#you think she keeps all of her cards safely in a drawer to remember her like with her coat and dress?

[schneiderenjoyer]

Now that we have a solid confirmation that UTTU cards can not only projects images, but even sounds and smells...

Do you think Vertin collects Schneider's cards just so she doesn't forget her? Like, it's strange that Schneider so far has been the only nonplayable character with UTTU cards. And what we know from her...UTTU still considers her enough of an arcanist to even have cards of her own. Imagine one of the other reasons why Vertin goes to UTTU is for these cards...

[leclerced]

Lando givesaq his girl a plush toy on one of their first dates. He wins it for her or just buys it from a local shop with souvenirs and she’s absolutely obsessed with the little toy. She has it in her bed every night and cares for it as if it’s was definitely more valuable than it is in the eyes of other people. After some time of dating and going back and forth they decide to move in tighter so she ofc takes the plushie with her and when Lando sees it he’s like “why did you keep it? It’s years old and not even pretty” but she tells him that she loves it and has loved it since he gave it to her. When he was away she’d hug the toy and think about him, maybe even she stole his perfume one time and sprayed the toy so it would also smell like him. And suddenly Lando gets emotional because it was such a small thing and it meant the world to her. He asks if she kept anything else and she laughs and tells him that she has everything that he gave her throughout the relationship. Every note, every box, every ribbon even. She shows it to him and tells him from where and when the item came from

lowkey thats so me tbh i have adhd real bad and will keep things for years. i have a pencil with a brain eraser on it that i got nearly ten years ago. ive never sharpened the pencil or used the eraser. its purely for the vibes. a guy gave me a circuit board that he made for a car and i kept it for like 4 years.

they go to a local carnival and he wins it for her !! he completely forgets about it because it’s just a teddy bear from their first date, and he knocks it out of her hand and it falls in a puddle so he tells her she can toss it. then they’re moving in, she’s doing all the decorating while he unboxes the big things and arranges furniture. he goes to their bedroom while she’s unpacking those boxes and sees it on their bed and asks, “okay i hope this isn’t weird but does your childhood stuffed animal have to stay on the bed we have sex in?? it kinda creeps me out.”

she wants to cry because he doesn’t remember and he thinks its creepy. he sees how sad she looks and starts apologizing but she explains that it’s not from her childhood it’s from their first date and he suddenly remembers winning it. and suddenly hes like oh thats so cute oh my god!!!! he falls more in love with her then asks why she kept it bc if he remembers correctly he dropped it in a puddle of mud and told her she could toss it bc its just cheap trash. she tells him she hand washed it as soon as he left and he asks why bc it was their first date? she’s kinda embarrassed but she’s like “i’m just sentimental i guess? i keep everything.” and he’s suddenly worried he’s moved in with a hoarder so he asks what she means by that.

she disappears into their new closet and comes out with a wooden jewelry box, he’d seen it before but never looked inside. she sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her so he takes it and she places the box between them. she starts with the lowest drawers, and it’s an assortment of polaroids they’d taken. he has a few himself, tucked in his wallet and in the visors in his car. the secret few of her in lingerie or naked, or his cock in her, hidden safely away inside his suitcase inside a little locked box. those are his keepsakes. but she has every other one they took, tucked away inside this ordinary jewelry box. the first drawer is completely pg13, but the one next to it… he picks through and takes a few of them himself to take with him when he leaves again. and then the ones above that are full of slips of paper, sticky notes, cards from floral deliveries, any kind of love note he ever gave her is organized inside with dates written on the back in her own handwriting so she’ll have an easy way to keep them organized.

in the drawers above that, every random keychain he’s bought her from each city he’s been to is stored. he noticed she always used the newest ones and assumed she trashed the older ones. above that is full of rings, and then bracelets. the top compartment, he expects necklaces, but it contains cards from every birthday, anniversary, christmas, love letters, post cards from the cities he’s visiting. anything that didn’t fit in the drawers below is squeezed into the upper compartment. she tells him about each one and how she looks through it when he’s been gone for awhile, how she rereads the letters he sent her, reads all the love notes he’d hide around her home. how she’d search for hours on end when she had nothing else to do, hoping to find more, which reminds him to start doing it in their new home.

he’s so surprised by it bc he saved a few things, but she saved every little reminder of his love that he’d ever given her. then she’s getting up and getting another jewelry box and tells him it only contains jewelry because he buys her so much she had to get another, and then she’s telling him which ones are her favorites and he’s noticing patterns in the styles she likes the most, which gems and cuts. he asks her about the clothes he buys her and she admits she didn’t keep all of them, just his or her favorite items, because she didn’t have a lot of space in her old apartment but now that they have a walk in closet, she’ll be keeping just about anything he gifts her, so he better think wisely unless he wants to see her wearing a hideous sweater he jokingly bought he that she loves simply because it’s from him.

instead of being scared she’s a hoarder, he spends hours going through each one trying to guess the year and month he gifted it to her, she’s finding the box of snow globes he buys at souvenir shops, and he’s guessing on those too. he loves how much every gift he gives her matters to her, whether it’s a post it note hidden in the cutlery drawer that just says i love you or a matching set of diamond earrings and necklace.

[noisynaia]

Dreaming of You

Chapter four: Damn Your Eyes

summary: An otherwise depressing night takes a turn when a pair of warm brown eyes belonging to a charming stranger lock with yours. Years later, at a different time of your life, a certain pair of brown eyes find their way back into your life.

word count: 3.3k 

pairing: Javier Peña x afab!reader 

note: (18+ mdni) No use of (y/n). The reader uses she/her pronouns and is shorter than Javier, but no other physical descriptions are used. This has not been beta-read and English is not my native language.

Can also be read on ao3

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…I guess I just see what I wanna see,

Or is my heart just deceiving me?

I remember

Just how you made me wanna surrender…

Those damn eyes are haunting you for the rest of the day. They couldn’t have been Javier’s, of course not. Bumping into him after so many years, and in Laredo of all places… No, that would be too weird of a coincidence. But being reminded of him by bumping into that mystery man on Main Street had made you think back to that night so many years ago.

Javier had been such a brief acquaintance, but there was something about him that had left an impact. Maybe it was the fact that it had been some of the best sex of your life, or that he, despite sneaking out on you, had sent you flowers to thank you for the night you had spent together.

You feel terrible for thinking about it, but you just can’t help yourself. It had only been a one-night stand, but now your brain is full of the memories of him. It had been a good night, fun and carefree, but it really should just stay in the past. You are a married woman now, and there is no need to dwell on something you really shouldn’t.  Javier is nothing more than a distant memory, a blip in your past that has no relevance to your present life.

But still, those eyes keep haunting you. You try to shake them from your mind, focusing on the tasks at hand and trying to push those memories deep down as you go about your day, finishing your shift at the bookstore and getting groceries before heading back home again. There is no good reason for you to be thinking about another man, especially one that wasn’t even a significant part of your life.

Soon you’re back on your front porch, balancing bags of groceries in your arms as you try to fish your keys out of the pocket of your shorts. The weight of the bags makes it difficult, but you finally manage to fish them out and insert the key into the lock, giving it a twist to the right. With a click, the lock opens, and you push the door open with your hip.

Balancing the groceries carefully, you step inside, feeling a rush of relief as you can finally unload the heavy bags onto the kitchen counter. Bruce is in Austin for a business trip, so you have the house to yourself for the next few days. You hum softly as you start putting away the groceries, the mundane task helping to distract you from your swirling thoughts. 

But as you reach for a bag of sunflower seeds to put away in the pantry, bright yellow flowers printed across the plastic, you suddenly remember that you still have the card that came with the bouquet Javier sent you,  safely tucked away in a drawer, between the pages of your well-loved childhood copy of  ‘One Thousand and One Nights’. You probably shouldn’t have kept it, but for some reason, you just had not been able to throw it away.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thought. It’s silly, ridiculous even, but despite trying to talk yourself out of it, you can’t help but go look for it. You find it, at the entry of  ‘The Tale of the Lover Who Feigned Himself A Thief’. The name of the flower shop is printed at the top of the card with the handwritten message underneath written in a, surprisingly, neat handwriting with a blue pen.  

Thank you for the other night.

— Javi.  

You’re staring at the card in your hand for a few seconds before putting it back, slamming the book shut, and tucking it away in the drawer again. There is no reason to entertain the thought of him. The rest of your day goes by as usual. You go on your walk with Bailey. You cook dinner while listening to one of your favorite vinyls. You have to admit to the convenience of CDs, but you always listen to vinyl when you’re home. Nothing beats the sound, and you have invested too much time and too much money in your records over the years to stop now.   

You have almost forgotten Javier completely by the time you get ready for bed, and you quickly fall into a deep dream-filled sleep after taking an Ambien.

“Preciosa,” he whispers against the skin of your collarbone before leaving wet kisses up the side of your neck. Warm calloused hands exploring your body.  

“So gorgeous,” he groans, sliding his hand further up your thigh, his fingers slowly running over the delicate lace as he reaches your garter. 

His features are blurry, like a memory, but the touch feels so real. 

“Want me to devour you, huh, hermosa?” his raspy voice whispers into your ear. 

“Yes, Javi! Please…” you whine.

Your heart is pounding hard in your chest as you bolt awake. Bailey had jumped up on the bed, waking you from the dream. 

“Shit…” you hiss, throwing your arm over your head with a groan, hiding your face in the crook off your elbow.

You take a few heavy breaths before throwing the light duvet off your body, making sure not to disturb Bailey, who now lays at the foot of the bed. The luminous digits on the clock radio only show 05:08, but you are feeling very awake and there’s no way you’re going to be able to fall back asleep again after that dream. Why the fuck did you have to dream about that?! You stand up and peel your soaked panties down your legs to toss them into the hamper before heading straight to the bathroom. You will need a long shower after this.

A week goes by, Bruce has returned from Austin, and you have almost forgotten about how you were reminded of Javier and the effect that reminder had on you… You have just finished sorting some books in the backroom of the bookstore, and now you’re reading in an old, yellow paged paperback copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’, which looks like it had been a highschool distribution a student had forgotten to turn in and eventually had donated. You know the story, you had also read it in highschool just like half of the population, but there are no customers and nothing for you to do so why not read a little. 

Heathcliff is in the middle of begging for Cathy’s ghost to haunt and torment him for the rest of his life when the little bell over the door chimes. In walks Chucho Peña, politely removing his hat from his head as he enters and gives you a friendly nod with his greeting. 

Chucho is one of your most frequent customers, and by far your favorite. He is the picture-perfect example of a real Texan vaquero, sporting an impressive and well-groomed mustache, and you don’t remember ever seeing him without his faithful stetson, either on his head or in hand. 

“Welcome!” You greet him with a big smile as you close the book, letting Heathcliff wallow in his sorrow without you. “Haven’t seen you in a while, started to be afraid I had lost my favorite customer,” you say with a smile. You really have missed your talks with Chucho, he is one of the few people in Laredo you don’t feel like is secretly judging you behind their back. He had even invited you out to the ranch once after you had mentioned that there aren’t any good places in town for Bailey to run free. You have never actually got around to visit, but you do really appreciate the sentiment. 

“My son came home from Colombia a few weeks ago, so I’ve had to make sure he got settled in nicely.”

“Oh,” you reply. A son that came home from Colombia a few weeks ago… 

Realization hits you like a truck. You had convinced yourself that the man you had bumped into last week simply just had looked like Javier, but now Chucho’s is telling you about a son coming back from Colombia, just as you randomly had been reminded of Javier again after so many years, what are the damn odds...  

You already knew that Chucho has a son, and you have heard some of the town’s tale-tellers mention ‘Chuco’s boy’, or ‘the Peña kid’ a few times in passing. But you have always tried your hardest to not involve yourself with the small-town gossip, so you have always made an effort to never listen to what was said.

“He worked for the DEA down there,” Chucho continues. “It has been hard for him, and maybe even harder to come back here. I just hope he finds some peace, lord knows he deserves some. He should find himself a nice girl and maybe settle down…” The elderly man shakes his head with a small smile. “Too bad Bruce got to you first, but I guess you wouldn’t even be here in Laredo if he hadn’t.” 

“No, I probably wouldn’t,” you agree, smiling back but suddenly feeling weirdly nauseous. Chucho’s vague implication catches you off guard, and you find yourself imagining having sweet, humorous Chucho Peña as your father-in-law instead of the emotionally repressed William Price.

A little silence settles over the store before you gather the courage to continue. “I think I might already have met him…”

Chucho looks surprised. “You’ve met Javi?”

Javi… Oh, how small the world is. You try to keep your composure, but your heart is racing in your chest. Now you have your confirmation, it was Javier you had bumped into. 

You nod affirmatively at Chuchos question, not mentioning that it was years ago in San Antonio.

Chucho smiles. “Just don’t hold anything you hear about him against him. I might be biased as his father, but he is a good man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. If people around here knew a little more about me I think I would be the topic of a lot more gossip than I already am,” you let out a humorless laugh at your confession.

Chucho just gives you a sympathetic look before going to check the crime-noir section, changing the topic as he peruses the shelves.

—

Javier is sitting on the front porch of the house, lighting a cigarette with a sigh. It is only lunchtime, but he is already more tired than an old shoe. He has been up since the fucking crack of dawn. He had had a nightmare. It was a memory from Colombia that had run on a loop until he had finally woken up, covered in cold sweat, and not able to fall back asleep. Felipe, the red barn cat, is laying in a sunbeam at the other end of the porch, sleeping without a care in the world and Javier is not above envying a cat at this point. 

He takes a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs and momentarily calm his racing thoughts. He looks out at the view of the grazing cattle, trying to appreciate the beauty of it all. But it’s a bit lost on him. 

Just then, he hears the sound of an approaching car. Javier squints in the sunlight and sees his father’s truck approach, he greets him with a raised hand as Chucho’s blue truck rolls up the driveway, the wheels swirling up dust from the gravel road. Chucho parks the truck next to the porch and steps out of the truck, a tired smile on his weathered face.

“Hey hijo, how’s your day been so far?” Chucho asks, making his way over to Javier.

“Just another day in paradise, I guess,” Javier replies with a shrug, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Got everything you needed?” he then asks, letting a ribbon of smoke escape through his lips as Chucho makes it up the steps to the front porch.  

“Most of it. Stopped by the post office, but they said my package won’t be there till tomorrow. Can you maybe swing by and get it for me?” 

“Sure, I’ll swing by town tomorrow,” Javier says, still not particularly fond of going into town, but he knows that he’ll have to get over it. 

Chucho lights a cigarette of his own. “I understand you have met my friend from the bookstore.” 

Javier sends his father a confused look. 

“The young woman who married the Price boy, she told me she had met you,” Chuho elaborates. 

Javier has no idea what his father is talking about. Alvaro, an old highschool buddy, one of the few people he has reconnected with after returning, had mentioned that Bruce had got married when he gave him the mandatory ‘what’s new in town’ talk, but Javier has no idea who the woman is. 

Javier shakes his head as he flicks the ash from his cigarette. “I can’t say that I have, pops.” 

“Well, she told me she has met you…” Chucho says with a simple shrug of his shoulders, stepping into the house with the groceries, but not before letting a book land in Javier’s lap as he passes him on the porch.

“Thought you might need some night reading.” The older man says gently.

Javier mumbles a ‘thanks’, but Chucho is already inside the house when it comes over his lips. He stays out on the porch for another while, chain smoking as he begins to read the first chapter of the book. He doesn’t want to go back inside yet, he didn’t know that his father had noticed his sleep problems. But of course he had figured it out, a person can only wake up screaming from night terrors so many times before the other people living under the same roof begin to notice.

Javier doesn’t ask more about the woman at the bookstore, but he does wonder who his dad could have been talking about. He has made an effort to not meet with any women since he came back to Loredo, which his shower drain can confirm, he doesn’t think he has jerked off this much since he was a teenager. He reads a few more chapters, getting more hooked on the book than he had thought he would, it has been years since he had time to read for pleasure, before heading inside. 

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully, and he miraculously actually manages to get a whole night of sleep. Soon the next day dawns and after a shower and some breakfast Javier gets ready to head into town. The rabbit tobacco at the side of the road swaying gently in the light breeze as he drives towards town.

He stops by the convenience store first to get himself a few packs of cigarettes, some nicotine gum, and a bottle of Tylenol. His back has been acting up lately. He goes by the post office next, getting his father’s package.

With the parcel safely in hand, he gets back to his truck, glad that he hadn’t run into anyone he didn’t want to see. He opens the door of the passenger seat, placing his dad’s package on the seat before closing the door again. He takes out a cigarette from his new pack, leaning his back against the closed passenger door, crossing one leg over the other as he picks out his lighter from the pocket of his jeans, sucking life into the cigarette before blowing smoke out through his nose with a sight as he looks down the street. His eyes land on the sign for the bookstore, the chipped paint making the words barely legible. His father’s comment from yesterday comes back to him , making him curious.          

“What the hell,” he mumbles to himself, stomping out his cigarette and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. Javier’s curiosity gets the best of him.

—

You are organizing some boxes with donated books in the backroom when you hear the bell over the front door ringing; indicating a customer has stepped into the store. “I’ll be there in just a sec,” you chime, putting the last box down before stepping back into the store.  

A man is standing by the door with his back turned to you, but he turns around as he hears you enter the room, his eyes locking with yours and you feel your stomach drop. The way his strong jaw flexes as he chews down on the piece of gum in his mouth does things to you that it shouldn’t. 

 It’s him… Javier.

His eyes widen with recognition. And to your surprise your name falls from his lips in a questioning tone. 

“Yeah… Hi,” you reply nervously, trying to keep your cool, but failing, finding yourself absolutely dumbfounded by his sudden presence. The dream you had last week comes back to you and you feel your face heat up. Since when did you become so skittish? He is just a man, an incredibly handsome man that you just happened to have slept with once… 

“Hi,” he replies, and an awkward silence falls over the little store. 

“So, uh… You’re from Laredo, huh,” you finally state, trying to pull yourself together, feeling like you need to say something.  

“Yeah, I am,” he says with a nod. 

“Fun… I-I mean what are the odds?” You stumble over your words. 

“Yeah, here of all places,” he laughs a little and a bit of the tension disappears. 

“And you’re back for good?” you can’t help but ask.  

He gives you a little shrug of his shoulder. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Another beat of silence stretches between you, but this time he is the one to break it.

“Congrats by the way,” he says, nodding his head towards your hand where you, without even having been aware of it, have been fidgeting with the ring on your finger. “I should maybe call you Mrs. Price now?” 

“Please don’t,” you say with a low chuckle and a shake of your head. “Makes me sound so old.”  

You don’t tell him that you didn’t take Bruce’s last name when you married him, it is yet another thing that makes you stand out in town, but you have never been the traditional type after all. 

“Well, I just came to have a look. But uhm… I’ll better get going,” he says. You don’t mention that he hasn’t looked at a single book. “Say hello to Bruce from me,” he says with a tight-lipped smile. You didn’t know that Javier and your husband knew each other, but in a place where pretty much everybody knows everybody, it shouldn’t be too surprising. 

“I will… And say hi to your dad from me, I hope he likes his new book,” you say, watching as he walks to the door. 

He doesn’t tell you that the book actually lies on his own nightstand. “Sure, I will… Guess I might see you around then.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you nod, wiping your hands on your thighs, your palms suddenly feeling clammy.

“It was nice seeing you again.” He offers you a more genuine smile, this time it reaches his eyes, making that gorgeous dimple show…   

You just nod in response, suddenly unable to form a proper response, but you gather some courage before he leaves out the door.

“Javi,” you call out after him, his hand already on the door handle.

He stops in his tracks, already halfway through the door he turns around to look back at you with those deep umber eyes of his. 

You offer him a small smile. “Thank you for the flowers, back then… They were really lovely.”

“Thought they fit you… And I really did have a good night” 

And with that, he leaves the store, the bell above the door jingling softly behind him. The scent of his musky cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the smell of old books, or maybe you simply imagine that it does. You are fucked.

…Damn your eyes

For getting my hopes up high

For making me fall in love again

Damn your eyes!

For taking my breath away

I fall completely under your spell

Damn your eyes...

Damn Your Eyes, Etta James

@emilianamason

[justjessame]

Light Through the Darkness: Chapter 40

Morgan House~ February 2010

Abigail had found the safe. It was hidden in the room Damon had chosen for her. Unlocking it with one of the keys on the keyring she'd found in the desk drawer, she found a clutch of papers that made less sense than the letter she'd found in the grimoire.

Somehow she had identification. New, modern if the look and feel of them were any indication. Virginia State identification card, social security card, and banking information, plastic cards that had her name on them as well. How they came to be hidden in this safe was another mystery. Add it to her growing list.

Contemplating a trip to the bank to use her newly acquired IDs, she wasn't surprised to hear a knock on the front door. Groaning loudly and expecting Damon to be waiting, she walked slowly downstairs. As she approached the door, she called out a warning to him, reminding him that she didn't want to see him.

"Damon, I told you, your invitation was rescinded." Opening the door, she felt her eyes widening as she encountered a different Salvatore and the woman from the photo on Damon's phone.

"Ah." She said, stepping out of reach, just in case. "Unexpected guests."

"Abi," Stefan said, surprised to see her standing in front of him wearing a pretty short dress and Keds.

"Stefan." She replied, no fear present in her countenance. "And Elena Gilbert." She nodded politely to his companion. "To what do I owe this, I can't honestly say pleasure, visit."

Standing in front of her, Elena was struck by how tiny she was, yet her bearing was so regal. Even displeasure didn't make her face unattractive. She didn't offer them entrance, and Elena could appreciate the caution.

"We wanted to check on you." Elena offered.

Returning her attention to the Gilbert girl, Abigail was amazed to find she was being sincere. Odd on the face of Katherine Pierce.

"Does it ever feel wrong to be with someone whose looks are identical to her, but her personality is entirely different, Stefan?" She asked, still studying Elena. Not allowing him a chance to answer, she answered the girl's concern. "Thank you for your concern. I'm fine. Used to being alone. I've had 146 years to grow accustomed."

She moved to shut the door. "He's miserable." Stefan offered. "It's how I realized you were awake. Elena caught him staring at a photo of you he's had hidden away all this time."

She glanced into the eyes of the boy she'd barely known. He became a monster once, but now, standing before her was the young man he should have been. The one she'd believed she could have grown to love, or at least live with for a lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Stefan." She answered, going for nonchalant, but hearing her own pain. "He never thought of me after he ran from this town, and he admitted to returning only for HER. If he's miserable, which I'm certain he'd recover from soon enough, he's earned it. Now, as lovely as this visit hasn't been, I have some errands to attend to, and you're keeping me."

Stefan nodded. Arguing with Abigail would get them nowhere. "Goodbye, Abi." He said, turning away. "I am happy you're safe and back."

He caught her curt nod as she shut the door. Elena glanced at him, but saw that he wasn't going to speak just yet. Getting in their vehicle, and starting back, he finally answered.

"Arguing gets you nowhere with Abigail." He said, shaking his head when she wanted to argue. "I lived in the same house with her, Elena. Damon never won an argument with her. Other than once."

"When your mother was dying." Elena remembered Damon's story coming back from Atlanta. "He told him about being on the same page with your father for once."

Stefan nodded, remembering the pain of losing his mother. "That was the only time, and I think it was simply because it was less argument and more grief."

Elena understood. Her next question was one he had no answer for, however. "How do we fix this?"

1st National Bank of Mystic Falls

Abigail smiled at the teller standing before her as the woman checked her identification against the bank documents.

"Everything is in order, Miss Morgan. Your balance will be at the bottom of your receipt, but if you'd like to make an appointment to speak with an account manager to check your other accounts we can make those arrangements as well." Her smile was generic, but Abigail maintained her dignity.

"Thank you, Sara. I'll set an appointment at a later date." She took the envelope containing her money and IDs and turned to leave. She needed to shop for more clothes, and look into a cell phone like Damon had shown her how to use. Where to first?

Exiting the bank, she felt a pang of hunger. Food then. Glancing around she noticed a building with a sign reading "Mystic Grille". Promising if the smells wafting toward her from its direction, she crossed the street, careful of cars. The smell of cooking food grew as she moved closer to the door.

Entering, she took a moment to adjust to the change in light and the noise. Ugh, these people and the need for music, banging, clanging all the time. A young blonde man in a shirt sporting the name of the establishment over his heart.

"Table, booth, or bar?" He asked, smile genuine.

Biting her lip, she allowed him to pick. He gestured for him to follow her and pulled out a stool at the bar for her to sit on.

"Sorry, but my boss prefers single customers here, unless you ask for different arrangements."

"It's fine, thank you." She smiled as he handed her the menu. She was focused on ignoring the noise, and studying the overwhelming amount of choices offered on the menu that she didn't realize she was being watched.

From a table behind where Matt had seated her, Damon sat with Ric who had forced him out of the house. Nursing a bourbon, he had turned as soon as she entered and watched her progress to her seat. She was still wearing the dress he'd picked out, this time she'd paired it with the denim jacket and boots. She'd also managed to braid her hair into a long rope over her shoulder. God, she was beautiful.

Ric's eyes followed his. She was a tiny thing. Her hair was long enough to hang to her waist, even braided. He couldn't see her face, but Damon was locked on her.

"Do I need to rescue that young woman from your clutches, Damon?" He teased, knowing that whatever was bothering Damon could end up making him dangerous to unwitting strangers.

When Damon pulled his eyes from the girl's back, and locked onto Ric's, his friend saw a pain he'd never seen on the other's face. "If there is any one person in this God forsaken town that's completely safe from me, it's her."

"Who is she, Damon?" Ric asked, watching the torment on Damon's face as she interacted with Matt. Taking her drink and ordering lunch.

"She was the dream," he said, knocking back his drink. "And she despises me."

Ric gestured to a passing waitress, signally for another round. "What's her name? And why haven't I ever heard about her?"

Damon wanted to get up and leave, but he felt rooted to his seat. He watched as Abigail interacted with Donavan. Her easy smile, which he got a flash of when she realized her stool could spin, and the light in her eyes at the ease she was finding in fitting in made it impossible. When she sat, asking the useless blonde questions about the menu's offerings while sipping ice water, Damon choked out the tragic backstory to Ric. Everything from meeting to their last encounter.

Ric listened, not only to the story, but to the pain he heard in Damon's voice. Damon, the vampire he equated with all the bad traits that he fought against, was sounding incredibly human.

Damon finished the tragic tale of love and loss, and knocked back another drink. Abigail had settled on a simple salad, and he watched as Donavan was joined by Caroline in keeping her company. If he chose, he could eavesdrop, but even he had limits on what he'd do. Especially since she asked him to stay away.

