We went to the garden and did some reading. Then, Mr. Deknis gave us some apples.”

 “That’s nice,” Thomas replied. “He’s been talking about the new apples he’s been growing. He’s been working on them for years and they’re just beginning to bare fruit this year. I haven’t gotten a chance to try any yet. Are they any good?”

“They’re very good,” Patton told him. His hand rubbed slowly on Virgil’s back. “Isn’t that right, Virge?”

Virgil nodded a bit, a little less tense now, but still nowhere near calm.

“Well, I’ll have to try them soon,” Thomas said with a smile. “Thank you for the information. Now, I’ve got to get back to what I’m doing, but I hope you three have a good day.”

 “I’ll see you later, Dad,” Logan said.

Thomas nodded and pushed himself to his feet. “Goodbye you three,” he said before turning away towards the door back into the castle. He paused to take a breath when the door closed behind him, cutting off the courtyard. There were a lot of thoughts to shirt through in regards to that conversation. He hated that Virgil was so obviously terrified of him. Both of their two interactions had ended with the poor thing panicking on the ground. He wished he had some idea of how to help him or at least someone to talk to about it.

Maybe he’d go visit Mr. Deknis himself and not just for the apples.

  Chapter 25

“Alright,” Patton said, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “I’ve got to go back to my room for the night. Will you two be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Logan said. “It won’t be particularly different than the last two weeks.”

Patton nodded and leaned to the side to squeeze Virgil in another hug. He’d been clingy since the incident in the courtyard, and Virgil had been appreciative considering he was still pretty shaky from it. He was still surprised he’d touched the king of Prijaznia (let alone ran into him) and lived to tell the tale.

“Goodnight, Pat,” Virgil said because he was pretty sure he wouldn’t leave if Virgil didn’t.

 “Night Virge,” Patton said with a smile before standing up from where they’d been sitting on the ground. He reached over to hug Logan who was sitting on a chair. “Night Lo! Put the book down and go to bed.”

Logan looked up from his book with a frown.

“It’s almost midnight,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and set his book down. “Very well,” he agreed. “We will get ready for bed.”

“You better! I’m going to come and wake you up early in the morning.”

“Early in the morning for you is 9am,” Logan scoffed.

Patton stuck his tongue out at him as he walked backwards out of the door.

 Logan gave his book a mournful look once the door closed and Virgil almost giggled. “I won’t tell on you,” he said.

Logan thought about it for a few moments. “No,” he finally said. “We should probably get some sleep.”

Virgil nodded and pushed himself to his feet.

“We should probably both take a bath after sitting in the dirt today,” Logan said. “Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Don’t care,” Virgil answered.

“You can go first,” Logan offered.

Virgil felt himself smile. “You just want to finish the chapter in that book,” he accused.

“Perhaps,” Logan conceded.

 Virgil just grinned and walked over to his closet to grab one of the outfits he’d been given for pajamas. He chose a pair of baggy shorts that went past his knees and the huge soft black sweater Logan had found in the back of his closet. He headed into the bathroom, noting Logan had already picked up his book again.

Logan may have declared the both of them dirty enough for bathing a few minutes before, but Virgil was cleaner than he thought he’d ever been before coming to the castle. Logan had taught him how to use the tub and what soaps to use for what a couple of days after he’d arrived and had suggested he clean himself regularly.

 Virgil didn’t mind. The tub was enchanted to warm the water inside of it and Virgil loved it. Though, that had the negative affect of making it very difficult to leave.

He cleaned himself up quickly, so he’d have a few minutes to just sit in the water before he felt like he needed to get out and let Logan have a turn. He changed into his pajamas, pulling the crescent shaped protection charm out of his day clothes pocket and storing the warm to the touch stone in the short pocket. He used the clip Patton had made it to pin it to the cloth to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.

 Logan was engrossed in his reading by the time that Virgil exited the bathroom. He did not look up as Virgil approached.

“Your turn,” Virgil said to him.

Logan clearly just barely managed to tear his eyes away from the book. “Right,” he said. “Yes.”

“The book will be there in the morning,” Virgil reminded.

“I know,” said Logan sadly as he set the book aside.

Logan never took much time in the bath, so Virgil quickly went about getting ready for bed the rest of the way. He put his day clothes in the basket Logan had for that purpose and started to straighten out the blankets and pillows in the closet.

 He heard Logan come back into the room a few minutes later.

“Virgil,” Logan said. “What are you doing?”

Virgil looked over at him. “Getting ready for bed,” he answered, confused.

Logan frowned at him. “You don’t sleep in the closet anymore,” Logan said. “That’s only for when we were worried you might escape.”

“Oh,” Virgil said blinking over at him. “Right.” He felt a slight pulling at his chest. He liked the closet. It was warm and soft. Patton had taken a lot of care with how he’d arranged all of the pillows and blankets. It was the best place he could ever remember having to sleep in his life. Yet, he did not argue. He knew getting to sleep out in the open was supposed to be a reward and he wasn’t about to reject it.

 Virgil stood and closed the closet. He tugged on the bottom of his sweater, stretching the fabric between his hands as he watched Logan pull down the covers of his bed and settle down onto it. Cautiously he walked over towards the bed. He wasn’t sure where he should lay down exactly. He dithered for a moment before bending down to sit on the floor near the right side of Logan’s bed and then laying down.

There was shuffling on the bed above him and then Logan’s head popped over the side to squint down at him. “On the bed Virgil,” he said.

 Virgil looked up at him in shock. “But it… I’m…” He trailed off and there were a few seconds of silence.

“It is just a bed Virgil,” Logan said.

But it wasn’t ‘just’ anything. Virgil was pretty sure touching the bed of a royal family member without permission would be considered a capital offence. At least, it would in Mocnejsi. Yet, Logan was expecting him to just… crawl into it?

“Please just get up here,” Logan said. Virgil’s caution at touching something he was definitely sure he should not be allowed to be touching wared with his resolve to repay his literal life debt to Logan by doing whatever he wanted.

 Feeling honestly a bit sick to his stomach, Virgil slowly pushed himself back to his feet. Logan scooted back over to the left side of the bed, and Virgil cautiously sat down on the empty side of the bed. After a second of hesitation he slowly laid down, his head hitting a soft fluffy pillow. He jumped when Logan flopped the covers on top of both of them.

Virgil took a long moment to absorb the situation while Logan took off his glasses and reached over to turn off the light next to him. He’d never slept in a bed before, or if he had he’d been too young to remember. In the orphanage there was a lack of actual beds due to overcrowding and there had always been someone bigger and stronger that Virgil didn’t dare fight for the use of them. During training, none of the kids had a bed. Only a few of the higher ups had ones at the more permanent training sites. There were very few situations where any of the assassins, at least a Virgil’s level, would be allowed to touch a real bed.

 The light switched off, plunging them into darkness.

“Is this…?” Virgil said, eyes still pointed towards the ceiling even though his eyes had not adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see it. “Do you want… things?”

“Things?” Logan asked.

Virgil did not move his head, but he did reach over and put his hand slightly above Logan’s knee. Logan didn’t move, so Virgil slid his hand up.

Virgil’s wrist was grabbed immediately and pulled firmly away from Logan’s inner thigh. He did not let go afterwards, his fingers squeezing hard, but not quite painfully. “Never,” Logan said, his voice harsher than it had ever been even on the day when Virgil was nothing more than an intruder with deadly intent. “Never offer anything like that to anyone ever again.”

 “I was just…”

“I know what you were doing,” Logan said, voice icy, “and it inadmissible. Never offer that again for anything. Do you understand me?”

“I... yes.”

“Promise me.”

Virgil took a short moment to think. “I promise,” he agreed.

“Good,” Logan said, releasing his hand. His voice got softer too. “Good.”

They were silent for a long time after that, though Virgil had no delusions that Logan had fallen asleep. He could almost feel the tension.

“Sorry,” Virgil finally said softly.

“It’s not something you should be apologizing for,” Logan replied. The bed moved as Logan shifted and a hand lightly touched the top of his head. “Just… never.”

 “Okay,” Virgil said. He shifted slightly after a moment until his head was in the crook of Logan’s arm. Logan brushed the hair out of his face with the hand that had been on his head.

“Goodnight Virgil,” Logan said.

“Goodnight,” Virgil responded. They were quiet after that, though Virgil was still awake for a while yet and Logan’s hand slowly stroked through his hair for a while. Eventually though, Virgil relaxed into mattress. He stuck his hand into his pocket and curled it around the charm in his pocket. The bed was nice, he thought. It was soft and warm… and safe. He finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 26

Patton did their new special knock on the door so Logan and Virgil would know it was just him and they didn’t need to hide the fact that Virgil was sleeping in the prince’s room. He didn’t wait for a response, however, and just shoved open the door. He was surprised to see that Logan was not already out of bed and wondered for a moment if he had broken his promise stayed up way too late reading like he was sometimes known to do. Yet, then, Logan spoke from the bed. “I’m awake,” he called.