"Why are you sitting here, moping?" Ric asked, darting attention between the two. "You love her, you dumbass. Fight for her."

Damon raised an eyebrow. "She told me to stay away, Ric. And she always gets what she wants."

Ric rolled his eyes. "She's pissed because you gave in, Damon." He was amazed by how easily Damon was rolling over. ""Women, especially those in love for as long as she's been, want to come first. You failed her and admitted to it. Now you grovel and plead with her for forgiveness. If that doesn't work, presents. If that doesn't work, you find the one thing she wants more than you, and give it to her. The point is, dick, don't give up."

Damon, still watching as Abigail effortlessly charmed Caroline, Donavan, and anyone who came into her orbit, was listening to Ric's advice. Weighing it against their conversations since he transitioned, he realized her issues were obvious. Everything had gone downhill as soon as she saw the picture with Elena. And, of course his confession about Katherine.

"Dammit." He snarled at himself. "Giving up isn't really my style anyway." His swagger coming back, slowly but surely. He was considering how to bring her around to even entertaining the sight of him. "Abigail is notoriously headstrong, Ric. How do you fight for someone who won't even allow you in her orbit?"

While Abigail sat barely ten feet away from Damon, Ric educated his pal on how to break through to an angry, hurt lover. And for once, his friend paid attention, because if there was any possibility of getting Abigail back into his arms, then he'd do it.

[por-siempre-aqui]

I decided to clean up a little so I opened a drawer and put it on the bed.

I found at least half a dozen cards from over the years Im guessing? I have no memory of these cards, like at all.

I opened each one up.

To me, it's like reading them for the first time.

I swear I read each one and I had no memory of these words of love that he wrote to me. I completely forgot he would get me a card and flowers whenever he could, and I hate surprises, but it was always the best gesture when he did this.

It wasn't an illusion, that's what I realized today.

Like we really really did love each other so much and it was genuine.

But then I also found a bunch of instax photos too, and it was of us at places we explored. And I could remember from those pictures was how uncomfortable I felt and how bad my anxiety was.

We had an argument at the beach and I cried and I ended up apologizing. But I wasn't really sorry. I just regretted whatever I did to start the argument.

Whenever we have had fights, he is extremely quiet and then out of nowhere extremely confrontational.

We are both tired of each other right now. I know I am. I need space. I hope that he gets his life together. And that's coming from someone who has no idea what it's like to have no one to turn to for help.

I don't have anything in my life together right now. I have to focus on me, so that's what I'm doing. I need to take care of myself, I need to cook for myself and keep showing myself love.

And you know what? I have already been feeling better. I am sad and I do feel uncomfortable. But I realized that I am also so used to feeling uncomfortable around him.

So many feelings. So many random moments of sadness and happiness and comfort and then complete annoyance.

He still hasn't apologized. He will never apologize. I probably have should him that he doesn't have to be sorry or agree with me at all.

He has his own opinions about me and I cannot control how he perceives me.

I know he loves me I never have ever doubted that he loves me. But he loves me in his own way, and I have tried so many times to straight up tell him how to love me. His corporate jobs stress him out.

He still doesn't have a car.

He hasn't filed his taxes in 4 years?

He doesn't have a drivers license, just an ID.

He doesn't care about my anxiety.

We have never taken a vacation or an overnight getaway together and we have been together for 4 years.

When we fight it always circles back to the same thing. We are both tired of feeling like we have to prove how much we love each other. And it shouldn't feel like a burden. And then there's the fact that I don't feel comfortable cuddling, my back always hurts 100% due to my weight gain and my old mattress.

A mattress that has been worn down by two large people sleeping on it.

There isn't enough room on the bed for both of us to sleep comfortably. That's one of the reasons I was getting a new bed. And the new bed is bigger so I get to feel extra alone in it. Super

But my bed will no longer have hay, crumbs or his pubes or his nail bits in it. There won't be random spills in my room anymore. The only mountain of clothes I will have will be mine!!

I want to get some steps for my dog so she can safely climb into bed with me. At least I have her. He won't even have her and that fucks me up to think about.

I want to believe that by having him move out he will get his shit together, and that's it. If something happens to him I will feel responsible. That's truly how I see it.

But I have asked him so many times to help me. Do the dishes, take out the trash, please do your laundry?! I mean come on dude. I can only tolerate that for so long.

Guess what I also stupidly opened up one of his drawers and saw a lot of the cards that I got for him?! Hahahaha.

I swear someone is setting me up.

Open that drawer, oh wow. Love cards with no date on them. They're not from last year or the year before. So I'm going to guess they are from 2020-2021. Some time after that he walked away from the first job and I didn't know how to respond to his depression.

I think I did the best I could. I definitely made excuses for him, and it is a difficult habit to break. I still do it.

But why am I so judgmental? I would have nothing without my parents help. Literally nothing. No place to live, no car and mostly no hope. I know people who would do their best to help me if I asked them. But I can't imagine ever being that at odds with my parents.

I'm tired of feeling unhappy. And I know I am unhappy in this relationship, in this living situation and I'm unhappy with myself. With who I am right now, i don't like myself. I'm lazy. I'm anxiety ridden. I haven't felt truly relaxed in too long. It has always felt like he was just a guest and I have never felt truly comfortable.

I wanted him so badly and when I got him I felt so lucky. But I didn't really, truly know him. I barely understand him, and yet I love him.

But I need to love me more. I have to love me more.

I was on my way to truly loving and accepting myself and I allowed myself to get lost and jaded and I silenced myself. I am just as responsible for the failure of this relationship. I didn't speak up when I first started to feel uncomfortable and suffocated. I saw him alone and I said hey stay with me. And that was that. I had to convince him, basically beg him and fast forward to today. My parents did start charging both of us rent a few years ago, but neither of us knows how to be financially stable. And we never talked about making a plan for our future. We liked to talk about stuff we wanted to do. But we never got around to doing much of it.

Which is fine by me, I'll figure out another way to go to these places. Because I want to go. And if not I'll try inviting friends. I gotta be social and I gotta go outside more. For me a walk around the block is all I need. Or an hour on the elliptical. I somehow feel like I will have more time and freedom to do what I want to do, when I want to do it.

I am terrified that I'm making a mistake. And that hurting him will be a somehow simply just piss him off. I can't control how he feels about me. But he can't control if I worry and I know I will get over it, and it will pass.

We don't have to try to be friends or acquaintances if he isn't willing. I'm not going to force a damn thing. I have been through that before. I'm just tired of him having no drive. I need someone who wants to work at growing and supporting each other. Someone who doesn't just call me out, but someone who does it in a loving way. Someone who I can be myself around.

I sure as hell don't have my shit together. I know I have a whole lot to work through. I'm going to try therapy at my campus and then I'll see where to go from there.

I hope we can connect from time to time. But I don't know if he will be willing to because I'm straight up kicking him out. I'm being generous because of his situation. I'm giving him time to gather money so he can have something saved up. But I don't want him to get the wrong idea. I really want him to take moving out seriously. That's the number one thing I need from him.

[ice-fire-or-clear]

Until We See The Sunlight

Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x f!Reader

Word count: 766

A/N: Hello have a fun little idea that’s been bouncing around my head for a couple of weeks now! It’s short but cute I think!

masterlist

CW: None :)

Somewhere, tucked away under the layers of clothing or books or operating manuals that often adorn Natasha Trace’s personal space, there’s a sheet of letter paper, faded yellow with time and perfectly folded into thirds. The creases have been well worn in with use, and the edges had lost their crispness over the years. Few people even know of its existence; Phoenix really likes to keep some cards close to her chest.

It’s been with her through flight school, on aircraft carriers, at Top Gun. It’s been thousands of feet in the air and thousands of miles away from home. (She doesn’t really need it at home, though.)

Bob’s seen it, once or twice. Never what was actually inside, just enough to know that it exists and it means something. Once when it rested in the open second drawer in Phoenix’s dorm, bathed in the soft warm light of the bedside lamp and nestled safely on a pile of soft t-shirts. And once more, he saw it tucked safely in the left pocket on the inside of her flight suit as they were lining up for a mission. Bob’s never asked what it is, but he has a pretty good idea. Most people like to keep a piece of home close by, especially when they’re not sure they’ll ever see it again.

Phoenix is grateful for Bob’s silence. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her backseater, but there are some things that live best in the secrecy of your own mind. If she’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t even really need to read it anymore. She had it memorized years ago, and it’s more about the physical effect at this point anyways. The idea of having a piece of you near, something that you’ve touched, is usually enough to quell most homesickness and longing.

She opens it after the mission for the first time in months. She could feel it crinkling against her chest, her heart, as she threw the plane in every direction, the frame creaking around her and the comms ringing in her ears. It was the first time in a really, really long time that she thought she was actually going to die.

So, after the target is destroyed, and everyone makes it back, and she feels her throat constrict and her eyes sting in relief, because goddammit she had heard the comms go dead, heard them go down, she makes her way back to the showers, sits down on an empty bench in an empty row of lockers in an empty room, and pulls the letter out of her pocket. She runs her finger over the edges absentmindedly as she scans the page. Reading your handwriting is almost like hearing your voice, and this time, the tears actually do come. Instinctively, she holds the paper to her face, searching for the scent of your perfume though she knows it’s long since faded. She lets her eyes briefly drift over the enclosed polaroids, something she was exceedingly careful to keep to herself for lonely nights only.

She had originally received the letter several years ago, when she entered recruit training after graduating from the naval academy. It had been the first time the two of you had ever really been separated in the course of your young relationship. She remembered the overwhelming since of belonging and relief she felt when she finally, finally held you in her arms after completing boot camp. You had been grinning madly, tears streaming down your face, which only served to invoke waterworks from Natasha as well. You were so goddamn proud of her, looking at her like she had gone and hung the moon and stars. And at every milestone since then, career and otherwise, the look in your eyes had never faded, never wavered. It brought her great comfort to know that while the world had gotten bigger, scarier, more demanding, you had never changed in all the years you had been by her side.

Well, she considered, running her thumb over the signature at the bottom where you had signed your full name with a flourish, maybe something had changed. She brought her free hand up to the silver chain she wore around her neck, tugging on it to reveal the simple, solitaire band that had been hidden safely under her collar.

Soon enough, she would be able forget all about the letter for a few weeks. She would have the real thing in her arms, and there was no letter on earth that could ever do you, or her love for you, justice.

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!!

[samsspambox]

hello sam!! i was thinking abt how a good amount of artems cards reference previous cards, and then the potential of atmospherics being talked abt came up again....which i think is extremely important seeing as they just. never talked abt it again after rosa was like thank god artem forgot and artem was like i still have her hairtie!!!! anyways how do you think it would go if rosa ever found the hairtie at his place :,)

heyo nonnie!!! ur so right, where is rosa's hair tie??? half of me wants to think that he has it in his bedside drawer, the other half of me who wears hair ties likes to think that he has it on his wrists and that everyone just assumes it's his.

listen, all the bois have pinnable bangs, why not just use a hair tie to tie up their hair into a lil tuft on top of their head so they look like a lil carrot?? especially if no one is gonna see them (except maybe davis,,, he sees everything) but of course, this is artem 'if you touch me i will start steaming out my ears' wing pre-relationship, so i think it's safe to say that he keeps it at his house. maybe by his bedside lamp or something.

ideally, in my perfect world, there are two scenarios that i could see rosa discovering artem has her hair tie.

one: you know that intro scene where rosa walks into artem's office and he's all disheveled? yeah that, but he tied his bangs with her hair tie. obviously, rosa and artem are flustered at the sight of each other and artem takes off the hair tie. and then rosa notices and is like 'is that my hair tie?' and then artem goes off about wanting to give it back to her but failing to do so (i mean,, with the way his stories go in both cards and personal, he probably overheard something in the pantry relating to hair ties and stuff LMAOOO) and then rosa, so graciously, says that he looks good with it and should keep it. he wears it on his wrist afterward and the office erupts in gossip about it.

two: he wears it on his wrist to remember giving it to rosa but obviously forgets. its so easy to forget you have a tie on your wrist! i do it all the time, which is why i usually buy brightly colored ones bc then i'll remember i have one sjkbcdjkbs. anyway, similar to number one, rumors spread about mr. wing's mystery person. is he wearing one for his partner?? a romantic partner?? well of course people get curious and start hounding the closest person to artem: celestine. celestine won't budge and is being annoyingly cryptic about it? hound rosa! and of course rosa starts feeling a bit insecure. has she read him wrong and he's not interested in her??? but she confronts her issues head-on. she asks mr. wing if he has a romantic partner and points to the tie. artem flounders, gives her the tie, and says he kept forgetting to give it to her. end of problem, right?

but why did rosa, in hindsight, like to see artem wearing her hair tie?

but realistically, it's probably gonna happen when rosa moves in with artem and she finds it randomly after moving her stuff LMAOOO.

and yeah, those are some thoughts! the common factor in all of these is that he just forgets, but we're built different. we wont let hyv forget skndksjn

thank you for the ask nonnie!

[extasiswings]

Get in, clowns.  We’re going to the circus.  On ao3.

Eddie’s palms are sweaty.

It’s warm outside, the sun beating down on the park bench where he’s sitting, but it’s the nerves that have his hands clammy as he turns his water bottle over between them.  

When Buck had walked in the house earlier, he’d taken one look at Eddie and rolled his eyes before shoving him back into his bedroom.

“You can’t wear that,” Buck said, rifling through Eddie’s dresser.  He emerged with Eddie’s tightest pair of jeans and shoved them at his chest before turning to the drawers with shirts.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Eddie asked, baffled as he looked down at himself and then, skeptically, at the jeans.

“You look like a dad.”  Buck’s voice went muffled for a moment before he made a noise of victory and pulled out a deep red, long-sleeved shirt that Eddie’s pretty sure is at least a size too small. 

“Kind of hard not to.  Since I am one and all.  That’s not exactly a secret.”

“Yeah, but you can look like a hot dad who is making an effort instead of a regular dad going to the grocery store or something.  You’ll thank me later.”  

After Eddie had changed and walked out of the bathroom, Buck’s face shifted—Eddie could have sworn his eyes darkened, that his voice was rougher as he pronounced Eddie much better.

So Eddie knows he looks good.

But his palms are still sweaty.  He uncaps the water bottle and takes a sip more to have something to do than because he needs it.  And then he starts drumming his fingers against his thigh, needing something to occupy them, some way to move.  

He’s tempted to pull out his phone, to reread the latest texts from Bobby or even the shameless teasing in the group text that Buck started with his sisters—and boy, was that a mistake, putting the three of them in touch, because Eddie never in a million years would have told them he was going on a date if he hadn’t done it by accident because Buck’s direct messages happened to be right below the group—

He’s still not sure he should be, is the thing.  Dating.  He still feels like he can’t quite breathe right when he thinks too hard about it.  Can still play that last dinner with Shannon over on loop, from her asking for a divorce to the implication that really being with him again would be so terrible she would have to run for the hills and leave their child behind.

He didn’t exactly have great self-esteem to begin with.

Eddie wipes his palms on his jeans—he’s in the middle of debating whether it’s bad parenting to make up an emergency involving your kid to get out of a date, when—

“Eddie!  Hi,” Ana greets, walking up the path.  

The anxiety in his chest twists tighter as he gets up from the bench and waves.

“Hey.  You, uh—you look really nice,” he says, because it’s true and also the easiest thing he can remember from the last time he did this.  

Ana smiles.  “So do you.”

There’s a pause that lingers a little too long and then they both start trying to speak at once, cutting off abruptly when they realize.  Eddie rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck.

“Should we walk?” Ana offers, nodding down the path where it leads into the trees.

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie agrees.  

It’s actually not...bad.  She asks him about work and that’s a safe enough topic that he’s comfortable spending a few minutes telling her stories from the station.  She shares a little about the challenges of virtual teaching.  And then she asks about Chris, and, well, that’s an easy subject—Eddie could talk about Chris all day.  

He just finishes the story about the actual building of Christopher’s skateboard—which involved no small amount of comical trial and error on the part of two decidedly not Chris-sized grown men—when Ana gets a thoughtful look on her face and glances sideways at him.

“Can I ask you something personal?”  She asks.

Eddie rocks back on his heels and hooks his thumbs in his pockets.  “Sure.”

“How long has it been for you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Since...the last time I dated?”

Ana nods.

“Well…” He wets his lips to stall.  “The last person I dated was my wife.  And I’m not sure it was really dating in the same way after we were married so...I guess...eleven years give or take?”

He laughs and he can hear the edge of self-deprecation.  “That obvious I’m out of practice?”

“No,” Ana says.  “No, that wasn’t—it’s really not actually. Although it does explain some things.”

“Things?”

She bites her lip.  “Nothing bad,” she insists.  “Just—”

“Have you ever been on a date where the other person talked about their ex the whole time and it was kind of obvious they still had feelings for them and you couldn’t help wondering why they weren’t with the ex when they clearly wanted to be?”  She asks.

Eddie blinks, scrolling back through their conversation trying to think—he’s pretty sure he hasn’t mentioned Shannon except for the once.  And he’s not still—

“In high school, maybe?” He answers.  “But I’m not sure—”

“I was trying to figure out if you and Buck ever dated,” she clarifies, and Eddie stops in his tracks, his mind shorting out as he takes that in.

“I—what?”

They’re back at the parking lot anyway, and although they could take another loop around the park, Ana stops by the closest bench and smiles as she leans against it.

“Look, I like you, Eddie,” she says.  “And if I’m totally off base and you want to see me again, I will definitely pick up the phone.  But if I’m not?  I couldn’t not say something.”

“Buck’s my best friend,” Eddie replies.  His head is swimming but it surprisingly doesn’t feel bad.  More like he’s been handed the clue card for a puzzle he was trying to solve and while the pieces haven’t quite come together fully, they’re getting there.

“You talk about him like he’s your partner.  Like the three of you are a family.  And when you talk about him you look like…”  Ana shakes her head and laughs, but it’s not unkind.  Just soft and maybe a little longing.  “I would love for someone to look like that when they’re talking about me.  Thinking about me.  So, I thought you should know.  Just in case you didn’t.”

Another puzzle piece falls into place and Eddie sucks in a breath.

“I do like you,” he says.

“Yeah...but you’re in love with him.  Right?”  Eddie’s quiet and Ana nods.

“I’m gonna go,” she decides.  “This was nice, for the record.  Maybe we can do it again.  As friends next time.”

“Ana—” Eddie calls after her.  When she looks back over her shoulder though, he’s not sure what to say except, “...thank you.”

“Let me know how it works out?” She asks.  “I’m a little invested now.”

Eddie laughs and runs a hand through his hair.  “Yeah...sure.”  

He drives home in a daze, so much of the past two years—maybe even longer—suddenly thrown into new light.  Everything he’s been afraid of, everything that’s been holding him back—all of the baggage and insecurities that Shannon left behind, that have made him feel like he’s not good enough, like he can’t be a partner to anyone—

He never stopped and looked too hard at what he already had.  What he was already doing.

What he has.  What he is doing.   

With Buck.

In the stark glare of hindsight, it’s easy to see—he was still married when they met, was worn down and bruised and not looking for anything.  He needed a friend and Buck slipped in to fill that void and Eddie...put him in a box.  Put them in a box.  Carefully compartmentalizing every aspect of his life because it was easier that way, because it allowed him to sort through the tangled knots of expectation from any number of other sides, any number of other identities—husband, father, son.

There was no baggage attached to friend.  No forgive and forget and take your wife back because kids need their mothers or you’ll drag him down with you or I wasn’t enough.

There was just...Buck.  Present.  Supportive.  Caring about him.  Believing in him.   The real him—masks off, walls down, warts and all.   

The longer Eddie thinks, the clearer things become.  His mind flips through memories like a scrapbook—panic attacks and phone calls at two in the morning, nights on the couch playing video games with Christopher and the slower, lingering moments with just the two of them after they put him to bed, all those months sharing a bed in Buck’s apartment while he despaired over being away from his son and Buck reminded him he was a good dad—

How many of those nights had Eddie wanted to kiss him?  How many times had he felt that buzz under his skin, the whisper of it would be so easy, only to shove it down because it was too dangerous to deal with.  

And when he thinks now about the future, about having someone in his home, in his bed, in his life, when he pictures it, all he can see is Buck.

It feels right.

“I love him,” Eddie says out loud, tasting the words on his tongue, letting them linger.

I love him.

His pulse spikes with his anxiety, but it calms down as he sits with it.  Because he knows Buck’s not going to leave.  He trusts that.  Buck’s seen him at his worst and none of that has ever driven him away.  So maybe…

Eddie’s mind flicks back to earlier in the day, to the dark heat in Buck’s gaze as it dragged over him before he looked away.

...yeah.  They’ll be okay.

He’s home before he even really registers and takes a few slow breaths before he shuts off the truck and gets out.  When he steps through the door, it’s a strange feeling.  The space is familiar but not.  More...settled somehow.  Home.

Home.

Eddie closes the door behind him and follows the sound of running water to the kitchen.  He stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and spends a moment just watching Buck scrub potatoes in the sink until the other man glances up and notices him.

“Hey,” Buck greets.  “Chris is reading in his room, I’m just working on dinner.  How was the date?”

God, I love you, Eddie thinks, and nearly has to bite his tongue to keep it to himself.

Yeah.  It’s right.

He shrugs.  “It was fine.  Ana’s nice.”

“When’s the next date then?”  There’s an odd note in Buck’s voice that makes Eddie push off the frame and step closer. 

“There’s not going to be one,” he replies.  “Ana’s nice...but I don’t want to date her.”

Buck stops.  Shuts off the water and turns, leaning back against the sink.

“No?”  Buck’s brow furrows.  “It’s not—do you still feel like you’re not ready?”

“No, it’s not that,” Eddie replies.  “I do think I’m ready.  But with the right person.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, but it’s not fear.  More...anticipation.  

He swallows hard.

“Ana said something that made me realize that...I don’t want to start from scratch with some stranger.”

Eddie takes another step closer and Buck inhales sharply, emotions shifting across his face too quickly for Eddie to name them all.

“Eddie…”  Buck sounds hoarse, a little disbelieving.  He leans forward for a moment before shaking his head, clearing his throat.

“I can’t—I need you to be specific,” he says.  “Because I can’t make assumptions here, I can’t—”

Eddie kisses him.  Steps in far enough that Buck’s body presses flush against his, slides his hand around the back of Buck’s neck, and kisses him.  Buck makes a small noise and grips him right back, his hands curving around Eddie’s hips nearly tight enough to bruise in sharp contrast to the way Eddie’s mouth feathers against his, soft as anything.  

“Specific enough?”  Eddie breathes, staying close enough that their lips brush again.  Buck surges up and uses his grip on Eddie’s hips to turn them, pinning Eddie against the counter as he kisses him again in response.  Once, twice, three times, and Eddie shivers.  

He hasn’t been kissed in so long, hasn’t been touched with intention like this—he’d forgotten what it felt like.  His body floods with heat as Buck’s hands slip under his shirt, spreading wide over his rib cage, and he parts his lips eagerly for Buck’s tongue.

Down the hall, a door closes, and Buck jumps back, Eddie slumping against the counter to keep himself upright.  Buck is flushed and panting and Eddie’s pretty sure he can’t look much better, too warm and electric, wanting, wanting, wanting—

Both of them catch their breath and watch the door, but Christopher doesn’t appear.  After a minute Eddie catches the faint sound of a toilet flushing and he looks back at Buck.  

And he laughs.  It bubbles up from his chest like champagne fizz, bright and warm and right, and apparently it’s contagious because Buck starts up as well, stepping in again and sliding his arms around Eddie’s waist, ducking his head to laugh breathlessly against Eddie’s neck.

When they calm down, Buck stays close, his lips feathering over Eddie’s pulse.  Eddie hums and closes his eyes as he tips his head back to give Buck better access.  

“I’m in love with you,” he says.  “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Buck’s lips curve up against Eddie’s skin.

“Well that’s convenient,” he replies.  “Since Chris was asking me earlier why you couldn’t just date me if you were going to date again.”

Eddie’s startled into another laugh.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Eddie grins and opens his eyes again.  “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Go out with me?”

Buck snorts and pushes him out of the way so he can go back to the potatoes.  

“Help me finish getting dinner together and we’ll see.”  But the second Eddie turns away, Buck snags him by a belt loop and reels him back in for another kiss.

“Yes,” Buck says.  “Yes.”

And it’s right.           

[lumosinlove]

PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL:

We get our first glimpse of Finn, who is still in Saint Clair orphanage. Finn has worked out that Crucio is being given to the orphans because it allows them to see their families again and makes them want to stay at Saint Clair so they can keep receiving it—even if it means reliving memories every day that are not their own. Finn doesn’t want that at all, and he’s been in solitary for the last week because he refuses to eat, realizing that the drug is mixed in with the food.

Luke is struggling with his mother, who seems to be delighted that Luke’s father is gone. She has completely transformed into a woman Luke doesn’t recognize, offering him alcohol, and wanting to get rid of Luke’s father’s things. Luke escapes her words, retreating to his father’s study where he can take Crucio and re-arrange the events in his own mind, making it so his father never got taken away.

Remus and Sirius, at James’ house for a movie night, have an awkward exchange in the kitchen. Remus wants to ask Sirius if he wants to go sailing with him, quickly realizing the unexplainable but seemingly unavoidable crush he’s developed on Sirius, but they get interrupted by Saint.

Saint asks Remus to help him sneak into The Hogwarts History Museum, where Remus is working for the summer, but when Remus refuses, guesses he has to take matters into his own hands.

Saint finds Luke on the grasses with the others, watching a movie. Luke wants his father’s watch, which Saint stole, back, but Saint refuses. Luke can’t believe Saint has never seen many movies, but rudely puts it up to Saint’s “fucked childhood.” They argue, and it just makes Saint quietly angrier. Saint thinks more deeply about it than he lets on, though, reflecting on people’s need to control things—a need that Crucio plays on. Saint leaves, but not after stealing the keys to Luke’s car, deciding he can control things a different way—with ancient gold from an ancient pirate ship, perhaps.

Sirius follows Saint out of the house. He can tell that he’s more on edge than usual, that he has been ever since Logan arrived. Saint won’t tell him what he wants from the museum, though—a treasure map to the Voldemort. Sirius is hurt. He’s angry at himself for liking Remus. Both Sirius and Saint, it seems, have a hard time distinguishing pity and friendship.

Leo and Logan are waiting for Saint so that they can all go to the museum together. Leo asks about Finn and finds out that Logan and Finn are in love, that they’re everything to each other. It stings Leo’s slowly developing feelings for Logan.