Confused, Patton stepped into the room. Logan wasn’t one for lazing around in bed; usually he was out of bed the moment he woke.

 He stepped over to the bed and had to stifle a smile when he recognized the problem. Logan was awake, but Virgil was still sleeping, and he was half on top of Logan, his arms wrapped around him.

“Why don’t you just squirm out of his arms like you do me?” Patton asked, keeping his voice low.

“He isn’t like you,” Logan said. He did not bother to quiet himself at all.

“What do you mean?” Patton asked amused.

In answer, Logan started to move as though to squirm out of Virgil’s death grip on him. In response, Virgil made a pitiful mewling sound in his sleep that landed like a piercing blow straight to the heart. Logan stopped moving immediately and Virgil shifted to grip Logan tighter.

 “Aw!” Patton said.

“It’s not cute,” Logan insisted. “I’ve been stuck for hours and I have to pee.”

Patton chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’ll save you.” He rounded the bed to Virgil’s side and crawled up on it. “Virgil, honey,” he entreated softly. “I think it’s time for me to get cuddles so Lo can get up.” Patton softly touched Virgil’s shoulder and pulled at him gently. He reached forward to carefully pry Virgil’s arms off of Logan.

Virgil made a more confused than heartbreaking sound this time, turning towards Patton so Patton could wrap his arms around him. Logan managed to scoot towards the edge of the bed.

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Logan made it off the bed and dashed towards the bathroom as Virgil’s arms came around Patton and squeezed. Patton laughed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. After a few moments, Virgil’s eyes started to flicker a bit.

“Good morning, honey,” Patton said softly. “Did you sleep good?”

He hummed sleepily. “Beds are nice,” he said. Patton felt a slight pang at that because it implied he didn’t get to sleep in beds very much, but he chose to shove that aside.

“They are,” Patton agreed. Virgil’s eyes started to close again. “Honey,” Patton laughed. “I think it’s time to wake up now.”

 Virgil made a sleepy whining sound, squeezing Patton tighter. “Don’t you want breakfast?” Patton asked. That question managed to make Virgil open his eyes again. “I was thinking we could go down to the kitchen to eat that way it’s nice and fresh and I can introduce you to Mama real quick.” He neglected to mention the fact that they really did not have a choice. Mr. Deknis had blabbed to Mama about Virgil, and worse, had apparently mentioned that Virgil was skinny. As soon as he’d gotten home yesterday, he’d been met with an already worked up Mama firmly insisting that she meet Virgil sometime today.

 He wasn’t going to tell Virgil that though, because he thought it might scare him away from both Mama and Mr. Deknis.

Virgil thought about the prospect of breakfast for a long moment. “Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll be awake.”

“Good,” Patton said. He reached up to bop him on the nose. Virgil narrowed his eyes and then bopped him back making Patton giggle. He sat up then, and Virgil let him. “Let’s get you something to wear and do your hair,” Patton suggested. Virgil nodded and reluctantly got out of bed, just as Logan returned to the room. “We’re going to go downstairs for breakfast,” Patton told Logan. “That way Virgil can meet my mom.” He gave Logan a significant look and Logan nodded once in understanding that this was not a choice.

 Logan and Virgil got dressed, and Patton did Virgil’s hair up nice, before Patton led them out of the royal wing. They went down the main staircase instead of the spiral staircase that went right to the kitchen, mostly because it would be very busy, and Patton thought they should probably eat in the main dining room anyway. He could feel Virgil getting more anxious as they entered the busier part of the castle, and he stuck close to either Patton or Logan from the time they hit the top of the steps all the way to the main dining room.

 There were a few people in the dining room already eating breakfast when they arrived. Virgil’s curiosity seemed to temporarily overwhelm his anxiety as he looked around the large hall and at all of the people there. Patton looked around trying to see it through his eyes. He’d been running around this place since he was little, so he never really thought about how big the room was or how grandly it was decorated, but Virgil was just seeing it for the first time. Patton smiled at him as he guided him to one of the seats. There was already muffins on the table so Patton grabbed one and plopped it in front of Virgil.

 Virgil frowned down at the muffin dubiously. “You just… keep food out in the open?” he asked.

Right.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Patton promised. “No one here would have put anything in it.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked around at the other occupants of the room suspiciously.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “No one even knew we would be down here for breakfast. Nobody would just put something in random people’s food for no reason.”

Virgil gave him a look like he’d just told him people could in fact breathe under water. Virgil was really from a… whole different world, wasn’t he?

 “It’s really fine,” Patton said. “Logan and I have eaten things on the table like this a lot.”

“I’m surprised your not dead yet,” Virgil said.

Logan rolled his eyes and reached for a muffin. Virgil slapped it out of his hand and onto the floor. “Really?” Logan asked.

Virgil narrowed his eyes at him. “No eating unsecured food!”

“Virgil,” Logan groaned.

“I bet you don’t even know what common poisons taste like.”

“No,” Logan said. “I don’t because I don’t worry about being poisoned on a daily basis!”

“You should!”

People were starting to look over at them. Patton shot an awkward smile at the woman a few chairs down.

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“Just don’t eat the muffins Logan,” Patton said under his breath.

“I do not understand why-”

“Because it’s stupid as he-”

“Shush,” Patton commanded out of the corner of his mouth, “people are watching, and Virgil is just a normal castle resident.”

That shut the both of them up at least.

“No muffins for now,” Patton said. “I assume it’s okay to eat the things they bring straight from the kitchen.”

Virgil looked a bit leery of this still, but he nodded.

“Good,” Patton said, “then we’ll just wait for that to get here and then everyone will be happy, right?”

Logan opened his mouth and Patton turned to glare at him.

“Right?”

 Logan closed his mouth, though clearly, he did not want to give in so easily. They’d be doubtlessly rehashing this conversation once they were alone again.

Patton caught sight of one of the kitchen workers he knew fairly well come out of the kitchen and deliver food to a group of people who were there before them. She caught sight of them and walked over likely to ask them what they wanted for breakfast. Patton watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil tensed, eyeing her approach suspiciously and she slowed under his glare.

This was going to be a long breakfast.

  Chapter 27

After an, honestly quite aggravating, breakfast full of Virgil’s cognitive distortions about the likelihood of being poisoned, Logan was relieved to finally be able to leave the dining area. In consideration to those serving breakfast, Patton did not lead them through the door in the back of the dining room that went directly to the kitchen, and instead took them out of the room and down the hall to a different entrance. This one had a guard stationed across from it as, despite what Virgil may believe, the castle workers did consider the possibility that someone would want to sneak into the kitchen for nefarious purposes.

 Said guard, of course, saw nothing wrong with the prince and the head chef’s son entering the side door even with the bonus stranger. In fact, he may even have known Virgil could be coming through this door if Ms. Heart had mentioned him.

Though Virgil hadn’t managed to catch it, Logan knew enough about Patton’s mother that he’d surmised that she had insisted Patton bring the boy to meet her. It was bound to happen at some point anyway, Logan knew, and he wasn’t particularly worried. After all, this was Patton’s mother. Virgil himself didn’t even seem particularly concerned.

 Logan had seen him panic and, while he tugged a bit at the sweater he was wearing, the motion was not particularly fervent, so he was likely just slightly nervous.

Of course, that may be because he did not know Patton’s mother specifically wanted to meet him and just assumed that they were starting the necessary process of introducing him to castle residents with a low risk person.

When they entered the hallway, Logan could already hear the usual noises of the kitchen: the clattering of plates, the bubble of conversation, and the sound of Ms. Heart’s voice calling out instructions.

 He did see Virgil hesitate, but Logan couldn’t sus out why and Patton was already ahead of them and opening the door into the kitchen. It was fairly calm for the kitchen considering it was meal hours. Logan imagined that Patton had chosen the time between when the day guards ate breakfast before their shifts and the night guards after their shifts on purpose. There was still a bit of chaos as dishwashers attempted to catch up during the lull and a few orders were still being made, but overall the mood seemed, to Logan at least, to be light as Ms. Heart ordered her kitchen around.

 Yet, Virgil clearly did not see the situation the same way that Logan did. He froze when the kitchen door swung open and some of the workers turned to look at them. He took a step back, bumped into Logan, startled violently, realized it was Logan, and then side stepped to hide behind him. Logan looked back at him in confusion, but Virgil said nothing, proceeding to mutely peer over Logan’s shoulder.

Patton had moved over to greet his mother as she wiped her hands off on a rag. She glanced over at Virgil and Logan and Logan saw Virgil shrink back a bit.

 Logan could see Ms. Heart’s eyes soften as she tracked his movement. She turned to the woman next to her and said something before moving to remove her apron and hang it up in its designated area. Virgil’s hands clenched in the fabric of Logan’s shirt when she turned back to him.