Remus and Sirius go to the history museum to try and thwart Saint and find out he’s working with Logan and Leo, and that they’re all after The Voldemort. Saint confesses he’s trying to help Sirius, to Sirius’ surprise. Leo wants to finish his father’s work. Logan wants Finn—but no one seems willing to help him bust Finn out. When they find the drawer where the map should be kept in the museum’s archive room, however, it’s gone, having been taken out on loan by Luke’s father, Victor Deveaux. Victor and Luke loved the tale of the treasure, too. Perhaps it has something to do with Victor being sent to jail.

They go to Luke’s house where Saint climbs through Luke’s bedroom window. Saint studies a sleeping Luke, a strange, unexpected constant—a brooding, rude, beautiful one, that is. And oh, how Saint hates letting things surprise him. Saint wakes Luke, who has taken Crucio, and plans to use his father’s watch as leverage to get Luke to help them find the map.

~

*****cw: mentions of drugs, mentions of use of drugs, mentions of past deaths, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood*****

~

part vii

Luke’s father was standing over Remus’ shoulder, flickering as the Felix wore off, and it was really fucking with Luke’s head.

“Some fellow treasure hunters,” his father said with one of his soft smiles. “Sounds fun.”

“Sober up,” Remus’ voice filtered in. “What makes you sober up?”

“I’m not drunk.”

Luke watched Remus just shake his head at him. His father’s flickering frame was looking closely at Saint, who was picking up everything in sight.

“We both know what you are,” Remus replied. “Now, come on. Coffee? Anything I can do without waking your mom up.”

“She’s not going to wake up,” Luke rubbed his eyes. “She takes these—sleeping things, I don’t know.”

“Well—“ Remus hesitated. Behind him, Luke’s father flickered out.

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “What’s going on?”

“We’re bargaining, remember?” Saint held up Luke’s father’s watch again. “Tell me about your father, Deveaux.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“Well, Lupin’s already told us a little. You, him, and your treasure hunting days.”

Luke looked at Remus, who looked half-guilty and half-curious. “You mean—like when we were kids?”

Luke didn’t want to tell them about the time he had spent with his father in here, just the two of them, fantasizing about gold and pirates.

“We were at the museum just now,” Remus began slowly. “Your dad loaned out a map…it’s of the Cradle. Of a, what was it, a trading post?”

The tall, blond boy standing in a corner nodded.

Remus looked back to Luke. “Have you seen it? Here?”

“A map?” Luke scrubbed his hand over his face again. “What fucking time is it?”

“Oh, he’s swearing,” Saint said as he opened another drawer. “He’s back.”

“Fuck—” Luke clamped his mouth shut. He turned away from Saint and fully towards Remus. Sirius and another dark haired boy were standing near the blond one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Treasure?”

Remus winced. “Like the Voldemort.”

“The—what? He was never serious about that stuff,” Luke replied. “It was just for fun.”

“And yet he takes it upon himself to acquire an ancient document,” Saint piped up from behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke said again over his shoulder.

“Um—“

Luke looked towards the blond boy, who had taken a hesitant step forward.

“I know what it looks like. My dad had a copy.”

“A true father’s affair,” Saint mumbled.

“What?” Luke asked for what felt like the one hundredth time.

“If we could just look around—” the blond began.

“You come here at ass o’clock in the morning to look around may dad’s study? For a treasure map that your dad has?”

“Used to have,” the blond’s eyes went colder. “His version was lost with him and his boat.”

Luke swallowed, eyes drifting away from the other boy’s blue ones. He looked back to Remus. They used to spend hours playing pirate when they were younger. Remus looked like he was remembering those hours, too.

Luke only had to blink for that golden-edged memory to mingle with the hours Remus had held Luke close in Luke’s bed, letting Luke soak his t-shirt through when they’d taken his dad away.

“Why do you think my dad has it?” Luke said now. “What do you mean loaned?”

“We went looking for it at the museum just now,” Remus explained. “Well—not not we. Saint stole your car—”

Luke looked back at Saint. “I’m aware.”

Saint flashed a smile.

“—and went with Logan,” Remus pointed to the somber looking brunette, “and Leo,” the cold-eyed blond, “to more or less, God, break into the museum archives. If they’re going to find the treasure—which, in my opinion, they’re not—they need—”

“A map,” Luke said, then scoffed out a laugh. “You guys are fucking crazy.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Look, none of this was my idea, but your dad’s name was on the loan card. If it’s here, it's here, and then they’ll take the picture they need and we can all leave. I mean, shit, I have work at seven tomorrow morning, guys.”

Luke let out a long breath. He was tired, from being woken up and from the Felix, and he frankly wanted Saint to stop messing with his father’s things.

He nodded at Remus. “You can look around. And I will. The rest of you, don’t fucking—” he snatched one of his father’s fountain pens out of Saint’s hands. “touch anything.”

Saint just tiled his head defiantly. Luke couldn’t help but hold his gaze for a moment, remembering waking up to those syrupy eyes and feeling—he didn’t know what. Like he was standing on the edge of the Howler cliffs, above a storm-warmed, rough ocean. Saint’s hand had been in his hair, and it had been ever so gentle, unlike the rest of him. His words were tough, and, from what Luke could tell by his own jabs at Saint, so was his skin. He guessed a kid didn’t grow up the way Saint had without at least a little armor—Saint was practically drowning in his own.

As if Luke could talk. Luke looked away and gestured towards Remus. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luke opened drawers and cabinets. He looked through stacks of paper and under dressers. He checked the den, even, just in case, but there was nothing. Everything was orderly—and even more, the police had taken so much. Any paper they could get their hands on. His mom wouldn’t tell him what they were looking for, and neither would the lawyers that occasionally came to the house.

But there was no map.

Luke began to double check, if only at Remus’ insistence, but he was at a loss. There were only so many places—

“What’s your birthday, tweedle?” Saint said suddenly.

“What does that have to do—” Luke began as he turned, but his words died in his throat when he saw Saint.

Luke’s father had had the old map of Hogwarts framed and hanging in his study ever since Luke could remember. He knew its markings as well as he knew the island as it was today. Saint had it tilted to the side, revealing a sliver of sleek steel. A safe.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Luke said breathlessly. He hadn’t known about that safe. He’d stared at that map a thousand times and he hadn’t known. Did his mother know? The lawyers?

“I bet you one of Leo here’s best breakfast sandwiches that the map’s in here,” Saint replied, nodding to the frame. “Little bit of an X marks the spot, don’t you think? Now,” Saint reached for the painting and unhooked it smoothly, setting it on the ground to reveal the neat square metal sunken into the wall with a dial in the center. “Tell me your birthday.”

“Why do you think the combination is my birthday?”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Because you’re his son. Fathers do that. Don’t they?”

Saint asked the last part like he was trying to be sure, but wasn’t.

“January first,” Luke replied.

Saint hummed as he leaned in. “New year, new you, huh?”

Luke just swallowed dryly as he listened to the dial tick. It felt so loud in the room that was now holding its breath. It felt like it lasted forever, but, finally, the safe opened with a gentle click.

“Damn, Saint,” Sirius said softly.

“I know, I’m so good,” Saint said, and made to push the door open when Luke pushed forward and grabbed his hand. Saint’s fingers were warm in his own. Saint raised an eyebrow.

“Like you said,” Luke still felt breathless. “I’m his son. I’m doing this.”

Saint raised his free hand in surrender until Luke let go, and he backed away. Luke faced the safe. He felt the Felix in him all over again, though it was long gone. He felt his father, smelled his cigars. Luke reached for the door, too aware of the four pairs of eyes on him, and pulled it open.

It was relatively empty. There were papers that looked like they had once bound money, but lay ripped and lifeless now. There was a case of expensive cigars.

And there was an envelope with Luke’s name on it.

“There’s a letter,” Luke said faintly, picking it up. “For me.”

He looked up at Remus, and Remus nodded.

“Like the clues he would leave us?” Remus said quietly.

Luke went for the seal—only to have it snatch out of his hands.

He looked up, eyes wide, and found the unfamiliar brunette—Logan, Remus had said—staring back at him, at all of them, with wild green eyes.

“Logan,” Leo said, voice filled with surprise. “What the hell are you—”

But Logan just backed up towards the door. There was a familiar click, and the flame of a lighter appeared in his other hand.

“Hey—” Luke stepped forward, panicked, but Saint’s palm pushed against his chest.

“Don’t,” Saint said softly, for Luke’s ears only.

“That’s mine,” Luke snarled, shoving Saint away.

“Yeah, well I have something I want, too,” Logan snapped, and then looked at Saint. He held the flame closer to the envelope. “You want to know what this says? Then—”

“So do you, Logan,” Saint said. “You need that money. You know you do. The Carrows know it, too.”

“You owe me something first. I want Finn.”

“I don’t owe you,” Saint replied evenly. “I don’t owe anyone. That’s kind of my general idea in life, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Logan faltered, and the flame slipped close enough to the envelope to make smoke trail, but when Luke stepped forward, Logan took another step back. He looked small, framed by the grand desk and leather chairs. Small and scared.

“You left us in there,” he finally whispered, and Luke thought he heard Saint’s breathing stop and hold, like a punch to the gut.

“He was seven years old,” Sirius growled, and Luke didn’t know what they were talking about, was done waiting.

“Do you know the last time I talked to my dad?” Luke said, voice raising. He glanced upstairs, careful of his mother despite her pills, and dropped it to a deadly whisper again. “He’s not allowed calls. Not until the investigation’s over. This could—” Luke hesitated at putting his wildest, most desperate hope into words. “This could prove he’s—”

“Do you think I give a shit about the last time you talked to your daddy?” Logan snarled just as harshly. “When’s the last time I talked to mine? Oh. Right.”

“Please,” Luke heard the word rip out of his throat before he could help it, but Logan wasn’t even looking at him. Logan’s eyes were on Saint.

“Help me get Finn out. The windows are barred now. There are alarms, I’ve seen them.”

“I didn’t use a window,” Saint replied.

“Then show me how you did it.”

“You won’t be able to get in the way I got out.”

“Then do it for me.”

If Luke was begging, so was Logan.

“Fuck, I’ll help you,” Luke shouted. “Just don’t. Please. My father—”

“You don’t know shit about Saint Clair,” Logan snapped, then looked back at Saint. “We both know where he is. Why I haven’t seen him. Saint—”

“All right,” Saint said, voice calm. His brown eyes reminded Luke of stormy seas, ruddy with stirred up sand. “All right, Logan. Just don’t burn the letter.”

“Promise,” Logan said.

Saint laughed, cold and clear. “What has a promise ever meant to either of us? I said I would. Take it or leave it.”

There was a terrifying moment in which Luke worried that the letter would go up in flames anyway. That he would never know what his father had wanted him to have, wanted him to know. He didn’t know Logan, didn’t trust him.

The lighter clicked off and Logan held out the envelope. Luke took it and gave Logan a shove towards the door for good measure.

“Get out,” he said. “Get out of my house.”

“What does the letter say?” Logan replied firmly. “It could be about the map.”

Luke laughed, and it rang a close twin to Saint’s in his own ears. “You should have thought about that before you held it hostage for your orphan friend.”

Logan took a step forward, mouth opening to protest, but Luke was bigger than him, stronger and taller. He met him chest to chest.

“I said get out.”

“Logan,” Saint sighed. “Listen to him.”

Leo stepped forward then, a gentle hand on Logan’s fiery frame. Logan simmered for another moment, but let Leo lead him from the room, lighter still clutched in his fist. Remus followed them with a whispered, I’m sorry that Luke barely heard.

He faintly heard Saint say something to Sirius, who followed Remus.

Saint, the only one left in the room now, looked at Luke steadily. Luke expected some sort of joke, or a snarky remark about the desperation Luke had shown—something he tried to never let slip through. He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to be alone, to have this room feel like his father’s again. Instead of a crime scene. Instead of a lead, or a pin-point on a map. Just his father’s familiar room.

Instead Saint tossed him something that shone—his keys.

“Let us know, if you want,” Saint said simply, and held the gold watch out. Luke took it with shaking fingers, watching him go.

Then, he looked down at the letter, at his name in his father’s familiar scrawl. He peeled back the seal with a lump forming in his throat.

~

Remus’ steps slowed to a stop when he saw who was waiting for him at the end of his dock in the five-AM light.

Sirius had his flip-flops beside him, his feet dangling over the edge into the water, the Wolfsbane rocking gently in the early morning waves to his left.

“Sirius?” Remus called, more so that the first thing Sirius felt wasn’t the shaking of his footsteps than anything else.

Sirius jerked around, startled either way, and scrambled to stand.

“Hi,” he said. “Or, morning.”

“Morning,” Remus laughed a little, glancing at the boat. “I…is this you taking me up on my offer?”

Sirius ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ah, well, I’m here to say sorry about last night. Dragging you into it and all. That wasn’t fair of Saint, but he’s…I don’t know what he is right now. I usually do but…not this time, I guess.”

Remus nodded, trying to buy himself time to figure out what to say. He stepped onto his boat and took a rope in hand, just for something to do. To hold onto. Sirius had spoken the words plainly enough. There was nothing about Saint and himself being together, but Remus still sensed some sort of intimacy that wasn’t quite friendship, just as he had at the museum.

“It’s okay,” Remus said. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

Sirius’ smile was a small, relieved one. “I guess so. Still. He was on some sort of mission. He still hasn’t told me anything, so.”

Remus leaned back from stowing his phone and keys securely in a hatch. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person you can really get things out of.”

“That’s true,” Sirius laughed, and it was easier this time. “Anyway, I’ll let you…I just wanted to say.”

Remus wanted to ask again, if Sirius would come with him, but Sirius was already backing away and so Remus just nodded.

“Thanks.”

He turned after he said it, breathing in the ocean air and trying to still himself, to let the familiarity of his boat and sails wash over him. He would find someone. Maybe they weren’t Sirius Black. Maybe they just weren’t here. Maybe he’d fall in love on the water, or in a classroom, or—

“Can I?” Remus heard Sirius say, and turned to look. Sirius had stopped half way down the dock.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Take you up on your offer?”

Remus smiled, even if his hope at Sirius’ words paired with the thought of Saint made his heart a little tender.

“Of course you can,” Remus said.

Sirius jogged towards him with a grin of his own, but he paused before he stepped onto the Wolfsbane, looking down. Remus wondered for a moment if it was the gap over the water, but Sirius had said he sailed, too, he’d said—

Remus understood. He unmoored the nose. “Get that rope back there if you finally want to do something other than watch.”

Sirius jumped to unknot the rope with ease, and then stepped onto the waves beside Remus, using one of his feet to push them away from the dock. Remus let them drift a moment, feeling for the wind. It was quiet for now, but he could see rougher waves out past the point.

“Is it just yours?” Sirius asked as he watched Remus with the tiller.

“Yep, birthday present,” Remus patted the side. “My baby.”

Sirius smiled. “It’s a beautiful boat.”

The wind began to pick up as they got farther from the land, pushing towards the open water. Remus’ heart seemed to pick up with it and, glancing at Sirius, who looked contemplative and—well, beautiful—Remus didn’t think it was merely the sea’s doing.

Remus had never thought too much about Sirius Black. Sirius had been there one day, gone the next, and in the run-ins at James’ house once Sirius had started working there, he had been a suddenly handsome face. Grown into himself and strong from his outdoor work. In turn, Remus always became suddenly awkward around the boy who obviously didn’t like Gods. He and James poked fun at each other, he and Luke were downright hostile, and Remus didn’t know where he fit in.

He hoped the water and the Wolfsbane would do some talking for him, and maybe some listening, too.

They didn’t speak as they began to fly. The pontoons skimmed the waves and the wind would have snatched their voices away, but Remus swore he heard Sirius laugh.

Sirius knew how to sail, too. He breathed it all in, just as Remus did, and they worked together, balancing and pulling and leaning out to trace their fingers along the water’s surface. It felt as warm as a bath against the cool air.

Remus didn’t let them go too far out, he had to be back, but he would have. He would have sailed right to the horizon with Sirius without looking back.

As the wind died down, as they turned around, Remus felt something different. Like a wind change between the two of them. They grinned at each other, flushed with it, and as the wind cut down more, as they past the point, Sirius’ turned self-conscious but it didn’t disappear like before.

The boat settled into a glide towards the shore. Remus let his feet dangle in the water.

“So, the treasure,” Remus asked, because Sirius looked hesitant to talk, sitting there soundly on the other side of the boat. “Do you think it’s real?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sirius replied, and Remus laughed. “But if Saint thinks it’s worth it…I’ll try to go along with it.”

Remus nodded, taking that in. Saint. The mention of him slowed his heart back to a glide along with the boat. Remus cleared his throat and Sirius looked back at him from the horizon questioningly.

“What was that thing with—Logan? I mean, you don’t have to tell me but…”

Sirius took a long breath. “Logan has someone, Finn, inside Saint Clair. Finn helped him escape. And I don’t know if it’s guilt that’s making him help to get Finn out, or something more, but…Saint's the one who can help.”

“Because he escaped.”

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“Is it complicated?” Remus asked. “Like, is he worried he won’t be able to do it twice?”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not complicated.”

He was silent for a moment, and Remus didn't want to push him. He waited, seeing if Sirius would continue.

“Saint walked right out the front door,” Sirius finally finished, and looked at Remus. “I think he’s worried because it wasn’t a grand escape, even if he tells it that way. Even if he makes it seem like he climbed walls or something. He’s worried because…because it was a fluke. Sometimes there are doors you can’t walk back through.”

Sirius said the last sentence heavily, as if he had a door of his own. Remus guessed that maybe everyone did.

“So, what’s he going to do for Finn and Logan?”

Sirius just shook his head again. “I have no idea. But I’ll help him in any way that I can.” Half a smile raised Sirius’ mouth. “If he lets me.”

~

“No.”

“Tell me,” Sirius demanded. Saint just rolled his eyes and popped a sweet potato fry into his mouth.

“Tell us,” Dorcas cut in from her place beside Marlene.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry.”

“Saint,” Marlene sighed. “If you’re not going to tell us, it’ll make us think you have no plan at all.”

“Who invited the God?” Saint said airily.

“My girlfriend,” Dorcas scuffed the back of his head.

“Not for long she’s not,” Saint replied, and at Dorcas and Marlene’s expressions, waved a hand. “Come on. She’s going to college, Dor, you’re not…don’t tell me you haven’t talked about it.”

“We—” Dorcas began, but flushed and closed her mouth. Sirius glanced at Marlene, whose eyes were firmly down towards her burger.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Sirius sighed.

“I’m not, I’m just telling everyone what to expect.”

“Saint,” Sirius leaned forward. “How are you going to get Finn out of Saint Clair? You said last time—”

Saint cut in quickly, “I say a lot of things to you that are just for you, Black.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do with what you said,” Sirius replied. “Come on. Please. Is it because you don’t know? Is that why you won’t say anything?”

Saint stayed quiet, looking down at his food. “I know. We’ll just have to see if it works.”

“Saint,” Dorcas leaned forward and Saint turned his palm up for her hand. He knew they were trying to help. “Babe, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You mean you want to make sure it’s not too insane.”

Sirius nodded. “That, too.”

“Can’t you just rest assured that I’m doing this for myself, too?” Saint said. “I’ll get Finn out, Logan will calm the fuck down, and maybe Luke will let us know about the treasure.”

“Who gives a fuck about this treasure?” Dorcas said harshly.

“It probably doesn’t even exist,” Sirius added.

“You want off this island, like you said? Then you give a fuck.”

Sirius began to shake his head. “It’s not—” he said, but Saint pushed on, voice raising.

“We’ll get Finn out, we’ll get Luke’s help, we’ll get the map, we’ll find my mom—”

Saint stopped talking, frozen by the words that had ripped out of him of their own accord.

Sirius, Dorcas, and Marlene’s eyes were wide. Pity. The word seemed to hang in the air.

“The treasure, I meant,” Saint managed. “We’ll find the treasure and…”

“Saint…” Dorcas said, and when he looked at her…Pity. “Do you know where she is?”

Saint was furious with himself for the slip. He was looking for Sirius. He wanted the treasure for Sirius, he didn’t need it for himself. He didn’t need anything, especially not people who left. Not his mom, not Sirius.

“I don’t need help with Saint Clair,” Saint said and pushed his chair back, leaving them staring at each other across the table.

~

Saint hadn’t let any of them come. He didn’t want anyone here to see him tremble and shake at doing the one thing he had always promised himself he would never do. The one thing he didn’t think he could do.

But, thinking about it, the trick wasn’t getting out. Anyone could walk out the door. The nuns needed it that way, for business. For the appearance of normalcy. The real trick was getting inside without being let in. The way to keep secrets, after all, wasn’t keeping everyone out. Walls begged to be breached. The secret was to filter the truth. Let people see half, a quarter, or different parts at different times. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Maybe Saint was half of Saint Clair, keeping his cards close to his chest.

The offices. He needed to get the the offices, and then he needed to get to Finn. In and out—just not through the door this time.

“What’s the plan?” said a voice just behind him, and Saint closed his eyes.

Sirius.

“I told you not to come,” Saint said.

“And I told me yes,” Sirius parroted. They rolled their eyes at each other even as Sirius rested a gentle hand over Saint’s where it was clenched over his own knee. They crouched beside each other, staring at Saint Clair in the darkness. It was two in the morning, maybe a little past it now, and Saint wanted everyone to be asleep.

He looked towards the chimney. It was wide and old fashioned. It would be too hot for them to be using it tonight.

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius sighed, following his gaze.

“The windows are barred. The doors are alarmed. I’ve cleaned that thing, I know it’s big.”

“Yeah, everything looks big to a seven year old,” Sirius countered.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“And getting out?” Sirius asked.

“Alarms don’t go off if you open the door from the inside. There’s a kitchen door around the back. We’ll use it. We just have to get in.”

Sirius nodded slowly, and then asked, “Your mom?”

Saint pressed his lips together. He needed to get to the office, and then to Finn, and then out.

He started forward towards the drain pipe, just like on Luke’s house, and didn’t look to see if Sirius was following him.

~

Marlene didn’t like seeing that contemplating look at Dorcas’ face. Dorcas was chewing on her lip, eyes staring at the movie playing on Marlene’s laptop, but she was somewhere else entirely. Marlene put her pencil down at wiggled her toes, which were in Dorcas’ lap. Dorcas blinked and looked at her.

“Don’t listen to Saint,” Marlene said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But even saying that ate at her. Marlene thought of the acceptance email, of California and Berkeley, buried in her inbox right now. Tell her, said everything inside, but Dorcas already had that look on her face. The worrying, I-want-everything-that’s-good-for-you-regardless-of-what-it-means-for-me-or-us look.

Marlene didn’t want to see that look. She’d seen it the first time her father had banned her from seeing a Salazar girl. They had been fifteen and Dorcas had offered to stop, and Marlene had kissed the idea right out of her mouth, right out of existence.

This was different. She couldn’t kiss college away. She didn’t want to. But she also wanted Dorcas, and California felt far, far away.

Dorcas chewed on her lip some more, then rubbed a soothing thumb over Marlene’s ankle. “We haven’t really talked about it, though.”

“I know,” Marlene said softly. She pushed herself up and set her sketchbook aside before reaching over to close the laptop, cutting the actor off in mid-sentence. “I guess I’m sort of…avoiding it.”

“We are, you mean,” Dorcas offered her a small smile. “I…I know we said we wanted to just have our summer, and I do want that. But I think I would feel better knowing what you think. About, you know…about when you do start hearing back.”

Marlene looked down as she whispered, “I got into Berkeley.”

A short sucked-out sound of silence filtered in between them for a moment. Marlene looked up.

“I should have said,” Marlene sighed. “I know I should have. I just…”

“Sweetheart,” Dorcas sighed, and then Marlene was pressed back onto the bed, Dorcas’ hard kisses bringing a hot blush to her cheeks. “That’s amazing.”

Marlene hummed against Dorcas’ mouth, a sad-happy sound, and wound her fingers into her hair as Dorcas kissed along her jaw. “It can be as amazing as it wants, but it’s really far away. And you like it here, and—”

“I like you,” Dorcas said, and pushed herself onto her forearms so she could look down at Marlene. “Marls, the question about us was never a debate about you following your dreams and going to college, just like you want. The question lies with me. I don’t know how to pull off following you yet, but I’m working on it.”

Marlene looked up at her and felt tears join the heat within, felt her voice wobble. “I’ll miss you. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be with me.”

Dorcas’ kiss was softer this time. “Me too.”

Marlene enjoyed it for a moment, relief bubbling in her chest, until Dorcas began laughing into her mouth.

“Maybe the boys will find that treasure and give me a piece of it.”

Marlene laughed, too. “God, if that’s our best option…”

They wound tighter together, snuggling down into Marlene’s quilt. Dorcas pressed her forehead against Marlene’s.

“Whatever I can do, I’ll do it,” Dorcas said. “I want you, wherever we are.”

Marlene just kissed her again.

~

Sirius was noisier on the climb than Saint would have liked, but they made it to the slanted roof without trouble, standing on its apex to stare down into the soot-dark.

“Is this really going to work?” Sirius whispered.

“It could.”

“Why not climb the fence? Maybe that door is open.”

“Too loud.”

“Why didn’t you let Logan come with us?”

Saint huffed out an annoyed breath. “Because if this goes wrong, what Finn did was for nothing. If this goes really wrong, at least there would still be one of us on the outside who knows what it looks like inside,” Saint stared out at the trees and bit of coast they could see by moonlight from here. “One of us who doesn’t return every night, that is.”

Saint went down the chimney first, one step at a time. The stones and rusted iron rungs provided easy enough footholds, they just had to hope no one was having a midnight cup of tea when they reached the bottom. He looked up once, blinking through the fine grit of ash that seemed to hang in the air, at Sirius’ face, the silver moonlight like a halo around his dark hair.

And Saint kept climbing down. He went slowly, listening hard. If someone was down there, they’d hear him, and then he’d hear them, and he could scramble back up the chimney and out of sight. Once he was down, however, who knew what they would do to keep him that way. He could practically taste the heavy sleep of Crucio, and his stomach rolled against the images it brought back. The many different families—fathers, siblings, and mothers. So many mothers that he didn’t even know which had been his own anymore.

He hated them for it. He hated them for thinking he wanted that.

Saint’s trembling foot slipped on the last hold and he tumbled out, only barely withholding a cry as the log holders scraped heavily across his side.

“Saint,” came Sirius’ harsh whisper from above him, and Saint waved a hand beneath the flue to show he was okay, then pushed himself up from the now ashy floor, gripping his side.

He knew this room too well. He knew it through the over-active eyes of a five year old. He knew it through the only slightly more alert gaze of his seven year old self.