“It’s fine, Virgil,” Logan told him, but Virgil didn’t seem to believe him. Luckily, Patton had turned back and seemed to realize something was amiss.

He stepped back over to them. “Hey, honey,” he said. A plate clattered in the kitchen and Virgil just about ripped Logan’s shirt.

 Patton frowned sympathetically. “Too loud?”

“Virgil,” Logan said. “You are digging your fingernails into my skin.” Patton shot Logan a glare. “What?”

“How about,” Patton’s mom suggested. Virgil’s fingernails dug more into Logan’s skin. “We go to my office.”

“I think that’s a good idea, Mama,” Patton said. “Come here, Virgil.” He reached over to touch one of Virgil’s hands and had to pull a bit to get him to release Logan. “It’s back that way, away from the kitchen,” he said when he managed to twine their fingers. He stepped around Logan, probably so there was still a buffer between Virgil and the kitchen and tugged him in the correct direction.

 Ms. Heart shot a glance at Logan and Logan felt irrationally like she was trying to read his thoughts. Logan smoothed his features out and turned to follow Patton and Virgil towards her office.

As head chef, Ms. Heart had a small office where she could plan menus without the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and have meeting with people who needed to discuss dietary needs and restrictions. It was very well organized, but still looked fairly messy because of the numbers of decorations she had in it. She had a tendency to keep everything that Patton made her, thus she had his childhood drawings on the wall and little projects stacked on her desk and on the shelves. A lumpy cat statue acted as a paperweight on a stack of papers on her desk and there was a vase of fake flowers (as it could not actually hold water) sat near the window.

 By the time Logan entered the room, Patton was trying to coax Virgil into sitting down on one of the two mismatched chairs, but Virgil was having none of it. He had turned to face the door and was yanking at his sweater in nervousness.

Logan noticed that Ms. Heart did not come far into the room, instead pausing near the door. She did, however close the door to give them privacy, and that seemed to distress Virgil more.

She seemed to contemplate him for a moment. “Hello,” she said, her voice softer than Logan was used to hearing. “You must be Virgil.”

 It seemed as though he were willing himself to magically shrink, but he still replied. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Patton’s mom.”

“I know, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Virgil.”

He hesitated. “Okay,” he said somehow quieter.

Her eyebrows drew together in concern, and it seemed that she decided to result to her default way of making people more comfortable. “Would you kids like some candy?”

Logan saw Patton’s hand squeeze Virgil’s lightly. “That would be great, Mama.”

She nodded and walked forward towards her desk. Virgil turned so his back was never to her. If she noticed, she didn’t react. She just grabbed a small tin off one of her shelves and took the top off. “How about a peppermint candy?” she asked.

 She offered the tin out to them. Virgil stared at it like it was a venomous snake. Logan decided to act, stepping forward and taking three of the pieces of peppermint candy from the dish. He stepped over to Virgil and Patton and held out his hand, offering Virgil first choice out of all three.

He hesitated before glancing between Patton and his mother. He must have decided that Patton’s mom wouldn’t risk poisoning Patton and took one of the pieces. Patton took another one of them and popped it into his mouth. Logan ate the last piece.

“Thanks,” Virgil said to Ms. Heart before placing his piece in his mouth.

 Logan watched Virgil’s eyes light up a bit when the flavor registered. His posture didn’t completely relax, but he seemed at least a bit less like he was contemplating jumping through the window. His trust was almost worryingly easy to buy sometimes. All it took was a not poisoned peppermint.

Ms. Heart seemed pleased by his reaction. “I’m actually going to be making some new ones soon and I’m trying to get rid of these. Would you like to take another one for later?” she asked, holding out the tin.

He looked at it warily again, but he still stepped closer slowly and took another piece. “Thank you.”

 “Anytime,” Ms. Heart said, eyes looking over him intensely. “You look like you could do to with a few more sweets every so often.”

Virgil tilted his head in that way he did when he was particularly perplexed.

Patton giggled a bit. “She means your skinny.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. “Logan already gave me a malnutrition potion for that.”

“Did he now?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Logan. Logan winced. He was definitely in trouble for not bringing him directly to her. He was sure he’d hear all about it as soon as she caught him without Virgil in the room.

 She turned back to Virgil with a smile, and Logan imagined Virgil had no idea how dead Logan was. “Well, that’s a very good start, but if there was need for a nutrition potion, we should be careful to make sure you get enough calories and nutrients every day going forward.” She sat down at her desk. “Why don’t you and I talk for a bit about making sure you get some good food.”

He still looked cautious but was predictably enticed by the promise of food. He did not sit still, but he did put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and slightly lean on it. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to have a few more specific questions, but let’s just start with what are your favorite foods?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Virgil replied immediately.

“He really likes chicken alfredo,” Patton contributed.

Virgil perked up at the name of the food. “I did like that,” he agreed.

“Alright,” Ms. Heart replied. That’s a start.

  Chapter 28

Thomas did not have to be told that something had gotten Helen Heart in a tizzy. He could tell just by the amount of food she had sent up on his dinner tray. She always made and pushed more food when she was stressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he found both a hearty serving of roast beef and a mini chicken pot pie on his plate along with three vegetable side dishes and a side of macaroni and cheese.

He could also guess what had happened to illicit such a response. Thomas had caught up to Jeffers Deknis in his garden and they’d spoken at length about Logan and Patton’s new friend.

There was no way that after said discussion, Jeff had not mentioned Virgil (and more importantly his friendship with Patton) to Helen during their daily gossip sessions. There was also no way that Helen had heard the words “child” and “too small” in a sentence and hadn’t flipped. From there the inevitable sequence of events was clear: Patton went home, Helen talked his ear off until he agreed to bring Virgil to meet her, Helen met him and immediately committed herself to making sure he ate three square meals a day as well as multiple snacks.

Thomas had sussed all of that out before the kitchen worker bringing him his dinner had mentioned what had happened that day.

 That in mind, he decided to wait until after dinner should have been cleaned up before walking his own dinner leftovers down to the kitchens.

Thomas was unsurprised to see Jeff already in the kitchen. He was sat at a small table off to the side where kitchen workers usually took their breaks. The only person other than Jeff and Helen left in the kitchen was a dishwasher who was finishing up. Helen usually spent a couple of hours after dinner in her kitchen or her office organizing for the next day and in case anyone needed food on an off hour, and then there was a night cook who would take over so she could go back to her set of rooms.

 Helen took the tray of leftovers from Thomas herself and shooed the dishwasher out of the way. “I’ll handle the rest myself,” she told the girl. “You can leave.”

She nodded and started to take her apron off. Helen dumped the tray on the counter without care and turned back around to usher Thomas into one of the kitchen chairs. Thomas went willingly and she turned to fill the tea kettle with water and set it on the stove.

“It take it she met Virgil,” Thomas said to Jeff.

“She’s adopted Virgil,” Jeff replied, taking a bite out of a cookie.

 “And what of it?” she asked. “Someone obviously needs to feed the boy. Speaking of, you’re grounding your son by the way.”

Thomas took one of the cookies for himself. “Why am I grounding Logan?” he asked.

“He was worried enough about his health to make him a nutrition potion, but still did not bring him to me,” she harrumphed.

“I see,” Thomas replied.

“In Logan’s defense,” Jeff interrupted. “the boy seems rather timid. He may have worried about you scaring him off.”

Helen slapped him with a dishtowel.

“Actually,” Jeff continued. “From what I’ve gathered he didn’t have contact with anyone since the time I saw him a couple of weeks ago until now.”

[leechobsessed]

Bad Decisions

So where did the blood come from, Ella? Well, lets find out, shall we? 

From Julian’s perspective.

Words: ~2700

Characters: Ella the Apprentice, Julian Devorak, Bato the bat-eared fox

Content warning: Mentions of blood, brief mention of something like self harm, alcohol, swearing

Previous chapter, masterlist

This is not the way he had expected the night to go.

He had expected to get incredibly drunk and fall asleep alone back in his small room at the palace, but instead, he was standing in the middle of his apprentice’s shop, trying to convince himself he did not find her attractive.

This was a task made substantially harder due to the fact he was quite intoxicated. 

It was hard to make out the contents of the shop in the dark, but Ella moved around the large room easily, avoiding the oddities scattered around the room, a small flame flickering in her hand as she invited Julian to follow her up the stairs. 

“This is quite the place you have here,” Julian said as he followed her up the creaky steps, ducking to avoid clipping his head on the ceiling. 

They emerged into a small apartment, where Ella shrugged as she pulled her cloak off. “It’s home.” She gestured vaguely to the living space. “It’s not much, but feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Julian removed his own coat and placed it carefully over one of the kitchen chairs, surveying his surroundings as Ella set about lighting some candles. There were pillows, plants and books everywhere he looked, but the room still felt open and inviting. It was cute and very homey, and exactly what he would have pictured her home to look like.

Ella disappeared into one of the rooms off toward the back of the living space, emerging a moment later wrestling her hair back into a clip to keep it off her face. “Tea?” She asked as she returned to the kitchen. 

“Sure,” he responded as he took a seat at the table. He watched Ella as she pulled some clear jars from the shelves, unable to take his eyes off of her. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but he wanted some excuse, any excuse, to continue the night. 

Something under the table nudged his leg, pulling his gaze away from the chestnut-haired woman at the counter. Startled, he pushed back from the table quickly to reveal a small… fox? To be honest, Julian wasn’t sure what the creature was. It had a comically small head with large ears, soft looking brown and sand colored fur, and looked to be the size of a large cat. 

“Um, Ella?” The animal tilted its head, regarding Julian before pushing its nose against his leg again. “Is… this supposed to be in your house?”

Ella turned her attention toward him, her face lighting up when she saw the large-eared fox forcing its way onto Julian’s lap. “Mhm. That’s Bato. He’s my familiar.”

“Oh, sure,” Julian mumbled as Bato nestled into his arms, his dark eyes blinking at Julian as if asking for something. “What’s a familiar?”

“An animal companion some magicians have. They’re supposed to help with our magic, but this one just seems to make trouble. My aunt had a chameleon, Asra has a snake, I have Bato.” She leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she regarded them with amusement. “He wants you to pet him.”

Julian turned his attention back to the fox, who blinked at him again, waiting. Tentatively, Julian began to scratch behind his ears, relaxing a little as the fox closed his eyes and nestled further into his arms.

“He’s friendly,” Julian murmured, continuing to scratch the small head of Ella’s familiar. He wasn’t sure if foxes could purr, but he could swear that’s exactly what Bato was doing.

“I like him,” Ella says in response, still watching them, smiling fondly at the little creature in his lap. “He’s got big ears, like me.” To emphasize her point, she pulled on her ears with both hands.

Julian laughed, turning his gray eyes back to her. “Take it from someone who actually has big ears, you don’t have big ears. Yours are cute.”

He paused, hoping Ella didn’t catch what he said. The blush that spread across the bridge of Ella’s nose to the tips of her ears clued him in that she did, in fact, hear him, and she quickly turned back to face the counter. Cursing at himself for making things weird, Julian cleared his throat and changed the subject. 

“How long have you owned this shop?”

Ella hummed as she pulled a kettle down from a shelf above her head. “Well, technically it’s my aunt’s shop. I used to help her run it. But she left me the keys maybe a year ago to go make wine in Elyria.”

Julian laughed. “Well, it sounds like it’s your shop now, at least. Is her wine any good?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Ella set the kettle down on the stove, but instead of lighting it, she climbed up onto the counter to dig around the contents on the highest shelf. After a moment, she descended her perch, handing a bottle of wine to Julian. “She sends over boxes of wine every few months. This is from her latest batch if you wanted to try it.”

“Now?”

“Well… I mean sure, if you want.” Ella pulled two glasses out of seemingly nowhere, setting them on the table in front of him. She removed the kettle from the stove and set it on the counter. “But don’t expect me to get much work done tomorrow.”

“You deserve to take it easy for a day,” he murmured as he inspected the label before producing a knife from his boot and removing the cork. He poured the light yellowish liquid into the glasses in front of them, raising his glass in a toast to his companion. She touched her glass lightly to his before taking a sip.

“Hm. This is actually pretty good,” Julian said as he pulled the bottle back to him to look at the label again. 

“Did you think I’d lie to you?” Ella glanced behind her, out the kitchen window, where it had just started to rain. She suddenly stood up from the table and gestured for Julian to follow her. “Come with me. There are better places up here to drink wine and talk.”

Julian followed her into the room she had disappeared into a few minutes before. Just like the living area, it was full of plants and books, with a small bed nestled into the far corner, covered with a heap of blankets and more colorful pillows. 

Ella opened a door he hadn’t yet noticed, revealing a small porch with a truly stunning view of the city. Julian stood awkwardly off to the side as she pulled pillows out of a chest at the foot of the bed and threw them into the doorway to the porch, creating a little nest to sit in.

Ella sat on the pillows and patted the one across from her, flashing Julian with a dazzling smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “Come, sit, have a drink.”

Julian lowered himself onto the colorful pillows across from her, leaning back against the doorway to look out over the city. They sat in silence for a few minutes enjoying the view before Julian broke the silence.

“Is your family from Elyria?”

“Yes and no,” Ella said, taking another sip of wine. She twirled a strand of hair between her long fingers, pulling Julian’s thoughts to the memory of those fingers pressed against his chest as they danced. “My mother’s family is, but she left home when she was 18 and never went back.”

“Elyria is a very pretty city,” Julian responded. “I’ve been there a few times. I grew up in Nevion, which is just across the Strait of Seals from there.”

“I’ve heard the hot springs in Nevion are wonderful.”

“The salt does wonders for your skin,” Julian offered before finishing his glass of wine. Ella handed him the bottle, and he refilled both of their glasses. “If not Elyria, where did you grow up?”

“Paraka,” Ella responded, mirroring Julian’s posture and leaning against the door frame. “My father’s family has lived there a long time.” She hiccupped before continuing. “Most of my siblings left when they got older, but a few of them stayed to run the family tailor shop.”

“I spent quite a bit of time in Paraka, but I was happy to leave. A bit too hot there for me. Although, the people of Paraka do know how to throw a party.”

Ella laughed, and Julian found himself smiling at the sound. “You sound well traveled, Dr. Devorak.”

“You sound like you need to travel more, Miss Sagen.” She laughed again before taking a sip of her wine.

“Maybe. One day,” she said, looking back out over the city. Julian allowed himself a moment to take in her features, the sharp angle of her jaw, her high cheekbones with the light spattering of freckles across them. The way her mouth was always slightly pulled down at the corners, especially if she was deep in thought, as she seemed to be now. 

Oh, how he wanted to kiss those lips.

Julian ran a hand through his hair, once again blaming his wayward thoughts on the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed over the course of the night. “Why did you come to Vesuvia?”

“To study magic. I didn’t have much of an opportunity to in Paraka.”

“They don’t have magicians in Paraka?”

Ella sighed. “They do. It’s just... more complicated than that. But my aunt had offered to have me as her apprentice, and I felt like I needed to leave home, so I did. I’ve been here for about a decade.” She made a face and turned back to look at him. “That makes me feel old.”

Julian laughed, reaching over and patting her hand reassuringly. “Wait until you’re my age, then you can start saying you feel old.”

Ella blushed at the contact, but made no move to pull her hand away. “Can I ask you something?” She asked, her head tilted to the side.

“It seems fair, seeing as it’s mostly been me asking about you.”

“Why does magic scare you?”

Julian frowned, removing his hand from Ella’s and chewing on his bottom lip as he thought about his answer. The magician waited patiently, and he tried in vain to ignore how her warm gaze fell on his lips.

“I think... it’s because I can’t explain it. That is, I can’t explain how or why magic works.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I’m a man of science, and logic, and reason. And magic doesn’t follow any of the rules of science, or logic, or reason. I don’t think I’m scared of magic per say, but I don’t trust it. And I think that’s because I can’t explain it.”

Julian watched Ella as she processed what he had just said. She nodded to herself before setting her glass down and clapping her hands together. “Okay. What if I explained my magic to you? Do you think you would feel more comfortable maybe potentially using magic in your treatments? Because I do think it could help.”

He hesitated before nodding. “I’m listening.”

Ella adjusted her position on the pillows so she was facing him square on. He couldn’t help but smile as she leaned closer to him, more animated now that she was talking about something she was passionate about. “Okay, to preface, I’m drunk, so stop me if this isn’t making sense.” Julian laughed and nodded in encouragement. Ella cleared her throat before continuing. 

“So magician’s typically have an area of magic that comes more naturally to them than others, right? In my case, I’ve always had more of an affinity for healing. Now, don’t get too excited, I can’t cure anything terminal, but I’m pretty good at fixing physical wounds.”

“Illness is different, though, because each kind of illness manifests in a different way. Sometimes I can just take away the symptoms, other times I help the illness work its way out of the body quicker.” She paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. She sighed, seeing the confusion on Julian’s face. “Sorry, I’ve never really had to explain this before. Maybe I should just show you.”

“Show me?”

Ella nodded. “Yeah. I’ll show you. Can I borrow your knife?” Julian’s eyebrows raised in question, and Ella held her hand out in response. “I promise I’m not doing anything drastic.”

He hesitated before handing her his knife. He watched as she pulled her dress up to her knees, and crossed her legs. In the dim light, he could see a handful of straight, dark pink scars in varying lengths along the inside of her right ankle.

“Um, Ella? What are you doing?”

She sighed, turning her gaze to him. “I’m going to show you how I heal. It doesn’t… I can’t actually do it to myself, which is why there’s scars.” She pointed at the scars with the tip of the knife. “I mean, I’ve tried to heal myself, but it always scars, see? But it never does on anyone else.”