It was smaller than he remembered. Shabbier than it had seemed then, with its hard couches and children’s books, its desk by the window that still held a letter opener that he had eyed a few times, wondering if he could fight his way out like heroes did in the books he read. Now, he willed all to stay quiet as he walked over and picked up the dull knife. He hated the sight of it.

Sirius came after him, more smartly, landing feet first.

“You could have fucking impaled yourself,” Sirius whispered.

“I didn’t, though,” Saint said, and looked at his ribs. The cuts stung, but the bleeding didn’t look too bad, just enough to dot uneven lines across his t-shirt.

Sirius lifted his shirt to see, and passed a careful thumb near the worst of them, his other a familiar weight on the side of Saint’s neck.

“Let’s go,” Saint whispered.

“Wait,” Sirius said, and turned Saint’s gaze gently to meet his own.

“We don’t have all the time in the world,” Saint began, but Sirius just shook his head, silencing him.

“Listen to me,” Sirius whispered. “All right? Just this once. Just listen to me.”

Saint closed his eyes briefly. “We don’t have time to talk.”

That only succeeded in bringing Sirius’ other hand to his cheek. “If something goes wrong, you just run.” Sirius reached down and took the knife, setting it back on the desk. “Don’t think about me. They can’t keep me.”

“They’ll give you to your parents,” Saint warned.

“I don’t care,” Sirius said. “They can’t keep me. They could try to keep you and I won’t let that happen.”

Saint looked up at Sirius. The only person he could ever remember caring. Saint didn’t like that a side effect of being cared about was caring back, didn’t like that risk…but he liked Sirius.

“You’re leaving anyway,” Saint said. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”

“I never said that and you’re wrong.”

“But you will say it.”

Saint turned away, keeping a hand laced with Sirius’ to pull him towards the dorms. He knew the words sounded accusing and regretful, but he only half meant them that way. Sirius deserved to go.

Sirius didn’t respond. It wasn’t the moment, and they needed to listen for other things.

The dorms came up on their left. Boys to one side of the hall, girls to the other. Saint paused, looking in.

You’ll sleep here with the rest of the boys, Sebastian. Be a good boy and make your bed every morning and you’ll get a treat with breakfast. Chocolate milk, how does that sound?

“Was this you?” Sirius whispered, and Saint shrugged.

“I slept all over this place,” Saint breathed to Sirius. “I’d sneak into the other dorms, the attic, the reading room. I was just…” Saint turned away, unable to stand the softly rising and falling chests of the boys within. “I was just trying to find a place where I felt like myself. Maybe it wasn’t the place, though.”

Maybe it was the dreams. Maybe the drug.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Saint said.

Grimmauld was the closest he had ever gotten, the most settled he’d ever felt. He loved the ocean, and his gold draped vanity, and Sirius always beside him. But there was still—something. A misplaced, tweaked something inside of him that was feeling around in the dark for a comfortable position. Saint didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he did know that it was too dark to find it right now. Sirius had been the first gleam of bright, a pin-prick of a star, a friend, a lover, and a safe place. But stars weren’t a moon or a sun. He needed light to see.

“Let’s go,” Saint said. “This way.”

They walked the halls carefully, listening after nearly every step. Saint knew that the nuns slept at the other end of the house, but that they woke to check in on the children. He couldn’t remember when, though. With the Crucio, his young age, and the late hour, the nights had felt the same and endless. He’d shuffled around like a small ghost, trying to escape the unfamiliar dream-faces. They’d only caught him a few times. A slap on the wrist. Solitary.

That’s why he nearly jumped when they heard the first footsteps. He was seven again, haunting this place and being haunted in return. Saint froze, eyes on the bend in the hallway.

“Here,” Sirius whispered, and together they ducked into a room—the offices, Saint realized—and behind the open wooden door. They huddled together, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps got closer.

“Sirius,” Saint breathed, and didn’t realize he was trembling again until Sirius’ arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Shh,” Sirius hushed him.

The footsteps passed right by them, towards the kitchen, Saint realized, and Sirius pressed Saint against him more tightly, no doubt feeling the dry pants that his breathing had turned into. They would be caught. They would be seen. Saint hid his face in Sirius’ neck.

Don’t be a waste of space, boy. Line up, after number six, come on.

He took up too much space here.

Try that again, Sebastian, and you know what happens.

Saint hated that name. He couldn’t remember who had given him that name. His mother? The nuns? What was a name if it was just a number, too? A way to keep track of him. A way to tell him what he was. Orphan boy. Five. Six. Seven. Abandoned. Good. Bad. Asleep. Awake.

Go to sleep now, there’s a good boy.

The hall was silent again and Saint felt Sirius’ embrace ease, felt his hand running soothingly along his spine.

“I’ve got you,” Sirius said the words so quietly they were barely words at all. “Let’s just go. Let’s get out of here.”

“Finn,” Saint rasped.

Saint looked up and saw the protest in Sirius’ eyes. It was wrong of Logan to make you come here.

“I told him to stay away,” Saint said softly. “I needed to come. I needed to come and get out again.”

Saint needed to get rid of some of this damned dark.

Saint pulled away from Sirius carefully and peaked around the door with a dry swallow before walking over to the cabinets. Records. They weren’t in alphabetical order, though. They were numbered.

Saint fingered his cross, looking towards 1-20.

7.

He traced a finger over a key hole dejectedly, and tried the handle anyway. Locked.

“Saint,” Sirius breathed. “Your mom?”

Saint shook his head, clutching his necklace. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t know you wanted…”

“I don’t,” Saint snapped. “Let’s get Finn.”

The door to solitary was one that Saint knew well. It was a normal door, and the room beyond was a normal room. It was the memories that made it unbearable to see. Almost every kid Saint had known knew what it meant to be in that room. Alone, the wallpaper flowers withered, the bed turned cold, and the ever-changing family members flickered through your mind without anything to counter it. No reality. There was a glass window with the shade pulled. Saint hesitated for a long moment before lifting it up.

“Finn,” he breathed.

Finn’s red hair was fiery against the white bed spread. He was asleep, and Saint swore he could see Finn’s eyelids flicker from here.

Saint wrapped his fingers carefully around the door. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Everything in Saint Clair felt locked from within. Everything in Saint did, too. It had taken years of wandering around at night for Saint to discover that he could open more doors than he had thought. He was still trying doors eight years alter.

The hinges didn’t so much as squeak, and Saint felt like a ghost again.

“Don’t let this close on me,” Saint whispered to Sirius. His voice shook and just one of his feet just barely breaching the threshold.

Sirius held the frame fast and shook his head, leaning forward to press a steady kiss to Saint’s forehead.

Saint crossed the small room in two slow steps and knelt beside the bed, the motion making the punctures on his torso ache. He pressed a hand to Finn’s cheek and stroked a gentle thumb across the freckles on his skin until Finn stirred.

“Bash,” Finn murmured, eyes barely open.

“Hi, Finn,” Saint said softly and gathered Finn into a sloppy sitting position. “Let’s get you out of here, huh? See if you’re worth all of this fucking trouble.”

“Crucio,” was Finn’s only half-spoken reply. “They make it.”

And then Finn went limp again in Saint’s arms.

~

All Logan could taste was sour guilt, despite the heaven Leo had placed on a plate in front of him not too long ago.

For Saint. For Leo. For the letter and even Luke. For the map. The treasure. The Carrows.

Finn.

His heart ached with the thought of seeing him. Of holding him.

“Why weren’t we allowed to go with him?” Logan asked Leo for what he knew was the tenth time, but he couldn’t help it. “I asked him to help me, not go for me.”

“It’s easier to get one person in and out than two?” Leo said. He was puttering around the small kitchen, had been for the last hour, and the entire house smelled like sugar and cinnamon now, replacing the herbs, lemon, and chicken. He didn’t look at Logan when he said it.

He hadn’t looked at Logan much at all since the night at the museum.

Logan watched him taste a bit of what looked like frosting and wet his lips.

“Are you mad at me?” Logan whispered.

Leo’s restless hands paused. Logan watched his chest rise and fall once.

“I’m not mad,” Leo said finally. The heat of the oven had fluffed out his hair. “I mean, I’m not sure if we reached a dead-end or not…and you could have told me you were going to do that. I said I would help you, didn’t I?”

“I needed Ba—Saint,” Logan replied. “But I also…I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have made Saint go. I just want…he’s my family. Finn is my…”

“I understand why you did it,” Leo cut in softly. “I probably would have done worse if I thought that there was something that could save my dad.”

That just made Logan feel even smaller, sitting at the table. Leo glanced at him, gave him a tight smile, then went to the sink and began scrubbing dishes.

“Hey,” Logan said, then rose and strode over to Leo. “Hey, let me clean up.”

“I just need something to do,” Leo said shortly.

“Me, too.”

They stood, their shoulders pressed together. Logan washed. Leo dried. He slipped cinnamon rolls into the oven and then returned. They kept close to each other at the sink and it felt…so normal. Like a home. Leo felt like a home.

“I never really thanked you properly,” Logan said into the now more comfortable silence. “For letting me stay with you. And—I just want to say, and now with Finn…I understand if you want us to leave. I mean, three’s a crowd.”

“You’re welcome here,” Leo said quickly. Logan watched his throat bob. He was looking away again. “You should do what feels best for you, but you’re both welcome here. Just—”

Leo paused, and Logan found himself suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say. He knew he hadn’t been friendly all the time. He knew he’d been selfish. Leo had been nothing but kind. He was funny and warm, teaching Logan how to weld two pieces of metal, talking about the latest book he was reading while he whisked batter and handed Logan different new recipes he was trying out.

Finn would like Leo, Logan thought, and glanced towards the door. Maybe he was about to find out.

“Never mind,” Leo said, and flashed a smile.

Logan went to protest, but then his phone began buzzing madly on the table and he all but lunged for it.

~

Luke stared down at his father’s handwriting.

Luke, it began. And then there was a name.

Pascal Dumais.

There was no mention of himself. There was nothing. Luke had thought this would make him feel better, make it easier. Only, now, he was frustrated to the point of tears. He couldn’t seem to ease the lump that was lodged in his throat. He clutched the paper in his fingers hard enough to tear, willing something else to appear on it. He thought of Felix.

“Well?” said a voice from his window.

“Oh—” Luke flinched, surprised, then cursed at Saint, who was stretched out on his window sill. “Come on. Are you kidding me?”

Saint’s mouth twitched up in a smile, but it was strained. He was sitting awkwardly, tense rather than his usual languid posture.

“What’s wrong with you?” Luke asked hesitantly, trying to discreetly wipe at his face.

“What isn’t?”

Luke spotted the blood between Saint’s fingers and rose. “You’re hurt.”

“I fell down a chimney.”

“Is that a joke?”

“No.”

Luke blinked. “That’s how you got into Saint Clair? And you climbed to my window?”

Saint pulled himself all the way through the window with a soft groan and Luke walked forward, hands hovering near Saint’s shoulders, unsure if he should help.

“The orphan?” he asked instead, then at Saint’s sharp look, “Finn?”

“Sirius is bringing him to Grimmauld.”

“What’s Grimmauld?”

Saint sat down heavily in Luke’s desk chair, hand still pressed to his side. He had what looked like soot on his hands and face. “A place.” He picked up a book. Jane Eyre. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“You’re bleeding all over my room.”

“Lucky you.”

Luke tucked the note into the pocket of his shorts. “Fuck—come here. Jesus.”

He walked into his bathroom and jammed the light switch up, looking back when Saint didn’t follow him. “Come here.”

Saint rose, still holding the book. “I am coming!” Saint quoted, head tilted in a way that made his neck look long. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!”

“Very funny,” Luke sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”

“Why?” Saint said as he stepped out of the darkness of the bedroom and into the yellow-lighted bathroom. His brown eyes took on the soft yellow, too, and he leaned forward as he pushed himself up onto the counter carefully. “Because I don’t buy my books and,” Saint looked down at the book, flipping through it. “Write all over them like you do?”

“Because you didn’t go to school,” Luke said with a raised eyebrow as he ducked for the first aid kit beneath his sink. It was good to have one near during the lacrosse season—or it used to be.

Saint rolled his eyes. “You Gods and your single paths in life. You’re all stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” Luke asked as he unlatched the kit.

“Because this is the last place anyone would look for me,” Saint replied. “And you’re mean.”

“Mean? Are we in seventh grade?” Luke scoffed as he wet a towel in the sink. “I don’t know if it’s healthy to want to be around people who you think are mean to you."

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Saint said. “And that’s all Sirius will want to do. And I don’t want to. And we don’t have this shit at Grimmauld.”

“Is that where you live?”

Saint just set the book down and reached behind himself to tug his shirt over his head. Luke tried not to stare at Saint’s smooth, light brown skin. He swallowed, busying himself with the bandages and the wet towel again.

“For all the breaking into places you do, maybe you should invest in some band-aids,” Luke said, and glanced down at the finely woven muscle on Saint’s ribs, at the red edges of the slashes. “If you flinch too much, you’re doing this yourself.”

Saint smiled. “Mean.”

“Fuck off,” Luke said, out of reflex, and then pressed his lips together. Saint laughed and then hissed as Luke pressed the towel to the cut.

They were close like this, Luke leaned in to dab the blood away, and then dot it with disinfectant, all while Saint’s muscles jumped beneath the palm he had steadied low on his belly. He could feel Saint watching him, and remembered waking up to those eyes. Saint’s hand in his hair.

“How did you do it?” Luke said into the small space between them. “Get in and out.”

“The chimney.”

So, he was serious.

“What did the letter say?” Saint asked.

Luke glanced up at him warily, but wiped a hand on his shorts before fishing the letter out of his pocket and handing it over. “Do you know who that is?”

Saint read it quietly, and then met Luke’s eyes. Luke was stuck there, pinned like a tack in a map, marking the place to be.

“Yes,” Saint said, and smiled brightly. “I know exactly who this is.”

[cyhyr]

Whumptober Day 5

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: T

Pairing: Iruka/Mizuki ; Iruka & Naruto ; Iruka & Kakashi

WC: ~1900

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: A/B/O, pregnancy, abortion, abusive relationship, pack dynamics, lying

A/N: whooo two updates in one night now I'm only two days behind 🥳 this fic has a lot of my own a/b/o headcanons which I don't really explain, sorry. This is a scene of a story idea I've been stewing on for some time, but one which I do not think I will further develop.

This is also unbeta-ed. sorrynotsorry.

Tagging for Whumptober: @sweetysamaa, @atereal, @kelkage

~

Naruto runs ahead and turns the corner into the compound before Iruka can admonish him to be careful and watch where he’s going. He follows behind slower, weighed down by a grocery bag in each hand, and turns into the compound in a good mood. A day out with Naruto is always pleasant and makes him happy—even though the four-year-old isn’t his biological pup, Iruka knows he’s as good as imprinted on the kid. He’s so glad that Hatake-san had approached him to be a part of his pack. He likely never would have gotten this chance, otherwise.

He smiles softly. They’re only an embryo, barely the size of a sunflower seed now, but so very precious and already the whole pack is excited to have their second pup.

“I don’t care if it’s your home, Iruka’s my omega—”

“Our omega,” Hatake-san growls.

“But the pup is mine.”

Naruto creeps back to Iruka’s side at some point and takes his hand. Iruka’s other hand slips to his belly, resting protectively over where his new pup is growing. In the garden, Hatake-san is mostly calm, hands in his pockets and eye staring the other alpha down. Mizuki is… less calm. He’s posturing, pacing back and forth and swinging his arms around wildly.

“This pack wouldn’t exist without me,” Hatake-san growls. “The pup should be given the choice to be raised as Hatake.”

Around them are the pack betas. Anko is trying to put herself between Mizuki and Hatake-san, while Gai-sensei and Tenzō-san are also trying to physically deter the other alpha from starting a fight.

Naruto whines, soft and scared, pulling on Iruka’s uniform pants. “Why are they fighting?”

Iruka puts himself slightly in front of Naruto. “Let’s go inside. We don’t need to be here for all this, okay?”

They barely get to the door when Mizuki explodes. “Iruka is mine and that pup is mine,” he snarls. “I’ll take him and leave this pack without an omega, and then you’ll lose your precious monster-child. I hold the cards here, Kakashi; you’re the one with silly things like bonds.”

Iruka pushes Naruto inside and glares over his shoulder at Mizuki and Hatake-san, still posturing and snarling at each other. If he weren’t carrying, he’d put himself between them just like Anko is doing, but…

He looks over at Naruto, now playing in the corner of the kitchen with the collection of blocks Gai had bought him a few days ago. Mizuki could take Iruka out of the pack; he is right in his claim to be the pup’s sire, and can easily force a mating bite with little or no repercussions. If this were to happen, Hatake-san would lose his right to have Naruto as an adopted pup—Sandaime did say that this whole thing was contingent on Hatake having a pack, and without an omega the pack will fall apart. Naruto would end up back in the orphanage; Iruka’s not delusional enough to believe that Mizuki would let him keep Naruto, even if he has imprinted.

Iruka braces his lower back on the kitchen counter and shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to have to make this choice.

He lays his hands over his belly and weeps.

~

“I need you to be very good today,” Iruka says, holding Naruto’s hand as they walk through the village.

“You always want me to be good, ka-chan! And I am!!”

Iruka smiles. “That’s true. I do love it when you’re good. But today more than usual, I really need you to be on your best behavior.”

He opens the doors to the hospital and herds Naruto inside. Mizuki is at the Academy, Anko at T&I, Gai is with Kakashi doing some odd training exercises, and Tenzō is… well, Iruka’s not supposed to know that Tenzō is ANBU, but he saw the beta’s mask a few days ago.

Everyone is occupied.

He takes Naruto to the elevator and together they ride up to the second floor. Just beyond the elevator doors is a small waiting room that smells of rich, pregnancy pheromones. Half of the chairs are taken.

Iruka goes up to the reception desk and says, “Hi, I’m Umino Iruka; I called last night?”

The receptionist looks up at him and nods. “I remember. You can have a seat.”

It doesn’t take long at all for his name to be called, and he collects Naruto from the play table and quietly follows the nurse into the exam rooms.

“How far along are you?” the nurse asks once they’re in the privacy of a closed room. The door shuts heavily under her palm.

“Seven weeks.”

“Any mating bites, courtings, packmates?”

“I have a pack—three betas and two alphas. No courting or mating bites though.”

“And the pup here?”

Iruka puts his hand on Naruto’s shoulder and gently squeezes. “He’s adopted. We’re imprinted.”

The nurse makes a note. “Congratulations,” she murmurs. “Do you want to disclose a reason for termination?”

“No, thank you.” He pauses, considering; then says, “but it is urgent, if I could get it done today.”

She looks up at him and sets her folder and pen aside. She takes her glasses off. “Umino-sensei, are you safe within your pack?”

Naruto looks up at him with a small head tilt.

Iruka reiterates, “It’s urgent, and I’d like to have it done today. If at all possible.”

The nurse purses her lips and says, “I’ll see what we can do for you, Umino-sensei. We’ll need to do a pelvic exam first, so if you could get undressed?” She pulls out a modesty blanket from a drawer behind her, and then leaves the room.

As soon as it’s back to just him and Naruto, Iruka falls apart. He leans against the edge of the exam table and hugs his middle, sniffing and crying. And then Naruto is right in front of him, reaching up to his face and patting his cheeks. “Ka-chan, why are you crying?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t—I’m okay, I promise. I will be okay.”

Naruto frowns and rests his temple against Iruka’s belly. “What does ‘terminate’ mean?”

Iruka cries harder, hugging Naruto tightly and tries to think about the best way to answer the question. He hasn’t had Naruto for more than half a year, but he knows he’ll do anything to keep him… even if it means aborting this growing pup before they can become a reason for Mizuki to take him away.

He has a responsibility to his pup—to Naruto. He has a responsibility to his pack—not just Mizuki.

“You… Naruto, you know I love you and wouldn’t trade you for anything?”

“Yeah?? Ka-chan, what—?”

“Your sibling,” Iruka sniffs, “they can’t… I can’t. Naruto, ‘terminate’ means ‘to stop’. We’re here today so that we can stop my pregnancy.”

Naruto looks up at him and asks, “Is this because of what Mizuki-nii was saying last night? Because Kaka-nii would never let him take you away, I know that!”

Iruka smiles thinly at Naruto, brushes back his bangs. “Mizuki has a right to the pup, as their sire. And if he wanted to bond and leave the pack to raise his pup, I can be compelled to go with him.”

Naruto hugs him tighter. “And so you want to stop being pregnant so Mizuki-nii can’t take you away?”

Iruka nods. “I have other reasons, but yes.”

“What’s going to happen to the baby?”

“They… They’re going to be removed from my body, and won’t become a part of our pack.”

“But if they’re removed, then… then, they’ll die?”

“Naruto, they’re not really alive right now. And something that’s not alive can’t die.”

“But—”

“Naruto, what we’re stopping is the eventuality of a new pup. It’s. It’s a hard choice, but one I’m very sure about making.”

“That’s not—” Naruto buries his face into Iruka’s belly and murmurs something, muffled against Iruka’s shirt.

“What?”

Naruto lifts his head and cries, “I don’t want my little sibling to grow up in a bad pack! You’re making the right choice; but can I get another chance at being a big brother someday??”

Iruka kneels down and kisses Naruto’s forehead. “Of course, Naruto. You’ll be the best big brother ever, when the pack is ready to give you one, okay?” Naruto nods rapidly, and Iruka hugs him closer still. “I just hope the rest of the pack will understand someday.”

“If they don’t,” Naruto frowns, “then we leave the pack and start our own. We don’t need people who don’t care about you, Ka-chan.”

A knock sounds at the door and Iruka clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m not ready yet.”

“That’s alright, Umino-sensei. I’ll come back in another few minutes,” the nurse says through the door without opening.

Iruka smiles at Naruto and brushes his hair aside. “I have to get ready. Could you go and sit on one of those chairs and be good and patient?”

Naruto nods and sits down. Iruka gets ready for termination.

~

Later that night, Iruka tells the pack that he and Naruto had been out shopping and he tripped over and landed poorly onto his stomach, resulting in a miscarriage. His betas all cry over him—Gai-sensei, in particular, soaks through the fabric on Iruka’s shoulder. Anko and Tenzo-san both scent him in comfort and solidarity. The two alphas… Hatake-san looks upset, but asks to scent Iruka to ensure he’s alright; that they can always try again for another pup, but they can’t replace Iruka. Iruka accepts the scenting, and breathes in the alpha’s deep woodsy scent in return.

Mizuki is livid. He storms away to their bedroom without offering to scent Iruka. Iruka’s worried about what’s going to happen later that night…

And then, when he’s alone cleaning up after dinner, Hatake-san approaches him and asks to speak to him privately. Iruka dries off his hands and follows the alpha to the library, where they close the door and then Hatake-san asks, “Why did you lie to the pack?”

“I didn’t—”

“Iruka-sensei. Please. I could smell the lie on you,” Hatake-san holds up his hands. “I just want to know the truth, please?”

Iruka folds his arms across his chest. He aches everywhere—the procedure was invasive; he hadn’t wanted to take the pills to force a miscarriage in case Mizuki found out and threw the second dose away. “I elected to abort the pregnancy,” he says.

Hatake-san nods. “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

Iruka narrows his eyes. “You’re not… mad?”

“Why would I be? It’s your body. You know yourself better than I, and I trust your judgement. I wouldn’t have asked you to become my omega—my pack omega,” he quickly corrects himself, a light blush peeking over his mask, “if I didn’t trust you.”

He smiles softly. “Thank you,” Iruka says.

“Did you need a separate place to sleep tonight? I’ve heard that omegas tend to want to nest alone after a pregnancy loss, however it happens.”

“No, I’m alright.”

Hatake-san nods and takes a few steps closer. “Is it alright if I scent you again before you head to bed, then?”

“You’re one of my alphas,” Iruka says. “You don’t need to ask.”

“And yet, I’m asking.”

“I—” Iruka feels his own face heat up. Mizuki never asks to scent him… and neither do any of the betas. It’s… nice, to be asked. “Yes, please, Hatake-san.”

“We’re pack, Iruka-sensei. Please call me Kakashi.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Kakashi-san.” Iruka nods, holding out his wrists. “You may.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Jake and Kauri

Honestly, this is mostly just some genuinely sharp pining and yearning.

“Merry Christmas.”

The box, small and light, drops onto the kitchen table with a sound more like a tap than a thud. Jake blinks down at it, cheerfully wrapped in a bright cacophony of rainbow colors in vaguely ornament-like shapes. Jake sets his coffee mug slowly down, steam curling up into the air, particles of dust briefly visible floating through the beams of early morning light.

Kauri hasn’t slept, and it’s clear - his hair is still mussed, he’s wearing clothes from the night before, that particular look of shadowed satisfaction he has after a night well-wasted. Red-rimmed eyes and the slightest wince at the sun coming in through the curtains, and still… still, he’s Kauri, and Jake’s glad to see him.

“Not Christmas yet,” Jake offers, carefully casual. If his eyes are on Kauri’s too long, neither one of them mention it. Kauri smells like cigarette smoke and another man’s cologne, and he doesn’t smoke so Jake knows that means he’s been with someone who does. “You’re up early, Kaur.”

“At what point,” Kauri asks, with the air of a philosopher posing a question for the ages, “Does it stop being up late and begins being up early?”

“When it’s 7 o’clock in the fucking morning, you’re pretty safely at up early. What brought you by?”

Kauri shrugs, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The house creaks around them, ancient bones settling into the foundation. There’s the telltale squeak of the spot just outside the bathroom door, and then the sound of water rushing through pipes. Chris, in the shower, Jake thinks. Antoni steps around the spot on the floor that squeaks. Leila moved out, and they haven’t gotten anyone new for her old room yet.

“I just decided to,” Kauri says, yawning, and something about the way his eyes close makes him look like a sleepy kitten, rumpled and ready to simply list to the side until he collapses. “Had this to give you.”

“I have something for you, too, but I haven’t wrapped it.”

Kauri blinks, pouring peppermint mocha creamer into the coffee cup and topping it off with plain milk. He turns and leans back against the counter, sipping, and the way he smiles a little at the taste of the coffee makes Jake’s chest twist in an anxiety he can name but can’t afford to linger on. “You got me a present?”

Kauri sounds so fucking surprised that it hurts.

Do you really think so little of yourself?

“Of course I did. So did Chris, and Nat, and Antoni.”

Kauri lets out his breath, disbelieving, shaking his head with a half-grin. “I don’t know why. I can’t have anything that doesn’t fit in my backpack.”

“I mean, you could stay-”

“No.” Kauri cuts him off. “No. I can’t.”