Julian blinked at her, trying to process the words that came out of her mouth. “You… practiced this on yourself? By hurting yourself? Ella, that’s insane.”

Ella flushed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Well, most people aren’t okay with me cutting them just to practice healing. And I wasn’t doing it to hurt myself.”

“So do it to me.”

“What?”

“I trust you’re very good at what you do, even if I don’t understand it. I want you to show me, and I don’t want you doing it to yourself, especially if it’ll scar.” He rolled up one of his loose sleeves, presenting the pale skin of his forearm to her. She looked at him, uncertainty written across her face. 

“Julian, I’m not--”

Without waiting for her to finish, he took the knife out of her hands and pulled the blade across the thick skin below the crook of his arm, wincing only slightly as blood immediately began to blossom under the cut. The two of them watched as the blood dripped off his arm onto the floor beneath him.

“Well?” Julian looked at Ella, whose mouth was frozen open in surprise. “Are you going to show me what you can do?”

“What the fuck, Julian?” Ella snapped out of her shock, knocking over the wine bottle as she moved closer to wrap her cool hands around the cut, applying heavy pressure. “You didn’t need to do it so deep. Are you insane?”

Julian shrugged, watching her hands cover the wound. He felt a warm tingle around the area, then a subtle pulling sensation. The tingling spread from his arm to the rest of his body, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the magic. The feeling wasn’t uncomfortable, just… strange. He turned his gaze from his arm to Ella, who was focused intently on her own hands, the corners of her mouth pulled down in concentration.

After a moment she removed her hands from his arm, wiping the remaining blood away with her thumb. Amazingly, the only indication there was ever a wound was the blood staining his skin and the small pool of it beneath him. Not a trace of a scratch or scar was present. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath. He turned his arm this way and that, looking for any sign of adverse effects to the magic. He glanced up at Ella, who looked far less impressed than he was.

“Yeah, holy shit, Julian.” Ella wiped the blood off her hands on the front of her dress, her voice still tinged with annoyance. “A small scratch would have done the job.”

“I’ve been told I have a flair for the dramatic,” Julian offered sheepishly, looking back down at his arm. After a moment, he looked up at Ella, her pretty mouth still pulled down in a frown. “And you can do something similar with illness?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s different. It’s a little more involved, and like I said, every illness is different.”

“Okay. We’ll try it.” Julian stood up, a little woozy from the slight buzz still running through his body.

“What?” She looked up at him, confused. 

“We’re going to try using your magic in treatments.”

Ella stood up, still frowning. “Are you sure?” 

He could hear the excitement and relief in her voice. He nodded, glancing back down at his arm. “Positive.” He carefully made his way around the puddle of blood and walked to the door. He paused, his hand resting on the handle of the door. “Thank you for showing me, Ella. You should get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before she could protest or respond, he pulled the door shut behind him. Once it was closed he leaned against it, looking back down at his arm. “Holy shit,” was all he could manage.

[highgaarden]

a lover’s concerto; game of thrones au. written for @klaroline-events‘ kc june bingo: ROYALS.

He shouldn’t be sitting so close, really, seeing as they were only just betrothed – and Caroline really wanted him to push his chair a bit further, but she had been told that you don’t tell a Targaryen what to do, much less the Mad King himself.

“Are you always so improper? Back it up, Dragon Boy,” said Caroline, who had never liked being told what to do.

Highgarden was a madness of wine and song. Enzo was trying not to vomit across the table whilst Damon was passed out underneath it. Loras was busy regaling a very drunk Malachai about that one time he accidentally set half their gardens on fire. Margaery was giggling, leaning heavily into Bonnie, who looked like even she was enjoying all the commotion around her.

It was strange that the everyone would have so much cause for celebration considering – everything – but… there you have it. Maybe she’d enjoy the party better if she wasn’t sitting at the head of the table, so far away from her friends.

“You’re sulking, Princess,” Klaus pointed out from behind the rim of his goblet.

“I don’t sulk,” she said, sulkily.

“Would it make you feel better,” he said, “if I named one of my dragons after you?”

“It would not,” she said primly, but Klaus hardly missed the little flare of curiosity in her eyes.  

“Qeldlie, I think I’ll name her,” Klaus decided. “It means golden. After your hair.”

Caroline, who had not yet started to learn High Valyrian, had to take his word for it. “A dragon in the Reach. Who would have thought?”

“These fertile lands suit them, it would seem,” Klaus said. He tipped his goblet at her. “Here’s to us Growing Strong.”

She tipped her own goblet back at him. “With Fire and Blood.”

—

The day the Targaryens came to Highgarden was quite a thing to behold.

Niklaus the Mad came swooping in on his dragon Viserion, whilst his sister Rebekah was on Drogon, and his brother Elijah was on Rhaegal, just like the stories they always hear about.

Katherine, a good handmaiden and a very bad flirt, was fanning her cheeks. Caroline wanted to snort. Who the hell did they think they were, rolling up into her lands with their bigass envoy and their stupid sunglasses?

“It’s not that hot here,” she grumbled. “No, Elena, do not wave!”

—

William had decided that to remain in his seat as one of the most ancient houses in the Kingdom, declaring friendship wasn’t enough when Klaus, apparently bored one day, wanted to liberate Westeros.

As if being an era ahead of them in technology made Dragonstone the ballers of the Seven Kingdoms. Klaus certainly thought so.

He was in William’s audience chamber when Caroline stomped in, huffing, and Klaus had tilted his head at her.

“Princess of the Summer courts,” he greeted.

“Your Grace,” she managed as graciously as she could, and sunk into a curtsy. “What brings you here?”

Klaus didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to William. “My Lord, your daughter speaks out of turn.”

“I—” blustered her father, turning a magnificent shade of magenta.

“I like it,” Klaus said. “So, have you heard? I am in search of a wife.”

“No, Your Grace - I hadn’t heard,” William said, the cogs already turning in his head.

Caroline’s barely had time to think whether this was a good opportunity to faint before Klaus has his lips on her knuckles.

—

Rebekah took to her at once, not because she was a lady as equal in beauty and stature as herself, but because she was someone to talk to that wasn’t one of her brothers.

“You’re lucky you’re an only child,” the Princess of Dragonstone confided one afternoon whilst they were practicing their stitching. She peeked at Caroline’s work – a pull of the needle here, a little thread there, and a flower bloomed to life in her hands – and looks approving. “You wouldn’t believe it, but brothers! They take ages getting ready.”

“You don’t say,” Caroline mumbled. There was already a ring on her finger, one of promise, and apparently there were two more to come before she and Klaus were finally to marry. She was disgruntled not at the fact that he had crafted her a ring so soon but more the fact that she didn’t hate it. She’d expected a big rock, and yes, it did come with that, but it was also surprisingly tasteful.

And it suited her very much, as if the gifter had taken exceptional notice of her hands.

—

He wasn’t bad company, she supposed. Things could be worse. According to Katherine things almost had been worse – apparently her father had considered a proposal from Winterfell.

Sure, the Starks were cool and all with their Direwolves, but she still hadn’t forgotten the time in Year 10 when Tyler, having invited Caroline over during one of those tedious Royal Exchange Programmes to experience court life in the asscrack of winter, had warged into his Direwolf in an attempt to impress her and had shed all over her favourite dress.

“Do you like dragons?” Klaus asked over breakfast. It was just the two of them since everyone else was still nursing their epic hangovers from last night’s wedding announcement celebrations.

She chewed thoughtfully on her lemon cake and swallowed before answering. “I do,” she said. “But I’m not talking to you until you tell me why you chose me.”

“I fancy you,” Klaus said.

She looked at him sharply.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yes.”

The look he shot her was incredulous. “I see beyond your petals, you know. That you’re beautiful is a given – that you are strong, I have no doubt, considering your House words. But you are also full of light. A maiden fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.”

Caroline frowned down at her tea and fought down a blush.

“If we finish up quickly, I’ll take you to see Qeldlie,” he said.

Caroline blinked at him. “Did you really name a dragon after me?”

“Of course.” He ducks his head. “It is not something I do often, mind you.”

She looked at him from behind the rim of her teacup. “I know.”

“Do you now?” Klaus asked with a tilt of his lips. He hesitated for a moment. “Dragons, they’re the opposite of humans.”

“How so?”

“They’re loyal,” he said simply.

“To a point, I’ve heard,” Caroline said.

“That’s true,” Klaus conceded. “If you treat them well. With the deference they deserve – but not so much that they can sense weakness. You must command them – and I saw that in you. You would have a dragon bend its knee to you, Princess.”

Caroline didn’t quite know what to say to that. She put down her teacup, and for the first time looked him in the eye. “Take me to see her.”

—

She was a magnificent creature, creamy white with gold markings, flapping her great wings and snorting hot air onto her cheeks. She stared up at it, wide-eyed with wonder, her heart in her throat as she took in its size. When Qeldlie spread her wings it spanned almost the length of her entire private garden.

“Golden,” Klaus murmured and tugged on one of her curls. “She’s a youngin, still, but under your care she will flourish. Have your other teenage lovers ever accorded you so magnoliously?”

“This isn’t a competition, Your Grace,” Caroline rolled her eyes. Qeldlie butted his hand out of the way to nuzzle into her cheeks, startling her with its sudden proximity.

“Klaus,” he corrected. “And I know it isn’t. They couldn’t possibly compare.”

“You’re assuming I’ve been courted aplenty,” she said, reaching a tentative hand towards Qeldlie before pulling it back. “I don’t think having a profile on RoyalMatch.com counts.”

“Have a word with your team about taking that down, will you?” Klaus started to scowl, before realising she was kidding. He returned her smile slowly, like he was out of practice or something.

“Like this, Klaus,” she almost chastised. She cleared her throat once and turned to face him fully and turned on him the famed Tyrell charm, the beguiling femininity of a rose.

Klaus studied her. “I don’t care much for pretence, sweetheart. I’d much rather you show me your thorns.”

Insistently Qeldlie returned her snout to her neck, and she yelped at the sudden heat.

“ȳdra daor!” Klaus commanded in his native tongue, batting the dragon out of the way. “Keligon bona.”

She recognized those words of reprimand at least – she really should had paid more attention in class. But how was fifteen-year-old Caroline to know she’d end up marrying a Targaryen, a House so ancient they were almost myth? Ironic, innit? twenty-year-old Caroline thought.

“Qeldlie,” she said slowly, and the dragon rears back and lopes gently behind her, growling something she can’t understand yet but hopes to one day.

Wait, hold up.

Was this dragon—

Was this dragon pushing her into Klaus?

“I hope it’s true about Targaryens being immune to fire,” she muttered when it’s clear the high heat in her cheeks can’t be politely ignored. Klaus laughed and buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply.

“I’m immune to many things, love,” he said softly. “Apparently not to you though.”

She pulled out of his embrace and made a face at him – and he shrugged, like he couldn’t help himself.

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 7

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, AO3

~*CS*~

On the road between Dallas and Houston, May 18th

“Alright, Scarlet, it’s come down to this.  What’s your move?”

Emma kept her face impassive as Will scrutinized her closely.  She nearly gave herself away when he leaned forward with a smug grin.

“All in, luv,” he said with confidence as he pushed his chips into the center of the table.

“Mistake,” Tink called out from the chair she was perched on towards the front of the bus.

“Shut it,” he growled, rolling his eyes.  Tapping his cards he nodded, “All in.” 

She looked at her cards before making a show of looking over the cards that were face up in front of Will’s pile of chips.  With just the right amount of hesitation she returned his nod.

“So am I.”

Pushing her chips in she became aware of someone looking over her shoulder.  Knowing it could only be Killian she ignored him, or at least tried to.  Ever since she’d half kissed him in Chicago she’d become almost jumpy whenever he was around.  She was beyond relieved that he hadn’t wanted to play poker with her and Will because there would have been no way for her to stay calm and collected with him nearby.  As it was her hands felt unsteady and she was suddenly a little too warm.

“Let’s see ‘em,” she said with the slightest shake in her voice.

Will grinned widely, turning over his cards with a flourish, “Three of a kind with my mates Jack, Jack, and would you look at that?  Jack.  I’ll be takin’ the pot now-”

“Will you though?” She hummed.

Killian snorted a laugh from behind her while Tink muttered an ‘I told you so’ from the front.

“Bloody fuck-” Will’s smile dropped to a grimace, “You’re a cheat you know.”

“Or I’m just that good,” she said smugly, flipping over her cards, “Full house and it seems a couple of your mates have dropped by for the party.  Do you think they could loan you the money you now owe me?”

“Sod off,” he growled, tossing his cards at her with a glare.  His eyes flicked over her shoulder, “Beware of this one, mate, she’ll bleed ya dry and do it with a smile.”

He pushed away from the table while Killian and Tink laughed, stalking towards the back of the bus.  Emma shook her head as she organized the mess of chips, calculating just how much of Will’s money she’d won over the course of the tour so far.  It wasn’t much, they’d agreed early on in their friendship to only play for coins, but Will was a sore loser and she was a smug winner.  Every cent would count when they got to Vancouver and she’d take what he owed her.

“He’s totally going to pay you in pennies again, you know,” Tink said, sounding slightly bored but still amused.

“I still can’t figure out where the hell he got six thousand three hundred pennies and who he paid to help him,” she said hotly.  She turned to Killian who had moved to their kitchenette, “We played the final hand only an hour before our last show and the stupid things were piled up at the side of the stage before the encore.  Even Belle doesn’t know!”

“Oh, she knows,” Tink said, peering around the back of her chair, “We all do.  We’ve just decided not to tell you.”

Killian snickered and she scowled at him, “Do you know too?”

“On my honor, I do not,” he said solemnly, his hand raised like he was swearing an oath though his eyes were glittering with amusement.

“Liar,” she scoffed, getting back to setting her chips into manageable piles, “Whatever, I still end up getting the money from him and that’s all that matters.”

“I never knew you were so competitive, love,” Killian remarked, his voice lilting with a laugh.

“Only in poker.  I’m pretty laid back when it comes to other stuff,” she said with a shrug.

“Not true-” Tink’s face popped up over the top of her chair, her eyes narrowed, “Should I tell him about the Scrabble debacle?”

“Scrabble debacle?” Killian echoed as he set a mug of hot cocoa, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon, at her elbow.  She felt herself blushing at the gesture as he slid in across from her with a cup of tea for himself, “I feel this is a tale I should know.”

Tink bounced out of her chair and over towards them, pushing her aside as she slid into the booth.  Emma rolled her eyes but scooted over to make room for her.

“So this happened on our first tour together-”

“You say tour, I say a month of hell roaming around the eastern seaboard,” Emma grumbled, taking a sip of her cocoa.

“Okay, true,” TInk conceded.  She gave Killian a shrug, “We were playing a gig almost every night and travelling around in a van that also had all our equipment-”

“Don’t forget all four of us were sharing the same shitty motel room and we’d all just met each other.”

“Do you want to tell it?” Tink asked with a raised brow.

“Nope,” she said with a grimace, “It’s bad enough I’m being forced to relive it.”

“Anyway,” Tink said pointedly, “Ruby thought it’d be a good idea to play Scrabble to get us to be friends and not just people that played music together.  Any down time we had the board came out and we played until one of us was needed somewhere.”

“We did the same with Boggle,” Killian said with a smile, “Robin had nicked the game from a pub we’d played at one night.  Liam hated how we got it but never seemed to complain when he won a round.”

“A man after Emma’s own heart,” Tink said sweetly, winking at Killian while kicking Emma under the table.  Emma scowled at her but otherwise ignored her, “See the rest of us thought we were playing for fun, getting to know each other through some nice, quality time together.  Then this one decided to keep a running tab of everyone’s scores.  When we found out the friendly games went out the window.”

“I’m not the one who started betting money on the games,” Emma huffed.

“No, but you bloody well took some of us to the cleaners regardless,” Will’s muffled yell sounded from his bunk.

“She also got the four guys we had on the road crew in on it.  Set up a tournament with a twenty five dollar buy in and two hundred dollars going to the winner-” Tink shook her head but she was grinning.

“And who, may I ask, won the tournament?” Killian asked, turning to her with a raised brow and a knowing look in his eye.

Emma squirmed in her seat, fiddling with the handle of her mug.  It had been years but she still wasn’t over the whole thing.

“Anton,” she muttered.

Killian rocked back slightly, as though her answer caught him by surprise, “Anton?  The man currently behind the wheel of this bus, Anton?”

Tink was laughing and she wheezed as she answered him, “After organizing the stupid thing she was knocked out in the first round by yours truly.  Anton surprised everyone with his win.  Turns out he’s part of some big online Scrabble league.  Said it was like shooting fish in a barrel!”

Almost as soon as the words were said Emma heard a muffled bang.  At the same moment the bus started shaking violently, scattering the poker chips she’d put into meticulous piles and spilling her and Killian’s drinks causing them both to move quickly out of the way of the hot liquids.  Over the sounds of Will’s cursing, the rattling of everything that wasn’t nailed down, and a quick, rhythmic thumping from somewhere beneath her she could barely hear Anton trying to tell them something.  Crawling over Tink, who had ducked halfway under the table, she tried to stand but couldn’t keep her balance from the way that the bus was swaying.  Then a warm hand grasped her elbow and steadied her.

“It’s a blown tire, love,” Killian half yelled over the noise, still seated, “Anton will want us to remain where we are until he pulls over.”

“Okay,” she yelled back, though the racket was lessening as the bus slowed noticeably.

She debated shoving Tink aside so she could be a little safer and sit when Killian tugged on her arm.