“Fair. But I think everyone got you stuff that you can carry with you easy. Plus I think Nat got Keira something, but don’t ask me what. What you buy for a fucking Roomba is beyond me.” Jake watches the way Kauri relaxes back into the easy joking, the more sensitive minefield of simply being cared for avoided for now. “I’ll be right back, then we can exchange, yeah? Just us, first.”

“Yeah.” Kauri gives him that cockeyed grin again, turns to look out the window. The sky is a riot of purples and pinks as the sun slowly rises on a California December. The only change is that it’ll start raining soon, and Kauri wears a sweater sometimes.

Jake pushes himself to his feet, ducking his head as usual to avoid knocking it on the top of the doorframe, heading up the stairs with the solid creaks from the old steps that are as much a part of the house as the pictures Nat keeps on the wall. Chris meets him coming out of the shower, towel-drying his longish hair - he’s growing it out, he says, and it has the slightest curl against the back of his neck and under his ears - and wearing all his clothes already.

With some of the rescues, it’s a sign they still didn’t feel safe, when they took all their clothes into the bathroom and never let their skin be seen. With Chris, as with most Romantics, it’s the opposite. He feels safe enough to know he can make himself comfortable any way he wants. Not feeling like he needs to show skin is a sign of security for him.

“Hey, hey Jake,” Chris says, one green eye covered by the pastel purple towel. “Did, did I hear you, um, you talking to, to-... is, is breakfast-”

“Can you chill up here for a sec?” Jake interrupts him, voice pitched low. At Chris’s confusion, he says softly, “I just… want to do something. Give me ten minutes, yeah? Then I’ll start on breakfast and you can come down.”

“Um, oh-okay,” Chris says, frowning, but he slips into the room he shares with Antoni, and Jake heads for his own room, digging out Kauri’s gift from underneath a carefully arranged pile of basically trash papers in his desk drawer. Hidden, like Kauri was a kid who still believed in Santa.

Hidden, like Jake didn’t want to explain what he did to anyone but Kauri, and definitely didn’t want to explain why.

He heads back downstairs with the gift carefully slipped into his back pocket, unseen until he wants Kauri to know. Ducks his head again - and Jake has been ducking to avoid doorframes since he was sixteen, he thinks, or eighteen maybe - and finds Kauri right where he left him, still sipping his coffee, lost in thought.

Warm gold light edges his mussed-up black curls, sets off the blue of his eyes when he turns to look at Jake. Lights his smile a little, too. Jake’s eyes catch the barest hint of a flash of bare skin at his stomach, where shirt hem and low-slung jeans meet. 

“Want to do yours first?” Jake asks, and his voice sounds airy to him, but Kauri doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nah. You open yours, then I’ll do mine.” Kauri gives a smooth shrug, effortlessly graceful. Or maybe it hadn’t been effortless, before it’d been beaten into him until he couldn’t be anything else. 

Jake nods, slowly, and sits down, carefully shifting his weight not to put any on the phone, and takes the box in hand. He rips open a seam very slowly and shifts the box out, then folds the wrapping paper and sets it to the side. 

He catches Kauri watching him, eyebrows furrowed again and glances up. 

“Why-... why didn’t you just tear it?” Kauri points at the folded square, as neat as origami. “Why did you do that? It’s like 15 cents of paper.”

Jake shrugs, running his fingers over the smooth, plain brown box the size of his palm, mostly flat. “We always saved wrapping paper to use the next year, when I was a kid. It’s just a habit, guess I never lost it. What’s in here?”

“Open the box and see.” Kauri holds his mug in both hands, giving him a pleased little smile, and not for the first time, Jake thinks, if I’d met you any other way…

He opens the box. Inside, there’s three gift cards, slightly shiny, and Jake looks each one over, blinking, before he looks up. “This is… the Mitchells Center downtown, the Blue Martini, and… Holden’s Harbor… Kauri, this is-... what is this?”

“A date.” Kauri bites down on his lower lip, looking at Jake over his mug, and his eyes are sparkling bright. Jake almost opens his mouth to say, I’m so sorry, we can’t do that, we just can’t, when Kauri quickly adds, “For you and Addie.”

Jake’s protest dies, unspoken. “For… for Addie?”

“Yeah. You’ve been talking for months about saving up for a big anniversary thing, and then, you know, I heard you say you were giving Nat a bunch of your money when the pipe burst and the basement flooded, so…” He shrug, again. “I didn’t want you to miss out on your date. And I remembered you said she likes that bar, the Blue Martini, I know the bartender there-”

You know everyone, everywhere.

“-so he’s gonna give you drinks half-price, just tell me the night and I’ll let him know. Then Holden’s Harbor, that’s the big one, but I’m friends with a waiter and the hostess is going to give you a table that looks over the Bay, she’s fun, I partied with her a few week ago. And then… the Mitchells Center is doing Hadestown, and you said that’s Addie’s big thing right now. So. Happy anniversary.” 

Jake is, for a moment, utterly speechless. “Kauri this is like-... three hundred dollars of-... you can’t possibly-”

“Four. But don’t worry about it. I had a bunch of really good weeks a couple months ago and I don’t spend much money, anyway. Is it good? Do you think?”

Jake just stares at the gift cards for a second, swallowing around a lump in his throat, a tightening threatening to take his voice. “It’s, um.” His voice cracks a little and he has to clear his throat to recover it. “It’s amazing, Kaur. Thank you. Um… like I said, I didn’t have time to wrap it, but…” He pulls the gift out of his back pocket and lays it out on the table between them.

Kauri steps forward, setting his mug down. “What-... a new phone? Thanks, I-”

“Yeah, but, um, that’s not what’s important. Just…” Jake picks the phone up, and it feels like such a dumb thing, now, what he did, but he powers through it. The phone isn’t locked yet, and it’s easy to pull up the apps and folders, select one, and open it up. He slides the phone closer. “Pick one of those, and click it.”

Kauri looks down, and Jake looks with him. It’s a file folder open to a bunch of sound files, each one labeled with an emoji rather than words. A heart, a broken heart, a smile, a sad face. A gravestone. A tree. A cat.

His finger hovers, and then taps deliberately over the heart. A line of options pops up, each one punctuated with new emojis. The one Kauri picks is marked with a face that has blue eyes and black hair, a leaf, and a flower.

“I swear,” A voice - Jake’s voice - comes out of the phone’s speaker, “since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy. The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare.”

“What is this?” Kauri’s voice is hushed, and uncertain. He almost sounds scared. But he doesn’t stop the recording. 

“A house of love with no limits,” The voice continues, “A presence more beautiful than Venus or the moon. A beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart. The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV.”

Jake clears his throat again. “That’s, um, Rumi.”

Kauri’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks for a second like he’ll pick another choice, then pulls his hand back, looking up at Jake wide-eyed. “You… recorded poetry? For my Christmas present?”

“Yeah.” Jake licks at his lips, his heart pounding for reasons he can’t really explain to himself, or maybe just doesn’t want to. “You, um, you quote-... you quote shit all the time, so I started looking it up, and it’s almost always… poetry. So I figured, maybe, um, maybe-... you liked that shit, you know? And you shouldn’t have to… not get it, just because you can’t read yet. So I recorded, um, like… two hundred poems or something?”

Kauri opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. 

“Oh my God,” is all he says. His voice cracks.

Jake’s chest twists, nervous, he finds himself tapping his foot on the floor, twisting fingers into his pajama pants. 

Kauri leans over and pushes another poem, in a sudden burst of movement like he wants to stop himself and can’t. “Sometimes, I think you get the worst of me.” Jake’s voice is softer on this poem, and it’s uncomfortable listening to himself read this. Why did Kauri choose the love poems? “The much-loved loose forest-green sweatpants, the long bra-less days, hair knotted and uncivilized, a shadowed brow where the devilish thoughts do their hoofed dance on the brain.”

“This is Ada Limon,” Kauri whispers.

“I’d like to say this means I love you, the stained white cotton T-shirt, the tears, pistachio shells, the mess of orange peels on my desk, but it’s different than that. I move in this house with you, the way I move in my mind, unencumbered by beauty’s cage.”

“You, uh, mentioned her one day when Nat was listening to NPR-”

“Ssshhhh,” Kauri says, holding up a hand, as Jake’s recorded voice keeps reading.

“I do like I do in the tall grass, more animal-me than much else. I’m wrong, it is that I love you, but it’s more that when you say it back, lights out, a cold wind through curtains, for maybe the first time in my life, I believe it. Ada Limon, Love Poem With Apologies for My Appearance.”

There’s a long silence broken only by Kauri’s harsh breathing, and Jake watches tears build in his wide blue eyes. He’s done something wrong, somehow. It had seemed like a good gift but he’s ruined it, somehow it wasn’t right at all, it wasn’t-

“Thank you, this is-... this is amazing,” Kauri says. Barely words. More just a breath.

Some part of Jake had been tense and coiled to turn in on himself in anger. That part, at the words, relaxes. “You’re welcome. Is it-... is it good, or…”

“You, um-... you fucking heard, some shit I said, and you-... got me something, I just...” Kauri’s hands move nervously, over himself and over the back of the chair, to the phone, back up to his hair. He meets Jake’s eyes, and his brim with tears and Jake feels his own heating up in response. “You just… I, I don’t-... no one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Really?”

“I m-mean, not that I know of anyway.” The joke falls flat, Kauri’s voice is too full of tears. Kauri picks up the phone like it’s a precious object that might shatter or disappear, holds it with reverent hands. Swallows and looks at Jake like he’s seeing him for the first time. “I didn’t-... know you listened to me so much.”

“‘Course I do. Merry Christmas,” Jake says, voice maybe a little thick, buried in the things they don’t say to each other. “Merry Christmas, Kauri.”

Kauri pours himself another cup of coffee, and Jake lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding at the sign that Kauri will stay a little longer. 

With his back to Jake and the phone still clutched in one hand, Kauri says, “Merry Christmas, Jake.”

They both pretend that Kauri’s voice isn’t shaking.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine Part 5

Warnings:  Cursing, some not very nice dealings to not very nice people, angst.

Summary:  Despite his best efforts, you catch up to the Thief…but the consequences are far from what you hoped for.

That bastard had no right to look that good in a red velvet coat.

There he was, in his own private box, watching the opera like like he was the king of the world, opera glasses looking fragile and delicate in his hand.

Concentrate.  He’s here for the same reason you are.  And you are damned well going to beat him to his prize.

Her brother had come through.  Found out who owned the auction house — I’d managed to find out about the discrete, underground auctions when I worked at Gambrel’s.  I found out that the couple would be here tonight, all I had to do was see if I could find a way to get their key card fir the suite at the hotel they were staying at.  Apparently they did not live in Rome, and only came in when they had things to sell.

They were older than I imagined.  The woman looking elegant and patrician, her husband looked like a oversized fire hydrant.  Their body language was not what I expected.  They seemed to like each other very much, a fondness of many years together That made me a little envious. I’d followed them from the hotel, managed to see where he put the key card. I’d been careful…I heard whispering of how they made their money, and if it as true they where Not to be Messed With.

So, of course, I was planning on messing with them.

I snuck into a seat not too far behind them, but hopefully out of the path of The Theif’s gaze, and tried to be patient.  I would move during intermission.  Then I would have a whole half an opera and late dinner to break in and get what I wanted.

I glanced back up at the thief.  He was too beautiful, and I liked looking at him far too much.  His question about why I wanted the star was bothering me.  What was the point?  I followed him because he told me to.  Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.  Because I hoped if I retrieved the star I’d be…more equal.  More accepted?  I probably have about as much of my family’s love and acceptance I was probably going to get, but the idea of being the hero was alluring.

Maybe even as alluring as the Thief.

I was pretty angry with him, honestly.  I knew he drugged me, I felt slightly drunk and out of it for a moment, enough disorientation to give him a chance to flee.  It was stupid, probably, to be disappointed.  If a tiger bites you, do you yell at it?  Or do you accept that you shouldn’t have petted it in the first place?

Intermission.  Finally.  I followed them at a pace.  I actually wanted to see if he would approach them first.  So I hid.  Followed, pretended to join a group and nod wisely until they noticed me and I muttered apologies and moved on.  The place was a crush of people drinking, talking, discussing the opera.  Perfect.

There.  Flash of deep velvet.  He was moving nonchalantly, as if he had nothing to do, closing in along her right side, away from her husband…so I did something awful.  I pushed the elegant woman right into his arms.  The Thief had two choices, let her fall, or catch her.

He caught her.

I went in, dipped into the man’s pocket, grabbed the wallet and left, letting the jostling of other people and his distraction with a very handsome man holding his wife cover up my actions.

I extracted the key card, turned the wallet in at the bar, and left quickly.

It was all so smooth.  I felt fairly cocky.  It was all so simple.

Until I got to the safe.  I found it fine.  There were only so many places to look.  But I sat there, cross legged, my tight, elegant dress pushed up so I could sit comfortably on the floor, and realized I was completely out of my element.  I fiddled with the edge of my latex glove and worried.

“It’s not in there.”

I squeaked.  Like a damned mouse.  I turned and hurled a shoe at him, and he ducked.

He smirked at me.

“How did you get in?”

“She had a keycard in her purse…thank you for throwing her into my arms.  That made things so much easier.”

I stood.  “You are so…insufferable.  Yes.  Don’t you dare look hurt, you know you are.   Now.  How do you know it’s not in there?  There’s no where else it could be.”

He leaned against the low dresser and shrugged.

“Fine.”  I shooed him away and returned my attention to the safe.

“I’m telling you, you are wasting your time.”

“Why should I believe you?  You who love to drug me, lie to me…”

“I don’t love that at all.”  He had the nerve to sound actually hurt rather than the fake hurt of earlier.

“So either tell me where you think the diamond is, or open the damned safe.”

He smirked at me.  “They aren’t going to put a million dollar jewel in a hotel safe…but they might put something less expensive looking in there.”  He got out his phone and started playing with the screen.  The safe made a sound.  I knelt and opened it.

“Well?”  He asked.

“You had an app on your phone to open a hotel safe?”

“Absolutely.  Hotel safes are worthless, might as well keep your valuables in a locked drawer under some tampons.”

I caught the dig, glared at him. “Everyone’s a comedian. I have an iPad, and a slip of paper.” A slip of paper wrapped around a USB key.

He held out his hand, and I gave him the iPad.

“No, that’s useless…I want the paper.”

I smiled and pushed it down into my bodice.

He stepped closer to be, his eyes dark.  “Do you think I am above retrieving that?”

I looked up into his eyes.  They were almost completely black, and I shivered.  I was filled with the need to feel those large hands, cupping my breasts, stroking my skin.  I cleared my throat and said, “The play ended forty five minutes ago.  They probably got to Francesco’s for their reservation about ten minutes after that…the place right across the street from the opera house.  That means that we probably only have a half an hour left before they get here, so I suggest…”

The elevator dinged.  We looked at the still closed door.

“There are three rooms on this floor,” I said softly.

“Not booked.”  He threw the iPad back into the safe and closed it.  I ran to the window.

“No ledge,” I shot him a panicked look.

The coat closet.  They might use that.  The Bathroom.  They would definitely use that. The bedroom…sneak under the bed, and wait?

He grabbed my waist swept us behind the door as it opened.  He sprayed something in their faces and they fell before they were even truly across the thresh hold.

“Now what?  If they come to they’ll know…”

“And they’ll change the code you are so obligingly keeping for me in your bosom.  So…we must get them ready for bed.”  He grabbed the man by the wrists and pulled him the rest of the way in, as I shut the door.

“I don’t…”

He looked me in the eye.  “If you woke up naked in your husband’s arms, would you say you didn’t remember how you got there?”

“That’s…that’s horrifying on so many levels.  I mean…she does not look like a woman who would be happy with strangers seeing her naked.”

“I don’t want to see other of them nude, but unfortunately someone interfered with my plans and now we have to improvise and hope for the best.”

I started to help him.  “I cannot believe this is the first plan you came up with.”

He shot me an annoyed look.  So, we improvised.

A short time later we were back on the sidewalk again. “I am going to feel horrible about that for the rest of my life,” I informed him as the cool night air hit my face again.

“We were as polite and gentle as possible.  And, in truth, neither of them will ever find themselves guests at a cocktail party in heaven.”  He turned to me.  “Now, as for you…”

“No.  No you don’t.  You don’t get to come close enough to drug me or seduce me.  Ever.  You want the USB, you have to follow me to the warehouse.”

He walked a circle around me.  “You are not dressed for the occasion.”

I followed him the best I could.  I could feel the bite of the USB under my right breast.  “I can adapt.”

“You can.  You do.  I am impressed with you,” he said in his most satin voice.

“Stop it.”  There was a plea edging my words.

“What is your price?” He said, so close his breath ghosted over my bare shoulder.  I stepped away quickly, turned.  He raised his hands, all innocence.

“You won’t pay it.  Now stop this…stop this seduction garbage.  You don’t want me.  You want the damned USB.”

“I’ll pay.  Oh, I’ll pay.  My first honest transaction in years.  Now.  The price?”

I shook my head, I felt overwhelmed.  Conflicting hopes and thoughts churning away inside of me, and I couldn’t tell anyone.

“The Star.  For your family.  Will that give you what you want?”

“What else can I have?”

He gave an expansive shrug, haloed in the yellow street lamp like a Renaissance saint.  “What do you want?”

“What about you?  Are you on the table?”

He stopped.  “No.”

“But you told me to come find you.”

He looked away.  I felt like I’d stolen all his lines, and now there he was, naked and exposed on the stage.

“And you did.”  His face closed like an iron door.  “Good job.”

I’d misread him. I thought I’d understood this wild chase, but I’d been fool. What did I expect? I didn’t even know his name. “I don’t want anything from you, then.”  I said, and I pulled the USB out of my bodice.  It caught, it was not a smooth motion, it was awkward and I felt stupid, my grand gesture of throwing it at him ruined.  It bounced off him and fell in the street.  “I’m tired of you.  You’re no better than my family.”  I didn’t look up to see how the words hit, I just kept walking.

Thank you to you lovely people for being on my tag list, if you want added or dropped just let me know.  <3

@grogusmum @mishasminion360 @hnt-escape @littlemisspascal @pedro4ever @writteninthestars18 @fromthedeskoftheraven @sharkbait77

@quica-quica-quica @eri16 @the-blind-assassin @ayoungpascallover-readings @songsformonkeys

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Summary: Bucky’s waiting for the other shoe to drop while he lives a life he didn’t think he deserved in Romania.  Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 4785 (oops?) Warnings: Some angst? Canon-level violence. Implied smut. Creative licensing. Takes place towards the beginning of CA:CW.  A/N: I have been working on this for a couple of months, at least, and one time while working on it, Lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid came on. It just clicked in my head, the connection between the song and the story ... I’m honestly not sure anyone else will get that connection, but it was strong enough for me, I had to go with it for the title. A little nervous since I haven’t posted in a while and this is one of those things that means a lot to me, but fingers crossed at least one other person loves it, too! Happy Reading :)

A chilly, autumn breeze blew in through the open balcony door, pulling her from a comfortable sleep. She rolled to her back and reached for him but only found the edge of the mattress. Frowning, she forced herself to get up and search for him. 

He was on the balcony, looking out over the street below. His dark brown hair was blowing in the same breeze that had pulled her from sleep. His back muscles were tense as he surveyed the city, making her wish she could take away his worries, as many as they were. She smoothed a hand over his back before wrapping her arms around him, kissing his back where she leaned. 

“Bună dimineața,” she greeted. “Te gandești la mine?”

He smiled and covered her hand with his. “Good morning, beautiful. I’m always thinking of you.”

Her smile grew and she moved to his side, lifting her head as a silent request for a kiss. He obliged her, taking her face in his hands, selfishly delighting in her shiver when the cool metal of his left hand touched her face. 

“You should let me warm you up,” he teased against her lips, his hands sliding down to her hips. 

Y/N giggled softly. “I have to go to work, Dom. Anything you want me to bring home from the market?”

“We need vegetables,” he told her, following her into the apartment, checking the cupboards and the fridge while she did her morning business and brushed her teeth. She called over her shoulder some things they could plan for supper. 

Dominik returned with the things she would need to pick up if she wanted various options when she came home while she changed her clothes for her work at the market. She worked her hair into a braid then applied some mascara and eyeliner before throwing her belongings into the small bag she brought with her when she stayed at his place. 

“Okay, I think I’m ready. Will you have coffee with me before I leave?” 

He nodded and offered oatmeal with her coffee, but she declined. While Dominik brewed the coffee, she sat at one end of the counter that doubled as his stove. He set a chipped coffee cup in front of her and stole a kiss before pulling a cup down from the cupboard for himself. 

“Why don’t we stay at your place tonight?” he suggested. “Tomorrow is your early morning at the cafe — you need to sleep better than you do here.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line while he poured her coffee. “I sleep fine here.”

“You toss and turn more than you know, Y/N. I’m a light sleeper, I know, even when you don’t. I see how tired you are in the mornings.” 

His warm hand caressed her face; she pulled it away but laced her fingers through his. “Until you’re ready to share a home with me, Dominik, I’m happy and willing to go between both of our homes. I love being part of your home, whenever you’ll let me.”

He kissed her again. “You’re going to be part of my home for a long time to come. I know I don’t have a lot to offer you, but whatever I do have, you know it’s yours.”

“Then we’ll stay here tonight.”

“Dragă, we’re staying at your place tonight. I’ll even pick you up from work and we’ll walk together.”

She ceded, finishing off her coffee before kissing him and reaching for her bag. Dominik took it from her though, handing his coat to her in place of the bag. 

“It’s cold and your sweater isn’t enough to keep you warm. I’ll bring your bag when I come get you.”

With a grateful smile, she went up on tiptoe to kiss him. “I can’t wait to be done with work and back with you.”

“Me either,” he smiled. “Be careful walking to the market, please.”

She nodded and promised that she would be extra careful. “I have a very important date tonight.”

He nodded. “Yes, you do.”

After stealing one more kiss, she pushed her arms into his coat, put her keys in one of the pockets, and let herself out of the apartment. 

He watched from the open balcony door and made sure that she made it across the street safely. As she always did when she left his place for work, she stopped on the opposite corner and blew him a kiss. Bucky smiled and put his hand over his heart; he had lost count over the last months how many small tokens of affection he had stored there to remember when loving her wasn’t an option anymore. 

After all, Bucky Barnes was anything but stupid. He was living the dream right now, under an alias, with an under-the-table construction job, a shit apartment, and constantly looking over his shoulder — okay, maybe that wasn’t the dream, but it was about as close as a rogue supersoldier could get, Bucky figured. Y/N was far more than he deserved and not someone he expected to be able to keep in his life. 

Especially considering that feeling of dread that had been plaguing him the last few days. It was as though the core of the earth itself was shaking with trepidation at what was to come next. 

You’re safe, Dominik. 

Her voice echoed in Bucky’s mind; it was a sentiment he almost believed, one she had said to him over and over after nightmares, when he was a little too on edge. She didn’t know the whole truth, only knew that he had come from somewhere to which he never wished to return — in conversation, memory, or otherwise. Y/N accepted that he didn’t want to talk about it and let it go at that. She would tell him again that he was safe in the present, and, despite the alias she knew him by, sometimes, Bucky believed her.  Of course, he would never be safe, not really — and neither would Y/N, so long as she was with him. 

Bucky filled a thermos with what was left of the coffee and made way for the construction site where he was currently working. As he erected frames for new walls, he kept his eyes on what was going on around him. Hyper-vigilant was his everyday state of being but now the trait had been intensified by that core-shaking trepidation. 

“Hey, Dom,” one of his co-workers called out, “the way you’re looking around today, should we be expecting the police for you? What was your crime?”

Bucky laughed off the teasing. “Waiting for them to come and get you, Ion.”

The other man joined in the laughter, and the teasing continued throughout the day as their work continued. When the end of the work day came, Bucky punched his card and walked with purpose toward Y/N’s coffee shop in the middle of the market. He could be tense and on edge around her and she wouldn’t comment on it, would only move around him until he was ready to let her close. 

And, at this moment, he wanted to pull her as close as possible and never let her go. 

When the day was done, Y/N helped her waitstaff clean up the small cafe, counted down the drawer, and put the bank deposit envelope safely in her pocket. She was just locking up the place when Bucky came round the corner. 

“Ah, my handsome man,” she grinned, kissing him sweetly. “How was your day?”

Bucky shrugged. “It was fine — I was building wall frames today. I like that better than digging trenches to run wire or set foundation.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe someday, you can build a house for us.”

“Maybe, beautiful. Do you need to go to the bank?”

She nodded, and so they walked hand in hand through the town until they reached the bank. Bucky waited outside while she made her deposit. While waiting on the teller, she glanced outside at him. The small movements of his head giving away his hyper-vigilance. She had seen him like this before and was hopeful that a calm evening, just the two of them, would help him to relax. 

With her receipt safely in her pocket, she exited the bank and slipped her hand into his. He startled but recovered quickly, giving her an apologetic half-smile. 

“You’re safe, Dominik.”

He squeezed her hand. “I know. Just the old demons coming to haunt me, I suppose. What shall we have for supper?”

She shrugged. “Whatever sounds good to you.”

They made a few stops around the market to pick up some things for supper. Y/N was friendly and talkative with all of the vendors, keeping their attention on her and not on his nervous state. He carried the bag of groceries in one hand and held tight to hers with the other, leading them toward her place. When they reached the corner though, he squeezed her hand and tugged her toward his apartment building. 

“I thought you wanted to stay at my place? I don’t mind either way, but —”

Bucky nodded. “Let me just show you something, then we’ll go to your place. Fast, I promise.”

With a single nod, she agreed. He led her across the street and into his building, up the many flights of stairs to his place. After unlocking the door, he set the groceries on the counter, then tapped on a few places around the wooden floor with his boot before beckoning her over. 

“I want you to count the number of steps it takes you to get from the door to me.”

Y/N raised her brow but did as he asked. She started out with her strides too long; she was overthinking the task. Bucky sent her back to the door and had her try it again. She counted as she walked, until the toes of her shoes met the toes of his boots. 

“How many?” 

“Doisprezece. Twelve steps.”

He nodded. “Okay. You have to remember that number. From the front door to right here, twelve steps. If something happens to me, if my past catches up and I tell you to run — if you have to run, promise me you will come here first.”

“I don’t like this, Dom,” Y/N frowned, turning away. He caught her by the hand, bringing her back with a firm but gentle hold. “You’re scaring me.”

“I know that,” he whispered, looking down at their joined hands, “but nothing scares me more than leaving you with no way out, no way to take care of yourself. Under the floorboards, if you ever need it, there are two packs — mine is black, yours is blue. Very similar, but it’s important that you grab the right one. Do you understand me?”

She nodded. Her whole body was shaking with fear now — it was the only time she had ever considered pressing him for more information about his past. With the information he needed to tell her out in the open, Bucky pulled her to his chest and apologized for scaring her. 