“C’mon, Swan, best be seated-” he pulled her down to sit next to him, tucking her into his side with his arm wrapped around her waist, “I’d move over but the seat’s covered in tea.”

“It’s alright,” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry.

All too soon the bus came to a shuddering stop.  Reluctantly she pried herself from his warm embrace and stood back up, trying not to seem too disappointed to do so.  Luckily Will came stumbling towards them swearing up a storm and hopefully distracting Kilian from her slight frown.  Tink, on the other hand, was watching her with knowing eyes.

“What in the blue fuck was that?” Will said shakily, running his hands over his head and down his face.

“We’ve had a tire blowout, folks.  Everyone okay?”

Anton was lumbering his way back towards them, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.  He was a giant of a man who scowled at anyone he didn’t know but once Emma had cracked his shell he was the sweetest man she’d ever met.  He was also the most easy going, having no problem making an unscheduled stop so she could get junk food or do a little cheesy sight seeing at a tourist trap.  She liked him so much she’d even gone so far as to put it in her touring contracts that he would always be the one behind the wheel, driving her from city to city.  The fact that he routinely kicked her ass at Words With Friends in his downtime was her only complaint against him.

“A little shaken up-” Emma grinned at Anton while Will and Tink groaned, “but no one’s hurt.  You okay?”

“Might have soiled myself a little but that’s the extent of it for me.  The rig is another story, though,” Anton sighed. “I’ve got a replacement but I’ll need to find a shop that can handle the big girl and a way to get her there.  I can almost guarantee it’ll be a few hours before I can get her back on the road.”

Emma looked at her watch and did the math, “Okay, we have five hours until sound check.  How far away are we from Dallas?”

“I know what you’re thinking but it’ll be cutting it too close and I’d like to keep my job,” Anton said with a rueful smile. “Luckily the tire blew when we happened to be passing through a good sized town.  I’ll call it in and hopefully you’ll be set up with a rental to get you the rest of the way there.”

“Oh, Regina’s gonna love this,” Tink muttered under her breath.

“Maybe we’ll get a proper manager out of it,” Will said hopefully. “Ain’t bloody right she only shows up for half the shows and bullies us at all of them.”

“It’ll be less than half this time.  She’s only gracing us with her presence in the cities she actually likes,” Emma said distractedly, looking out the windows and smiling at what she saw, “So, how long do you think we’ll have to wait for that rental car?”

“Emma-” there was a note of warning in Anton’s voice, “Please don’t get me fired.”

“Swan?” Killian asked in the same tone.

“I won’t-” she turned back to them with an exaggerated look of innocence and held up the first three fingers of her right hand, “Scout’s honor.”

“As if you were a bloody scout,” Will snorted.

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Anton with a grin, “Look, you’ve got calls to make and then Regina��s gonna have calls to make and I’m sure those people will have calls to make too.  That gives us at least an hour before there’s even a chance at getting that rental, right?”

Anton shook his head with a sigh, “Right.”

“And you probably won’t run the bus to keep the air going or want us hanging around annoying you while you try and get things sorted, right?”

“You’ve made your point, so make your point,” Anton said with an exasperated smile.

“There’s a convenient little strip mall over there and that big barn looking thing across from it,” she said, pointing west out the window and across the highway. “We’ll get out of your hair and stay somewhat close at the same time.  Win-win.”

Anton pinched his nose between his fingers.  Will and Tink followed her finger, looking curiously out the window but Killian was watching her.  She narrowed her eyes at him but he just smiled.

“As if you need my permission” Anton said with a snort. “Just don’t get arrested or anything.  I only want to have to listen to Regina yelling at me once today.”

“Great-” Emma gave him a wide grin, “Want me to bring you back something?”

“The biggest goddamn coffee you can find.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, mate, this is Texas after all,” Will joked, elbowing Anton in the side.

“Get out of here before I throw you out,” Anton growled but without heat.

Less than five minutes later the four of them were walking under the highway overpass with Will and Tink complaining about the heat of the day and the circumstances that lead them there.  Emma, on the other hand, saw it as a blessing in disguise.  It was rare that she was able to get time to herself on the days she had a show.  Granted it would only be a little over an hour and she wasn’t exactly alone but it was better than sitting cooped up on the bus while everything got sorted out.

Will and Tink pulled ahead, their complaints spurring them on as Killian hung back.  Emma tried in vain to keep her pleased smile in check.

“What’s that smile for, Swan?” He asked, bending a little so he could catch her eye from under the brim of an Astros hat.

“How’d you know we’d blown a tire?” She shot back, not wanting him think he was the reason she was smiling even though he totally was.

“Had it happen a couple of times back in the day,” he said with a shrug, “The worst was when it happened once to the van Robin was driving.  We were lucky.  That day.”

A cloud passed over his face as his eyes focused somewhere ahead of them.  Wanting to kick herself for somehow sticking her foot in it again she kept her mouth shut instead.  After a few moments he tentatively touched the back of her hand.  When she looked up at him he gave her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the melancholy, love, can’t be helped sometimes.”

“Not your fault I’m an idiot that seems to bring it up constantly,” she said bitterly, kicking at a pebble on the ground, “I’m surprised you keep wanting to talk to me.”

He gave her a look of surprise but before he could say anything Will was shouting at them.

“Do I have to hang around with you lot or…?”

Emma quickened her steps to catch up to them, catching onto Killian’s hand at the last second to drag him with her.  When they came to a stop she let him go, even as he gave her a shy grin that she was helpless to return.  Tink cleared her throat and Emma snapped her gaze to her, feeling heat crawl up her neck at the knowing look she was giving her.

“You have your phone don’t you?” Emma asked Will pointedly, hoping that none of them made any kind of comment about anything.

“Perfect,” he said instead of answering, bouncing on his toes, “I’ll be expectin’ your call then.”

He tipped an imaginary hat at them and sauntered off in the direction of the large barn she’d seen from the bus.  She was not only surprised to see that it was an antiques mall but that that was where Will seemed to be headed.  Then she remembered that Belle’s birthday was coming up and he took great pride in finding unique and ridiculously romantic gifts for her.  It also reminded her that David’s birthday was only a couple of weeks away and it couldn’t hurt to take a look around the mall herself.

“Wait up, I’m coming with!” She called after him.

“And I spy a used book store over there so that’s where I’m headed,” Tink trilled.  She linked her arm through Killian’s, giving Emma an all too innocent grin, “Coming with Killian?  Since you were just complaining about finishing the last of the books you packed and refuse to read any of mine and all.”

“Oh, er-” he scratched behind his ear and gave her a searching look, “If that’s alright with you, Swan.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” she said with a forced laugh, glaring at Tink when Killian looked towards the strip mall where the used bookstore was, “I guess I’ll let you know when we need to go back to the bus.”

“Great!  See you in a bit!”

Emma watched as they crossed the four lane street, Tink’s arm still threaded through Killian’s.  As much as she knew Tink was doing it to annoy her she couldn’t help the stab of jealousy she felt.  With a huff at how ridiculous she was being she once again caught up with Will, who was tapping an imaginary watch as she approached.

“As if you’re ever anywhere on time,” she scoffed.

“I’m never late, everyone else is just early,” he said as he fell into step with her.

She gaped at him, “Did you- please tell me you didn’t just quote Princess Diaries.”

“Iconic film, luv,” he said sagely, “Queen Clarisse is a royal worth bendin’ the knee for.”

“You’re full of surprises, Scarlet,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Seems you are too-” he hip checked her and tipped his head in the direction Tink and Killian had gone, “Gettin’ cosy with the rock star and all.”

“No!  Nothing’s- I’m not getting cosy,” she spluttered, heat crawling up the back of her neck. “And even if I was it’s not any of your business.”

“He likes you too,” Will chuckled. “Didn’t get so defensive ‘bout it but turned about as red as you are right now.”

She stopped in her tracks, staring wide eyed and mouth open at his back as he kept walking.  He didn’t even pause to see why she was no longer at his side, merely turned on his heel and walked backwards, giving her a shit-eating grin.

“You two aren’t nearly as subtle as you think.”

By the time she scraped her jaw off the sidewalk and chased after him he’d disappeared inside the refurbished barn.  She had half a mind to hunt him down and make him explain what he meant.  Unfortunately the sheer size of the place and the dozens of aisles she could see from just inside the door had her second guessing that idea.  Figuring there would be plenty of opportunities to corner and torture him for information later she headed to her left and began perusing the vast sea of antiques before her. 

Nearly forty minutes and hundreds, if not thousands, of items later Emma found herself sitting on the floor of a promising booth.  Whoever had rented the spot was clearly a fan of music.  The temporary walls were covered with vintage tour posters for artists dating back to the forties and fifties, some of which were signed.  Most of the booth was taken up by a large locked display case that housed signed photos, early fan club collectables from bands that had become global phenomenons, and other highly coveted paraphernalia.  What had caught Emma’s eye, however, were the dozens of boxes of records and she had promptly sat herself down and began sifting through them.