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. 

Bucky showered while she took a short nap. Though Y/N had asked him to wake her when he was out, he couldn’t stop himself from taking up the space next to her on the bed and watching her sleep for a few minutes. 

His intention had not been to scare her when they stopped at his apartment, but he wanted her to be ready for anything. Would he tell her the truth, given the opportunity? Bucky wasn’t so sure about that, but only for fear of what she might think of him if she knew everything. The ultimate factor in deciding to only tell her what she needed to know, however, was the idea of anyone torturing her for information about him. The very thought of it made his insides twist and boiled the blood in his veins. 

At the moment, though, he felt peaceful. How could he not when she was there next to him, hugging the pillow and lost in a dreamland where everything was safe and normal. Where he wasn’t anyone but Dominik; a world where Bucky Barnes and the Winter Solider didn’t exist. 

“Dragă,” he whispered, running his flesh hand through her hair. “Do you want me to make dinner? You can sleep longer.”

Y/N yawned before blinking the sleep away. With a ghost of a smile, she snuggled closer to him. “Mmm, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Last time you cooked, you nearly started a fire. I’ll cook, you relax. You’ve been building houses all day.”

“And you’ve been on your feet, cooking and serving people,” he reminded her. 

“And,” she started, kissing his cheek before sitting up and stretching a little, “I don’t want you to burn my apartment down. C’mon with me, you can help.”

Bucky chuckled as she stretched again, her tummy showing a little between the hem of her shirt and the top of her pants. He licked his lips, wishing they could put off supper a little longer. The rumbles in his stomach wouldn’t allow it, though, so he dutifully followed her into the kitchen, happily accepting the task of chopping vegetables. 

“I was thinking,” she began as she slid a pan of pork chops into the oven, “maybe you and I should get away. Only for a few days. We don’t have to go anywhere crazy … maybe  find a little place on the Greek coast, spend some time in the sun and on the beach.”

He pursed his lips. “Why do you want to get away?”

Y/N frowned and stood next to him. She gently took the knife from his hand and pushed his arm a little so he would turn to face her. When his eyes didn't meet hers, her frown deepened. 

“Hey, look at me. Please.” 

Bucky did as she requested; there was no frustration or anger in his eyes, only sadness. She went up on her toes to kiss him, making sure to hold his gaze the whole time. 

“I don’t want to get away from you. I don’t want to get away from our life here. You’ve been tense for a while now, Dom — more tense than I’ve seen you before. I thought getting out of Romania, getting away on our own for a while, maybe it would help you relax. If you don’t want to go, we won’t go.”

“You seemed excited — it’s not that I don't want to get away with you. It’s not a good time at work, and I don’t want to disappoint you.” Every new lie he told her cut Bucky a little deeper. Staying in one place under an alias was tough enough; traveling meant putting himself on the grid. He couldn’t risk that, for either of them. 

Y/N gave him a small smile. “You could never disappoint me.”

If you only knew … He had to stop thinking this way. He had her love now, no point in sabotaging the relationship. Before she could return to the stove to check the pork chops, Bucky pulled her back to him, a little harder than he meant to do. 

“Sorry,” he winced. “Why don’t we look at some trips later, for a couple of months from now? Give us something to look forward to — maybe work will slow down by then. We can save a little more and really enjoy ourselves while we’re there.”

His compromise brought a real smile to her face. She reached up to his stubbled cheeks. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really?”

She squealed and kissed him again, thanking him for meeting her halfway. She didn’t linger on the subject as they continued preparing the meal together. Bucky appreciated that about Y/N — if she felt she had to push a boundary, she never lingered in that push. She made him better, made him want to be better. 

Made him want to be anyone other than a supersoldier with a past he wasn’t proud of and for which he would never forgive himself. 

Despite the lingering concern that his past was catching up with him, Bucky kept his spirits high for her sake. They chatted happily over supper, bantered flirtatiously while doing the dishes together, and, by the time the leftovers were put away, Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off of her anymore. His hands were on her hips as he kissed her softly and gently picked her up, setting her on the counter. 

“Still hungry, my love?” Y/N teased. His kiss was soft, but she knew that look in his eye all too well. 

Bucky nodded, taking her face in his hands and kissing her again, this time making his purpose clear. He always wanted her, to be truthful, but today the feeling was stronger. It had started with seeing her exposed stomach before supper and had only intensified since. 

Her hands were in his hair and her tongue was in his mouth. Bucky’s heart was racing; he would never get enough of her. Could never get enough of her. 

“Take me to bed, Dom,” she whispered against his lips. 

Bucky didn’t hesitate to lift her carefully from the counter and into his arms. She held tight to him, whispering words of love and eternal promises in his ear as he carried her to her bed. He dropped her onto the mattress before discarding his shirt, then crawled onto the bed over her. He ran his vibranium fingers over her jawline and kissed the tip of her nose. Her eyes shone up at him, a smile playing on her lips. 

“What is it?” 

Bucky drew in a breath. “I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? You’re the only one … it’s always been you, dragă.”

Her arms went around him, pulling him to nuzzle the crook of her. “It will always be you.”

For the rest of the night, Bucky didn’t think about his past, didn’t think about HYDRA, didn’t think about what was coming at him next; he thought only of her. 

Days passed. Bucky and Y/N grew closer; he was always on edge but found his calm in her. She continued to live life as though nothing could hurt them — after all, she knew no better. With the exception of the backpacks under Bucky’s floorboards, he hadn’t given her any indication that trouble was on the horizon. 

They were in his apartment that morning, struggling to get out of bed, dress, and go to their respective jobs. She was giggling at something he said, and Bucky’s smile showed his delight in her happiness. 

He took in a deep breath and held her a little tighter. “Call in to the cafe today. They’ll survive without you.”

She looked at him, brow raised with surprise. “And you’ll call in to the work site today, too? The man who hasn’t had a day off since I met him?”

Bucky smiled. “I want to spend the whole day with you. Please?”

Y/N was unable to resist. “All right. But you’re out of fruit — I’ll stay home if you’ll go down to the market for fruit.”

Bucky pretended to think about, but the decision had already been made, really. He dressed for the market, she pulled on his t-shirt from the night before and got to work making coffee. Before he left, Bucky put a hand at the small of her back and hooked a finger under her chin. 

“Don’t miss me too much,” he teased. 

Y/N grinned into the kiss she pressed against his lips. “I always miss you when you’re not around, Dominik. Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you,” she returned in a whisper before kissing him again. 

The kisses last for several more seconds, until the coffee started to flow. Bucky smiled against her lips, squeezing her side gently, and promised to hurry back. He turned back at the door. 

“Anything specific you want, beautiful?”

She thought for a moment while she secured her hair in a ponytail. “Mmm, plums. Yummy, ripe plums.”

“Plums,” Bucky smiled. 

The door shut and locked behind him, and Y/N went back to pouring herself a cup of coffee. She settled back on the mattress with a book she had slowly been working her way through, pulling her legs up to rest the book on as she sipped her coffee. 

The lock on the front door clicked a few times as someone worked to open the door. The knob jiggled … Y/N set her book to the side and stood very slowly, careful not to make any noise. Dominik wouldn’t struggle with the door like that. He had a key to her house, a key to his place, and a couple of keys for work. She had seen him work the lock before, almost without looking. 

Whoever was at the door was not Dominik. 

Y/N’s favorite fruit vendor was open, so Bucky beelined for the stand as soon as he was in the market area. The plums were bright and fresh; he smiled to himself, knowing how happy Y/N would be with such a simple selection. He checked with the vendor that the plums were ripe, and selected six from the bunch. He paid for his selection and started the walk back to the back to the apartment. 

There was a strange buzz about the market today. He had been so intent on pleasing his girl, he hadn’t noticed it when he first arrived. 

Stupid, letting your guard down for even a moment, he chastised himself. 

Frowning, he looked around and tried to make sense of the unease that seemed to be surrounding every citizen and the market like a fog. He caught the eye of the man running the newspaper stand across the way, so he detoured away from his walk home to check the paper the man was looking at between glances at Bucky. 

Winter Soldier Wanted for Bombing in Vienna. 

Bucky’s heart dropped to his feet. If this was already in the papers, then at least one agency would be after him — maybe had already found him by now. Knew where he lived, where he was working … 

Shit. Knew where he lived. He had left Y/N alone, vulnerable. Leaving the newspaper and the plums where they were already set and nearly ran back to the apartment. 

*

From her hiding spot in the bathroom, Y/N could see the uniformed man with a shield walk cautiously through the apartment. She winced as he approached the hot coffee in the pot; it gave away that someone had been in the apartment recently. She held her breath, wondering if he maybe knew that someone was still here. 

The man approached the fridge and picked up the notebook Dominik kept there — one Y/N had not even ventured to look at in her time with him. Before the man could open the notebook, the bathroom door pushed open a few more centimeters. Y/N clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the surprised gasp that escaped her throat. 

Dominik was standing there — she had not even heard him come in the apartment. His brow raised with question, she nodded. I’m okay. He held a finger to his lips, and Y/N nodded again. She wasn’t going to make a noise so long as she could help it. He turned away, pulling the door almost closed behind him. 

“Do you know me?”

Y/N knew enough English to make sense of the conversation, but she frowned at other man’s words. Why in the world would Dominik know him?

Several breaths passed before Dominik replied. “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

His English was so clear, it surprised Y/N. It sounded so natural, so … native. Dominik was from Romania though, just like she was. A million questions swirled in her mind and only continued as the conversation did. 

“I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.” 

You’re safe, Dom. You’re safe. The nerves evident in her boyfriend’s voice made her long to rush out of that bathroom and wrap her arms around him, saying the words she reserved for his most anxious moments. 

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now, and they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart. Good strategy.”

Dominik, stop! She wanted to shout at him for even implying that his death could be a better way to handle things. Heavy footsteps coming up the stairs of the apartment building caught her attention — was this going to get worse? Would either of them make it out alive?

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

Buck? Who the hell was Buck? Y/N got the feeling this wasn’t some strange American pal-around term. But his name was Dominik … wasn’t it?

“It always ends in a fight.”

Dominik’s voice was right outside the bathroom now, and she couldn’t spot him from where she was crouched. The two men exchanged a few more statements, and then the glass of the window near the balcony crashed and shattered before Y/N heard a small explosion. She retreated into the shower stall, terrified of what the sounds that followed could mean. 

Objects crashed around the apartment as pounding noises warned of intruders outside the door. Y/N kept her hands hard over her mouth to keep herself from screaming, even as frightened tears flowed from her eyes and over her hands. She was terrified for her own life, but more for Dominik being in the midst of all the chaos. 

She heard the groan of a man before he crashed through the bathroom door. She scrambled into the far corner of the shower stall, furthest away from him and the now open view of the bathroom, but the man didn’t move. Her breathing was coming in short, steady beats as she contemplated her next move. 

Motion near the door caught her attention. Her eyes met Dominik’s for a split, too-short second. She saw love, she saw fear, she saw regret and apology. With a single nod, again confirming that she was all right, Dominik stepped away from the bathroom and pushed the fight out into the hallway. 

She waited a good ten minutes to be sure that she was safe, even when all sounds stopped. The man who had crashed into the bathroom came back to consciousness, not bothering to check his surroundings before he rushed out of the apartment and down the stairs of the building. 

Rushing out of the bathroom herself, she pulled on a pair of jeans and her boots, trading out the oversized shirt of Dominik’s for one of her own before donning a hoodie. She shoved Dom’s shirt into her bag, collected everything that was hers from the apartment, and shoved that into her bag, too. She made for the front door, and then she remembered. 

She started at one as she counted her steps from the door to collect the backpack he had made her promise to go back for. 

… Zece, unsprezece, doisprezece. Twelve steps, though the hole in the floor gave away the location. She reached down and pulled out the backpack, pushing her arms through the straps before shouldering her duffle and hurrying out of Dominik’s apartment for the last time. 

As Bucky knelt on the ground, hands behind his head and waiting for the handcuffs to be locked around his wrists, he thought of Y/N. He wondered if she had made it out of the apartment, if she had remembered to take the backpack with her. If she had, he wondered what her reaction would be when she read the note he had left in there, paperclipped to a copy of his file — one that told his entire history. He was not the man she believed him to be, but the lie had created happiness for both of them. Bucky took comfort in that, at least, despite the fact that his lie had given her a front row seat to only a glimpse of the danger his past could bring to them. 

But, for a short while, Bucky had felt safe. He had felt loved and felt like someone wanted to keep him close without wanting to harm him. 

You’re safe, Bucky. You’re safe. 

A slightly imagined memory, but one Bucky would hold onto for whatever came next in his dark, terrifying life. 

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ @hurricanerin​  @im-not-an-armrest-im-short​ @shynara51​ @sea040561​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xtina2191​ @gifted-burnout​ @beakami​ @heartsaved​ @fullprunerebelstatesman​ @blackwidowismyhomegirl​ @averyrogers83​ @jennmurawski13​ @connie326​ @disastersoldierbucky​

[fbfh]

thankful for my (found) family - demisquad + reader thanksgiving special

2.4k

platonic everyone + reader, implied future/potential leo x reader if you look real close, thalia has a girlfriend that I had to make up bc they never mention hunters of artemis but go off rick, calypso is not included bc she acts more like an antagonist imo, gif doesn’t have anything to do with it besides nostalgia lmao

happy thanksgiving <33

You and Leo are cooking in the kitchen 

You have been all day

The doorbell rings, and Annabeth goes to answer, binder full of travel plans in hand

“That should be-”

Clarisse enters with a loud greeting and a hug to everyone in arms reach

Percy’s loud cheers echo from the living room as he calls out the new score of the football game he’s keeping everyone updated on

She drops her bag, hopping over the back of the couch to watch with Percy

“Woah woah, catch me up Jackson! What'd I miss?”

Hazel is helping Rachel make cute diy table settings and party favors 

Rachel, as with most art projects she takes on, is very focused on making it Martha Stewart levels of cute and amazing 

Frank and Piper are keeping everyone updated on the parade 

Frank pops down the stairs, calling out, “The last performance just ended, the dog show starts in 5!”

Hazel drops what she's doing and exclaims, “THERE’S A DOG SHOW?!” 

She runs upstairs to watch with Frank, her yellow dress swishing behind her

You chuckle, calling over to Annabeth as you mix batter in a bowl, " Hey Annabeth, how are the travel plans looking?"

She shuffles through some papers in her binder

"Magnus and Alex had another layover, but they should still be able to make it in time. Thalia and her hunter friend will be here in 10, and Travis's flight got delayed because of a sudden snow storm."

"Really?" You reply, "This time of year? That's pretty ironic for a son of Hermes..."

"I know, I'm looking at some shuttle services to see if that would be faster…" Annabeth replies

Nico enters, stealing a couple appetizers, "This is so stupid, I could just go get him."

Will, right behind him, eats the appetizer Nico hands him and replies, "No you can't. Doctors orders."

Nico starts to protest 

Will shoots him a look 

"Boyfriend's orders."

Nico tries in vain to stare him down,  "… Va’ a farti fottere." he says, cracking a smile

"Love you too," Will counters 

You and Leo shoo them out of the kitchen before they steal more of your recipes

Jason and Grover walk by with a bunch of pillows and blankets, setting up guest rooms. 

Grover calls through the pile of fluff he's carrying, "Hey, we're gonna need a few more pillows-"

Jason, over his pile of bedding, corrects, "A lot more!" And Annabeth runs over to help carry some of the blankets he's about to drop

"-A lot more pillows…"

You grab your keys

"okay uh… Grover, do you want to head to the store to get some more pillows-"

Leo, vigorously sautéing something adds over his shoulder, "And basil! And, uh… red wine vinegar, olive oil, and potatoes."

You rip a piece of paper off the notepad on the fridge and scribble a quick list 

You're probably going to need some more ice, too 

Tyson, very distressed, holds up an empty container of mellowcream pumpkins, declaring, "THERE'S NO MORE BABY PUMPKINS!" :(

you loudly add candy pumpkins to the list

Rachel approaches. 

"Are you going to the store?"

"Yeah," you reply, "how's crafting going? You need anything? "

"We're almost out of glitter and mod podge. It's not looking good. We could use some more fake leaves, warm toned glitter, and rhinestones - the nice ones."

Grover looks slightly lost 

You narrate as you add to the list, "Fancy rhinestones, mod podge, fake leaves, red, yellow, orange, and brown glitter…"

Tyson, still distressed, yells, "AND BABY PUMPKINS!"

:(

You hold up the paper, "Already on the list, bud, Grover's gonna get them!"

"What if he gets the wrong kind?" Tyson asks 

You, turn to Grover quietly, "Grover, can you take Tyson?"

Grover nods

"Hey Tyson, Grover has a lot of stuff to get, could you go be his shopping buddy? That way you can pick out the right baby pumpkins."

He doesn't look convinced

He wants to keep working on a secret project he’s been doing out by the garage

"And…" you add, sweetening the deal, "you can get two candies for the way home."

He agrees

You turn to Grover; "I'll call you guys an uber-"

"I'll drive."

You all turn around, shocked to see Reyna awake. 

You thought she was still passed out 

She showed up at 9am and immediately fell asleep from traveling all night 

"Reyna, hi! Are you sure-"

"We'll be fine, I need to stretch my legs a little." She proves by rolling her shoulders

"Okay, as long as you're sure," you hand her the paper, re-entering the kitchen

She takes the paper from your hand as you shut off the beeping timer and grab a pair of oven mitts from the drawer

Reyna examines the paper, "...This is a weird list. Where are we supposed to get all this?"

Leo moves to the side as you pull out the rolls from the oven, using tongs to set them on a wire cooling rack, "Maybe target?"

Leo, still very focused on cooking, announces, "If you get me generic brand spices I will burn this place to the ground."

"O-kay," you turn back to Reyna, laughing, "there's a Wegmans and a Joanne's right next to the TJ Maxx, you can probably find everything there."

"We'll be back within the hour." She states, taking your keys. 

Rachel meets her at the door. "Here, use my card. Also, make sure you get the flat backed swarovski crystals. And please pick some glitter with a nice color shift!"

You remind them to call or text with any questions and be safe

Heading back into the kitchen, you fill up a big bowl with carrots, celery, cucumbers, and mushrooms

You grab two cutting boards, knives, peelers, and a plastic bag for the peels, tips, and tails

You set it all down on the coffee table in front Percy and Clarisse

“Can you guys get the relish tray started?” 

They agree, and immediately return to yelling at the referee

You shake your head laughing, and head back to the kitchen

“How we looking, Sparky?”

“Stuffing cups just went up in the oven, pie crust dough is chilling, and the green beans are almost done sauteeing. Rolls are cooling - could you stir the cranberry sauce? - and… the turkey is going up as soon as the stuffing is out.”

You stir the sauce as you continue talking

“Great! We’re making good time so far. Oh, I found a recipe for brown sugar pie, which Frank requested - apparently it’s a Canadian Thanksgiving thing - so I figured if you’re doing turkey I can handle the pies.” 

He pours some cooking wine into the pan, and shakes it as the alcohol burns off

“Sounds like a plan, babycakes.” 

You laugh at the nickname, and grab butter, salt, some herbs, and a stick blender to finish the potatoes

A few minutes later, you hear the door open 

Reyna and the boys are back already? That was quick

You wonder if they need help bringing groceries in

“Eeeey get over here you knucklehead!” 

Bags drop, and you hear Jason laughing in protest

You poke your head out of the kitchen, and see Thalia with Jason in a headlock

In spite of the fact that he’s about half a foot taller than her, she’s still noogie-ing him, pretending she can’t hear him objecting through his laughs

She finally lets him go, greeting everyone as he adjusts his glasses

She bear hugs Annabeth, punches Percy in the arm, and high fives and hugs pretty much everyone else

You run up the stairs to the guest room Grover was setting up before he left

You finish making the bed head back down, meeting Frank and Hazel on the way 

"Oh, Hazel, what did you think of the dog show?"

"It blew my wig!" She says giddily 

A confused smile settles on your face

"It was awesome and she loved it," Frank translates smoothly

He and Will are understandably best at deciphering 40s slang

Thalia is introducing everyone to Amber, a girl she’d met on the hunt and become really close with

You greet her, and turn to Thalia

“Your room is all set up if you wanna get settled in,” you turn to Amber, “and yours will be ready soon,” 

They share a look

“Oh,” Thalia starts grabbing their bags, “that’s fine, we can share a room. We share a tent on the hunt all the time, right Ambie?”

"Oh,”

And then it clicks

“yeah, however you’re comfortable.”

You grab one of the bags, and help them upstairs

“Why don’t you guys take a while to settle in, I’ll tell the others you’re resting.”

They thank you, and you start to leave

“By the way,” you poke your head back in, “you two seem really cute together. Welcome to the family, Amber.” 

She blushes and Thalia gives you an appreciative look

You nod and head back down

You let the others know they’re going to nap for a little while, and not to wake them up

“Hey, any travel updates?” You ask Annabeth, on your way back into the kitchen

“Alex just texted, she and Magnus are finally on their way, should be here in the next few hours. As for Travis…” 

She holds out her phone, showing you Travis’s tiktok

He’s filming the mirror in the airport bathroom

“So uh, my flight’s delayed, I’m bored, I’m gonna fuck with some people,” he holds out a hand full of stickers that look like outlets

He records himself putting them around the airport, then gets people’s reactions when they try to use them

He ends the video asking for more prank ideas

You look back up at Annabeth, holding back a laugh, “Seems like he’s doing okay,” 

“Oh,” she replies, “that’s not all.”

She scrolls up, showing the next prank video where Travis goes around the airport having fake phone conversations to get people’s reactions

Conversation topics including ‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but slept with your grandma’, ‘hey bro I can’t come to the party, also turns out I’m going to be your stepdad’, ‘hey dude remember that old lady we used to cat sit for? Well, I found out I got chlamydia from her, so…’, and ‘yeah man, I’m so excited for the poetry slam. Also, it turns out my jazz fever is actually syphilis.’. 

Your hand flies over your mouth, trying not to laugh loudly enough to wake Thalia and Amber

“Yeah,” Annabeth says, fighting her own laughter, “he’s doing okay.”

You start putting together ingredients for pie filling

“That is the most in character thing I could have imagined,” you laugh, and Annabeth shows Leo the videos

“There’s a bunch more, too,” she adds, “Around making tiktoks, he found a bus heading this way. He’ll be here in a few hours.” 

“Cutting it close,” you muse, filling pies, “I’m glad he’s not stuck at the airport though. How about Connor?” 

“Haven’t heard much from him, but he said he'll be here in time for dinner."

A little while later, Thalia and Amber re enter, joining Percy and Clarisse in the living room 

The door opens shortly after, and Tyson enters, arms full of containers of candy pumpkins 

Reyna and Grover are right behind him

You take Grover's bags, announcing that Thalia got here a little while ago

He bleats excitedly and runs to hug her, Reyna right on his heels

Piper and Tyson bring in the rest of the groceries

Tyson sets down the last bags in the kitchen, looks out the window, yells, "IT'S ALMOST SUNSET!", and runs back out into the back yard, presumably to finish his mystery project 

Everyone eventually makes their way to the living room, nibbling on appetizers and watching classic Thanksgiving specials 

The food is almost done, all that's left is decorating the pies and a little tidying up 

You walk over to Leo, placing your hand on his shoulder 

He looks up at you

"Why don't you go take a quick shower and change before dinner," you muse, knowing the hoodie and jeans he's been cooking in all day isn't the outfit he'd picked out, "I'll wrap things up in here,"

He thanks you, dramatically presses a kiss to your forehead, and exits the kitchen 

You decorate the pies distractedly, catching the doorbell right before the second ring 

You smile at the people about to enter

"Annabeth," you call, "Magnus and Alex are here!" 

She drops what she's doing, and runs over to greet them 

Leo is back down stairs a short while later 

His brick red hoodie replaced with a burgundy one - his fancy hoodie as he calls it - a heavy flannel layered on top, and a beanie pulled over his almost dry hair

His pyrokinesis makes you forget how cold he gets sometimes 

You're about to go upstairs to change out of your cooking clothes when Tyson enters dramatically 

"The surprise is done!"

Everyone files outside to see what Tyson made as he leads you all out to the garage 

Perfectly attached to the side, is a very small horse stable 

"Wow!" Percy starts, "Great job, dude!"

Tyson is beaming as he's showered with confused praise 

"So uh," Percy ventures, "what did you build it for?"

"Maybe something like this?!" Descending voices declare in unicen 

Travis and Connor land in front of you on no other than Blackjack

Everyone erupts into cheers

“I thought you were stuck at the airport! What about those tiktoks?”

“Saved in my drafts, baby!” Travis laughs

Percy greets Blackjack and everyone else heads back inside with Travis and Connor 

You run upstairs to shower quickly and change, and are back downstairs just in time for appetizers and drinks 

You're about to take a sip of coffee when the door opens 

An irregular set of footsteps echoes into the room, along with a familiar voice 

"Ah, children, I hope there's room for one more," 

Everyone turns in surprise as Chiron enters the room 

After lots of warm excited greetings and making sure he has a warm cup of tea, he settles in to chat for a while

"I was on my way to meet with my more, ah, rambunctious cousins, but I couldn't let a day like today pass without stopping by."

After two cups of tea and lovely conversations, Chiron heads out to meet up with the other party ponies 

Thalia, Percy, and Will get all the food on the dining room table while Rachel makes the finishing touches to the centerpieces 

Everyone finds their seat, and you make the first toast

"I think I can speak for everyone when I say I'm thankful for you guys - my found family."

Every glass is raised

You can all drink to that. 

[smugzayn]

From London and Back (2/2)

Part One

I

“I need to shower,” you announce, looking at Harry expectantly.

Upon entering the room, he had promptly dropped the bags, and sprawled out on the too-small bed filling the middle of the space. You had quickly plugged in your mobile, letting your mum know you were safe (but she should alert the authorities immediately if you did not text her by half eight tomorrow morning), and checked the weather again. If you were lucky, you would be able to leave by mid-morning. Christ.

“Harry,” you tapped his foot. “I said I need to shower.”

His massive form shuffled a bit and he just barely turned his head to glance back at you.

“Do you want my permission, baby? Yes, you’re allowed to shower.” The smirk on his face was infuriating and it was even worse that you could feel your skin start to burn. You hoped the blush didn’t creep up into your cheeks.

You muttered under your breath, affronted, and looked pointedly at the open shower off to the side of the room. Apparently, the rich had little need for modesty. Aside from the toilet, which was tucked into its own little room, the place was entirely open aside from half-walls and some matte glass that offered minimal privacy.

“Well, I can’t very well shower with you in here.”

The shower was mostly, thankfully, sectioned off with half walls, but the door that opened into the shower was made of patterned glass. Your entire silhouette would be exposed for Harry’s peering eyes.

“Well,” Harry parroted, “then I guess you won’t be showering at all.”

You glowered at him. “Can’t you go to the lobby for a minute? Or just wait out in the hall? I will be quick.”

“Not a chance, darling. Y’threatened to steal my keys, remember?”

“My keys,” you instinctively argued and rolled your eyes. “Take the keys with you, and then I can’t steal them.”

Harry laughed, loud, and dry, and he stood up from the bed to get closer to you. “I’ve an idea,” he suggested, reaching around and grabbing the towel you had placed atop your luggage. “How about we shower together? Then, we don’t have to worry about the other slipping away? And,” he scanned you up and down as he inched closer. “We can get to know each other a bit better.”

When you bumped into the wall behind you, you realised you had been scooting away from his encroaching advancements. You snatched the towel out of his hand.

“Fine. Just don’t look.”

Harry smirked and watched you turn on your heel with your towel and luggage in hand.

Fully clothed, you stepped into the shower, and, before removing any of your clothes, you carefully hung the towel from the rack to block your lower half from any prowling eyes. The shower was nice and hot and it helped to relieve the tension in your back, shoulders, and neck that you didn’t realize was there but didn’t surprise you in the least. Harry was stressing you out. 

You rolled your neck when you noticed him slip around the corner to use the toiler. His eyes flickered towards you quickly, a devilish smirk twisting his lips as his eyebrows raised in appreciation.

You made sure to use every last drop of the complimentary shampoo, conditioner, and body soap. You even took the time to dump the excess moisturizer down the drain. If you thought there was a chance you could’ve used the entire hotel’s hot water, then you would’ve tried to use that all, too.

You’re not sure what about Harry brought out the obstinacy in you. He just seemed to demand the upperhand, and the control, and the power in between you two and you were unable to keep from pushing against that. Something about him made you want to push, and shove, and tempt until he couldn’t fight it any longer. There was always an undercurrent of threat and god if you weren’t desperate to see if it was real.  

Harry was right there when you stepped out of the shower. Still wrapped in a towel, you had decided dressing in the toilet would offer you the most privacy; you clutched the three empty bottles in your hand.

“Whoops,” you shrugged, as you dumped them in the bin. “I guess I used them all. Maybe run down and check the front desk.”

Harry looked more amused at your pettiness than seriously irritated, but that same glint of danger was deep in his eyes, so you knew he wasn’t letting on as much as he might have felt.

You leaned against the vanity, drying your hair with a fresh towel.

Harry leaned in close suddenly, reaching around to the sink behind you, and grabbed a bar of hand soap wrapped in yellow paper and matching ribbon. 

“Honey,” he mused, reading the packaging, and then watching in delight as you rolled your eyes.

“You’re a twat,” you clipped, holding the towel more securely to your body, and trying to slow down your racing heart. 

Harry’s face dropped slightly, a threat lacing his features as his smile just barely hung into his lips. “That mouth,” he tsked, unwrapping the packaged soap and holding it under his nose to sniff. 

“I wonder if it tastes like honey?” He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “Want to say that again?”

He raised an eyebrow at you in question, and there was nothing kind or good-natured on his face now. It was all challenge, and danger, and warning.

You were frozen on the spot as Harry reached out, lightly taking a hold of your jaw with just the tips of his fingers. If you took a step back, you were sure he’d let you, but you didn’t have anywhere to go - the edge of the vanity pressed flush against your toweled back. Your eyes didn’t leave his face as he reached out with the bar of soap, running it slowly along your bottom lip, and then top, and then just slipping past your lips to coat the tip of your tongue. 

Your breath was sharp, your blood coursing in your ears, and a burning running through your stomach, and chest, and reddening your neck.

“Want t’say that again?” Harry repeated, taking his eyes from the bar resting on your lips to look into your eyes.

You wondered what would happen if you said yes. Would he demand you take it into your mouth? And would you? Or would he turn you around, trap your arms and hold you close to his body, and force you to do it?

You shook your head slowly, still unable to step away from his powerful touch.

His lips quirked slightly, and you could see his nostrils flare in need.

His thumb tugged down gently, just parting your lips slightly, and the bitter taste of the soap soured the end of your tongue. Heat flooded through your body and your eyes fluttered shut in shame, and desire, and vulnerability.

Harry’s hand trailed down your neck and he let you go, and the bar of soap fell to his side.

“After I shower, we’ll order some food.” Harry decided, pulling his shirt over his head. His stomach was hard, and there were defined lines disappearing under his trousers, and his shoulders were large, and round, and thick with lean muscle. “Pizza or pub food?”

“Yes,” you muttered, not even sure of the question - you were short-circuiting and over-processing. You stepped into the toilet, pulling the door shut, but not before Harry stepped out of his trousers to reveal a pair of short, black pants hugging his thighs.

The door clicked shut with more force than you intended and the sounds of Harry’s gruff chuckle slipped under the crack.

II

You didn’t know how to recover from the soap. Harry had only smirked when he saw the nearly empty bottle of water clutched in your hand. It didn’t matter - you still tasted the bitter honey.

This wasn’t you. You were confident, and in control, and begrudgingly followed the lead of others. You got into PR because you could wrangle the difficult singer, the diva movie star, or the eccentric talk show host, and you were good at it. So, what the hell was wrong with you when it came to Harry Styles?

“I’ll order,” you decided as Harry used his towel to dry out some of the remaining water drinking from his hair. He had pulled on a pair of gray sweats and a hoodie.

You went to grab your mobile before Harry had time to protest or give you permission - you weren’t sure which you were expecting. It was time to regain some footing, and taking control of the dinner situation was the first step.

“Chinese, Italian, or Sushi? You decide.” You didn’t glance up from where you were perched on the very tip of the bed; rather, you scanned pointedly through the menu pulled up on your screen. “Chinese has four stars, so does Italian...the Sushi place only has -”

As the mattress sunk down beside you, your mobile was plucked from your hand. You involuntarily reacted to the proximity by jerking your thigh away from where it was all of the sudden pressed flush against Harry’s.

“I’ll order,” you repeat, trying to grab your phone but Harry’s forearm in the middle of your chest keeps you at bay. You’re not so indignant, or naive, to think you can get it back from him by force. So, instead you step away from him and hold your hand out to wait. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of his stupid power games.

“We’ll do pizza - sausage or cheese and get a side, too.” He hands you your mobile, some place already pulled up on the screen. You watch him shove the card key in his pocket before he grabs the ice bucket and mutters something about buying drinks.

He gives you a warning glance and you look away when he tells you to “behave” before slipping out the door.

You roll your eyes to the safety of his back.

You order Chinese and quickly deadbolt the door before running over to dig through Harry’s luggage. He’s just stuffed everything haphazardly into the duffel, so you don’t worry about keeping it organised as you search his pockets, and unravel tops, and search for your car keys.

You can’t stay here with him tonight. He’ll have you gagged, tied up, and shoved in a closet by morning, and Christ if that thought doesn’t send a shiver through your body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter in your panicked search. You start unzipping the side pockets and digging around. You throw the duffle back on the floor and start opening and closing different drawers in the place. The bathroom cabinets are empty, and the keys aren’t hidden in the closet, or tucked away in a nightstand drawer. You start ripping up the sofa cushion in a frenzy.

The door slams suddenly and you can hear Harry out in the hall. “Hey,” he barks and shoves at the door again. “Open up. My hands are full.”

You reshove the cushions into the sofa and throw the pillows back to their spot.

Just as Harry’s growl comes barking at you again, you unlock the door and swing it open as casual as you can.

“Sorry,” you grab the ice bucket from his hands as an excuse to turn away. “I must’ve accidently deadbolted it. You were able to buy drinks, then? I was worried they might be out. Y’know with the storm, and being full, and everyone being trapped here for the night. From the weather, it almost seems like…”

You trail off as Harry leans against the door, his arms folded across his chest. You follow his gaze to the open drawers of the wardrobe doubling as a TV stand.

“Oh,” you shove them close with your hip and foot before setting the ice down. “I was thinking about unpacking my stuff. I hate when it gets wrinkly -”

“My stuff, too?” Harry questions dryly as he looks at where his completely unzipped duffle is abandoned.

You take a deep breath to keep from cursing.

“Yes, yes, yours too.” He walks towards you, his broad shoulders looking hulking and threatening. It makes you prattle on nervously. “I guess I am so used to working for celebs and since you’re a popstar - I just - I was thinking about laying out your stuff for you. I wouldn't want your Gucci, or Givenchy, or Prada to -”

“Are you lying?” Harry’s grabbed onto your wrist to stop you from shuffling backwards any further. He doesn’t let go as he sits down on the bed. He’s tall enough that he’s eye level with you as he sits, and he pulls you in until you’re basically wedged in between his thighs.

“No, I’m not-”

“I don’t like being lied to,” he interrupts. “I get lied to all the time. From my bosses, my PR people, my designers, my publicists, my fans. I don’t want lies.”

The hand wrapped around your wrist squeezes in warning.

You swallow your nerves and opt for the truth. “I want the keys,” you confess, pulling your wrist until it’s free from his hold.

His lips pull upward, not in delight, but in some sort of dry amusement. A harsh chuckle flares his nostrils and you’re sure the lies go along with never getting the truth from anyone. He doesn’t get told no, or hear any criticism, or receive any pushback from all the yes-men who surround him.

Well, if he’s asking for the truth then you will fucking give it to him.

“Give me the keys,” you state firmly. “I want to leave, so give me the keys.”

Harry shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and runs a hand roughly along his jaw. He levels you dead in the eyes before sinking you with one word, “No.”

You storm away, over to the sofa, and sit with your arms crossed and your back towards him. He turns on a footie match and lays back on the bed. You two don’t exchange another word until the delivery man shows up at the door.

You like him better that way - silent.

“I thought I told you pizza,” he growls as a boy holding two bags of Chinese looks up at Harry in embarrassment.

“I’m not one of your yes-men, popstar,” you snatch the food from the boy’s hand and flash him a smile. “It’s a snowstorm; make sure to give a good tip.”

III

It’s late by the time you finish eating. The day had been long, the ride treacherous, and every interaction since entering the hotel completely draining.

While the Chinese food wasn’t that great, you had delighted in every grumpy swallow Harry took of the Chow Mein. His irritation was clear when he growled at you about trying to throw away his chopsticks.

“I’m saving them,” he had snarled, plucking them out of your hand. They were nicer than the usual takeaway chopsticks - heavier and a bit more durable, but what millionaire keeps takeaway utensils?

“You liked the Chinese so much that you want a souvenir?” you taunted and only smiled wider when Harry glowered at you darkly.

“Something like that,” he muttered, placing them safely on the nightstand.

That was an hour ago and the mindless drone of bad telly has lured you into nearly forgetting the exhausting celebrity lounging at the head of the bed.

“Harry,” you prompt, looking back to where he’s leaning against the headboard, his sock-covered feet crossed casually near where you rest at the end of the bed. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

He didn’t respond, just flickered his eyes from you and back to the television as if it was none of his concern.

You stood up, tired, and in a bit of a huff.

“Aren’t you going to go sleep on the sofa?” you question, trying your best to keep the bite out of your voice. “There’s no sense in us both sleeping here.”

Harry just flipped the covers down and patted the spot next to him without glancing your way.

“Seriously?” you rolled your eyes. “I’m not one of your yes-men - or girls. I am not sleeping with you!”

“Then, sleep on the sofa, or stand, or find a comfy spot on the floor because I’m not moving, princess.” You glared at him from the foot of the bed.

It made you angrier the longer he paid you no mind.

“You’re so surrounded by people so stuck up your arse that you don’t remember what it’s like to have someone tell you no. Do you?” Harry licked his lips, his nostrils flaring dangerously. “You always get your way? Grab this, schedule that, talk to them... Well, fuck you, Harry because I am telling you no.”

Harry stands up, taking two large steps until he’s closed the gap between you two, his lips are on yours as he pulls you into his body. His scent overwhelms you first - fills up your nostrils and you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone in your entire life. His tongue demands entrance next, and you part your lips to let Harry slip in. He rolls against you, pressing deeper into you, and muddling your brain from any coherent thought.

“I’ll make you say yes,” he growls, a hand crawling up your waist until his thumb brushes over your nipple. His mouth is still hard against yours. “Tell me no again and I’ll make you mine.”

You use his shirt to pull him closer into you, and he forces a bit of separation by dragging that same hand up your throat, his thumb pressing gently against the sides of your neck this time.

“Say it,” he demands, “Tell me no.”

You’re scared, and hungry with desire, and your brain can hardly make sense of what he wants from you and what you want from yourself. You think back to the bathroom, and the soap, and his threat. You push him away.

“What would you have done?” you ask as Harry stares down at you, his lips just slightly puffy from their assault. “If I called you a name again? In the bathroom?”

You can see Harry’s breath hitch, but he smiles - a taunting, arrogant smile that makes your heart flutter in desire.

“You want to know?” he asks and after a pause, you nod. You were starting to realise that Harry demanded answers to all his questions. “I would’ve made you stand there and watch me as I lathered my hands up, and then I would’ve told you to open, and I would’ve ran my finger all through your mouth - along your gum, under your tongue, and the inside of your lips, and then you would’ve sucked my fingers until you apologized.”

You feel numb and he stares down at you carefully, calculating. His hands spread wide across your hips

“I wouldn’t have let you,” you whisper.

Harry throws his head back in a humorless chuckle. “Darling, you wouldn’t ever want me to stop.”

His hands run up your sides, across your breast, and rest under your jaw, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze. The pads of his fingers wrap behind your head and his palms cup your cheeks.

He stares down at you expectantly, and the word parts your lip with a rush. You know it means everything - freedom, and permission, and acceptance that you want everything he will give you.

“No.”

The smile that splits Harry’s face doesn’t fool you for a minute - it’s intimidating, and threatening, and makes you want to crawl away from the touch you crave.

He sweeps you away with one deep, demanding kiss before turning you around, pressing your back tight into his back, and sinking his hand beneath your panties.

“My favourite people aren’t yes-men,” he growls into your ear, his fingers discovering the wetness coating your thighs. “They tell me no. I can’t resist no - it reminds me I’m human, and I’m man, and it’s naughty.” You moan as he adds pressure to his exploration and you feel his own hardness pressed into the top of your bum. “How have you been naughty today? Huh? Tell me.”

His free hand roams up your body until it’s wrapped around your neck and he pulls your head back against his shoulder. You moan when he pinches your clit threateningly.

“Tell me.”

You squeal when he pinches even harder.

“I called you a twat, and I didn’t listen and ordered Chinese, and I - I” Harry snakes a finger into your mouth but encourages you. Your words come out garbled and fuck it makes you needy. “I snuck through your stuff and I told you to fuck off. Fuck.”

Harry pats you lightly on the cheek and rubs your clit once more before guiding you to the bed. When you move to lay down, he stops you, and positions you with both feet firmly on the floor, your arms tucked under you, and your cheek pressed firmly into the mattress. Your bum sticks out and it makes your face glow red.

“Harry, I-”

He shushes you.

“I’m going to make you my yes girl, ya?” You watch him reach back to the nightstand, and he picks up the chopsticks. “Open,” he demands, holding them in front of you and waiting until you’ve had your mouth open for an embarrassing long time before placing them between your teeth and telling you to close.

Harry pulls your shorts down and rubs his hands soothingly over your bum. It’s been a while since you’ve had doggy style and never before with chopsticks between your teeth. You push back into Harry, eager to feel him press into you.

He pulls your panites up slightly, and you practically purr at the fabric against your sensitive flesh. The pressure against your clit makes you needy for more. You wiggle your bum, desperately asking him to stop playing with you.

“Have you ever been spanked before?”

You freeze.

Harry pulls your panites a little more taut and warms your bottom even more.

“Yes or no?” he prompts lowly, “Have you ever been spanked?”

Your face burns into the duvet when you shake your head no and you practically hear Harry’s satisfaction at your response.

“Didn’t think so,” he chirps lightly, almost slightly disproving. “We’ll change that.”

He pulls your panties tighter, balling them in one of his first, and forcing you to arch your back and pop your bum.

“Eight this first time,” Harry decides. “Two for each offense. I’ll explain more tomorrow, but for now it will just be two. Understand?”

You’re so caught up in your shame, and confusion, and the feeling of wetness dripping down your leg that you nod into the mattress noiselessly.

Harry grins and adjusts himself where he’s still tucked in his trousers.

You jump at the first three, the shock of them surprising you more than any real hurt or pain. You study Harry’s face, see the hunger in his eyes, and how he licks his lips as he studies your bum, and even the way his lips twitch delightedly when you gasp at his touch. You think you’d let him spank you every day if it means getting to see him look at you like that.

By the time Harry says, “That’s eight” you’re grateful that’s all he had wanted from you. Your bum feels hot more than anything, but Harry had snapped harder for the last two and you wondered how much he was holding back. You try to stand up, but Harry’s hand in the middle of your back keeps you still.

He reaches around to grab the chopsticks from your mouth. “Tell me thank you,” he orders, looking down his nose at you.

You feel like you should want to crawl away, but instead you find yourself giving a breathy “thank you” to the man that just spanked your bottom red.  

IIII

After Harry helps you up, you think you’re going to have sex.

When he sits down on the bed, you swing a leg over top of him, straddle his waist, and grind down on his hardness underneath you. You’re so desperate for him that you feel no shame - just need, and desperation, and an aching burn somewhere deep in your stomach. Your lips are hungry for his, and his hands crawl up your thighs, palm your stinging bum, and settle at the dip of your waist. His long thumbs dip playfully under your panties.

You moan when his thumbs dig in right under your hip bones. 

“Let me ride you,” you beg, sneaking a hand under his sweatshirt and Harry lets you pull it off him. You reach down to untie his sweats.

His hands clasp around your wrists suddenly, and he holds them captive in one hand while his other wraps around your neck and a fat thumb pushes just slightly into your mouth.

“Harry?” you moan in question and his thumb presses down more harshly, prompting your jaw open more.

He stands up, shift you off his waist, and sets you down on the bed.

“Don’t move,” he orders without a backward glance and disappears into the toilet.

You figure he’s rolling on a condom, and you take the time to peel off your own top and bra. You leave your panties on in anticipation of the feeling of Harry pulling them off you.

Your brain is drowning in so much desire that you don’t really have the will to consider what’s happening. Harry’s power hungry and it makes you absolutely desperate for him. You think you’d do anything he wants, whatever he says, work to meet all of his needs.

You lay back on the bed and touch yourself, gasping at the wetness in between your legs. You yell at Harry to hurry up, a bit more breathiness in your voice than you intended. 

After another torturous moment, Harry walks out of the bathroom with his top back on and his pants noticeably less...strained.

“Ready for bed?” 

“What the - are we not? I thought you were going to?” There’s a small smile on his face, but his eyes betray whatever image of innocence he’s trying to convey. He leans down to kiss you. “We-we were going to have sex?”

Harry shakes his head. “After a spanking?”he looks at you with an infuriating patience.”No, you should go to bed. Maybe another time, after you’ve earned it.” He taps your leg to get you to scoot, as if that’s it, as if he’s just settled, closed, finalized the matter.

“Are you joking?” you seeth and it looks like he’s trying to bite back a cocky smile. “We’re not going to fuck? You just spanked me and let me ride you some and I’m horny and we’re not going to have sex?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Now get under the covers.”

“But you were hard -”

“And I took care of it myself.”

You want to scream at him. He looks so satisfied, so sure of himself, so confident you’re going to do exactly what he says and christ if he’s not 100% right.

“Fine,” you growl, pulling your shirt back on and crawling over to your side of the bed. You scooch as far from him as possible and curl up with your back towards him.

“That's it, darling. Just as I say,” he’s absolutely taunting you for a reaction and it sends a wave of desire through your already desperate body.

The mattress sinks as Harry slides in and then the room is plunged into darkness when he turns off the telly and flips off the light. You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, he’s an absolute devil and apparently you are his new favourite toy to tease. 

You yelp in surprise when his hands wrap around you and pull you tight into his body. You wiggle away, but he holds you tight and, after a moment, you let him. You’re angry, he’s a prat, but his body fits so well around yours that you can’t bother to fight too much. 

For a while, his hands innocently splay across your stomach, unmoving. You’re hyper aware of his fingers ghosting right above your panties.

“Please,” you beg as Harry slides one giant hand deeper into your panties and rubs slow circles around your wet folds.

Harry just shushes you, and you think you will die like this - horny and in the arms of the man who did it to you.

***

When you wake in the morning, it takes two minutes before Harry is on top of you.

“I’m sorry for calling you names. I’m sorry for cursing at you. I’m sorry for - for,’ Harry peels your shirt off and hovers above you.

You prattle on some more - listing off every apology that crosses your mind - you had slept, but it was restless. You’ve never woken more horny in your life. 

“Open,” Harry demands, tapping your chin. Again, just like last night, he makes you wait a shameful second with your mouth hanging open before he stuffs your shirt inside. “I don’t want to hear anything but moans from that filthy mouth. Got it?”

He wraps a hand around your waist and flips you onto your hands and knees. He guides your shoulders and cheek into the mattress with a firm hand.

“Answer me,” he smacks your sore arse. There’s a softness in his voice, a slight desperation that you didn’t notice last night when it was all arrogance, and sharp, and firm.

“Mmmphhh,” you moan as Harry spreads your knees apart further and keeps a hand right above your bum to force a wanton arch in your back.

He runs his fingers along your folds. “Is this just from this morning, baby? Or is this still from last night? Fuck.” Harry growls and snakes just the tip of a finger into you. “Did you like that? Going to bed horny for me? Hmm? Tell me?”

You moan and buck back on where it feels like he has two fingers in you.

“We’ll have time for slow,” he shuffles behind you and when you subconsciously lean up slightly he gently but firmly pushes you back down on the bed. “I don’t have time to tie you up. Stay still.”

He shuffles around and then you gasp when you feel just the tip of him glide against you. He chuckles when you lean back for more of him. You think he calls you greedy, but your heartbeat is so loud that you can barely hear a word.

Harry dips into you a few times, stretching your pussy, and making you moan in pleasure. You desperately want to ask him to touch your clit, or you want to touch it yourself, but the angle he has you at makes it impossible.

“C’mon, lean back f’me, darling,” you feel his length fill you and your eyes roll back in your head in pleasure. He rolls his hips inside you and then sets a quick tempo. The sounds of smacking flesh quickly fill your ears and you groan in need.

You beg into the gag again, pleading with Harry to touch you.

“That’s right,” he growls and leans down to grab you and pull your back against him. The angle keeps him in you but his thrusts make you feel split full with every pull and push of his hips. He’s desperate and when you cry into your gag, his hand finds your neck and pull you even tighter against him, your neck curved back to rest on his shoulder. His other hands ghosts down your stomach until he’s rubbing circles into your quaking folds.

“Come for me, doll,” he demands, pulling the gag from your mouth, and then running his fingers down your body to cruelly flick your clit. You clench down on his cock as your orgasm explodes through your toes, and thighs, and chest. You gasp and moan into your gag and then hear Harry do the same as you grip down on him in need.

“Fuck me,” Harry curses as you both shake through your orgasms and then collapse on the bed.

Harry’s hand finds your jaw. He has thing for holding your face in his hands, but you’re starting to think you might have a thing for it, too.

“B’mine?” Harry asks, his cheeks still red, and his lips puffy, and the dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Be my good girl? Tell me yes.”

“Yes,” you mutter, your face flushing with heat and desire.

“Say it. All of it,” he demands and you don’t know how you’re ever going to survive London with him in it. You had left London a respectable woman and now you were absolutely preening with the thought of going back to it after bending over, letting Harry spank you, and call you his good girl. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“Yes,” you promised and watched a dangerous smile paint his face. “I’ll be your good girl.”

[masterpost]

[lovelyirony]

oh my GOD mechanicfam is god tier just may i present an au where tony adopts harley after his mom and sister die in a car crash (post-mandarin) and so tony's the only person harley knows to go to and harley's the thing that makes rhodey and tony get their HEADS out of their ASSES

Harley keeps the business card that was left on the workshop of his house. He kept it in a kitchen drawer that his mom never used, because it full of the “nice” dish towels that were only taken out come Christmastime. 

His fingers shake as he grips the phone, punching in the numbers. 

“Can I ask who’s calling?” 

“It’s...um. Harley. Keener. From Tennessee.” 

There’s a shift on the phone, and Harley feels a bit guilty because it is late, but he doesn’t know where else to turn. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” 

“Um. I need help.” 

“With what?” 

And that’s when Harley loses it. He can barely enunciate the words, and he’s trying to furiously wipe away tears as he hears a litany of curses over the other line. 

“I’m...I’m sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call and I don’t know what to do, and-” 

“Kid, don’t you worry. I’ll be there in...two hours. Hell, maybe one if I can break the sound barrier. You have anything to eat yet?” 

“Um, no?” 

“Okay, then we stop for food when we get home.” 

“Home?” 

“...we’ll talk when I get there.” 

-

Tony, in all honesty, does not know what he’s doing. God knows he had two stellar examples of parenting from Howard and Maria. 

But he knows that a kid like Harley will get torn apart, and he...he can’t let him do that. 

“Are you sure about this?” Rhodey asks. 

“Yes,” Tony says. “I’m sure. We’ll...I’ll figure it out. I promise.” 

“You act like I’m not going to help you,” Rhodey says. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back. You have a way of transporting him back?” 

“Already ordered a car to the airport, we’ll be taking a plane back home.” 

“Bring him back safe.” 

“Always.” 

- 

Harley collapses into Tony’s arms when he touches down, armor barely off. 

“Please,” he sobs. “Please just get me out of here.” 

- 

Tony wasn’t going into the situation blind. He had seen the article from their newspaper about the crash. 

Harley said he had been riding his bike. Abbie really wanted to get a burger, and he hadn’t wanted to go. 

“They would still be here if I had gone,” Harley says bitterly, and Tony’s heart has a pang of hurt because he understands that feeling all too well. But right now, Harley doesn’t need someone to understand everything, he just needs to be cared for. 

Tony sits down with him at a kitchen table and doesn’t miss how Harley stares at the two chairs across from them. 

“I want to talk with you,” he says quietly. “I want to know what you want to do.” 

Harley looks at him. 

“I...I wasn’t really expecting you to come.” 

“We’re connected,” Tony says, a soft smile on his face. “I always will, whenever you want. Now, I’m just here to help you figure out what you want.” 

“...what are the options?” 