She was adding a record to the small pile she’d set aside, some meant for David’s gift and some for herself, when a familiar pair of beat up converse stepped up beside her.  Not quite able to temper the giddiness she felt at Killian seeking her out she looked up at him with a grin.  It quickly faded when she saw that he was looking at something in the booth as though he’d seen a ghost.  When she craned her neck to see what he was staring at she gasped and immediately scrambled to her feet.

How she hadn’t noticed the Realm of Jewels’ tour poster was a mystery to her.  While it wasn’t front and center it was framed, having been signed by the entire band.  To make matters worse it was from their final, unfinished tour.

“Killian?” She said softly, reaching out for his hand but hesitating at the last second.

He remained unmoving, growing paler by the second.  Quickly looking around her she noticed there were several people that were wandering the aisle towards them.  She also noticed a door that was slightly ajar that looked like it led outside.  Slowly she stepped in front of him, reaching up and gently cupped his face in her hands.  After a long moment his eyes dropped to hers and his gaze was haunted.

“C’mon,” she whispered.

Sliding her hands down until her fingers wrapped around his, she waited patiently from some kind of indication that he’d heard her.  Finally he nodded, closing his eyes and taking a shuddering breath.  Not waiting another second she dropped one of his hands but kept a firm grip on the other as she guided him out the door.  As soon as she was certain that there was no one around to see them she pulled him into her arms and held him tight.  Almost immediately he reciprocated, his arms like steel bands across her back but even then she could feel him begin to shake.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped up in each other.  She would have been happy to help Killian hold himself together for however long he needed.  Slowly he calmed, his grip loosened until he was merely hugging her and his breathing evened out and remained steady.  Finally he pulled back but not away and even though she knew he hadn’t actually shed a tear his eyes were red rimmed and glassy.  She was pretty sure she looked about the same.

“I’m sor-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she stressed, gripping the shirt at his sides in her hands, “Never about that.”

He let out an unsteady breath and gave her a short nod.  Releasing his shirt she slid her arms around him again, trying for comfort instead of sharing the burden of his pain.  Seeming to realize this he returned her hug with a gentle sigh, resting his cheek against her hair.

“Liam was the one driving,” he murmured after a moment, tightening his hold on her slightly before letting go and stepping away.  He tilted his head back and let out a harsh breath, “It was after our second show in LA and we’d been invited to some lavish party in the hills.  It was hosted by someone who had the money to keep the booze and drugs flowing and the influence to keep the police from showing up.  We’d gone to dozens of parties like that before without consequence, we had no reason to believe that night would be any different.

“We’d all partaken in the various substances that were offered and when it came time to leave we realized we were in a bit of a bind.  Liam insisted that he’d only been drinking and was sober enough to drive.  The ass even said the alphabet backwards and walked a straight line to prove it,” he scoffed, scowling. “I didn’t even question it, not really, merely put up a half hearted protest and then poured myself into the car without further thought.  Liam in the driver’s, Robin up front with me behind him and Milah behind Liam.”

Killian sighed and it sounded as though he was releasing a breath he’d been holding for over ten years.  Emma didn’t hesitate as she reached for him, relieved when his hand slid easily into hers.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply and closed his eyes.

“We were nearly back at the hotel, only a few blocks away really-” his voice wavered and she held his hand tighter, “I had picked a fight with Liam over one of the songs that was to be on our next album.  The last thing I remember was seeing his eyes in the rear mirror, giving me the annoyed glare I’d seen all my life.  That’s when… when...”

Emma watched helplessly as he pressed his lips together and looked up and away from her, as if he was trying to stave off the tears that hadn’t fallen before.  She didn’t need him to tell her the rest, she already knew.  Liam had run a red light and their rental sedan had been hit on the driver’s side by a truck going nearly fifty.  Milah had been killed on impact but Liam had lived long enough to make it to the hospital but not an operating room.  Robin and Killian had survived with a few broken bones and superficial cuts but it was clear to her that Killian was still healing.

“Never thought I’d see that poster again-” he said gruffly, half turning back towards the building, “let alone covered with our signatures.  Did you know that Liam spent hours working on his?  Claimed he wanted to be able to quickly do the autographs for fans but I suspect it was to practice his flourishes.  Always took up half the posters, the ponce.”

When he looked back at her he tried to give her a smile but it faded quickly.  She let her thumb caress the back of his hand, even though she wanted to pull him back into a hug and never let him go.

He looked down at their joined hands and gave a small huff, his grip tightening, “You’re the first person I’ve told the whole story to aside from my therapist.  The first person I’ve wanted to tell, really.”

She didn’t know what to say to that but she didn’t need to.  Killian’s eyes flickered to hers for a moment before he bent his head and brought their joined hands to his lips.  Goosebumps erupted down her arm despite the Texas heat and she couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped.  His gaze snapped back to hers and he straightened slowly, moving a step closer as he did.

For an impossibly long moment too many thoughts raced through her head, questioning what she hoped was about to happen.  The only thing that steadied her was somehow seeing the same hesitation, the same tempered desire, in Killian’s too blue eyes.  That more than anything had her reaching up with her free hand to caress his cheek before pressing up on her toes to press her lips to his.

There was no hesitation as Killian sighed into her.  His mouth was warm against hers but his hand was warmer as it slid from her hip to her lower back, pulling her close.  The surprised noise she made was lost to his groan as he deepened the kiss.  It was a sound she decided she would gladly work hard at getting him to repeat.

As she happily let herself get lost in the heady sensation of his touch she vaguely noted how he was able to make her feel as though she was vibrating.  It was another few moments before she realized that it was her phone and not just his considerable skill that was making her skin tingle. She pulled back, gasping, but kept the grip she had on his shoulder as she reached behind her.  He didn’t seem to realize what she was doing.  Instead he focused his ministrations on her neck, forcing a moan from her throat as she pulled her phone free and tapped it against the hand that was only inches from the back pocket it’d been in.

“Phone,” she protested breathlessly, even as she tilted her head to give him better access, “Killian, I gotta-”

He lifted his head and looked at her with hooded eyes that cleared marginally as he nodded.  She nearly tossed her phone to the ground when his gaze flickered to her lips and he licked his own.  The insistent buzzing in her hand was the only thing that stopped her.

Glancing at the screen she felt as though a bucket of cold water was dumped over her head at the sight of Regina’s name.  She stepped away from Killian as she swiped to answer, turning in the direction she thought their broken down bus was sitting.

“Uh, hi?”

“You and your band have ten minutes to get back to that bus.  The rental is in your name so you will be the only one driving it.  Go straight to the venue, no pit stops and no going to the hotel first.  You have three hours to sound check.”

Emma scowled at nothing as the call disconnected, annoyed that Regina hadn’t even acknowledged her in any way.  She checked the time on her phone and saw that Anton had tried to warn her with texts she’d been too wrapped up in Killian to notice.  Turning back to him her frown deepened at the sight of him rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, looking nervous.

He cleared his throat before gesturing between them, “That was...”

“A one time thing?” She asked, hating how uncertain she sounded.

“No!” He burst out, surprising her as he leapt forward and grabbed her hand.  His other hand cupped her cheek, “At least I hope not.  No, I was merely going to say that it wasn’t my intention for things to escalate as they did.  I don’t regret it, though, not one moment.”

“Me either,” she said with a smile.  He mirrored her but as he began to lean forward she stopped him with a hand on his chest, “Woah there, tiger, we’re gonna have to wait.  Regina says we need to get back to the bus.”

He lightly pressed his lips to her hairline and sighed, “That’s perhaps for the best, love, we might have scandalized the locals out in the open like this.”

She snorted a laugh and because she could she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before backing away.  He stared at her with a dazed look in his eye, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  She let her own smile unfurl as she sent a quick text to Will and Tink to get them back to the bus.

“Come on-” she grabbed his hand and headed in the direction of the road, “I really don’t want to get on Regina’s bad side by being late to sound check.”

“Swan, wait-” he tugged on her hand, pulling her to a stop, “Didn’t you have things set aside for purchase in there?”

“Nothing important,” she said with a shrug.  He narrowed his eyes at her and she rolled hers back at him, “I promise.  Just some random records I thought might be interesting.  We don’t have time to go back and figure out where to pay for them anyway.  I was serious about Regina.”

“If you’re certain…”

“Yep, so let’s go.  We still have to get Anton’s giant coffee.”

Killian gave her another skeptical look but she ignored it, leading him back the way they’d come.

Later that night, when she dragged herself onto the repaired bus after their show, she was only mildly surprised to see the pile of records she’d left behind at the antique mall sitting on her bunk.  What was a surprise was the long stemmed red rose laying across the top of them.  Biting her lip against the grin that threatened to split her face in two she realized she couldn’t wait until the next time she would be able to get Killian alone again.