Tony’s willing to go through hell and back for this kid. He doesn’t tell him this verbatim, but the sentiment is there. He’d be willing to do anything, so long as he could see Harley safe and happy wherever he was. 

- 

Harley sits outside for a moment, breathing. 

And then he can’t breathe. 

Abbie’s looking up at the night sky, smiling. 

“It’ll always be like this, right Harls?” 

“Right,” Harley says, smiling nice and easy. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to us.” 

Except he did. 

It was all over the news, and everyone knew about it. 

He comes back in, and Tony can probably tell that he’s at his absolute worst. 

“I can’t stay here. I-I need to leave. Now.” 

“Alright, let’s go.” 

- 

Driving in the car is a mostly silent affair. Tony hums along to AC/DC and tells Harley about new projects. 

Their first rest stop, Tony goes out with Harley, watching him carefully. 

“I’m not gonna break,” Harley snaps. 

“Not saying you’re gonna.” 

“Well I’m not.” 

“Okay. Rhodey’s at the house waiting for us when we get there.” 

“He on leave?” 

Tony nods. “Three months. Lucky.” 

“Yeah.” 

Not a lot after that. 

At some point, Harley dozes off, leaning his head against the door. 

Tony sends a message to Rhodey when they’re boarding the plane. Harley’s still a little groggy, and mostly content to just blearily go and find a seat and pass out. 

He sleeps the whole flight home, and Tony is left with his thoughts. 

Thought One: Maybe he Should’ve Left This Alone. 

Thought Two: He needs to answer Pepper’s email regarding the press conferences and publicity things, get that all worked out. 

Thought Three: He hopes Rhodey has some sort of food ready. 

- 

Rhodey sees Tony and Harley stumbling in, and he’s struck for a moment by just how similarly they carry themselves, how Harley’s eyes dart around like Tony’s did when he first moved into their dorm. 

“Hi,” Rhodey says. “You hungry?” 

“Um.” 

“We’ll sit down anyways,” Tony says. “Planes are the worst, Harley. They zap all your energy no matter how long you sit on your ass.” 

Rhodey sends Tony a look that says “you should probably watch your language.” 

Tony sends back a look that says “now’s not the time to discuss my behaviors.” 

- 

Harley sleeps. 

He’s surprised he does, because he wakes up about nine hours later, and he feels like he doesn’t deserve this long of sleep. He gets slammed with the current news of his life all over again, and his lips tremble as he gets out of a bed that he thinks is too nice for him, and stares into a mirror. 

“Mr. Keener?” 

Harley jumps. 

“...is that you, Jarvis?” 

“It is indeed, Mr. Keener. An honor to make your acquaintance, Sir has told me so much about you.” 

“Please tell me he didn’t tell you about the potato gun.” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” 

Harley grins up at where the voice emanates. 

“Your presence is required for breakfast, if that is alright.” 

“That’s...that’s fine.” 

He’s not hungry, but Rhodey slides him a plate of toast and eggs. 

“Try to eat as much as you can,” he says. “Tony can finish off the rest, if he ever comes down from his bed.” 

Harley nods, nibbling on the toast. 

“You want jam or anything? We have grape, and...only grape. This peach looks questionable.” 

Harley snorts. 

“I’m good. Thanks, though.” 

“No problem.” 

They eat in awkward but companionable silence, and finally Harley speaks. 

“Tony said you’re on leave for three months.” 

“I got lucky,” Rhodey says, grinning. “I get to stay here with you guys for longer than three weeks. A full guarantee, unless of aliens.” 

“They’re that much of a concern?” Harley asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Only at high levels,” Rhodey says, giving him a lazy wink. “You didn’t hear it from me.” 

“If anything, you would hear it from me,” Tony says, wrapped up in a gaudily-patterned robe. “Hello dearest, hello little one.” 

“I’m not little,” Harley grumbles. 

“You are shorter than me, you are little.” 

“For now. Doc said I’m supposed to be over six feet.” 

“Hm, we’ll see,” Tony says. “But enough about that. We have to have a little chat.” 

Harley’s heart leaps with anxiety. When adults talk about having a chat, or talking, it’s...well. It’s never a walk in the park. Or a jog for that matter, either. 

“What about?” 

“How we can help you.” 

Harley sighs, burrowing deep in his seat. 

“We have to talk about this?” 

“Yeah, we do.” 

- 

Harley gets set up with a therapist who he’s not sure he likes yet, but so far she’s been pretty nice. A bit of a mess, because she comes into their second session late and with iced coffee. 

“Oh shit, I should’ve asked you if you wanted something,” Joan says, fretting. “Um, hi Harley. How are we doing?” 

“Um, fine? I guess? For someone who’s dealing with a lot of change?” 

“Oh, that’s great to hear. Do you mind...?” She breathes for a minute. “There was a really cute girl in the elevator for the dentist office above me, and I had to avoid her so that I wouldn’t talk about things and ruin things, so I took the stairs. Do you mind if I just drink my coffee for a moment?” 

“...knock yourself out.” 

So they sit there for a few moments, while Joan catches her breath and Harley wonders if he can text her his coffee order later. 

“Alright, let’s talk you, Harley.” 

- 

Therapy goes well. As well as it can go, honestly. 

And Harley? Well, he settles. 

And he notices things. 

Rhodey is still with them, two months and three weeks in. This is his last week, and Tony is miserable although he won’t say anything. 

Harley notices how Tony will automatically move closer to Rhodey, and Rhodey welcomes him into his space as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

They bicker at each other, but Rhodey slides scrambled eggs onto Tony’s plate as he argues, and Tony leans over and grabs the coffee mug that Rhodey favors. 

- 

Apparently, they’re not together. 

This leaves Harley very confused. 

Tony gets all flustered and in denial when he asks about it. 

“Why would...why would he...why would he be with me?” Tony asks, moving around the kitchen. “He has more to life than that. Now come on, get your shopping list together, kiddo. I’m not gonna hear you complain for another week that we didn’t get your pumpkin-carving-coffee-creamer-whatever.” 

“It’s pumpkin spice, and you would know that because you pretend like you don’t use it.” 

“We’ll get two bottles this time,” Rhodey says, only coming in on the tail-end of the conversation. “Tony, babe, remember to get the provolone slices when we’re there for the deli sandwiches.” 

“Got it, honey.” 

Harley stares. 

They’re so...domestic. 

Harley hasn’t seen that often. Certainly didn’t see it with his parents before his dad left, and his mother...she didn’t get to have that with anyone else afterwards. And his sister, oh god-

“Kiddo, you okay?” Rhodey asks. His hand is on Harley’s shoulder, eyes full of concern. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“Just...just thinking about my mom. And my sister.” 

Rhodey brings him into a hug. 

Harley breathes in and out for a moment, absorbing the clean smell of Rhodey’s shirt and focusing on the touch. 

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be fine. Let’s go, before Tony gets to choose the car and we have to fit fifteen bags into a Maserati.” 

“Then we’ll have to leave you at the store,” Rhodey teases. “Let’s see if we can get a rational car.” 

-

Grocery shopping is...it’s nice. It’s one of Harley’s favorite things to do, as boring and uninteresting as that may be. 

He mostly just likes watching Tony and Rhodey do it. It’s entertainment, and they’re so practiced together. 

Harley isn’t sure if his mom and his sister are still looking on, but he always gets their favorite snacks, just in case. He puts a bag of hot fries and a carton of strawberries into the cart, and then he grins as he finds Tony and Rhodey still arguing over whether or not they should get two bundles of green onions for the Wednesday dinner or not. 

“Come on dad,” Harley says, throwing the extra bundle into the cart. “It’ll be good, and we can probably make some sort of soup garnish for the end.” 

He moves the cart, and he doesn’t even see how Tony and Rhodey stare after him. 

“So obviously, I’m dad,” Tony says. “That’s me.” 

“Or is it?” Rhodey asks, faking suspicion. “We don’t know until a full investigation is launched.” 

“Oh full investigation my ass,” Tony says. “Come on, before he leaves us in the dust and ends up getting far too many packages of candy.” 

“Like you minded, heathen.” 

Tony pushes off the grocery cart, and Rhodey has to smile for a moment. 

He’s going to miss this. He only has a few days left, and then he’s back and he’s alone, and he’s not alone, but he...

Rhodey always misses Tony. He’s tried to convince himself over the years that it’s just what best friends do, but he doesn’t think that best friends think of each other in the way that he thinks of Tony. 

And now there’s Harley. 

Harley, who is so much like Tony, and so good. He smiles, and he jokes, and Rhodey now can’t imagine life without him. 

He doesn’t want to miss out on a thing, honestly. They’ve already joked about teaching him to drive in New York traffic. 

And he wants to come home. He has his own place in New York, honest to god doesn’t know why he pays rent on it since Tony usually has him stay over anyways. He should sub-let or rent it or sell it. That’d be common sense. 

-

Dinner goes well. Both Rhodey and Harley have a good rhythm in the kitchen, even with Harley’s questionable music taste and Rhodey’s inability to follow a recipe. 

“People who follow recipes are chumps,” Rhodey says, dumping more garlic powder into the mixture. “Never follow a recipe.” 

“We can call your mother and ask about the blueberry crumble incident of 1997,” Tony says innocently. “If you want to rehash how well that advice went for you. I recall a nearly-burned-down-house?” 

Rhodey scowls, turning to Harley. 

“Don’t listen to a word this man has ever said, he is an unlovable scamp.” 

“Oh really?” Harley says. “Seems to suit you just fine, right?” 

Rhodey momentarily pauses, and then grins. 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

All too right. 

They eat dinner, and Tony as well as Rhodey make no mention of what’s going to happen come Saturday morning. 

At least, until Harley does, because Harley does things like ask questions. 

“So. When are you going for your next mission?” Harley asks. “And where?” 

“Classified, and seven a.m. bright and early Saturday morning,” Rhodey states. “You gonna get out of bed in time to see me off?” 

“Mm, we’ll think about it,” Tony says, biting into the pasta. “The beds are awfully comfy...” 

“Aw shut up,” Rhodey whines. “Just for that, I get to choose the movie, and I’m choosing the not-movie. I’m choosing the BBC Pride and Prejudice.” 

“You suck,” Tony groans. “If you weren’t a gorgeous man, I would have kicked you out decades earlier.” 

“You make us sound ancient.” 

“That’s because you two geezers are,” Harley says, taking his dish to the sink. “Come on, I totally dibs on getting the mint candies.” 

“Absolutely not, you stole them all last, at least let us portion them out,” Tony says. 

“Do we not live as a family? Can we no longer share things?” Harley cries out dramatically, draping his body across the couch. “Am I reduced to nothing but a pretty face?” 

“I don’t know where you get your dramatics from,” Rhodey deadpans. “Truly, I don’t.” 

Harley pokes his tongue out, and gestures for them to come over. 

“We can wash dishes later, we need to see if Mr. Darcy comes back,” Harley says. 

“You know he does,” Tony says, looking over at Rhodey. “He always will.” 

It means...something. They’re not sure what, and they’re not going to ask each other while Harley is busy commandeering the couch and wiggling his way into getting the best blanket. 

Tony on one side, Rhodey on the other, although the latter is busy popping popcorn and thinking. 

He doesn’t even really want to go. He signed up for this tour, and he wasn’t honestly thinking it was going to be his last, but with Harley now, and with how life is going...would it be a bad thing? 

Tony’s always wanted him to do at least consulting work for SI, and he could semi-retire comfortably... 

“Honey-darling!” Tony calls, “the ETA on popcorn? I’m getting desperate!” 

Harley sends Tony a sneaky look, and looks back towards the movie. 

“You should remind Rhodey to get chocolate chips,” Harley says. “You know he likes them.” 

“Of course I know that, how do you know that?” 

“You usually get the popcorn,” Harley says with a shrug. “I know what you know about him. And you know a lot, don’t you?” 

“I...I suppose,” Tony says, getting up. 

Harley settles into his spot on the couch. 

Tony comes up to Rhodey. 

“Remember your chocolate chips,” Tony says. 

Rhodey looks surprised. 

“I thought you hated how sticky they got your hands.” 

“That’s what napkins were invented for,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve been dealing with your chocolate chips for years, haven’t I?” 

“I guess,” Rhodey says. “Just like I’ve been dealing with the fact that you pretend like you don’t like it, but you steal all of it.” 

“Lies and slander, dearest,” Tony says, and Rhodey grins smoothly. 

“Get back to the kid, sweetheart. I’ll be there when all of this is done.” 

And it sounds so goddamned domestic. As if it’s real, as if they’ve been doing this song and dance for years. And they have, but it’s never been...

It’s never been real. Sure, they’ve waited on each other when Rhodey leaves or Tony travels, and they fall in together in a nice and easy rhythm. 

But Tony...he’s a Stark. He needs a good reputation, and while most wouldn’t say his reputation is exactly good, there’s a lot that the public can forgive. Rhodey is not part of that. 

Tony thinks that Rhodey deserves someone better. He knows it, knows it in the way that Rhodey smiles and it’s the best damned thing he’s ever seen, knows it in the way how his eyes track people who need help the most. 

- 

Harley knows virtually none of this. The only thing he knows is that his guardians are the stupidest people on the planet, and now he has a side project besides school and by god it’ll be fun. 

But first, Rhodey is being sent off. Tony’s hands are wandering all over the place, as Harley’s noticed they do when he’s nervous. His do the same. Tony is talking about everything and joking about changes, and Rhodey smiles and nods and they both know what is going to happen. 

Harley, for his part, mostly just tries not to doze off because it’s too early for any of this but also he wants to remember this. 

Rhodey will be gone for one month and three weeks. According to Tony, this isn’t the longest he’s ever been away, but usually he’s not gone for this long. The older he gets, the shorter the missions or projects get. But they need his expertise with rookies. 

Tony, for his part, has packed about three extra bags for Rhodey under the guise of them being “goodie bags” or the army to peruse after Rhodey. 

“I won’t need all of these fancy pieces,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not even leaving the US this time, cupcake.” 

“You saying you can’t be in danger when you’re here?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Take the stuff dad,” Harley says exasperated. 

“Ha!” Rhodey teases. “So I’m dad!” 

“You both are,” Harley says. “You’re both dad.” 

They grin at each other, at least until Tony furrows his brow. 

“Then how will we know which one you’re talking to?” 

“I’ll come up with a different name then,” Harley says. “I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this while you’re supposed to be boarding a jet.” 

Rhodey shrugs, leaning in for a hug from Harley, and facing Tony. There’s something in his eyes. 

“Stay safe,” Tony says. “Promise me that.” 

“I don’t make promises,” Rhodey says, a smile playing at his lips. 

“For anyone else,” Tony finishes, grinning. He brings him into a hug, probably holding on for a touch longer than necessary. But he’s leaving, so you can’t fault him for it. 

Harley is smiling to himself as Rhodey whispers something in Tony’s ear, which causes him to widen his eyes in delight. 

“Seriously? You’re serious.” 

“As a heart attack.” 

Tony cheers for a moment, before they hear a shout across the tarmac. Rhodey gives a lazy salute. 

“Until one month and three weeks.” 

“Until then, nerd,” Harley shouts. 

Tony blows a kiss, and Rhodey “catches” it and puts it in his pocket. 

Harley sends Tony a look as they’re driving home. 

“So. What did Rhodey whisper in your ear?” 

“He’s going to move in,” Tony says, grinning. 

“He doesn’t actually live at our home?” Harley asks, absolutely flabbergasted. “There’s no fucking way-” 

“Language!” 

“You said ‘shit’ during breakfast, if anything this is just leveling the playing field-” 

“Don’t care, you’re a small child. What would the public say if they knew I was teaching my boy curse words?” Tony says dramatically. 

“They’d probably not be surprised,” Harley answers. “Didn’t you tell the paparazzi to ‘get fucked’ when they ambushed our dinner last month?” 

“Not the point.” 

“Or is it?” 

“You’re detracting from the fact that you get to help me get rid of all of Rhodey’s ugly furniture in his apartment.” 

“Seriously?” Harley whines. “No, I’m...doing something.” 

“Doing what? Eating hot fries on my couch and getting it stained with spicy cheese dust?” 

“...no.” 

“Hm, thought so. You’re coming with me.” 

- 

Rhodey isn’t expecting to miss home as fiercely as he does this time around. He’s irritable, but he finds comfort in talking with some of the other members of the crew about kids. 

“Didn’t know you had a kid,” Hicks mentions. “When did that happen?” 

“About six months ago,” Rhodey answers. “Kid needed a guardian, Tony stepped up to the plate. He’s a real neat kid, really a genius. Just like Tony, in that way.” 

“You live with Tony, finally?” Thompson asks. “Or do you still have that dinky bachelor pad?” 

“I’m selling it,” Rhodey said. “I told Tony I’d help out with Harley, and that’s what I’m doing. Figure since I’m always over there anyways, might as well move in.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t move in sooner, what with you and Stark anyways,” Thompson remarks. 

“What do you mean?” Rhodey asks. 

“You’re...not together?” 

Rhodey looks away, a bit sheepish. 

“Uh...no. We’re not.” 

“But you wanna be,” Owens teases from her corner, eating her sandwich. “You stupid lover-boy.” 

“Aw shut up,” Rhodey fires back. “As if you aren’t all over your husband when you get back.” 

“But I, my dear old man, am married,” Owens says. “Put a ring on it! God knows you should’ve, like, eight years ago. Have you even asked him on a date?” 

“He has other options, and a life outside of me,” Rhodey says. 

“Bullshit,” the team crows, laughing. Rhodey just shakes his head, and bites into his sandwich. 

He misses them. 

-

Harley and Tony miss him equally as much. Tony is down in the dumps, sulking in his lab while Harley attempts to rebuild a projectile weapon. 

“Do you have a permit for that?” 

“Do I need one?” Harley asks. “I’m not gonna take it anywhere, except maybe when I’m in trouble.” 

“When will you be in trouble?” 

“...you’ll know.” 

“Please tell me you’re not going to be on national news.” 

“Just on regional, don’t worry.” 

Tony sighs. 

“Rhodey is going to want to witness that, so can you wait?” 

“...potentially.” 

- 

Rhodey gets letters from the two of them. He thinks it’s Harley’s idea: after all, Tony would simply just hijack the internet feed and yell at people until Rhodey was called for. 

He gets two pages from Tony with his elegant writing, the writing that almost never comes out because he remembers that Tony was taught how to write in blocky, all-caps letters that he was fond of now. 

Harley writes in chicken-scratch that is barely legible, although he mentions that he’s been learning about lettering from Tony. 

Tony misses you a lot, by the way, Harley writes, he’s been playing all of your favorite songs, and I didn’t know that you liked Three Dog Night. Interesting. 

It’s not surprising that Tony knows and plays his music, not really. But Rhodey is still pleasantly surprised that even when he isn’t physically present, Tony keeps a piece of him around. 

Similarly, Tony writes about Harley. 

The kid misses you, honey. He’s been compiling a list of things he wants to do when you get back. You’re better at hugging him, by the way. Today (well, Wednesday for you) we had a good cry session. Wish you were there, but we made do with what we had. Why did you take your sweatshirt, by the way? Stupid man, now I can’t wear it and drape myself across couches like a scorned widow. Honestly...

- 

Rhodey comes back on a Tuesday morning. Harley’s allowed to miss school for it, which he’s very happy about. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to sleep in,” Tony says. “We’re picking him up at eight.” 

“Why must I be punished for all time,” Harley moans. “Eight? Seriously? Doesn’t the army know that noon exists?” 

“They made up the early rule because of me,” Tony jokes. “But I promise that Rhodey will most likely want an actual breakfast, which means we get diner breakfast.” 

“Yes!” Harley says, pumping his fist. “Waking up early just became worth it.” 

“Yeah sure, just look at the emails your teachers sent you about missing homework and be sure to text Peter and Ned about the classes you missed,” Tony says. 

Harley nods, walking out of the kitchen before pausing and turning back. 

“You should wear that Black Sabbath shirt that Rhodey likes tomorrow,” he says. “It’ll be nice for him to see.” 

Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“And since when did you know what Rhodey likes to see?” 

“Since I was born with vision,” Harley deadpans. “He always picks that shirt out for you when you come back after a business meeting overseas.” 

- 

Waking up at eight a.m. is worth it for a hug from Rhodey. Honest to god, that man gives the best hugs Harley’s ever had, short of Abbie and mom. 

Tony is asking a million questions a minute, and then telling Rhodey about the results of the apartment. A Stark Industries employee is renting it, and Tony managed to save some of the mugs, and chastised Rhodey for stealing a colander, apparently. 

“It was our good one! Why did you leave it in your apartment?” 

“I thought I stored it where we put the pans!” Rhodey defended. “How was I supposed to know that it was at that apartment?” 

“Quit arguing and start moving,” Harley says. “We have breakfast to get to.” 

“Our boy is growing,” Tony says, sighing. “Soon he’ll eat us out of house and home.” 

“We live in a gigantic tower in New York, I think you’re gonna be fine,” Rhodey says. “Although let’s get on it before there’s too much of a wait.” 

“It’s a Tuesday, darling,” Tony says. “No wait. And they know us.” 

- 

Harley enjoys witnessing breakfast. Basically because Tony and Rhodey fall into their respective rhythms as if no one had ever left. Rhodey is fighting about the hash browns, and Tony is reaching all the way across the table for the hot sauce. 

Harley has honestly and truly missed them all together like this. 

Even if Rhodey nabs a sausage from his plate. 

“I’m the growing teen here!” Harley says, gesturing with his fork. “Why steal from your poor, innocent charge? Was it not enough to leave for a month and three weeks?” 

“And three weeks! Honestly honey,” Tony says, distracting Harley enough to steal the other sausage off of his plate. “You should’ve been here sooner, we could’ve eaten more of these!” 

“You both are criminals,” Harley says. “Criminals who I have to live with. This is unforgivable. I’ll waste away into nothing...” 

Rhodey laughs, and he catches Tony’s eyes. 

Yeah. It’s good to be back. 

- 

Living with Tony and Harley isn’t really an adjustment at all. Rhodey had barely used his apartment before, and now is no different. He just gets to decorate his room a little bit more, and contribute more to groceries. 

He’s also around for more of Harley which is...interesting. 

The kid knows something, that’s for sure. 

He is also sneakily good at making sure that Tony and Rhodey get alone time, whether that be last-minute-ditching plans with Pepper or “forgetting” that he was supposed to be going to Ned’s for a video-game championship. (Harley was good at lying, but Tony and Rhodey have had years of practice.) 

Rhodey has a sneaking suspicion that he knows why. 

Harley isn’t a stupid boy, not by a long shot. 

He’s caught on to Rhodey’s stares, the way that Tony and Rhodey have something, but neither really want to acknowledge. 

To acknowledge means to know, and knowing is something that is far more terrifying than most people give it credit. 

- 

Harley eventually has help. 

After all, he and Pepper didn’t just go their separate ways when he ditched his guardians to give them quality dates, and he didn’t just talk about video game strategy with Peter, Ned, and MJ. 

He was planning. Figured it would fit with a life plan, honestly. 

Pepper is quite potentially even more tired than he is, and has agreed to help set up a nice date. 

She’s made deals she never expected to. 

She owes the god of mischief a bottle of wine. It’s ridiculous. 

Peter and Ned have been elected with getting the “aesthetic” right, and MJ has been “helpfully” suggesting where lights go. 

“MJ, if I move them any more left they’ll fall off the building and become a hazard,” Harley grunts. 

“Exactly. Nothing says romance like dangerous situations,” she says with a shrug. “But put them in the tree, and we can link the extension cord behind. It’ll look nice. All Pinterest-y and shit.” 

“Why can’t you help and then joke?” 

“I never joke. You just always like my second plan better.” 

“I don’t know whether to be terrified or alarmed!” Peter calls from his spot of building the cheese-board. 

“They’re synonyms,” MJ says. “When are we going home, by the way?” 

“As soon as Rhodey finishes up with his afternoon run, and Tony realizes that dinner is still a social concept,” Harley says. 

“Time, then?” 

“...five-thirty.” 

“Perfect.” 

“I’ll call my mom about the pizza,” Ned says. “We still thinking one pepperoni and one veggie?” 

“Sounds great,” Peter says. “What movie are we watching tonight?” 

“Twitter polls said Clueless over the Leonardo DiCaprio version of Romeo and Juliet. Sorry Ned, looks like your choice will be next week.” 

“My heart hurts, but it understands,” Ned says sagely, placing a hand over his heart. “I will see Mercutio soon enough.” 

- 

Tony was not aware that their rooftop had lights. He doesn’t remember putting them there. 

He was also pretty sure that Harley had a question about the flight patterns of birds in relation to GPS technology in drones, and it was weird that it was outside, but- 

There’s a cheese-board. And now he gets why Pepper made him change shirts. He knew that his shirt wasn’t ugly! 

Rhodey is standing across the way, looking at the dinner set-up and the tealights flickering gently from their placement. 

“Is this...did you do this, Tony?” 

“I don’t have this much of a creative eye,” Tony says, eyeing the intimate table placement. “Maybe Pepper?” 

“She doesn’t do lights...” 

“Harley,” they both say in unison, laughing. 

There’s a note at the table, written in the same near-illegible handwriting: 

Either get together or I get to make a Twitter thread. Your call. 

Tony snorts as he looks at the placement of everything. 

“Well...it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” 

“Is that you saying you’re flattered, but no thanks?” Rhodey asks. 

“No,” Tony says, looking at Rhodey. “It’s not that at all, if you-” 

“You mean-?” 

“What? Is this what’s happening?” Tony asks. His breathing speeds up. He’s quite embarrassed that he can feel his cheeks turn red. He thought he got rid of blushing in ‘96. 

“I...damn it, Tony. I love you!” 

Tony stares. He just stares, and for a moment it doesn’t process, until it does. He flings himself into Rhodey’s arms, and laughs. 

“Holy shit, that’s a relief.” 

Rhodey spins him around, taking a brief moment to kiss him gently on the cheek. 

“Oh, you owe me more than that, soldier.” 

“I think I’m a little bit higher ranked than that.” 

“Oh, and what would that be?” 

“Boyfriend, for one.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“We’re, like, a minute into this and you’re already the cheesy one.” 

“Well one of us has to be, and I’m going to beat you to the punch.” 

- 

Harley gets one text at four in the morning from Rhodey: 

no twitter thread for us. and you need to figure out what to call tony because i’m claiming “dad.” 

Harley cackles, grinning. 

got it, he’ll be pops then. 

Tony texts Harley a minute later. 

if you call me ‘pops’ there will be a mutiny! a mutiny!! 

Harley laughs again, tapping a message back. 

wotever. 

Tony doesn’t respond, choosing instead to roll back over and sling an arm around his significant other. It’s too early to be nitpicking your kid’s grammar.